Nikki Noir's Blog, page 5

Black Celebration - Chapter 1

In The Beginning I. “No fucking way...” RJ heard her call from the bathroom. “Damnit,” he muttered, adjusting the lamp to the specifics Google had provided. He Knew so little about lighting and camera angles, he wished he could have used the time for some last-minute research instead. It sounded like he’d now be wasting this valuable time on convincing Ginger. Again. The bathroom door opened and she stepped out in her bra and panties, the bag of accessories he’d provided, hanging from her grasp. “Fake braces, really? And are those baby Yoda ears?” “Elven ears.” “Whatever. I look like a mutant teeny bopper.” “Babe…” RJ said, feigning surprise. “You said you wanted to make some serious money this time—” “Not with this Asigo shit, no way—” “It’s pronounced: Aheago. And I’m telling you, this shit will sell. Remember the data from PornHub? Hentai is the fourth most searched category, and Delphie Quinn is the third most searched name. Nobody wants schoolgirl porn anymore. Milfs are overplayed. And nobody cares about the pizza delivery boy or plumber. They want weird-ass shit—” “Do you know how stupid this looks.” “Do you know how much money it makes?” “We've made about a thousand bucks so far. We’re not exactly making it rain, RJ.” Ginger tilted her head accusingly. “That’s because you don’t act on my killer ideas…” He took a deep but barely-visible breathe, returning the calm and deciding the best way to play this. “We need something that sets us apart from the masses of amateurs out there. If this is the hot new trend, then we need to catch the wave before we get left behind. Give the people what they want. Who cares if it’s stupid. People pay for dumb shit all the time.” Ginger dropped the plastic bag and walked over to the couch. She took a cross-legged position. “Three shitty nights in the Worthers’ Ward.” She shivered. “That was my week. All I want to do is smoke a bowl and get down. There isn’t a guy around who wouldn’t kill for that. I don’t want to film some Japanese elf fetish. I’m tired.” “I know.” RJ ran his finger through his short hair. “I didn’t have a great week either. Ricardo is always riding my ass about something. But…we need to film new content. We got to keep pushing new videos if we want new subscribers, if we want our big break. Even if it’s just a teaser GIF—” “I know. I know. Shit.” Ginger fell back against the couch pillows. “Fine. Can’t you just eat me out, then I blow you. Does it have to be a costume?" RJ swallowed his annoyance, smiled and walked over. Taking a seat beside her, he ran a gentle hand up her leg. “I want you out of the Worthers’ Ward too.” He smiled at her nickname for the geriatric rooms. “The only person you should be giving a sponge bath to is me.” He softened his voice and massaged her, not in a sexual way, just therapeutic, easing the muscles… or at least he hoped. “But you gotta trust me on this. We’re living in the new golden age of porn, but to make the money, we gotta deliver what the people want.” “Fine,” she said. “But not tonight. I’m too tired to dress up like some cartoon fantasy for nerds and keep my eyes crossed for thirty minutes while you take pics of cum on my face.” “Fair enough,” RJ said. “Maybe tomorrow after a good night’s sleep...” “Maybe.” RJ slid closer to her and kissed her neck twice, nuzzling his face into her ear “Smoke and fuck. That's what you want, right? I think we can accomplish that.” He felt her squirm a bit, then RJ leaned back and gave her his James Dean smile. “How about we kill two birds while getting stoned.” He paused and grinned. “See what I did there?” Whatever enjoyment she’d had at his kisses seemed to vanish as she stared at him. “Okay, bad joke. Good idea though… I got an amazing Sativa this morning, and smoking is always hot fetish. How about we film a short scene? Just a quickie. Then the rest of the night is you and me, no camera. What do you say?” Ginger looked out at the camera tripod and lamps. She said nothing, but RJ could feel her soften a bit in his hands. He returned to her neck, planted a few more kisses while his hand caressed the inside of her thigh, his hand getting close to her crotch. “I’m gonna eat that pussy so good.” Ginger shifted in her seat, and RJ's hand could feel the heat pouring through her panties. “Even if you cum in the video?” “Especially if I cum in the video. I gotta make sure you feel as good as I do.” RJ breathed onto her smooth skin, relishing the way it made her shudder. His nose explored the cleft of her breast, then he let himself slide off the couch. His face bounced over her bra and down her navel as he knelt. Shifting her legs, RJ planted his face into the warm triangle of her panties. He breathed hot kisses through the blue fabric. “Just a short scene…” “Fine.” Ginger closed her eyes with a deep breath, pushing her pelvis into his face. “One smoking scene.” “Excellent,” RJ said giving a final peck to the sheer panties. He got to his feet. “Don’t go anywhere. Gotta grab the harness and some Cheetah Piss.” “Cheetah Piss?” She burst out laughing and the last of the apprehension seemed to fade from her body.” Who names this shit?” “Who knows? But it’s the loudest shit I’ve had in awhile. Trust me. Now don’t go anywhere,” he said, “I’ll be right back.” “I may freshen up a bit. Won’t take long.” Ginger gave him her wicked smile as he headed to the bedroom. As he walked into the bedroom, the annoyance started to hit him again. Yeah, he was still getting something for the website, but it been a struggle. And it wasn't the kind of content that sold. Anyone could puff a joint and suck a dick. He was gonna have to find a way for her to get on a more lucrative fetish...even if she thought it was weird. Hell, he thought, maybe she could make bank selling dirty underwear to freaks. Dr. Greenshlong! The idea suddenly hit him as he opened the stash drawer and pulled out the sealed baggie of medical-grade joints. In a flash he could see it all come together. Another golden opportunity like Aheago; they couldn't afford to wait. Pretty soon every state would make med cards legal and then every webcam stoner would be making weed porn. Taking out one joint of the Cheetah Piss, RJ laughed at the Cypress Hill song that was now playing in his head—of course the original lyrics were being replaced with his own Greenshlong parody. He moved to the closet where they kept more camera gear, imagining himself in a white lab coat and scrubs. Ginger would be his nurse. They had access to most any medical supply they could need, but this would be so much more than just another stereotypical doctor scene. It’d be weed porn and hilarious. He could write a real script rather than just improvising the whole time. Now he was thinking next level shit. He fought to control the grin. Fuck though. Tonight wasn’t the night to bring up Dr. Greenshlong to Ginger… or was it? Just stick with the plan. Surprise her tomorrow with it, he thought. He grabbed the camera rig and the excitement building in his balls erased what little disappointment remained about Aheago and Dr. Greensholng. He’d eventually win her over. For now though, he needed to focus on tonight. They could still make a kick ass video, and even if it didn’t go viral... and he still got his dick sucked. RJ checked a few settings then looked at himself in the mirror. He had black fleece joggers on and Nike Charges. For a moment he considered changing into jeans, but decided against it. Back in the living room, RJ was happy to see Ginger had returned from the bathroom and was dressed-up… a bit anyway. She sat on the couch again, modest make-up applied. A tiny tube top hugged her tits perfectly. Neon red booty shorts, knee-high socks and pink sneakers completed the outfit. Her hair was up in a messy bun. It wasn’t hentai, but at least bright colors were a trend in porn. “You ready?” she asked. RJ held up the lighter and joint. “Locked and loaded.” He joined her at the couch and handed over the goodies. “Damn you look good.” Ginger flashed her slut stare as she called it. “You better hurry up, I’m ready to do this.” “Yes, ma’am,” he said, happy to her the genuine excitement back in her voice. RJ took out his phone, hit play on a dark synthwave mix, then placed it on the coffee table. He picked up the Canon Vixa they bought two months ago to start their porn site. “Let’s start with some stills. Clothed first.” “Baby, do not kill my mood. Film it now or never. I wanna get high.” The blood was rushing to his cock and he was not about to argue. He threw on the harness and secured the canon into the straps. He turned it on then grabbed his phone for the handheld angles. “Action!” Ginger ran the long white joint under her nose and giggled. She placed it in her mouth and went to light it, then stopped and looked at the camera. She reached out and beckoned to the lens. RJ stepped closer, flexing the muscles of his cock, willing the blood their asap. He could feel it starting to swell and was excited, but whenever he had to film himself, there was always some initial fear mixed with the excitement. Mostly, he wanted to be fully hard when she whipped him out. Guys never seemed to admit it, but the dick in the scene was pretty damn important. RJ was not as hung as the average porn star, and the camera sometimes gave him that initial anxiety that didn’t help him reach full potential. Ginger took the joint out of her mouth with one hand, and with the other, she cupped his crotch. “Mmmhhh.” RJ smiled, his cock shifting beneath the joggers. That’s it, he thought as she tapped her fingers along his crotch. With her thumb and forefinger, Ginger outlined his shaft beneath the sweatpants, then placed her mouth on the fabric, breathing hot and heavy. After a minute of cockteasing through his pants, RJ felt ready. As if she read his mind, Ginger stopped, leaned back, and stuck the joint into her mouth again. She sparked the lighter and stared into the lens. She really did have great fucking eye contact. And she could worship the cock when she wanted to. If only he could find a way to push her a little further; she’d definitely be a star. Through the lens, RJ watched her inhale. With the joint and smoke still in her mouth, she pulled down his waist band and he smiled was as his cock sprang out. Ginger took the joint from her mouth, leaned forward and engulfed his penis to the halfway point. The cool air of the living room was replaced by the velvety warmth of her lips. RJ didn’t dare close his eyes as she released the cloud of smoke. It seeped out the edges of her mouth, floated past his cock and up to the camera. *** Read Book 1: Watchers of the Black Rite

Gaia: Netflix for Insane People

The following is a partial transcript of the Woke Warrior Podcast Episode 8 Full recording 1:13:66 Full Details Brothers and sisters, Woke Warriors, it’s tim...

