Nikki Noir's Blog, page 7

Sick Fux by Tillie Cole

Sick Fux
A Review By Eleanor Merry Tick tock. There are some books that stick with you long after you read them. Certain scenes that will flash into your mind when you are least expecting them, bringing you back to that moment you first entered the world created by the book. To me, that is a sign of an amazing novel, and without a doubt, Sick Fux delivers this. Fair warning though, this is not a story for the faint of heart and is darker than most horror stories I've ever read. It is a perfect example of how blood, sex, and revenge can combine to make the perfect horror-romance. Sick Fux opens with two children, Ellis and Heathen, who are as different as can be. Ellis is a sweet, Alice in Wonderland-obsessed child. Heathen, however, is dark and broody with an innate bloodlust which was discovered at a young age. Only the lovely Ellis has ever been able to get close to him. Heathen names her Dolly, for her adorable childlike appearance and fascination with the fantasy world of her own making. He is her Rabbit, carrying her along on their adventures through their own make-believe Wonderland. Ellis and Heathen get thrust into a world of horrific circumstance and find themselves separated for years. The things done to these children will break even the blackest of hearts. Heathen finally returns to save Ellis eleven years later from the horrible world in which she resides, where he finds a shell of the lovely girl he once knew. Slowly but surely, he pulls Ellis out of her mental prison to reveal his perfect evil counterpart—Dolly. This was not an easy read in many ways. The things these characters go through as children shape the story and their own futures in a terrible, yet perfect, way. Ellis, or Dolly, is a dynamic and twisted character that ebbs and flows throughout the story, battling with her own inner demons. Heathen is the perfect anti-hero and despite his deep-seated and sick desires, his care and love for his sweet Dolly is evident. Together, they kill and fuck their way to a perfect conclusion and end to a fantastic story. Micky and Mallory Knox. Bonnie and Clyde. Joker and Harley Quinn... Ellis and Heathen (AKA. Dolly and Rabbit) from Sick Fux deserve a spot with these epic and twisted couples. Sick Fux is, at its core, a revenge story, motivated by love and darkness. Two sick fucks who have endured horrifying things and must find their own place in the world. With a twisted Wonderland theme, this is a unique, vivid and fast-paced story you will not be able to put down. If you're a sick fuck, check out more from Tillie Cole here *** Eleanor Merry was born and raised in beautiful Vancouver, BC and still lives there with her tiny human and her fiance. The offspring of a fairy queen and an undead warlord, she was brought up with an appetite for terror and beauty.

When she isn’t writing, she is a voracious reader with eclectic tastes which tends to lean towards horror and the twisted, however is known to indulge in dirty romances on the side. Her influences include authors such as Brian Keene, Mark Tufo, Richard Laymon and Tillie Cole. In all genres, nothing is off limits and she looks forward to sharing more of her own twisted and strange thoughts with the world.

Facial by Jeff Strand

In the words of Jeff Strand, “It’s not about what you think it is…well, maybe one part.” While there is a hilarious scene where Felicia—who’s been cheating on her husband for years—decides she’ll let her newest fling fulfill his facial fantasy, the title Facial is actually referring to something much less fun. Carlton has a problem. An interdimensional traveler has made its way to earth…well, part of him. Like getting beamed up in Star Trek, the traveler is beamed to us, but when he materializes in our plane of existence, he does so into the basement floor boards of Carlton’s house—leaving him as only a large Face embedded on the floor. Oddly enough, there’s a dead lion on top of the Face, but that gets explained later. Also explained is how the Face is going to need to feed in order to get its strength back, and how Carlton can help him. And what's in it for Carlton? Well, when the Face is at full strength, it can reward Carlton with riches and power. Greg also has a problem. Remember that dirty tramp Felicia? He’s kinda tired of her sucking guys off for facials. And he wants them dead. Since you’ve probably already guessed what type of substance an interdimensional Face needs to feed on, you may have also extrapolated on how Carlton and Gregg decide to work together to get what they both want. From there it’s plenty of blood, sex, and…facials? It’s a short novella, so I won’t go much more into plot than that or it’ll spoil the climax. I loved the book though and am super excited to devour more horror comedy titles. Honestly, I view Facial as others might view a comedy on TV. Sometimes you just wanna have fun, rather than pick up a giant tome with intense drama and horror, especially when there is so much real-world horror every day. For me, instead of Netflixing comedies though, I can sit down and laugh out loud with books like this. That’s how you should take Facial. Sit down and get ready to laugh out loud. Bizarro plots, ridiculous characters, and awkward sex scenes—you’ll see what I mean. Get your Facial here and hear more from Strand in our interview P.S. Guys, if she tells you to go for it, don't waste time second guessing ;) P.P.S. If you want some FREE bizarro erotic horror, here’s a new story inspired by Jeff Strand and Chuck Tingle. Not sure my fan fic did them justice, but it was a blast to write. America Gets Pounded by a Russian Face App