Outwitting the Devil - Book Review

Review by S. C. Mendes I don’t read much horror now adays… I know, not the best opening line for a guest spot on a horror review website, but it’s the truth. So when Nikki asked me to contribute, I almost turned her down. Instead, I have a rather unconventional book to submit for your approval. It could be considered a ‘self-help’ book, and while there’s no true horror in it, I promise the content deals with supernatural entities and unexplained forces. I hope you enjoy... Sex and Money. When talking to practitioners of various occult paths, these are the two reasons I hear cited most often on why a person first began to dabble with magick. Hopefully, those initial selfish desires will be transformed into more nobler aspirations before the individual continues further on their path. But, if we’re being honest with ourselves, it’s that desire to make more money, find a dream job, or a soulmate that starts many of us toward self-improvement, and this hasn’t changed much in six thousand years. Now adays YouTube personalities beg for us to give them just 45 seconds so they can show us how to make 45K a month. We have tips on how to pick up the opposite sex easily using subconscious tricks. And of course, there are countless love and money spells being peddled every day. In this regard, occult practitioners can almost be thought of as the first self-help gurus, teaching others how to use their will and magick to change their reality. The personal development industry is now big business. But before there was Tony Robbins's energizing personality, Zig Ziglar’s business advice, Jim Rohn, or even Eric Thomas—who does an amazing job connecting with the youth—America drew its inspiration to achieve a better, more fulfilled life from Napoleon Hill. He is one of the first “Personal Development” authors and lecturers in modern times. Like Robbins, Hill spent years interviewing the most successful people of his time, then shared those lessons through books such as Think and Grow Rich, How to Sell Your Way through Life, The Master-Key to Riches, You Can Work Your Own Miracles, and more. Of all his writings though, Outwitting the Devil, for me, is his crowning achievement. I’m not going to waste time trying to convince you that the book’s content will raise your salary a few notches with a promotion or debate if the 'personal development' industry is full of charlatans that prey on people. I found it to be true, that if you master some of the book’s lessons, you can’t help but succeed in all aspects of life, however, at its core, Outwitting the Devil is actually occulted knowledge with a new spin. Many motivational speakers today, tend to shy away from sharing much about the workings of the unseen world when providing personal development advice. They instead focus on the science of behavior change, NLP, goal-setting and brain hacking—all important factors, but still only half of the equation. Hill on the other hand was more open about exploring and working with supernatural forces and entities. He referred to these entities as the great, unseen masters who maintain an eternal school of wisdom. And like a true master, Hill blends his occult knowledge expertly with science about the brain, heredity, and proven laws of the universe, so as not to lose skeptical readers uninterested in what could be misconstrued as spiritual mumbo-jumbo. For me, Hill is the right balance between the science-based motivational speakers and the fluffy law-of-attraction spiritual gurus. Outwitting the Devil is written in an interview format, with the guest of honor being the Devil himself. “Mr. Earth-Bound” is the interviewer, and by using the ‘master key’, Mr. Earth-Bound is able to ask any question of the Prince of Lies and compel him to answer truthfully. The interview forces repetition and elaboration in the Devil’s answers with the intent of exposing the truth behind the mythical entity and what influence the Lord of the Flies has over mankind. The goal being that once the devil’s tricks are exposed, the reader will be free of the creature’s hold and able to grow into the best version of themselves, fulfilling all their goals and dreams. The "interview" was supposedly conducted and written in 1938, however the book was withheld from publication for more than 70 years due to its controversial themes—or at least that’s what the publisher claims. Hill’s wife was the first to ask that the book be suppressed, and after her death, the manuscript changed hands several times before finally making it to the printing press in 2011. Fear of repercussions from the book’s content played a significant role in stopping the book from reaching the masses. It’s ironic that fear was an obstacle in publishing the book, considering the interview reiterates that fear is one of the devil’s greatest tricks. After 288 pages, one might assume the format of simple back and forth Q&A would bore the reader. However, the dialogue is quite engrossing because of the truth it holds. It’s on par to watching a court drama unfold with you being privy to the inner workings of the most diabolical evil in the universe and how its deeds are spread. Despite being written in 1938, the content is still relevant today and the exposes problems of our crumbling public education system, the dangers of dietary choices, and the harm that parents, religious leaders, teachers, and other innocent people perpetrate when they unknowingly spread the devil's message of misery. No one wants to believe that teachers and other good-intentioned adults are wrong in how they conduct themselves. But let's face it, we all know where good intentions lead to... Don’t let talk of god or the devil fool you. This is not a religious book. It’s about understanding human nature and recognizing the hypnotic rhythm of the world around us in order to transform yourself into what you aspire to be. It’s about your will to create and never drifting from your definite purpose in life. If you are the least bit open-minded, pick up this book, or listen to the audio on Youtube (the Devil's voice actor is quite entertaining). Just try to secure an edition that does NOT contain the editor notes from Sharon Lechter. Her annotations at the bottom of sections are pointless spoon-feeding of inferences that any decent reader can make, and it damn-near ruins Hill’s original dialogue. If you can’t find a copy without her commentary, simply ignore her text when it appears. With that said, I hope you decide to come learn the tricks of the devil—not that he's real mind you. Old Scratch is quite clear on the point that he is not what many believe him to be. Instead of having a tail and horns and residing in an underground lair of torture, the devil is actually an energy that is more at home in the unused portion of man’s mind. He is the negative electron in matter, he is the second pillar and, in conjunction with his opposition—the force humans tend to call god—the devil holds up this dimension of reality. Without the Adversary, there would be no universe, as we know it. While all readers can garner entertainment and helpful lessons on how to become successful, this book will really speak to those of you who are still young in their journey of occult knowledge or are looking for something other than just Law of Attraction blogs. When I first started on the path as a western ceremonial magician, this book was quite influential to me. I haven’t read it in years, but at the time I listened to certain chapters over and over again as I drove to work. I found that Hill’s writings reinforced and strengthened lessons and teachings I was studying in the occult sciences. However, you do not have to be a kabbalist or in a Rosicrucian or secret order to receive the benefit of this book. Much like the seven Hermetic Principles, the maxims in Outwitting the Devil will stand the test of time. The difference is that Hill doesn’t code the information as abstractly as alchemical texts do. The message in Outwitting the Devil is not far below the surface, just keep in mind that the lips of wisdom are sealed except to the ears of understanding. Until next time, stay definite and never drift S.C. Mendes is the author of The City and The Lockdown (with Nikki Noir)

Columbine, Black Metal, and Black Heart Boys’ Choir or Why I Wrote about a School Shooting

Guest Blog from Curtis M. Lawson I was one year out of high school when the tragic shooting at Columbine happened. I remember seeing the various news reports, often contradictory and always confused, and seeing grainy footage and photographs of the two boys they were calling the Trench Coat Mafia. The media called them outsiders—black-clad misfits obsessed with heavy music, violent entertainment, and ostracized by the rest of the student body. Reports began to roll in about how badly the two boys were bullied (though this seems to have been exaggerated according to most sources). While most of the country reeled in horror at the terrible crimes those boys committed—at the lives they extinguished—I found myself facing a horror of a more internal nature. I found myself asking, could that have been me? Had I been a few bad days away from that? To explain why such a thought would occur to me, and why it still haunts me to this day, we have to go back a bit. I was a nerdy sensitive child, and I never quite fit in at school. I grew up in a troubled home. My parents fought more than they didn’t, and they both suffered from substance abuse problems. When the time came to start kindergarten, we were living in a pretty bad neighborhood and I was stabbed in the eye with a pencil on my first day. The next day I was beaten up in the bathroom by second graders. This set the tone for most of my academic experience—a constant barrage of bullying and abuse at school. Going home offered little respite. As I said, my parents had a troubled relationship and things were bad more often than they weren’t. When my parents weren’t fighting, they were partying, and the partying always turned back into fighting. Music was my first escape from all the problems I faced at school and at home. When I was years ten years old the one friend I had at school gave me a dubbed cassette of Appetite for Destruction, and everything changed. The music was magic. It was louder than my parents fighting. It was more powerful than the kids who called me names and beat me up. Most importantly, it was angry, and it made me realize how angry I was. From that point on I sought out heavier and more aggressive music. From Guns N’ Roses to Metallica. From Metallica to Slayer. From Slayer to Morbid Angel. And so the trend continued. It wasn’t just about losing myself in music that was louder than my pain. Heavy music was a transformative force in my life. I fell in love with the myth and the legend around it. The fuck you attitude of The Sex Pistols. The satanic power of Slayer. The raw violence of Samhain. I saw a strength in the iconoclasm and the darkness that so many of those bands radiated and I decided that I would emulate that. By the time I was twelve or thirteen I had a clear image in my head of the person I wanted to be—an angry, dangerous young man who embraced darkness and anger. I was in hate with the world, and I wanted to be the bad guy. I wanted to be the monster. Instead of crying over kids jumping me on the way home from school or for how they made me feel stupid and small for the things I liked, I began to fantasize about hurting them back. In my mind, I would run them down with a burning Plymouth Fury or summon hooks and chains from puzzle boxes to flay them. Instead of cowering in my room wishing my parents would sober up and stop fighting, I dreamed of burning down the liquor store where they bought their booze and murdering the drug dealers they hung out with. By the time I reached high school, I was on my way to becoming the monster I wanted to be, at least in my own mind. The nerdy, sensitive kid who let himself get pushed around was gone, and an angry, black metal teenager, ready to set fire to the world had replaced him. My heroes had gone from Stan Lee and Albert Einstein to murderous Scandinavian musicians like Varg Vikernes and Jon Notveidt. I walked around in black leather, reading books on satanism, occultism, fascism—anything I was told I shouldn’t read—trying to make sense of a world that seemed sick and decayed. And I made sure everyone saw me doing so. I was fearless and unapologetic about my unusual ideas and interests, which caused other kids of similar natures to flock to me. There is a certain charisma that comes along with a “no fucks given” attitude, and a magnetism that radiates from arrogant young men who are convinced they have all the answers. I had mastered both of those things. Life was a little better during those years. I still didn’t get along with most of the kids at school, and my home life was messy at best, but I had friends that looked up to me as a leader. I had an identity that I took pride in. Girls who were attracted to the whole bad boy metalhead thing were always nearby and I never wanted for female attention. This didn’t keep me from getting picked on of course. If anything, I made things harder on myself, accentuating how different I was. Everyone else liked rap, so I made damn sure they knew I was into metal and punk. Everyone else partied and smoked weed—I walked around with X’s on my hands. So, of course, the bullying from certain circles intensified. The difference was I fought back now… well, mostly. You see, the thing is, I was still something of a coward, for all my bluster, and I had become something of a bully in my own right. If I thought I could take someone in a fight, or if there were more of my friends than theirs, I would not only stand up for myself, I would do everything in my power to make that person feel as small as they had tried to make me feel. But if I knew that I couldn’t win? I backed down like the nerd I had always been. And that right there— that fear and that feeling of cowardice—bred a deep, dark resentment within my heart. When the toughest kid in school set fire to my hair, I didn’t fight him. Instead, I fantasized about his death a dozen times a day. When he stole the batteries from my Walkman or threw chewed up candy at me, I didn’t stand up for myself. No, I silently pondered ways to murder him. I never actually tried to kill this boy, nor any of the other people who tried their best to make me miserable during high school, but I remember dreaming about it vividly, each and every day. I wanted to end their lives, and I remember considering acting upon that urge. Now as an adult, I wonder how much, or perhaps how little more resentment needed to grow in my heart to push me over that edge. Worse still, I had no real guidance on how to deal with the resentment I felt for those kids at school, for my parents’ shortcomings, and for society at large. Not a single adult seemed capable of offering me any advice beyond bullshit platitudes and I found myself becoming increasingly enraged with the world and increasingly detached from it. So, when Columbine happened, yes, I found myself with a case of sympathy for the devil, and I still do, to a certain extent. I can not express my disgust at the senseless loss of life that occurred at Columbine and the plague of school shootings that have followed, but I also understand the sense of isolation, resentment, and rage that leads young people to do terrible things. I understand the allure of the darkness, and how much easier and more romantic it might seem to go out in a hail of bullets, dragging everyone who has mistreated you down to Hell. For many young people, the world is a place without moorings. They are ships lost at sea, battered by a storm that never ceases, in a night that never ends. The old sea captains never taught them how to navigate, because they themselves are just as lost. Eventually, the storm and darkness become home. That was the case for me, at least, and I know I’m not alone. And that is why I wrote Black Heart Boys’ Choir. Not to romanticize violence, or to make martyrs of shooters, but to examine the terrible circumstances that can lead troubled young people to commit monstrous acts. Why do so many young men feel so isolated and resentful? How do they fall through the cracks? I firmly believe that no law or legislation will fix the plague of violence that has beset our society, not until we sit down and address the root of the problem. Do I have all the answers? Of course not. I’m not saying I have any, but I hope I’ve asked some of the right questions and nudged the conversation forward. And if you’re an angry young person reading this—if you are in hate with the world and filled with resentment—I promise that you aren’t as alone as you think you are, and things will get better if you give them time. Learn more about Curtis M. Lawson and his book Black Heart Boys' Choir ... And stay tuned for Part 2 of this Guest Blog!

CRASH CODE - Edited by Q. Parker

The future is here. And it's horrifying! Over the last few months, I’ve received some great recommendations on cyberpunk books, but I haven’t been able to get into any of them. Not even Philip K. Dick and The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch could penetrate my reading slump. Part of the problem was just my busy schedule recently. My time for both reading and writing has been limited to short, sporadic pockets of time, and that’s not a good way to enjoy a novel--or write one (BTW, for those of you waiting on the sequel to Watchers, here's what I got so far). Anyway, I gave up on cyberpunk…until I got an ARC of Crash Code, that is. The anthology was just what I needed to propel me into the science fiction sub-genre. Don’t let contributing authors like Kristopher Triana and John McNee scare you into thinking this is an extreme horror anthology. Yes, Crash Code is infused with a healthy dose of horror elements, but at its core it’s cyberpunk, stories exploring the depths of the depravity we’re willing to let technology drag us into. Anthologies can be very hit or miss for me. I start a ton and usually give up after three dud stories in a row--sometimes four if I know the author or press and am trying to like it. With limited word counts, it take a strong writer to make an effective short story. The authors of Crash Code were able to build engaging worlds of new technology in just a few pages, as well as dynamic characters I cared about. There were only one or two that left unsatisfied. And each story gave my something to contemplate long after it was done. Of course, there’s futuristic sex dolls and self-driving cars, which are par for any sci-fi book, but there are also disturbing new themes like deep fake technology, advances in medicine that come at a price, loss of privacy online, the dangers of legalizing certain drugs. Unlike most horror stories which I figure can't possibly happen to me, science fiction is unfolding around me every day, when I'm tempted to go more digital, turn over more of myself to the grid, and I have to be prepared to handle the repercussions of these choices. I realized that perhaps this anthology isn’t set as far int the future as one might think. We live in a world of increased connectivity and yet still face a problem with isolation and fear of true human interaction. We’re only a step away from the dystopian societies portrayed in the book, and I’m scared we could wake up tomorrow and find ourselves living in the fall of humanity. The worst of all is the type of media technology they have. Do you understand how crazy things can get? If you think Fake News is bad now, just wait. A situation like Orson Wells' War of the Worlds could be faked again, but this time, with special effects available, how would you know it's wasn't real unless you had contact with the part of the world where said events happened. The dark Illuminati powers could work together and convince everyone that something has happened even when it hasn’t. Like that Robert De Niro movie, Wag the Dog. There is so much fake news and propaganda how can anyone really know…? In an anthology like this, it’s hard to pick favorites. But a few that stood out for their uniqueness to me were: "A silent Auction"; Aaron Thomas Milstead had a short but powerful concept on the futuristic practice of ‘owning words’. "Little Neon" by Morgan Cheflant is a beautiful piece of flash fiction. And "Mr. Companion" is a cool love-doll concept. K. Trap Jones, Daniel I. Russell, Luciano Murano, and Dean H. Wild all brought in notable dark pieces and are all authors I have enjoyed other books from too. Rather than try to break down individual stories, I will just say that overall, I give Crash Code 4.5 stars out of 5! With 27 stories, there will always be one or two you don’t connect with—luckily, that’s about all there was for me—but the bulk will be a blast for science fiction and horror fans alike. Visit Redrum Reviews on Facebook, where I’ll be giving away my paperback ARC next week! Or you can get a copy here.