Facial by Jeff Strand

In the words of Jeff Strand, “It’s not about what you think it is…well, maybe one part.” While there is a hilarious scene where Felicia—who’s been cheating on her husband for years—decides she’ll let her newest fling fulfill his facial fantasy, the title Facial is actually referring to something much less fun. Carlton has a problem. An interdimensional traveler has made its way to earth…well, part of him. Like getting beamed up in Star Trek, the traveler is beamed to us, but when he materializes in our plane of existence, he does so into the basement floor boards of Carlton’s house—leaving him as only a large Face embedded on the floor. Oddly enough, there’s a dead lion on top of the Face, but that gets explained later. Also explained is how the Face is going to need to feed in order to get its strength back, and how Carlton can help him. And what's in it for Carlton? Well, when the Face is at full strength, it can reward Carlton with riches and power. Greg also has a problem. Remember that dirty tramp Felicia? He’s kinda tired of her sucking guys off for facials. And he wants them dead. Since you’ve probably already guessed what type of substance an interdimensional Face needs to feed on, you may have also extrapolated on how Carlton and Gregg decide to work together to get what they both want. From there it’s plenty of blood, sex, and…facials? It’s a short novella, so I won’t go much more into plot than that or it’ll spoil the climax. I loved the book though and am super excited to devour more horror comedy titles. Honestly, I view Facial as others might view a comedy on TV. Sometimes you just wanna have fun, rather than pick up a giant tome with intense drama and horror, especially when there is so much real-world horror every day. For me, instead of Netflixing comedies though, I can sit down and laugh out loud with books like this. That’s how you should take Facial. Sit down and get ready to laugh out loud. Bizarro plots, ridiculous characters, and awkward sex scenes—you’ll see what I mean. Get your Facial here and hear more from Strand in our interview P.S. Guys, if she tells you to go for it, don't waste time second guessing ;) P.P.S. If you want some FREE bizarro erotic horror, here’s a new story inspired by Jeff Strand and Chuck Tingle. Not sure my fan fic did them justice, but it was a blast to write. America Gets Pounded by a Russian Face App