Black Celebration Teaser - Part I

The second book in the Black Planet series, and sequel to Watchers of the Black Rite **Note I'm sharing my WIP for readers, friends, and fans to enjoy. It's as a sneak peek to the story and behind the scenes of how I write for those interested. These are first drafts so don't be surprised to find a few typos, it's meant to be fun, not the final product. In The Beginning I “It’s so big,” Claire said. Brian gave a stoned chuckle and passed the joint. “Yeah. It’s infinite.” Claire took a slow hit of the joint and held it in, watching the stars above, wondering how something could be infinite. Her stoned mind search its memory banks for facts and questions heard over the years . The universe is everything that exists. It’s bigger than you can imagine, because we can only observe ten percent of the universe. That is comparable to only seeing a single atom of an entire human being. The universe is expanding…but if the universe is everything, what’s it expanding into? “Fuck…” she whispered. That kind of thinking made her head hurt. She released a big plume of smoke, watching it dissipate into the clear night sky. “Fuck is right,” Brian said, taking the joint back and extinguishing it on the side of his old truck. They were on a blanket in the truck bed and, for a moment, with the weed on her brain and her eyes filled with the stars, Claire felt a tingle of hope. Despite all life’s bullshit, there was an entire universe of opportunity for her; not just a shitty trailer with her Granddad in the middle of fuck nowhere. There was money and excitement. Like the stars, it was out, just there waiting for her to arrive. Brian was also on his back gazing upward. “They say there are over 100 billion galaxies in the observable universe.” “How do they know that?” “Science,” he said. “What it means though is: People ain’t shit. Mankind is just an advanced species of ape; we still fuck to survive.” “Must you say it like that?” Claire looked over at him. As dangerous as hope could be, it would be nice to be in awe of the universe for one night; believe that maybe there’s still some magic out there to help her. Not get dragged into another one of Brian’s weird, depressing convos. “You’ve become such a nihilist.” “You say ‘nihilist’ as if it’s a bad thing.” “Well, you’ve been on this nihilist kick since just before graduation, and so far, believing that life is meaningless has not helped our situation.” “It can though. You’re just looking at it the wrong way.” He sat up and moved into a cross-legged position. “Think of it this way instead. If there’s no point to life, we can do anything we want. We can give it any meaning we want, and, we can’t be wrong.” His voice held a preacher-esque quality to it. “It’s empowering, not depressing.” Annoyed at having her buzz killed yet again, Claire sat up, and decided to use the opportunity to finally call Brian out on this bullshit. She leaned toward him, and said, “Then prove that it can help us.” “Well,” he said coyly. “There is something I’ve been meaning to show you. Been waiting for the right time; maybe this is it.” Under the bright moon, his eyes were dark pools of shadow, and the smile spreading below was filled with ecstasy. “I knew it. All this time, these stupid talks—just come forward and tell me rather than dropping hints. Your hints suck.” “It’s a website. I can’t really explain it; you gotta see it to really understand.” “A website. I swear, if this ends up being a sex thing… remember that time you were acting all mysterious, trying to bring up those squirting videos because they were ‘fascinating’, but really you just wanted to—” “First off, you ended up having a good time.” Brian smirked, pointing a finger at her, and Claire blushed remembering the thrilling fear she’d felt at some of the things they tried that night. “Second, this isn’t a sex site…well, not really.” She exaggerated a face of weary disbelief. He scooted back and leaned against the truck’s cab. “It isn’t a sex thing. I promise. Please come to my place. I’ve been wanting to show you, but … you’re right, I didn’t know how to bring it up… these talks were my best attempt.” “I can’t tonight. Granddad is gonna kick me out if I miss curfew and we don’t have much time.” “It’ll be quick. Besides, you’re eighteen. “Grandad don’t care. And, I don’t have anywhere else to live, do I?” Brian glared at her inflection. “Fuck him,” he said. “That’s why you need to check out this website. It’s time we embrace the suck.” “I was pretty sure embracing the suck was what the weed is for.” “We recognize the suck. The weed helped with that. If we learned to embrace the suck of life though, then we can become like Gods, unstoppable in every way.” There was so much passion in his words, and even though she feared where it was leading, she had so many questions. He’d been so fucking weird these last three months, secretive, and now he was ready to spill it. How could see not agree? Even if it meant missing curfew, what if Brian was right and it could help them. That tingle of hope again began to register inside her gut again. She sighed. Life had a tendency to blind-side you when you let hope cloud your judgement. She prayed she was making the right choice. “Fine. What exactly is the site?” ******* “Are you a burner?” Claire read the title on the webpage. An hour later, sitting in his room, Claire realized she’d never paid much attention to Brian’s computer set-up. It looked like something from a hacker movie. He had two screens set up next to each other and all sorts of gadgets under the computer desk—the desk height was adjustable. This all had to be new. At least she hoped it was. She was too embarrassed to ask though. She didn’t want to sound like a forgetful stoner. Or that she really only came over for weed and sex and couldn’t care less about his belongings. “Yep,” Brian said, “The World-Burner’s Forum. Embrace the suck.” “It looks like some old-ass Craigslist shit.” “Well, we’re not using chrome here,” Brian said. “This is the deep web. Things are built for function more than appearance.” “Deep web?” she whispered. “Isn’t that for criminals? Is World Burners some psycho club for pyromaniacs?” “Not psychos, but we are pyros… in a way.” He typed furiously, then scooted his chair over so she had room to get closer. “And it’s not just for criminals. The deep web is the last free and private market left in the world.” He handed her the mouse. Claire scrolled over the forum threads and looked at him. “Free market, huh?” She turned back to read the titles out loud. “Masterbating in a tub with peanut butter? I have a desire to eat a human? I am addicted to marrying men with grown children and living out stepmom rape fantasies—Brian, what the fuck is this shit?” “It’s every dark desire anyone has ever had. Members can discuss fetishes, and hire each other for videos, live engagements, whatever.” “Hire each other? This is what nihilist do? You’re saying members actually pay for the bathtub, masterbation peanut butter from that thread?” “Yes. That's what I'm saying. You can buy the peanut butter, you can probably buy MP4s of the act, I bet you could even purchase a live session so you can video chat with the freak while they masturbate. You can sell anything you want. And unlike the internet you know, there is privacy down here.” “It’s…I don’t believe—” “There’s a lot you probably don’t believe. But that doesn’t make it untrue.” He swiveled her chair to face him. “Listen to me; it is time to wake up. The slaughterhouse of indoctrination is worse than we could have ever thought when we were in high school. Now that school is out, I can see even clearer.” The fervor was flooding into his voice again. “There are some facts we need to face up to. You know that one saying: You are a ghost driving a meat-covered skeleton made of stardust living on a rock flying through space? It's true.” “How high are you right now?” “Humans are not special. Think about it. Every organism on earth is adapted to the environment they live in. Humans seem divine to religious nuts because on the surface, humans look like we don’t belong. As if we’re special compared to all the other creatures. It's because of our advanced minds, this ability to think makes us falsely believe we are unique souls sent from a benevolent god.” Against her better judgement, Claire was snared by his passion. “The mind is the proof though that we're not. It is the greatest evolutionary tool that any species has ever seen. Earth probably hasn’t seen so great a leap since monkeys got opposable thumbs. Fucking game changer this brain is. It allows humans to live anywhere. Other organisms have to adapt to their environment. We’re the first species to have evolved vice versa. We can adapt the environment to us, do all this epic shit and yet, we’re still fucking animals. Animals kill each other over territory, power, and sexual mates. We do the same thing.” Claire was no longer snared by the passion alone. His words were starting to strike a chord inside her. It still sounded crazy, but it was making more sense. “Like a growing ant colony, we went from single families, to tribes, then grew to states and finally to nations. But it’s always an animal hierarchy to manage our herd numbers and perpetuate a species. And the alphas always get the best resources. From the queen bee in the hive to the top CEO in a corporation. The lowest members of the tribe or pack always get the scraps; the worse of picks of food, mates, resources.” Brian thumbed his chest. “I’m tired of bottom-shelf living. I want the best.” “I want a beer.” Claire wasn’t sure what all this was leading to, but the intensity of the conversation had triggered light waves of anxiety. She'd already come down from the weed high and could really use something to take the edge off. Even though she didn’t love beer, she knew it would calm her. Brian rolled his chair over to the mini fridge in the corner next to his bed and pulled out two cans of Budweiser. He placed one in her hand and then cracked his own open and took a sip. Claire followed suite, thankful for the cold burn that went down her throat. “Okay,” she said, allowing the beer to calm the situation. “So what is your point on how this helps us? I'm not going online to roleplay stepmom rape porn for some old man.” She was hoping the comment would lighten the intensity, but Brian didn’t laugh and that unnerved her more. His face wasn’t upset though, it just seemed to hold a great reverence for what was about to be said. “In life there is always a struggle for resources. The haves and have nots. They feed on each other in a parasitic way. They need each other in a twisted, perverse way. When any population gets too big though, and the have nots grow to unmanageable proportions, Mother Nature wipes them out. She thins the herd; not in hatred, but out of necessity.” It sounded crazy, and yet his voice was serious. His eyes unblinking and convinced. “I don’t know what all this means. What are you getting at?” “Mother Nature is culling mankind at the moment. That's for sure. But there are also certain…we’ll call them societies, agendas… out there, that are orchestrating their own reaping of the population.” “Reaping?” Claire guzzled beer. It wasn’t working fast enough. “Like a genocide?” “Yes. Governments around the globe work together to wage both open and secret genocides; the most well-known type is war. A government can give whatever false motive and propaganda they want to the public. But at the core a driving motivator of war is being able to exterminate millions with a good war, while simultaneously subduing others and boosting national moral. There are other elite, man-made methods, even more devious than war, used to keep humans in check.” Brian looked at her with that intense stare. “There are also, organic methods used by nature. Everything in life is cyclical, and when mother nature needs to thin a herd or wipe out a species, she has her own ways. Famine, disease, natural disasters… Humans have passed their apex on the current cycle; we’re on the decline from a beautiful mix of both the man-made and natural culling as a whole, so you better get ready for things to get worse, before they get better. Who knows how long the ensuing depression will last before the next rise of humanity. If we get better and rise again. Maybe we’ll just go extinct.” “I knew it,” Claire said, the passion no longer holding her. “This was just another excuse to be depressing and nihilistic. Do you hear yourself? Is your mom home?” “That’s one of the perks of paying rent. I can say what I want in my room.” He pointed at her beer. “I can do what I want.” “Well I don’t want to sit here and be reminded every day that the world is slowly dying and humans are shit. You know what I wanted tonight? I just wanted to get high, have sex, and get home before curfew. Most guys would kill for that. But you gotta have this stick up your ass all the time now.” There were a million things she had to worry about, but she did not want to face the possibility that she was losing Brian. He might have lost his mind now, but he was all she really had in this fucked-up world. Would she be able to break up with him if she had to? “Let’s be burners. Please. We’ll make millions. Ride out the apocalypse on top.” He pointed at the computer screen. “Let these freaks accept the culling blade; we’ll be one of the untouchable elites. That's what I want for us.” Claire’s voice was low. “This is unbelievable. You think we’re gonna make millions selling spunk peanut butter to a few freaks on the dark web?” “You have no idea how many freaks are out there looking to spend money. And yes, if we do this smart, we’ll make millions. Instagramer Delphine Quinn sold bottles of her bath water for $30 a pop. Scarlett Johansson blew her nose on Jay Leno's talk show, put the tissue into a ziplock bag and signed it; it was auctioned off for $5,300.” Claire stared at him, but couldn’t articulate a response. “I read about a scientist named John B. Calhoun. He found that when a species gets over-populated, they experience a ‘behavioral sink’, meaning they get fucked-up. Overcrodwing in rats experiments lead to murderous attacks and vicious sexual assaults among the rodents. Humans in crowded cities do the same thing, and now adays we have lots of vices other than murder and sex we can sink into. This is where you and I come in; we can get rich off giving the freaks of society what they want. We’ll get to be the alphas of the society, for the remainder of our existence. Which is good, because there ain’t nothing after this. “We came out of the primordial slime and we will melt back into it. Everything will. Everybody wants the good life because when you’re dead. You’re dead. Winked out of existence of 100 billion galaxies that don’t give a fuck. Like us stepping on an ant. Society gives meaning, religion gives meaning, but when you’re a highly self-aware ape like you and me, you realize something is wrong. When we look close enough, we can see the madness. All this—” Brian raised his arms—“It’s just a game. Someone else’s game. I say we learn the rules of the game and take advantage to better our lives. Let the rats have their bread and circus. We can live out our fantasies together and make millions doing it. Cause this is our one life. We must enjoy everything.” The silence after such a heavy speech felt strange. “What do you think?” he asked. “Got another beer?” Brian sighed but gave her another beer. “Please be serious.” “Is this serious? Because I can’t tell anymore.” She cracked the can open. “Very serious. I want to get out of the rat race.” “I don’t think this is the way.” “Just think for a second. What’s your plan for finding success in life? I don’t wanna sound like Mr. Patcher, but what are you planning on doing with yourself now that high school is over? Is there something you’re working for? A major accomplishment? A family with 2.5 kids and a dog?” “Not really.” Claire couldn’t even image a version of herself past twenty-one. And twenty-one was only three years away. Other people talked about knowing their passion from an early age, but Claire never had that epiphany. “How long do you have to find a job before old grandad kicks you out?” “The end of next week, thanks a lot for reminding me.” “Well, it’s reality. Where you wanna work?” “Everywhere I look sucks. I don’t want a shit job.” “And yet you need to live.” “Fuck, you’re an asshole. Take me home.” “Can’t.” Brian smiled. “Been drinking.” She glared at him. “I’m not saying all this to make you mad. I’m dead serious and I truly believe this is the only way