America Gets Pounded by a Russian Face App

*Fan Fic Title Inspired by Chuck Tingle* It seemed so innocent at first. Good clean fun. Take the Old-Age Face App challenge, have some laughs at what you’ll look like in thirty years. Much safer than the Kiki challenge, tide pod, or condom challenge, right? Wrong. There’s a reason they call it going viral. Viruses go viral—do you know a single virus that’s good for you? I sure don’t. And now America's collapsing and we have no one to blame but ourselves. Sure, we can blame the Russians, but what’s the point? That would be like blaming fire when you accidentally burn yourself. It's well documented how dangerous fire can be. Proper precautions should be taken when using such an element. Fire can cook food, keep you warm, or burn the fuck to death even. I take that analogy back. Maybe the face app isn't like fire. That damn Russian app has no helpful qualities. It only serves to give you a few days worth of laughs on social media, a fair amount of comments, but barely even 15 minutes of fame. Not nearly as satisfying as warmth or cooked food. It was truly a one-sided fire. And the only ones benefiting were the creators. But we didn't know it at the time. I can’t even blame the average Facebook user. They're like lemmings. If all you care about is selfies, the newest phone app, popularity, etc. Then you're not the type of person who thinks things through. You just act. You’re that guy or girl, and it’s pointless to expect you to understand the potential hazard in new technology. Don’t get me wrong, you still contributed to the pounding mess we’re in, but you couldn't have know better. It’s the rest of us who really messed up. Those of you who were on the fence about the app. Those who hesitated to download the app and then share. Those of you who have half a brain. You had an inkling of what could happen. Society relies on fuckers like you to survive. You may not know it, but you're like the glue holding the rest of these lemming-run societies together. And when you lost it, when you succumbed to egos and social media likes and started posting that old-face shit, that’s when we were really fucked. That was when things upgraded to an epidemic. You knew it was stupid! Knew there was ramifications to your dumb post, and we could even see the hesitation in your typed words. "Well, I guess I'll join the party" and "There, I took the challenge; don't look half-bad for an old guy, right?" But we also saw the hunger you craved in getting attention. You broke, but you had no idea how bad it would get. It's like your mom always said, "if everyone was jumping off a bridge, would you?" Apparently, the answer is yes. You see, when the people who serve as the foundation of society breaks down, when people like you cave to the hungry masses... Well, I guess it goes even deeper than this app. In fact, this all started with a wave of Russian mail-order brides in the 80s. We probably didn't realize what was happening back then either. It was a plan forty years in the making. Ha! Consider it an aging app. America in the 80s... America aged by the app... We're not just old, we're fucking burning. Maybe fire was a good analogy. And this time those Comrades are gonna finish us…unless we do something now. Unless we act, this is gonna turn into a Russian bukkake snuff film that drowns us all. Don’t believe me, do you? If you’re reading this, there’s still time to prepare and counterattack. So pay attention! Otherwise you’re gonna get surprised—surprised like a first time fellatiator when the dude blows in your face without giving a curtsy warning. ****** Natasha’s finger played at my asshole as she sucked my balls. I looked down and smiled as she raised up from my nutbag, arched her eyebrows, and then spit on my cock. I could see her swishing, building up more saliva, then closed my eyes as she sloppily swallowed my mushroom tip again, all that mouth-juice running down the sides of my shaft. I took a deep breath, excited but still experiencing a small ounce of sadness that our afternoon together was coming to an end. But, as my old man use to say: 'All good things must come to an end.' With my cock sufficiently lubed, Natasha used her hand to stroke my boner while her mouth returned to my balls. I drifted to my happy place as the trifecta rocked my world: Cock stroked, balls/taint licked, ass explored. I didn’t open my eyes until after I exploded. Natasha was so fantastic. She continued to lick and stroke my sensitive cock until I wanted to scream. She smiled at me, splatters of sperm plastered to her perfect angular face. With cum still dripping, she put my purple head back in her mouth and sucked gently, giving me after-shocks for another minute. It was like our version of cuddling, and really eased me down, lessened the sadness of knowing our time was over. She kissed my shrinking cock one last time and headed to the master bathroom to wash up. I took a deep breath and picked up my phone to wait for her return. I chuckled when I opened Facebook and my feed was filled with old faces. More appropriate would be to say it was my friends' faces, but aged using some new face app. A few months ago it had been the gender swap. Before that it had been going all smooth faced and sporting wide-eyed anime. Now it was old age. Totally stupid. But it killed a few hours of boredom, I guessed. I didn’t guess though; I knew. Facebook killed time for millions. Even when I wasn't at work or with Natasha, I was usually scrolling. The people posting their old faces seemed to be having loads of fun today, great comments, and before I knew it, I found myself in the play store searching for the old age app. I was so absorbed that I barely felt Natasha lay down beside me on the bed. “What you doing?” God I loved her Russian accent. “Oh." I smiled. “It’s silly but…” I held up my phone so she could see the app. “ Everyone’s playing around with it. I know you don’t do social media but—” “Don’t do that.” Her face and stern commend shocked me. “What’s wrong?” She looked away as she always did when thinking deep, and I was reminded that she was a real beautiful person, no doubt with many facets that her johns would never know—by the way, I never felt like a john; I was never charged, but I tipped madly. “It’s a bad program. Steals from you. Don’t use it.” “Ah hell, baby, this whole damn Facebook platform is one big scam. Total spying operation .” I laughed thinking of Wish.com, Amazon, and countless others. “They use it to sell me ads. I know. It’s fun though. And I don’t fall for the product placements.” I winked. She placed her hand on my shoulder. “Patrick, you are always nicest man to me. Please…” She grabbed my phone examining the download. A part of me loved her and I didn’t protest. “Yes,” she said. “This is bad, Don’t do it.” She X’ed out of the app and handed back the phone. “Promise me you won’t.” Her face looked so much different than when it had been splattered in cum and I had no idea what to say. Something in my gut wondered what the hell was the big deal. But when her body pressed against mine, I didn’t want to argue. I just wanted to enjoy her presence before the real world came crashing back in. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry to upset you.” She kissed my chest and smiled I wish I’d kept that promise. **** Sometimes wonder if I’m a sex addict or maybe a porn addict. I can’t really keep up with all the new mental disorders, addictions, and popular labels today. Regardless, I have a tendency to fall hard into the hole of Twitter porn. I call it research for my escapades with Natasha. Others might call it addiction. Semantics really. But that's where I was tonight. Twitter... Oh,I should also mention I don’t consider myself a guy who buys prostitutes. My relationship with Natasha isn’t like that. Our relationship is tricky. But I’m different than her johns. Or so I tell myself— I'm getting side-tracked again. It's about 8pm and I'm about an hour deep into porn gifs and video clips on Twitter when I see a pretty famous porn star doing the face app challenge. Well, she’s famous to me. Her post: 30yrs from now will you still want to fuck me? Below the bold question is her old face pic. The post is viral of course, countless comments. But I don’t weigh in; I never comment or like porn posts. I just scroll, but I appreciate your content, trust me, I do. And truth is I may want to fuck you at age 60, just depends on where I am in life more than what you look like. Personality is sexy. More than looks. Confidence in the way one looks is sexy as fuck…but now I’m drifting again. Point is, it made me remember the face app... I opened the play store again and resumed the download. **** Better dead than Red. Yeah? If only that saying had stayed in fashion. I know they're not the "Soviet Union" anymore, but a devil by any other name would still be as sinister. If only we had listened to Yuri Bezmenov's warning. Don’t know him? Google. That and the four stages. Unless Google is gone by the time you're reading this. But in that case it’s too late anyway. Yuri the defector was right...sort of. They've been trying to bring us down for a long time. The newest seeds were planted in the 80s with the mail order brides, as I said earlier. True, not all mail order brides are Russian, but looking back, they were the start. Turns out that a big portion of those Russian wives were hungry for something more than citizenship and money from lonely American men. Don't get me wrong. I’m sure some were decent people. Great people even. There are always decent people in all circumstances and walks in life. But like the Face App, a lot of these women in the 80s were not "true" mail order brides. They were sleeper cells. Success makes people fat and lazy. And America was successful. Hunger never sleeps though. Hunger is always vigilant. AND patient. We barely noticed the wolves as they crept in and studied us. Now it's 2019 and they are ready for the kill. This is not just about giving Russian-bots access to you personal data. This is about total enslavement. A pounding like America has never seen before! It may be too late, but we have to try. If you're not willing to try, you might as well grab the lube and get ready for your pounding. Join the resistance by clicking here and being notified when the next chapter of this bizarro sex story is posted.