to save your life. Let me share the whole plan with you. No interruptions; just listen with an open mind. The Burners gave me the philosophy; now I’m ready to pull the trigger. And I want you to come along for the ride. If you want… I can’t unsee this truth anymore. This last few months since my eyes have been opened were miserable. I have to embrace the suck now…with or without you.” It was like a morbid marriage proposal. Join Brian’s rebellion or conform to the life of a pissant. Claire’s memories went off like fireworks. All the shit she’d been through. The lessons it’d taught her. She knew the world was fucked by sophomore year of high school. That’s probably what attracted her to Brian. But back then, ‘the suck of life’ was their unspoken bond. The drugs and sex were a fun way to mask the questions and absurdity of it all. Now Brian was forcing her to confront the truth; he was asking her take off the last part of the mask, yank away the final adhesive parts of the band aid keeping her together. Claire looked at her cell phone; she was gonna be late for curfew anyway. “Tell me the plan.” “No interruptions. Open mind.” “This is your only chance.” Brain smiled. II Provost dunked the teabag a few times, then wrapped it around his spoon and squeezed. Across from him, Nathan blew steam off his own teacup and took a guarded sip. “You always made a good cup of tea, Provost.” “Surely, you didn’t travel three hundred miles for my earl grey?” “Surely.” Nathan took another sip, then put the cup on the plate saucer. He uncrossed his legs and reached down to the briefcase on the floor beside his chair. Opening the case, he retrieved two large photos and slid them across the tabletop to Provost. “These pictures were taken in Northern Arizona. Can you identify this structure?” Provost studied the photos. His stomach tightened, but he kept emotion from his face. “You know I can.” Nathan flashed his signature grin, ungenuine at best. “We know each so well. How about we cut to the chase?” “Please,” Provost said, taking his first taste of the tea. “Under the circumstances, I’m dying to know why you are requesting this counsel.” “You act as if I shun you, old brother. I have no ill will toward you or the other fraters and sorores. My path just branched in a different direction. I… I needed more than the order could provide.” “More? Interesting choice of words...” “What difference does it make? We were cutting to the chase, remember?” “Of course,” Provost said. “Do you want the opportunity to study it?” “You still working for the CIA? Or is it the NSA—” “That’s classified.” Nathan’s unemotional grin churned his stomach. “Do you want to study it? Yes or no?” “What would I be agreeing to if I say yes?” “You travel to a national park in a tiny town called Shale. There’s a whole underground complex in the woods. Totally undiscovered…until now. We’ve barely scratched the surface though. Radar located it, then we tunneled into this chamber via a ranger’s cabin. You’ll stay on site and assist us in…research and development projects.” “Why would I want to work for the government?” “Cause it’s a once in a lifetime offer, Provost.” Nathan leaned forward, excitement burning in his eyes. “Never in our wildest dreams at the academy did we ever think we’d get this close.” He took a breath, calming the passion in his face. He voice was even again. “Think of it as a beautiful symbiotic relationship. My organization will grant you full access to the structure and equip you with whatever you need for your research. In return, you will report all findings to me. Everything. As long as you keep me in the loop to your experiments and findings, then Uncle Sam bankrolls your playtime.” Provost let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. A million outcomes raced through his mind. “I told myself I had no more desire left to experiment with the veil. Told the grandmaster, I was done.” “How can any of us retire when we know so much? You and I have always thirsted for more; now you have a chance to slake that thirst.” “You know how I feel about your government ties. Why come to me? There are plenty of thirsty occultists out there to choose from.” “I’m smart enough to know when I need the help of someone smarter. You were the best pupil at the temple. Besides asking the members of the supreme council, you’re the only one who stands a chance deciphering the potential of this relic.” Nathan put the tea down and leaned forward. “The G-men are in control one way or another. If you refuse my invitation, they go with their first choice. And if ends up being a poor fit, then the whole thing gets fucked. So…come aboard?” Provost gave a sad smile and nodded. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” “Figures it would align this way,” Provost said, attempting to appreciate the duality of the situation. “God does have a sick sense of humor, does he not?” “I’ll need assistants.” “I can have—” “My choosing,” Provost said. “If it’s a once in a lifetime deal, I need a team that won’t botch it.” “Deal. You get two teammates.” Nathan handed a business card to him. “Plane leaves in four days. Eight a.m. sharp. If you’re late, the offer is reneged.” Provost took the card. “Agreed.” ***** “Master Provost, it’s good to see you.” Mathias stepped back from the door to welcome him inside. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” “Of course.” Mathias hung his mentor’s coat on the rack. “It’s been a long time since we spoke. Come. Let us sit in the study. It sounds as if we have much to discuss.” “Not much.” Provost allowed the pain to show in his face. “Just a single question. The answer though…” Mathias nodded in silence, then lead the way into the house. He seated Provost beside the fireplace, then attended the bar. He returned shortly with a glass of brandy for each of them. “Perhaps this will help.” “Aye.” Provost sipped the brandy, savoring its smooth burn. “Time is of the essence so I must be brief. An Oolak has been discovered in Northern Arizona. From what I can tell in pictures, the structure is complete.” Mathias’s eyes grew with eager excitement. “How was this found?” “That’s debatable, I’m sure. Regardless of who first found it, the Oolak is now under the control of some ghost ops military faction. And somehow Nathan Bowers is connected to the military operation. When he realized they had discovered the only complete Oolak in known existence, he contacted me.” “Frater Bowers… I know little of that brother, only that he had been excommunicated. “As much as it disturbs me to have to work with him since the grand lodge ruling, I can’t pass up this opportunity.” “So what’s the one question you’ve got for me?” Provost took a deep breath. “I am allowed two assistants. I could think of no one better than you and Ithica. Yet it pains me to ask. I know that if you say yes, your life will change significantly.” “Is Frater Owens all that bad?” “It’s debatable,” Provost said, sipping the brandy. His eyes narrowed. “Regardless of his influence, the shadow government that he supports is no joke. Once they realize what they have, they will stop at nothing to understand the Oolak. We will become expandable in comparison to their greater good.” “You’re not exactly selling me here, old friend.” “I’m not trying to. A part of me hopes you’ll decline…if that’s what you truly want. I just…” Provost shook his head. “It is a once in a lifetime chance. And I didn’t want you to find out one day and think I kept an opportunity from you. There was a time when piercing the veil was all you and I discussed. Now, with the wisdom you’ve acquired in the last few years since, you can decide on your own if it’s worth it.” “If this choice comes with such a hefty price, how are you reconciling the sacrifice?” “Whatever knowledge is gained through this technology, it will change the world. We…” he lowered his voice. “I want to be a part of the explorers who travel through the void. I also pledge to convey the acquired knowledge back to the order. I may not always follow the path. But it is important that the revelations of the Oolak be preserved by all sides.” “We’re scientists at heart,” Mathias said. “And scientists are usually mercenaries to whoever will fund their beliefs. At least you’ve put a noble twist on it. How can I say no to changing the world? One question: Do you at least have a plan for when we become expendable?” “I do.” Provost smiled and could see the confidence fill Mathias. “Can you be ready to depart tomorrow morning?” “Yes.” “Good. I will visit Ithica while you prepare.” “Now, about that escape plan…” ******* The chilling air and the crowds keep Provost alert despite the fatigue that was threatening to numb his senses. The two days following Nathan Bower’s visit were the busiest he could remember in at least a decade. His home in Ojai, California was far behind and now he was in downtown Salem, Oregon, surprised by the crowds of young punks and hipsters. They drank coffee curbside, while dogs lounged on the patios of micro-breweries, and instead of cigarettes and hookahs, they puffed from electronic devices. In a way, it reminded him of Berkeley in the 60s, in a twisted and dystopian way. Yet for all the world had changed, it was mostly the exact same as it’d always been, for five or six thousand years of recorded history. Provost checked the address on his phone, then looked at the floral shop on his left. 1592 E. Winder. He was getting closer. Provost smiled as he saw the sandwich board just ahead. Ithica’s Apothecary & Psychic. He opened the wooden door and inhaled the shop’s air, a mixture of incense, candlewax, and peppermint. The narrow walkways were clear, but the shelves and counters were cluttered with various books, stones, and esoteric knick-knacks. He chuckled at a few book titles, new-age guru garbage as far as he was concerned. But Ithica did not let him down. Beyond the new age, there was a nice mix of manuscripts by true path workers. Eliphias Levi, Madame Batovasky, Manly P. Hall, Alister Crowley. Further down the aisle, a locked glass case held a few early treasures from the renaissance. At first, he was shocked they’d even be for sale. Then, seeing the price tag of one to be over a thousand dollars, he felt a bit better. From behind him came a low voice, “I had a feeling it might be you.” How could a voice be so strong and still so gentle? “I should hope so,” Provost said, turning around. “Otherwise you’d be a pretty crappy psychic.” “Shut up and give me a hug.” Ithica opened her arms and they embraced. Her earthy smell of tea leaves brought all the memories back. As if called up from the soil by her goddess presence, the ancient seeds of memory containing their pathworking years together blossomed in his mind. He pulled away and smiled at her. “Look at us. I’ve hidden myself away for so long in the California forests, that now I stick out like a sore thumb around here. And who would have thought the mighty high priestess Ithica, would own a hippie-gypsy shop selling readings? Is this what happens to old occultists?” “Not me, Provost. I hung readings up. A young girl rents out the back room for readings three days a week.” Provost could imagine a young girl eager to learn and work with a true occultist. He felt like a young man again now. Ithica’s scent and touch had transported him back nearly thirty years. He was twenty-nine and she was barely eighteen. “You look wonderful,” he said. “I wish I could say the same for you.” Ithica ran a hand down the arm of his jacket. “I’ll lock up and we’ll chat.” She flipped the open sign around, then locked the door, drawing a bamboo shadow down over the glass. “Come.” Provost followed her to the back of the store, through a beaded doorway, and into a small sitting room. A circular wooden table, with beautiful engravings of planetary sigils dominated the center of the room and they sat across from each other. “I look that bad, huh?” “You look tired.” He pointed to a beat-up deck of cards on the table. “I thought you gave up readings?” “I don’t sell readings anymore.” She flashed a smile. “But I’ll never stop looking to the cards for guidance. That’s how I had a feeling it might be you. They sensed that an old associate would be returning in need of help.” “Old and helpless associate, and you had a feeling it might be me. I’m flattered.” “You should be. I’m actually glad it was you.” The smile lines around her lips and eyes were magnificent. He recalled the excitement he’d felt when she had come around the house, asking about the order. In just the fifteen years since they last spoke there was a new beauty around her, it was an effortless and powerful beauty compared to her youthful days. “Did the tarot give you any advice on how to handle the situation.” “All I know is that there is a dark struggle in the near future for one of us. I need more information before my sight can strengthen.” “Guess we better get to it then.” Provost straightened up. “I'm here to ask if you would you be my high priestess again?” Ithica’s eyes and mouth grew at the question, but it took almost a minute for her to speak. “While a part of me would love to, that life is not me anymore.” Provost looked around at the apothecary shop. “You could have fooled me.” “What I mean is. I own a business now. I sell the information so others may find their way. The only energy work I do now is for my own personal growth and survival. I do not want to join a chapter or other organization.” “I understand and respect that. Well, thank you, Itihca. I wish I could stay longer, but I’m on a tight schedule. And now that I know you answer, I’ll be off. Maybe we can have dinner when things free up.” He stood. “You retired long before I did, why do you even need a high priestess?” Provost didn’t want to answer. Ithica had already indicated her position; she was done with pursuing the void. Telling her about the Oolak, would entice her and possibly change her mind and he didn’t have that right. She had said no. And yet he couldn’t force himself to walk away. “Provost?” “Sorry.” He hesitated a moment longer, then, “There’s been a discovery… An Oolak.” “Oolak? It’s a myth.” “I’ve seen it.” She shook her head. “I thought you’d been secluded in that Ojai mansion. How could you possibly find this—” “Do you remember Frater Bowers?” “Not really.” “He left in the order in the early 90s. Started working for the government. I don’t know the whole backstory. All I know is he showed up on my doorstep with photographs of an Oolak structure, complete according to ancient descriptions. He also had an offer for me. Assemble a two-person team interested in having full access to the stone. Everything is paid for by Uncle Sam.” “What’s the catch?” “That had been my question as well.” Provost smiled, then thought how to phrase it. “Slavery,” he said, happy that he was brave enough to tell the truth, despite how selfishly he wanted Ithica to come on board. “I must be level with you. Even though we have free reign from the government to experiment, they will expect reports from us, they will be watching us, we will have top-secret information and if they decide we’re a risk… They’ll terminate our agreement. We're at their mercy.” Ithica looked at her deck. “Sounds like the cards were right.” “I understand your answer. Please don’t blame me for trying.” “If it weighs so heavy on you, why are you agreeing to this Frater’s deal?” “Same reason why you’re still a bit curious even though you’ve said no.” Provost looked at the beaded curtain. “The itch never entirely left me,” he said. “I know the risks. I have an exit plan. I want to say I tried one last time. If it fails, then I’m okay with those consequences too.” “How good is the exit plan?” “Debatable,” he said, eager hope rekindled. “I’m open to suggestions and amendments. He looked at his watch. “But we don’t have a lot of time. Our plane leaves in thirty-six hours.” The struggle on her face was brief. “Fine. Let’s talk while I pack…just in case I decide to join you.” She winked. “Thanks, Ithica.” ******* “The car will be here in ten minutes.” Mathias checked his phone app. “Once we step in that car, the game is on,” Provost said. “If we can make certain that surveillance is unable to function in the presence of the stone, then we may speak freely. But other than that—"he drew his hand across his throat, menacingly. Mathias and Ithica responded with the identical sign. Then they gathered their luggage and stepped outside to wait in the driveway. Part II of the Sequel to Watchers of the Black Rite will be posted in 2020 Start the adventure here and get Redrum Review updates on the Facebook page and newsletter.

School's Out

Guest Blog by S.C. Mendes “Men (people) are rarely aware of the real reasons which motivate their actions.” Beyond inspiration for my journey into YA horror, this line from Edward Bernays's Propaganda is one of many quotes on the walls of my classroom. I tell myself these philosophical nuggets of wisdom get the students thinking, but who knows if that’s true. As I reflect back on my own high school years, it’s clear I didn’t put much thought into the origins of my actions. Perhaps I thought I knew my motivations; thought that every action I took was a desire born of my free will. An external expression of my unique individuality; the clothing I wore, the movies I watched, the music and friends I surrounded myself with. And to a degree, they were my choosing, especially since I had a somewhat decent understanding of marketing and how the mainstream masses were danced from one hip trend to another to the tune of huge corporate profit. After all, I’d seen They Live by senior year, so I could easily reject the system. I was a part of the great Southern Trend Kill; I was separate from the herd. In truth though, being outside of the mainstream box only traps you inside a slightly bigger box; it does not mean you have broken free from the system. In fact, as long as a person is living in the earth dimension, I’m not sure they can ever break free entirely. Even a silent and celibate monk lives in a monastery that is subjected to the laws of the country in which it’s built. The inability to sever completely from all society is not a bad thing though. And once you understand the laws that govern the universe, as well as our minds, you can use the knowledge to freely create any type of life you want—monk or millionaire and every lifestyle between and beyond. Decide what you want, use the laws to align yourself, and be willing to pay the price for the life you desire; it should be noted that the price does not always come in the form of money. I’ve had some amazing discussions with Nikki about this topic of motivation and what causes humans to think and act as they do. She wrote an amazing blog about it last year, pointing out that, to an extent, everyone is in a cult and their actions are guided by the belief system of that cult. We were either born into one or we choose one as we aged. That’s why it’s called 'culture'. And each one of us has been brainwashed by our own cult. Before revealing what all this has to do with our co-authored book, I should explain 'brainwashed' isn’t the best word choice actually. A more accurate description may be that we are born as human computers ready to download an operating systems and begin life. The program we download is created through a mix of nature (genes) and nurture (environment) and how we interpret the events of early childhood. This individualized program or paradigm is adapting and evolving every day for the first six or seven years of life, based on the data from everything we see, hear, and feel. And at this young age, we are unable to question the validity or usefulness of this data being input to the hard drive of our brain. Our neo-cortex's aren't mature enough for the kind of logical evaluation that would require. Instead, our subconscious minds accept the data as absolute truth and integrates it into the child's perspective of life. As the neo-cortex grows and logical thinking begins, this initial operating program slips deeper and deeper into the background, to free up brain space so we can focus on learning new things; and of course, this new information is subconsciously judged and weighed against the absolute truth of our paradigm. Even though the paradigm is below a conscious level of awareness, it controls 90% of a human's actions and reactions in life. As we age, the program becomes us. Our life, our cult. I may have oversimplified a bit in my analogy, but how much neural-plasticity science can you accurately explain in a 1,200 word blog? A better question to focus on is: do you know who or what programmed you? And if you don’t like the program, would you know how to wipe it clean and insert a new one? Furthermore you may still be wondering what the hell this have to do with that disturbing book cover. Well...when I began to understand the true genius of the brain and the motivation of my actions on many levels, the knowledge was life changing for me. As my life improved, I searched for ways to slip these concepts into my daily lesson plans for students. I thought why not. Schools are finally starting to recognize the benefit of teaching subjects like mindfulness, neural plasticity and the power of mental visualizations and positive affirmations. These subjects and many like it are designed to reprogram habits, faulty programs/paradigms locked deep in our subconscious; they’re designed to make a person happier and bring forth the life they desire. And isn’t that the goal of high school, prepare for the successful life you have chosen? So, up went the quote from Edward Bernays as well as gems from Plato to Winnie the Pooh. I knew I couldn’t teach them anything, as Galileo once said. But perhaps I could guide them in finding the truth within themselves. Now to The Lockdown... After the 2019-2020 school year, I am stepping away from public education. I make this attempt at retirement every few semesters only to return for another contracted year—I’m still a slave to my own programming, after all. But this time it’s different; this time I'm really leaving. I won’t be losing my classroom though; it will simply be transferred into my literary career. And The Lockdown, despite beginning a manuscript I started back in 2014, will be my first course in fear aimed directly at teenagers. Nikki came up with the great line that it’s horror "strong enough for an adult, but made for a teen." The short novel is about fear itself. It explores our brains, how thinking is molded on a subconscious level, and the horror that can unfold when this knowledge is used against people, either knowingly or unknowingly. It plays with concepts of social constructs and unseen methods—though hidden in plain sight—that guide all human actions. It’s about memetics and how fear can go viral in the instantaneous world of the internet. It’s why Joseph Goebbels explained that a lie repeated enough times will become the truth. “It would not be impossible to prove with sufficient repetition and a psychological understanding of the people concerned that a square is in fact a circle. They are mere words, and words can be molded until they clothe ideas and disguise.” Despite the front cover, there is NO school shooting in the book—though I have a feeling that this first edition cover will eventually be forced to go the way of the naked ladies artwork on The City—but like many aspects of life, the book will be intense and brutal. In The Lockdown a diabolical idea has germinated. Like a virus, it will spread across the student body of Courtland High School. From there, it will affect the community, then the state. And if left unchecked, there is no telling where its sphere of influence will end. Nikki came on to the project this year and has assisted me in switching the main character from my original version to something I think will resonate with many more readers. Bernays said: “The public is not cognizant of the real value of education and does not realize that education as a social force is not receiving the kind of attention it has the right to expect in a democracy.” Maybe they’ll start to see the light after this. Consider this the warning bell; class is about to start. Find your seats and grab your textbook!

First Time with the King

The Long Walk is my first experience reading Stephen King. From my time in horror groups and blogs, it seems like you either love the author or you hate him. I’ve heard his endings suck and the movies are almost always better than the book. But why would he continue to be a best-selling author if he just regurgitated the same plots over and over. Then again, I do trust Family Guy from time to time... Since I consider the extremely limited time I have to read and write sacred, the worst thing I can imagine is wasting it on a looong book that disappoints. Hence my apprehension to read anything by Stephen King. But, after being cajoled by many friends, I took a look at his extensive category and settled on The Long Walk. After all, I’m working on a graphic YA novel with my mentor, so we figured it was a good idea to read a graphic YA novel by one of the masters—not sure if everyone considers it YA, but it made a list of top 100 teen dystopias by the American Library Association. My first reaction: the ending sucked! Then I paused and tried to give it some deep reflection and…it almost pains me to say this, but the ending is perfect for the story. It’s just not the ending I wanted, lol. Let’s make something clear though, I still have a few bones to pick with Mr. King. WARNING* I will drop one spoiler below, but if you’re good with that, read on… So what is the Long Walk? It’s a competition set in a dystopian America, where almost everything appears to be the same as it was in the real American 80s, except now, young boys eighteen and under can sign up for a walk that goes from the Canadian border down through Massachusetts and keeps on going until there’s a winner. How do you win? Be the last boy standing. All walkers must maintain a speed of 4mph. If they drop below that speed, they get a warning. Three warnings and you get a ticket—a ticket means the soldiers policing the long walk blow your brains out. That’s right. You can also get a ticket for interfering with another walker physically, but you can mess with them mentally/verbally all you want. There is no time to sleep. No bathroom breaks. You eat while you walk. Or you die. The prize for all this mental torture? The winner gets anything they want for the rest of their life. Hoorah! How else could you get healthy boys with their entire life in front of them to do something so insane? What I enjoyed: Super cool premise. Great dialogue. The way propaganda is used to build up the walk and the Major. Issues: Nothing really happens. Origins of the walk are never explained. That ending?! As I said, my first thought is to agree with the naysayers that said King sucks. However, he made 300 pages of walking interesting. Seriously, that’s all the boys do, walk and get shot. That takes talent! Although, it is kind of annoying that there was not really a plot or a problem that characters were trying to solve. You’re only reading to see who will win. We know you can’t interfere with a walker, so there’s no fighting except a little psychological teen warfare which can be fun, but other than one twist that comes in the last two chapters (and is never really capitalized on) nothing happens. That may piss some readers off. However, if I take the story as a metaphor for war, I understand why the origins of the long walk are never fully explained—though there are some cool little hints King throws in here and there, like Germany invading parts of America. Now that I’m writing this, I guess it’s neat that you can infer how it happened based on that alone. Real talk though: wars break out for tons of reasons, despite what the history books tell us. Besides, when you’re in the trenches fighting for your life, does it even matter if Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated or if a trade treaty was unfair or if the boat was in the Gulf of Tonkin or if the news stories are all faked or any other propaganda. When you’re in the muck, the origins of a war are pointless. Yes, the main character Ray Garraty does win the walk, but he doesn’t get to enjoy what he wants for the rest of his life. He just keeps walking toward a dark figure that only he can see, his mind and body are destroyed. Again, by itself, a reader may feel cheated by this ending, but from the perspective of a metaphor, there are no winners in war. Everyone has traumas in their lives, but I can’t imagine what PTSD from war looks like. For many soldiers, the war never ends. They fight (walk) forever. In that regard, the ending was perfect. Nothing is resolved, nobody wins, and next year, the long walk will continue and they’ll get a new set of boys to march and die. So, while I wished there was more twists and an explanation of how America adopted this Nazi-esque death game, it was still a great book! Though I feel very much about Stephen King as I did with Carlton Mellick III. I had fun reading, but I’m unsure. I need to do more experimenting with their work. My suggestion for The Long Walk; make it a short walk. Keep the same plot and ending, but making it a novella may be more powerful. What do I know though, Stephen's the king. I’m just a walker looking for a big break. What did you think of the novel and what Stephen King book should I read next?