America Gets Pounded by a Russian Face App

*Fan Fic Title Inspired by Chuck Tingle* It seemed so innocent at first. Good clean fun. Take the Old-Age Face App challenge, have some laughs at what you’ll look like in thirty years. Much safer than the Kiki challenge, tide pod, or condom challenge, right? Wrong. There’s a reason they call it going viral. Viruses go viral—do you know a single virus that’s good for you? I sure don’t. And now America's collapsing and we have no one to blame but ourselves. Sure, we can blame the Russians, but what’s the point? That would be like blaming fire when you accidentally burn yourself. It's well documented how dangerous fire can be. Proper precautions should be taken when using such an element. Fire can cook food, keep you warm, or burn the fuck to death even. I take that analogy back. Maybe the face app isn't like fire. That damn Russian app has no helpful qualities. It only serves to give you a few days worth of laughs on social media, a fair amount of comments, but barely even 15 minutes of fame. Not nearly as satisfying as warmth or cooked food. It was truly a one-sided fire. And the only ones benefiting were the creators. But we didn't know it at the time. I can’t even blame the average Facebook user. They're like lemmings. If all you care about is selfies, the newest phone app, popularity, etc. Then you're not the type of person who thinks things through. You just act. You’re that guy or girl, and it’s pointless to expect you to understand the potential hazard in new technology. Don’t get me wrong, you still contributed to the pounding mess we’re in, but you couldn't have know better. It’s the rest of us who really messed up. Those of you who were on the fence about the app. Those who hesitated to download the app and then share. Those of you who have half a brain. You had an inkling of what could happen. Society relies on fuckers like you to survive. You may not know it, but you're like the glue holding the rest of these lemming-run societies together. And when you lost it, when you succumbed to egos and social media likes and started posting that old-face shit, that’s when we were really fucked. That was when things upgraded to an epidemic. You knew it was stupid! Knew there was ramifications to your dumb post, and we could even see the hesitation in your typed words. "Well, I guess I'll join the party" and "There, I took the challenge; don't look half-bad for an old guy, right?" But we also saw the hunger you craved in getting attention. You broke, but you had no idea how bad it would get. It's like your mom always said, "if everyone was jumping off a bridge, would you?" Apparently, the answer is yes. You see, when the people who serve as the foundation of society breaks down, when people like you cave to the hungry masses... Well, I guess it goes even deeper than this app. In fact, this all started with a wave of Russian mail-order brides in the 80s. We probably didn't realize what was happening back then either. It was a plan forty years in the making. Ha! Consider it an aging app. America in the 80s... America aged by the app... We're not just old, we're fucking burning. Maybe fire was a good analogy. And this time those Comrades are gonna finish us…unless we do something now. Unless we act, this is gonna turn into a Russian bukkake snuff film that drowns us all. Don’t believe me, do you? If you’re reading this, there’s still time to prepare and counterattack. So pay attention! Otherwise you’re gonna get surprised—surprised like a first time fellatiator when the dude blows in your face without giving a curtsy warning. ****** Natasha’s finger played at my asshole as she sucked my balls. I looked down and smiled as she raised up from my nutbag, arched her eyebrows, and then spit on my cock. I could see her swishing, building up more saliva, then closed my eyes as she sloppily swallowed my mushroom tip again, all that mouth-juice running down the sides of my shaft. I took a deep breath, excited but still experiencing a small ounce of sadness that our afternoon together was coming to an end. But, as my old man use to say: 'All good things must come to an end.' With my cock sufficiently lubed, Natasha used her hand to stroke my boner while her mouth returned to my balls. I drifted to my happy place as the trifecta rocked my world: Cock stroked, balls/taint licked, ass explored. I didn’t open my eyes until after I exploded. Natasha was so fantastic. She continued to lick and stroke my sensitive cock until I wanted to scream. She smiled at me, splatters of sperm plastered to her perfect angular face. With cum still dripping, she put my purple head back in her mouth and sucked gently, giving me after-shocks for another minute. It was like our version of cuddling, and really eased me down, lessened the sadness of knowing our time was over. She kissed my shrinking cock one last time and headed to the master bathroom to wash up. I took a deep breath and picked up my phone to wait for her return. I chuckled when I opened Facebook and my feed was filled with old faces. More appropriate would be to say it was my friends' faces, but aged using some new face app. A few months ago it had been the gender swap. Before that it had been going all smooth faced and sporting wide-eyed anime. Now it was old age. Totally stupid. But it killed a few hours of boredom, I guessed. I didn’t guess though; I knew. Facebook killed time for millions. Even when I wasn't at work or with Natasha, I was usually scrolling. The people posting their old faces seemed to be having loads of fun today, great comments, and before I knew it, I found myself in the play store searching for the old age app. I was so absorbed that I barely felt Natasha lay down beside me on the bed. “What you doing?” God I loved her Russian accent. “Oh." I smiled. “It’s silly but…” I held up my phone so she could see the app. “ Everyone’s playing around with it. I know you don’t do social media but—” “Don’t do that.” Her face and stern commend shocked me. “What’s wrong?” She looked away as she always did when thinking deep, and I was reminded that she was a real beautiful person, no doubt with many facets that her johns would never know—by the way, I never felt like a john; I was never charged, but I tipped madly. “It’s a bad program. Steals from you. Don’t use it.” “Ah hell, baby, this whole damn Facebook platform is one big scam. Total spying operation .” I laughed thinking of Wish.com, Amazon, and countless others. “They use it to sell me ads. I know. It’s fun though. And I don’t fall for the product placements.” I winked. She placed her hand on my shoulder. “Patrick, you are always nicest man to me. Please…” She grabbed my phone examining the download. A part of me loved her and I didn’t protest. “Yes,” she said. “This is bad, Don’t do it.” She X’ed out of the app and handed back the phone. “Promise me you won’t.” Her face looked so much different than when it had been splattered in cum and I had no idea what to say. Something in my gut wondered what the hell was the big deal. But when her body pressed against mine, I didn’t want to argue. I just wanted to enjoy her presence before the real world came crashing back in. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry to upset you.” She kissed my chest and smiled I wish I’d kept that promise. **** Sometimes wonder if I’m a sex addict or maybe a porn addict. I can’t really keep up with all the new mental disorders, addictions, and popular labels today. Regardless, I have a tendency to fall hard into the hole of Twitter porn. I call it research for my escapades with Natasha. Others might call it addiction. Semantics really. But that's where I was tonight. Twitter... Oh,I should also mention I don’t consider myself a guy who buys prostitutes. My relationship with Natasha isn’t like that. Our relationship is tricky. But I’m different than her johns. Or so I tell myself— I'm getting side-tracked again. It's about 8pm and I'm about an hour deep into porn gifs and video clips on Twitter when I see a pretty famous porn star doing the face app challenge. Well, she’s famous to me. Her post: 30yrs from now will you still want to fuck me? Below the bold question is her old face pic. The post is viral of course, countless comments. But I don’t weigh in; I never comment or like porn posts. I just scroll, but I appreciate your content, trust me, I do. And truth is I may want to fuck you at age 60, just depends on where I am in life more than what you look like. Personality is sexy. More than looks. Confidence in the way one looks is sexy as fuck…but now I’m drifting again. Point is, it made me remember the face app... I opened the play store again and resumed the download. **** Better dead than Red. Yeah? If only that saying had stayed in fashion. I know they're not the "Soviet Union" anymore, but a devil by any other name would still be as sinister. If only we had listened to Yuri Bezmenov's warning. Don’t know him? Google. That and the four stages. Unless Google is gone by the time you're reading this. But in that case it’s too late anyway. Yuri the defector was right...sort of. They've been trying to bring us down for a long time. The newest seeds were planted in the 80s with the mail order brides, as I said earlier. True, not all mail order brides are Russian, but looking back, they were the start. Turns out that a big portion of those Russian wives were hungry for something more than citizenship and money from lonely American men. Don't get me wrong. I’m sure some were decent people. Great people even. There are always decent people in all circumstances and walks in life. But like the Face App, a lot of these women in the 80s were not "true" mail order brides. They were sleeper cells. Success makes people fat and lazy. And America was successful. Hunger never sleeps though. Hunger is always vigilant. AND patient. We barely noticed the wolves as they crept in and studied us. Now it's 2019 and they are ready for the kill. This is not just about giving Russian-bots access to you personal data. This is about total enslavement. A pounding like America has never seen before! It may be too late, but we have to try. If you're not willing to try, you might as well grab the lube and get ready for your pounding. Join the resistance by clicking here and being notified when the next chapter of this bizarro sex story is posted.

One For the Road by Wesley Southard

Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore… Except in this novella Toto is actually the band Rot in Hell and Dorothy is the lead singer’s slutty girlfriend. Wesley Southard’s One for the Road is a rock ‘n’ roll nightmare crossing horror and bizarro genres. Spencer Hesston has finished his last set with Rot in Hell. He and the drummer Vinnie are sick of the lead singer Steve, their spoiled bassist Les, the Lurch-looking bodyguard D-Rail, and Shelly—Steve’s girlfriend who slangs their merch but is just as bored and over the whole thing as Vinnie and Spencer. The two friends are especially tired of the cliché chugging deathmetal riffs they're forced to crank out and are ready to start their own band. And they’ll be breaking this news to the rest of Rot in Hell as soon as they get back home… Unfortunately, they never get the chance. After gathering some beers and joints for the long haul home, Spencer blacks out. They all do. Like Dorothy’s house plopping down in Oz, when the motley crew regains consciousness, they find the van has crossed them over a void and into a sandy ghost town. At first, that is... What follows is the band’s journey through an ever-changing landscape. Living trees, pale blood suckers, were-cat bikers, tarantulas with human fingers for legs, and a whole lot more are waiting to dissect the band. In my last heavy metal horror review my gripe was that the novel was an LP that should have been an EP. Well, I got my wish for a fast and heavy single with One For the Road. I was able to devour this novella in two sittings. And once the band drops into the hellish Oz, the action never slows. If you like surprises, STOP NOW and download your copy here. However, if want to know the full set-list, I’m eager to share my concert experience below—in case you’re a dense rocker like D-Rail, this means I’m dropping spoilers in the next section. Southard does an awesome job setting the stage for Spence and Vinnie’s departure from R.I.H to chase their own musical dreams. The character development is strong in the short first sections and gets you amped to see what will happen to them. The creatures of this hell world are bizarre and the deaths are graphic. But there’s something missing… When Dorothy finally woke up, she had learned a valuable lesson from her stay in Oz. When Spencer wakes up though…nothing. If there was a moral to the story, I missed it—which is possible. I know what you’re thinking, you just can’t please this music/book snob. And truth be told, I do feel a little bad sharing my view since it was such a cool book, but this is solely my opinion and you know what they say about opinions lol Spencer goes through hell, and when he finally makes it out, he’s lost his best friend, his ability to play guitar, and even his parents are dead—or missing. The great character development and action led to an unsatisfying end. To use a music analogy, it’s like attending a concert and the band skips your favorite song. They don’t close with their hit or have an encore! The concert was great and you had a blast, yet you walk away a bit disheartened, wishing you could have heard that tune. Granted, this is bizarro fiction, and I think for a lot of Deadite fans the violence and death scenes are what they love and buy the books for. In that regard, One For the Road is a homerun. No one expects Obituary or Deicide to sing a love song—unless it’s about Satan or necrophilia—and I did say I like my horror fast and heavy, but… Maybe it’s the lady in me, but I need a ballad every once in a while. I can enjoy a hammer-smashed face as much as the next gal, but every once in awhile I love for my dark music to have something a bit deeper to say. Although, literally as I type this, an idea is forming in my head. Perhaps there is a message. The title One For the Road referred to the beers and joints the band took on their drive. When Spencer escaped hell, he woke in a crushed van on the side of the road, his band gone and his body bruised. Maybe that is the message. Be careful. Cause drinking and driving, drugs, playing in a band with little morals, all this, in the end will put you through hell. One day you’ll wake up alone—if you wake up at all—with nothing but crushed dreams and a broken body. Nah, what am I saying? Metal can’t be that deep. And neither can bizarro horror books. We’re just freaks without a message