SLIT - Teaser

This an exclusive peek at my current erotic horror work in process. Since it’s a WIP, very little editing has been done, but I thought it’d be fun to share my writing process with you. Enjoy this raw draft, and see if you can catch all the changes when the final is published. “It’s okay,” Emily said, reaching out and placing her hand on Will’s thigh. “There are worse places to be stuck.” Outside the rain pelted the roof of the car. Inside, their damp clothes made the confined space almost humid. What little sky they could see outside the windshield was a brownish swirl of wind, dirt, and water. “I suppose.” Will squeezed the steering wheel. “But fuck, I was kinda looking forward to our other plans. Not every day I meet a girl like you.” “Why do we have to change our plans just because we can't get to your apartment?” Emily slid her hand gently up and down his damp jeans. “I seem to remember the arrangement involving your—ahem. I mean... everything we need is right here." Staring at his crotch, she dug her nails into his leg.“ “Here? I… We’re in the east campus parking lot. The humanities building is right over there.” “I can’t see the building.” Emily let a pleased smile grace her lips as she looked out the passenger window. All she could see in the torrential downpour was her breath fogging up the glass and beads of rain streaming down the outside. “I can’t even see an inch outside the window.” Emily could feel his body tighten. She looked back and Willy was staring at her. She locked eyes with him, knowing exactly how good she looked with wet hair and the thin NAU sweater clinging to her petite frame. She had planned for this look from the start, had anticipated running from the car to his apartment, dripping wet, then falling on to the couch, their rain-slick bodies slipping over each other. Emily hadn’t foreseen the storm getting so bad that they were forced off the road only two blocks away from the bar though. On the bright side, taking shelter in the empty campus parking could lead to fast, hot, and dirty sexplay. The the exhilarating thought of public public and the moist air mixed with her teasing suddenly made the situation sexier than his apartment ever could have been. “You weren’t just fronting back there, were you? You a kinky co-ed…” “How about you? Can you back up the big game you were talking at the bar?” Emily began circling her index finger against his thigh, moving closer and closer toward his zipper. She basked in the struggle on in Will's face, wondering how long she could tease him before he made a decision. “You’re not gonna use this storm to back out of our agreement?” “Fuck no, I ain't fronting.” Will cupped his crotch a bit and his cockiness made her even hornier. “There’s just so much more room at my place. Maybe if we just wait out the storm a few minutes…” Willy looked at his watch. “You have to be back by ten, you said?” Emily nodded. She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over placing her hands on his chest and shoulder. “It’s monsoon season, Will, what if this storm doesn’t let up until I have to get home? We’ll miss our chance then.” She traced a finger down his chest and abdomen. “I thought you said you were adventurous… Anybody can take me in a bedroom. Nobody’s ever taken me in parking lot before.” Emily could tell he was trying to downplay the grin that was threatening to stretch his whole face. “Okay. I see you.” Will had a new rhythm to his voice . Slow and smooth, he took hold of her wrist the slid it from his stomach down to the bulge leaning toward his left leg. Feeling the girth of the spongy organ beneath his jeans, filled Emily with giddy hope. Maybe Will would finally be the one. So far, every guy who’d gotten this far suddenly lost their alpha male confidence once they had to deliver. Still, the organ was underneath his jeans, that fabric could add a lot of padding— Will’s other hand reach behind her head and Emily allowed herself to be pulled to his lips. Sweat and rain dripped from their faces into the kiss. While still exploring his lips, Emily took her hand off Will’s crotch to reach behind and under the thin sweatshirt, unclasping her bra. She leaned back from their embrace, pulled her arms into the sweatshirt and removed the bra without exposing her chest. With a playful laugh Emily tossed the red lacy cups at Will. Thunder cracked outside and the rain intensified. Will took the cue and unbuttoned his pants. He raised up from the car seat, struggling a bit to get the jeans off his wet skin. When he was down to his boxer briefs, Emily was pleased to see the bulge had actually grown bigger. Holy shit! Will was definitely the one. Now she had to pray that he wasn’t a one-minute man too— Shut up! Emily chastised herself for even putting the thought out there. Pushing it from her mind, she watched Will massaged the giant erection, almost tugging at it, opening up the tight spandex-like underwear that was suffocating it. Like a worm, it inched down his leg, gasping for room to grow longer. “Need a hand,” Emily purred. “Please.” Will pulled the side lever and the driver seat reclined. Emily slipped her fingers into his waistband and peeled his briefs down, freeing his cock. “Oh shit.” She giggled. “Guess that means I win the bet?” Emily took her index finger and ran it down the fat vein along the top of his shaft. “It means we both win.” She leaned forward and breathed hot and heavy on the smooth skin. The organ bounced to life under her delicate contact. Now it was Emily’s turn to downplay the smile forming on her face as the magnificent specimen bobbed and pushed against her finger. Only in porn had she seen such glorious meat pole. She lifted his cock up and licked underneath, bringing her tongue from the base of its underbelly to the tip of its mushroom head. Listening to Will's moans of pleasure and feeling his subtle gyrations soaked her panties. Emily varied the speed and pressure as she sucked the dark giant head. When she could take it no more, she expertly undid her own jeans and slipped one finger between her pussy lips, while the other finger hugged against the hood of her clit--------------- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Emily stretched across the rest of the backseat, her legs facing Will. She felt Will lean down, spit onto her vagina, then give it a few licks. Hot sparks rocketed up her body. Emily arched her back, pushing her crotch into his face, slowly bucking against his warm mouth. She painted as the ecstasy mounted, then groaned in protest when Will pulled his face away, Her wet pussy was alone and exposed for only a moment though, then a new pressure and warmth arrived. Emily opened her eyes to see Will's meat torpedo jutting from his crotch and pushing onto hers. “You sure you want this cock.” Will slid the warm head of his penis back and forth across her pussy. “Yes,” she whispered, her crotch was on fire. Will took his cock and slapped her clit several times, each gentle blow sent shivers rippling through her body. Then he spread her glistening juices across her mons pubis a few times using his mushroom tip like a paintbrush. She squirmed and he returning to playfully slapping her eager vagina. Emily cried out and gripped at the door bar above her head. “Please,” she begged. Just when she thought her clit couldn't take anymore, Will gripped the base of his cock and guided it into her pussy. Emily took a deep inhale as Will pushed and spread her vagina. Her insides yielded to his size with pleasure, gripping him like a velvet glove. He slid out, then pushed a little further, just as she’d done to him with her mouth. Each time his warm organ probed deeper, and Emily squealed as her sex filled to dizzying capacity. She opened her eyes, mouth dropping as she watched her vagina swallow his cock, her stomach expanding with his girth. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Before she could scream again, Will disappeared over the front seat, her womb instantly aching for the cock it had molded itself about. “Will?” The car was silent and empty. “Will, what the fuck?” Emily scrambled into the corner of the backseat. She snatched up her panties and attempted to put them on when carnival music began to play over the radio. She screamed, dropping the underwear. The painted face slowly rose from behind the driver seat headrest. Emily screamed but failed to move. The nostrils of the feminine clown face flared as it inhaled deeply. “You smell so delicious…” The soft words dazed Emily, and her fight to overcome the fear-induced paralysis faltered. The faint smell of cotton candy floated into Emily's sense along with the words. “So delicious.” A forked tongue shot out of the clown’s mouth. It’s neck extended into the backseat, moving like a snake with a human face. “So delicious.” Emily felt the forked tongue slid between her thighs and she let loose another howl. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Stan lost himself in the creamy eyes and hazel skin of the young woman. His gaze followed her slender neck to pointed— A text notification dropped over the screen. MIKE: Can’t make it tonight. Mom’s freaking about Will and Emily, wants me to stay home and watch my sister Fuck. Stan’s boner deflated as he switched screens on his phone to make sure he’d read the message correctly. “Shit,” he said out loud, confirming the cancellation of their party plans. The chance of someone like him attending Valeria’s party was probably a once in a lifetime event—he was only even being taken because Mike was invited. The semester had barely started and already he felt sure that community college was gonna be just as lame as high school in terms of a social life. Stan wasn’t sure how to reply. He was pissed but maybe it wasn’t a good idea to share his emotions with Mike. He stared at his phone considering a response when another text came in. Mike: Sorry bro. You can go without me though Mike exhale a snarky laugh. Yeah right. No way he was going to a house party where he didn’t know anyone. You know one person, voice piped up. He knew Bailey Lopez, all right. But he was not going to attempt that kind of introduction in an unfamiliar environment without a wing-man. Come on… Stan typed fast to avoid succumbing to the voice: Nah. Can I at least come over and grab some beer? Mike: Sure. Wait until Ashley’s is in bed. 9 pm Stan exhaled but the pit of aggravation didn’t leave his stomach. He switched screens back to the page of gorgeous thumbnails. Digital rectangles of bare flesh filled the phone again. It was gonna be a bitch convincing his mom not to question his motives for taking the car out that late. He’d just gotten the Honda and it was contingent on certain rules. College grades and curfews topped the list. Friday night was prime for a few beers and chilling, but it wasn’t worth the hassle of dipping out for half an hour, making up a fake errand as an alibi. It only was seven pm though. Stan decided to text back closer to nine, after he decided what to do. Maybe something would change his mind yet. He tried to focus his attention on the digital hotties while no losing sight of real-life ones, like Bailey. Thinking of the girl in his English 101 class, Stan typed “college slut” into the search bar. Plaid skirts and midriffs of various colors pressed against green chalkboards and wooden desks. Stan smiled as his thumb scrolled, waiting for the girl that would be the one. The professor and the failing student. The MILF teacher tutoring the 5th-year senior. Two graduates, the girl stripped down to her cap and heels, the male with his grad robe unzipped. The college football coach and the dance teacher. One picture led to another and before he realized, he’d unbuttoned his jeans which were now uncomfortably tight. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX What the hell was that noise though? Stan unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway. The light in the bathroom was on and he headed that way. He could hear the TV downstairs, but there seemed to be no one in the bathroom. When he entered, his foot hit something and he heard plastic skitter across the floor. Following the noise with his eyes, he saw the what looked like the plunger from the sink drain. He walked forward and bent to pick up the plastic stopper with the brass top. Returning to the sink he looked down to see the circular hole of the drain. How had the stopper popped out of the sink and onto the floor? “Stan…” The voice was a soft and seductive melody. “Over here.” Stan stare down at the blackness of the exposed drain. Then he turned and looked at the bathroom door. “Todd?” His brother didn’t answer. “Stan...” He whirled around to the sink again, the feminine voice more urgent this time. Stan bent down closer and the scent of cotton candy and roasting popcorn crept into his nose. “What the fuck?” he whispered. “Listen…” Stan found his head turning at the command, lining up his ear with the drain and leaning even closer. Now there was the sound of carnival music too. He felt warm breath on his ear but didn’t resist. The way it tickled his short hairs felt too good to say no. “Have a lick.” Along with the breathy words came a wet, fleshy sensation. It slithered into Stan’s ear and he screamed, stumbling backward. A long thin tongue, red and glistening snaked up from the drain like a cobra from a basket. "Stanley!” The pink, forked organ wavered in the air and reach for him. “Ahh!” Stanley bolted from the bathroom. XXXXXXXXXXX SLIT should be available by Halloween! In the meantime, please join my newsletter. I’ll be sending out the first chapter of Black Celebration to all subscribers that same weekend. It’s the sequel to Watchers of the Black Rite. While you’re here, how about a quickie?