One For the Road by Wesley Southard

Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore… Except in this novella Toto is actually the band Rot in Hell and Dorothy is the lead singer’s slutty girlfriend. Wesley Southard’s One for the Road is a rock ‘n’ roll nightmare crossing horror and bizarro genres. Spencer Hesston has finished his last set with Rot in Hell. He and the drummer Vinnie are sick of the lead singer Steve, their spoiled bassist Les, the Lurch-looking bodyguard D-Rail, and Shelly—Steve’s girlfriend who slangs their merch but is just as bored and over the whole thing as Vinnie and Spencer. The two friends are especially tired of the cliché chugging deathmetal riffs they're forced to crank out and are ready to start their own band. And they’ll be breaking this news to the rest of Rot in Hell as soon as they get back home… Unfortunately, they never get the chance. After gathering some beers and joints for the long haul home, Spencer blacks out. They all do. Like Dorothy’s house plopping down in Oz, when the motley crew regains consciousness, they find the van has crossed them over a void and into a sandy ghost town. At first, that is... What follows is the band’s journey through an ever-changing landscape. Living trees, pale blood suckers, were-cat bikers, tarantulas with human fingers for legs, and a whole lot more are waiting to dissect the band. In my last heavy metal horror review my gripe was that the novel was an LP that should have been an EP. Well, I got my wish for a fast and heavy single with One For the Road. I was able to devour this novella in two sittings. And once the band drops into the hellish Oz, the action never slows. If you like surprises, STOP NOW and download your copy here. However, if want to know the full set-list, I’m eager to share my concert experience below—in case you’re a dense rocker like D-Rail, this means I’m dropping spoilers in the next section. Southard does an awesome job setting the stage for Spence and Vinnie’s departure from R.I.H to chase their own musical dreams. The character development is strong in the short first sections and gets you amped to see what will happen to them. The creatures of this hell world are bizarre and the deaths are graphic. But there’s something missing… When Dorothy finally woke up, she had learned a valuable lesson from her stay in Oz. When Spencer wakes up though…nothing. If there was a moral to the story, I missed it—which is possible. I know what you’re thinking, you just can’t please this music/book snob. And truth be told, I do feel a little bad sharing my view since it was such a cool book, but this is solely my opinion and you know what they say about opinions lol Spencer goes through hell, and when he finally makes it out, he’s lost his best friend, his ability to play guitar, and even his parents are dead—or missing. The great character development and action led to an unsatisfying end. To use a music analogy, it’s like attending a concert and the band skips your favorite song. They don’t close with their hit or have an encore! The concert was great and you had a blast, yet you walk away a bit disheartened, wishing you could have heard that tune. Granted, this is bizarro fiction, and I think for a lot of Deadite fans the violence and death scenes are what they love and buy the books for. In that regard, One For the Road is a homerun. No one expects Obituary or Deicide to sing a love song—unless it’s about Satan or necrophilia—and I did say I like my horror fast and heavy, but… Maybe it’s the lady in me, but I need a ballad every once in a while. I can enjoy a hammer-smashed face as much as the next gal, but every once in awhile I love for my dark music to have something a bit deeper to say. Although, literally as I type this, an idea is forming in my head. Perhaps there is a message. The title One For the Road referred to the beers and joints the band took on their drive. When Spencer escaped hell, he woke in a crushed van on the side of the road, his band gone and his body bruised. Maybe that is the message. Be careful. Cause drinking and driving, drugs, playing in a band with little morals, all this, in the end will put you through hell. One day you’ll wake up alone—if you wake up at all—with nothing but crushed dreams and a broken body. Nah, what am I saying? Metal can’t be that deep. And neither can bizarro horror books. We’re just freaks without a message

Lucifer Sam by Leo Darke

Maiden. Priest. Sabbath. Cooper. Lucifer Sam…? Wait, you’ve never heard of Lucifer Sam? Whereas most heavy metal bands may have steered millions toward losing their souls, Lucifer Sam may be the only hardcore rockers who helped save souls. Lucifer Sam by Leo Darke is a heavy metal horror novel that separates the poser bands from the truly evil bands. Kind of like Slayer vs. Mayhem. Slayer wore eyeliner back in the day, sported some inverted crosses, and sang blasphemous lyrics. But Mayhem members kill people and burn down churches. Big difference. Cat O’ Nine Tails began their musical career with Ray Starling on lead vocals. Like so many other heavy metal bands of the era, Cat played at being “comic strip Satanists, reading Aleister Crowley books, and pretending to be bad.” After ditching Ray who boozed and smoked too much (ala Paul Di'Anno for Bruce Dickinson), the band began a search for true darkness. Flash forward to today, and the aging rockers may have finally found the key. While flying over the Indian Ocean, the private jet carrying Cat O’ Nine Tails’ members mysteriously disappears. Rescue efforts and salvage crews turn up nothing. Six months later, the plane reappears, but when it lands, the band members seem…different. For starters, they look unbelievably youthful. Even stranger than that is their robotic movements, the slow speech patterns, and ambiguous answers given when interviewed about the incident—which they can remember nothing about. All the band is certain of is that they are excited to get back into the studio to record their new album. An album that will change the world. When random acts of violence and tragedy erupt in the UK streets—killing spree at the office of a music magazine, fan running naked through the streets with a knife, suicides, etc—the only person who sees the connection is Kirk. Kirk is the lead singer of Lucifer Sam, a small rock band struggling to stay afloat in the dying music scene of pubs and back alley clubs. Kirk’s girlfriend Rose also happens to be obsessed with Cat O’ Nine Tails giving him extra incentive to find proof that while Cat is back, they are truly evil now. The novel is fun and if you’re a rocker, I have a feeling you will enjoy the musical references and cliché plot, which you’ve probably already guessed… Cat O’ Nine has traveled to the ‘other side’ and come back with a sound guaranteed to drive fans crazy. Literally. The concept of a musical note driving someone into madness and murder/music to incite evil/conjure up something is probably as old as music itself. Even in medieval times, the tritone in the Locrian mode was nicknamed ‘diabolus in musica’ for its dissonance and the emotional frission it caused. For me, I would love to see something new in the musical horror genre, but just because something is overly used, doesn’t mean it's bad. Leo Darke weaves good characters around the plot and everything crescendos to a nice climax at Wembly Stadium, where Lucifer Sam and original singer Ray Starling attempt to save the day. Speaking of stadiums shows, some metal heads are diehard concert fans who listen to every band on the bill that night, while others refuse to take their seats until the headliner takes the stage. A bad opening act doesn’t ruin a concert, but it can spoil a book. My biggest complaint of Lucifer Sam is the opening prologue. My suggestion is to get a beer or stand in the restroom line and skip the intro of the novel titled ‘Promo Single’. I almost gave up on the book because of that intro, which would have been a shame. If I had been mixing this album, I would cut that intro, done some condensing and turned the novel into an EP rather than an LP. Though that’s probably because I like my horror like I like my music: hard and fast, lol. I dislike extended drum solos and/or long instrumental interludes. However, lots of metal/horror fans love over-the-top imagery and instrumentals which will make Lucifer Sam a hit with them. I give the novel three out of five drumsticks—er, I mean stars. So grab a beer, turn the lights down, and get ready to rock with Lucifer Sam by Leo Dark. If you're looking for some more heavy metal horror, consider checking out the following books. I haven't read them all, but they come recommended from friends in the horror community! The Scream by John Skipp & Craig Spector Rock and Roll is Dead: Heavy Metal Anthology Corpsepaint by David Peak We Sold Our Souls by Grady Hendrix The Kill Riff by David Schow The Devil of Echo Lake by Douglas Wynn One for the Road by Wesley Southard Lucifer Sam was provided by Phantasmagoria Magazine! Be sure to check out all the past issues here and follow them on Facebook.

Lucifer Sam by Leo Darke

Maiden. Priest. Sabbath. Cooper. Lucifer Sam…? Wait, you’ve never heard of Lucifer Sam? Whereas most heavy metal bands may have steered millions toward losing their souls, Lucifer Sam may be the only hardcore rockers who helped save souls. Lucifer Sam by Leo Darke is a heavy metal horror novel that separates the poser bands from the truly evil bands. Kind of like Slayer vs. Mayhem. Slayer wore eyeliner back in the day, sported some inverted crosses, and sang blasphemous lyrics. But Mayhem members kill people and burn down churches. Big difference. Cat O’ Nine Tails began their musical career with Ray Starling on lead vocals. Like so many other heavy metal bands of the era, Cat played at being “comic strip Satanists, reading Aleister Crowley books, and pretending to be bad.” After ditching Ray who boozed and smoked too much (ala Paul Di'Anno for Bruce Dickinson), the band began a search for true darkness. Flash forward to today, and the aging rockers may have finally found the key. While flying over the Indian Ocean, the private jet carrying Cat O’ Nine Tails’ members mysteriously disappears. Rescue efforts and salvage crews turn up nothing. Six months later, the plane reappears, but when it lands, the band members seem…different. For starters, they look unbelievably youthful. Even stranger than that is their robotic movements, the slow speech patterns, and ambiguous answers given when interviewed about the incident—which they can remember nothing about. All the band is certain of is that they are excited to get back into the studio to record their new album. An album that will change the world. When random acts of violence and tragedy erupt in the UK streets—killing spree at the office of a music magazine, fan running naked through the streets with a knife, suicides, etc—the only person who sees the connection is Kirk. Kirk is the lead singer of Lucifer Sam, a small rock band struggling to stay afloat in the dying music scene of pubs and back alley clubs. Kirk’s girlfriend Rose also happens to be obsessed with Cat O’ Nine Tails giving him extra incentive to find proof that while Cat is back, they are truly evil now. The novel is fun and if you’re a rocker, I have a feeling you will enjoy the musical references and cliché plot, which you’ve probably already guessed… Cat O’ Nine has traveled to the ‘other side’ and come back with a sound guaranteed to drive fans crazy. Literally. The concept of a musical note driving someone into madness and murder/music to incite evil/conjure up something is probably as old as music itself. Even in medieval times, the tritone in the Locrian mode was nicknamed ‘diabolus in musica’ for its dissonance and the emotional frission it caused. For me, I would love to see something new in the musical horror genre, but just because something is overly used, doesn’t mean it's bad. Leo Darke weaves good characters around the plot and everything crescendos to a nice climax at Wembly Stadium, where Lucifer Sam and original singer Ray Starling attempt to save the day. Speaking of stadiums shows, some metal heads are diehard concert fans who listen to every band on the bill that night, while others refuse to take their seats until the headliner takes the stage. A bad opening act doesn’t ruin a concert, but it can spoil a book. My biggest complaint of Lucifer Sam is the opening prologue. My suggestion is to get a beer or stand in the restroom line and skip the intro of the novel titled ‘Promo Single’. I almost gave up on the book because of that intro, which would have been a shame. If I had been mixing this album, I would cut that intro, done some condensing and turned the novel into an EP rather than an LP. Though that’s probably because I like my horror like I like my music: hard and fast, lol. I dislike extended drum solos and/or long instrumental interludes. However, lots of metal/horror fans love over-the-top imagery and instrumentals which will make Lucifer Sam a hit with them. I give the novel three out of five drumsticks—er, I mean stars. So grab a beer, turn the lights down, and get ready to rock with Lucifer Sam by Leo Dark. If you're looking for some more heavy metal horror, consider checking out the following books. I haven't read them all, but they come recommended from friends in the horror community! The Scream by John Skipp & Craig Spector Rock and Roll is Dead: Heavy Metal Anthology Corpsepaint by David Peak We Sold Our Souls by Grady Hendrix The Kill Riff by David Schow The Devil of Echo Lake by Douglas Wynn One for the Road by Wesley Southard Lucifer Sam was provided by Phantasmagoria Magazine! Be sure to check out all the past issues here and follow them on Facebook.