SLIT - Three Day Exclusive

This an exclusive peek at my current erotic horror work in process. Since it’s a WIP, very little editing has been done, but I thought it’d be fun to share my writing process with you. Enjoy this raw draft, and see if you can catch all the changes when the final is published. “It’s okay,” Emily said, reaching out and placing her hand on Will’s thigh. “There are worse places to be stuck.” Outside the rain pelted the roof of the car. Inside, their damp clothes made the confined space almost humid. What little sky they could see outside the windshield was a brownish swirl of wind, dirt, and water. “I suppose.” Will squeezed the steering wheel. “But fuck, I was kinda looking forward to our other plans. Not every day I meet a girl like you.” “Why do we have to change our plans just because we can't get to your apartment?” Emily slid her hand gently up and down his damp jeans. “I seem to remember the arrangement involving your—ahem. I mean... everything we need is right here." Staring at his crotch, she dug her nails into his leg.“ “Here? I… We’re in the east campus parking lot. The humanities building is right over there.” “I can’t see the building.” Emily let a pleased smile grace her lips as she looked out the passenger window. All she could see in the torrential downpour was her breath fogging up the glass and beads of rain streaming down the outside. “I can’t even see an inch outside the window.” Emily could feel his body tighten. She looked back and Willy was staring at her. She locked eyes with him, knowing exactly how good she looked with wet hair and the thin NAU sweater clinging to her petite frame. She had planned for this look from the start, had anticipated running from the car to his apartment, dripping wet, then falling on to the couch, their rain-slick bodies slipping over each other. Emily hadn’t foreseen the storm getting so bad that they were forced off the road only two blocks away from the bar though. On the bright side, taking shelter in the empty campus parking could lead to fast, hot, and dirty sexplay. The the exhilarating thought of public public and the moist air mixed with her teasing suddenly made the situation sexier than his apartment ever could have been. “You weren’t just fronting back there, were you? You a kinky co-ed…” “How about you? Can you back up the big game you were talking at the bar?” Emily began circling her index finger against his thigh, moving closer and closer toward his zipper. She basked in the struggle on in Will's face, wondering how long she could tease him before he made a decision. “You’re not gonna use this storm to back out of our agreement?” “Fuck no, I ain't fronting.” Will cupped his crotch a bit and his cockiness made her even hornier. “There’s just so much more room at my place. Maybe if we just wait out the storm a few minutes…” Willy looked at his watch. “You have to be back by ten, you said?” Emily nodded. She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over placing her hands on his chest and shoulder. “It’s monsoon season, Will, what if this storm doesn’t let up until I have to get home? We’ll miss our chance then.” She traced a finger down his chest and abdomen. “I thought you said you were adventurous… Anybody can take me in a bedroom. Nobody’s ever taken me in parking lot before.” Emily could tell he was trying to downplay the grin that was threatening to stretch his whole face. “Okay. I see you.” Will had a new rhythm to his voice . Slow and smooth, he took hold of her wrist the slid it from his stomach down to the bulge leaning toward his left leg. Feeling the girth of the spongy organ beneath his jeans, filled Emily with giddy hope. Maybe Will would finally be the one. So far, every guy who’d gotten this far suddenly lost their alpha male confidence once they had to deliver. Still, the organ was underneath his jeans, that fabric could add a lot of padding— Will’s other hand reach behind her head and Emily allowed herself to be pulled to his lips. Sweat and rain dripped from their faces into the kiss. While still exploring his lips, Emily took her hand off Will’s crotch to reach behind and under the thin sweatshirt, unclasping her bra. She leaned back from their embrace, pulled her arms into the sweatshirt and removed the bra without exposing her chest. With a playful laugh Emily tossed the red lacy cups at Will. Thunder cracked outside and the rain intensified. Will took the cue and unbuttoned his pants. He raised up from the car seat, struggling a bit to get the jeans off his wet skin. When he was down to his boxer briefs, Emily was pleased to see the bulge had actually grown bigger. Holy shit! Will was definitely the one. Now she had to pray that he wasn’t a one-minute man too— Shut up! Emily chastised herself for even putting the thought out there. Pushing it from her mind, she watched Will massaged the giant erection, almost tugging at it, opening up the tight spandex-like underwear that was suffocating it. Like a worm, it inched down his leg, gasping for room to grow longer. “Need a hand,” Emily purred. “Please.” Will pulled the side lever and the driver seat reclined. Emily slipped her fingers into his waistband and peeled his briefs down, freeing his cock. “Oh shit.” She giggled. “Guess that means I win the bet?” Emily took her index finger and ran it down the fat vein along the top of his shaft. “It means we both win.” She leaned forward and breathed hot and heavy on the smooth skin. The organ bounced to life under her delicate contact. Now it was Emily’s turn to downplay the smile forming on her face as the magnificent specimen bobbed and pushed against her finger. Only in porn had she seen such glorious meat pole. She lifted his cock up and licked underneath, bringing her tongue from the base of its underbelly to the tip of its mushroom head. Listening to Will's moans of pleasure and feeling his subtle gyrations soaked her panties. Emily varied the speed and pressure as she sucked the dark giant head. When she could take it no more, she expertly undid her own jeans and slipped one finger between her pussy lips, while the other finger hugged against the hood of her clit--------------- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Emily stretched across the rest of the backseat, her legs facing Will. She felt Will lean down, spit onto her vagina, then give it a few licks. Hot sparks rocketed up her body. Emily arched her back, pushing her crotch into his face, slowly bucking against his warm mouth. She painted as the ecstasy mounted, then groaned in protest when Will pulled his face away, Her wet pussy was alone and exposed for only a moment though, then a new pressure and warmth arrived. Emily opened her eyes to see Will's meat torpedo jutting from his crotch and pushing onto hers. “You sure you want this cock.” Will slid the warm head of his penis back and forth across her pussy. “Yes,” she whispered, her crotch was on fire. Will took his cock and slapped her clit several times, each gentle blow sent shivers rippling through her body. Then he spread her glistening juices across her mons pubis a few times using his mushroom tip like a paintbrush. She squirmed and he returning to playfully slapping her eager vagina. Emily cried out and gripped at the door bar above her head. “Please,” she begged. Just when she thought her clit couldn't take anymore, Will gripped the base of his cock and guided it into her pussy. Emily took a deep inhale as Will pushed and spread her vagina. Her insides yielded to his size with pleasure, gripping him like a velvet glove. He slid out, then pushed a little further, just as she’d done to him with her mouth. Each time his warm organ probed deeper, and Emily squealed as her sex filled to dizzying capacity. She opened her eyes, mouth dropping as she watched her vagina swallow his cock, her stomach expanding with his girth. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Before she could scream again, Will disappeared over the front seat, her womb instantly aching for the cock it had molded itself about. “Will?” The car was silent and empty. “Will, what the fuck?” Emily scrambled into the corner of the backseat. She snatched up her panties and attempted to put them on when carnival music began to play over the radio. She screamed, dropping the underwear. The painted face slowly rose from behind the driver seat headrest. Emily screamed but failed to move. The nostrils of the feminine clown face flared as it inhaled deeply. “You smell so delicious…” The soft words dazed Emily, and her fight to overcome the fear-induced paralysis faltered. The faint smell of cotton candy floated into Emily's sense along with the words. “So delicious.” A forked tongue shot out of the clown’s mouth. It’s neck extended into the backseat, moving like a snake with a human face. “So delicious.” Emily felt the forked tongue slid between her thighs and she let loose another howl. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Stan lost himself in the creamy eyes and hazel skin of the young woman. His gaze followed her slender neck to pointed— A text notification dropped over the screen. MIKE: Can’t make it tonight. Mom’s freaking about Will and Emily, wants me to stay home and watch my sister Fuck. Stan’s boner deflated as he switched screens on his phone to make sure he’d read the message correctly. “Shit,” he said out loud, confirming the cancellation of their party plans. The chance of someone like him attending Valeria’s party was probably a once in a lifetime event—he was only even being taken because Mike was invited. The semester had barely started and already he felt sure that community college was gonna be just as lame as high school in terms of a social life. Stan wasn’t sure how to reply. He was pissed but maybe it wasn’t a good idea to share his emotions with Mike. He stared at his phone considering a response when another text came in. Mike: Sorry bro. You can go without me though Mike exhale a snarky laugh. Yeah right. No way he was going to a house party where he didn’t know anyone. You know one person, voice piped up. He knew Bailey Lopez, all right. But he was not going to attempt that kind of introduction in an unfamiliar environment without a wing-man. Come on… Stan typed fast to avoid succumbing to the voice: Nah. Can I at least come over and grab some beer? Mike: Sure. Wait until Ashley’s is in bed. 9 pm Stan exhaled but the pit of aggravation didn’t leave his stomach. He switched screens back to the page of gorgeous thumbnails. Digital rectangles of bare flesh filled the phone again. It was gonna be a bitch convincing his mom not to question his motives for taking the car out that late. He’d just gotten the Honda and it was contingent on certain rules. College grades and curfews topped the list. Friday night was prime for a few beers and chilling, but it wasn’t worth the hassle of dipping out for half an hour, making up a fake errand as an alibi. It only was seven pm though. Stan decided to text back closer to nine, after he decided what to do. Maybe something would change his mind yet. He tried to focus his attention on the digital hotties while no losing sight of real-life ones, like Bailey. Thinking of the girl in his English 101 class, Stan typed “college slut” into the search bar. Plaid skirts and midriffs of various colors pressed against green chalkboards and wooden desks. Stan smiled as his thumb scrolled, waiting for the girl that would be the one. The professor and the failing student. The MILF teacher tutoring the 5th-year senior. Two graduates, the girl stripped down to her cap and heels, the male with his grad robe unzipped. The college football coach and the dance teacher. One picture led to another and before he realized, he’d unbuttoned his jeans which were now uncomfortably tight. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX What the hell was that noise though? Stan unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway. The light in the bathroom was on and he headed that way. He could hear the TV downstairs, but there seemed to be no one in the bathroom. When he entered, his foot hit something and he heard plastic skitter across the floor. Following the noise with his eyes, he saw the what looked like the plunger from the sink drain. He walked forward and bent to pick up the plastic stopper with the brass top. Returning to the sink he looked down to see the circular hole of the drain. How had the stopper popped out of the sink and onto the floor? “Stan…” The voice was a soft and seductive melody. “Over here.” Stan stare down at the blackness of the exposed drain. Then he turned and looked at the bathroom door. “Todd?” His brother didn’t answer. “Stan...” He whirled around to the sink again, the feminine voice more urgent this time. Stan bent down closer and the scent of cotton candy and roasting popcorn crept into his nose. “What the fuck?” he whispered. “Listen…” Stan found his head turning at the command, lining up his ear with the drain and leaning even closer. Now there was the sound of carnival music too. He felt warm breath on his ear but didn’t resist. The way it tickled his short hairs felt too good to say no. “Have a lick.” Along with the breathy words came a wet, fleshy sensation. It slithered into Stan’s ear and he screamed, stumbling backward. A long thin tongue, red and glistening snaked up from the drain like a cobra from a basket. "Stanley!” The pink, forked organ wavered in the air and reach for him. “Ahh!” Stanley bolted from the bathroom. XXXXXXXXXXX SLIT should be available by Halloween! In the meantime, please join my newsletter. I’ll be sending out the first chapter of Black Celebration to all subscribers that same weekend. It’s the sequel to Watchers of the Black Rite. While you’re here, how about a quickie?