400 Days of Oppression by Wrath James White

400 Days of Oppression by Wrath James White might make you angry. Depending on your gross-out tolerance, perhaps it will make you cringe. Hopefully it’ll turn you on a bit with its sex scenes. Either way though, it will definitely make you think. At least if you read to the end, and this is a book you must read to the end no matter what. I devoured several Amazon reviews of this novel before attempting to write my own, and I’m still not sure exactly how I feel about the message and emotions this novel stirred in me. So let’s just start with the plot: Natasha is a Caucasian teacher who has a bit of a white trash background. She doesn’t understand African American culture or their struggles. When she meets Kenyatta in a nightclub, she’s smitten and excited to be a part of his life. Kenyatta is described as a black Adonis and I envision an almost Christian Grey-type character, but perhaps not as wealthy. After Kenyatta unleashes his sexual power onto Natasha, she is willing to follow him to the ends of the earth. However, he is not willing to crown Natasha as his queen (wife) until she truly understands him. Understanding of not just his BDSM lifestyle, which is dark and intense, but also his African roots. In order to test her, to prove that she fully comprehends what his people went through, Kenyatta designs the ultimate bondage challenge: 400 Days of Bondage. 400 Days where each day represents a year of the oppression his ancestors suffered. 400 Days that not only represent the African struggle, but imitate it as well. For example, Natasha’s first challenge is spending her days and nights in a coffin suspended from the ceiling by chains. The close confines and rocking are suppose to simulate the journey overseas to America. Once “on land” Natasha must begin her next challenge, including the sexual treatment of house slaves and the humiliation and fear of being sold at auction--all challenges accompanied by dark sexual excitement. And it’s only going to get worse. The good news is that, as with all consenting BDSM role-playing, there is a safe word. I’m sure you can guess the word, however, if Natasha utters it, not only does she end the game, she ends her relationship with Kenyatta and any hope of ever marrying him. Now the hard part... While I do not engage in BDSM, I am fascinated by it. As I’ve said in other reviews, I’m a voyeur who is unwilling to participate, but will definitely rubberneck lol. In that regard, I found myself enjoying most of the sex scenes. Some were quite hot while others were highly disturbing and upsetting. Many readers might find themselves really getting turned on by the sex, only to get that splash of cold water on their crotches as they remember the circumstances surrounding the scene, when the subversive degradation slips in. All the sex scenes were interesting and highly creative. That’s probably the best thing going for this novel; I’ve never read anything quite like the plot that Wrath has laid out. Reader complaints will likely come from Natasha’s shallow character and her stupidity of allowing Kenyatta to walk all over her. She continues to bend to all his whims no matter how harsh because she desires and wants this man so badly. The BDSM community may have issues with how Kenyatta puts her through both mental and physical torture with little regard for her well-being. Both aspects made me very uncomfortable too, but people like this exist in real life. And these characters portray them accurately in my opinion. There are plenty of insecure ladies who will allow men to walk all over them. And there are plenty of men whose love of bondage is deep and dark and who mentally and physically abuse anyone they can. In addition to entertaining, this novel can serve as educational too. Despite other readers complaining that the author is racist and misogynistic, I disagree. Just because Wrath writes about these types of characters, it doesn't means this is who he is. It’s the only novel I’ve read by him so far, but I have a feeling he is simply exposing a segment of the population that is very real. And since I don't know him, I can't claim he hates white women or that he’s racist as other reviewers have suggested. Could I be wrong? Sure. I don’t know his personal viewpoints, but taken as a story, these characters are realistic; sadly I have met people like Natasha and Kenyatta. Also, I wonder if the readers who sling the insults as Wrath and the novel have actually read the book TO THE END. If you ask me, I think 400 Days is a sexy and subversive philosophy book, doing exactly what it's suppose to do. But what do I know. Regardless of your personal views, I feel strongly that you should read this book. And I want to hear your thoughts on the ending. Does it change the entire theme of the story? Does it resolve everything? Vindicate Wrath from the angry cries of some readers? I can’t answer that for you. But I do feel like there are some things that should be read, facets of society that must be confronted, whether we like them or not. And as with everything, you will only be able to see this novel through the lens of your own perception. I propose my own challenge for you…read the whole novel before commenting on it. You can pick up a copy here. I look forward to seeing what everyone has to say, but remember, I’m a voyeur only. I enjoy seeing everyone’s reaction, I’m fascinated by human nature, but chances are I’m not going to engage you in deep conversations on race and soci-economic factors, especially not on my website or social media platforms. I don’t enjoy that. I’m not here to change your mind or push my own political views. I only want to explore the various facets of society through books. As such, I present the dark and disturbing without comment. Take my challenge and then share your thoughts…