Ichabod Ebenezer's Blog, page 3

My Store is Officially Open!

My new short story collection is available for pre-order!Okay, I’m burying the lead a little bit there. Beyond the Rail and Other Nightmares is on pre-order, and you can get it in my new store.

Beyond the Rail and Other Nightmares is a collection of thirteen horror and dark fiction stories, but as usual, I’m not afraid to wander across genre boundaries. You will find humor in this collection, alongside steampunk, and even a glimpse of the old west.

I’m super excited about this collection, but I’m a bit biased, so I’m going to let Kirkus Reviews have the spotlight:

…tales in this 13-story collection save much of the horror for twisty endings. The author’s skillful character development gives these denouements a hefty punch. — Kirkus Reviews

Here are just a few of the characters you’ll meet within its pages:

Martin Edison, a young man so desperate for cash that he takes a low-paying job as a file clerk in a supposedly haunted basement.

Chelsea Pepperdine, Victorian inventor and adventuress, willing to match wits with any member of the patriarchy, but she may have met her match in the form of a cactus…

Marco Servantes, distraught over his girlfriend being pregnant with his boss’s child, and willing to sell his soul to get revenge.

Derek Gray, whose been making a lot of noise in his room late at night, and his downstairs neighbor who believes Derek has been dead for the past week.

Kevin McCafferty, addict, screw-up, and all-around family embarrassment. His new liver is supposed to be a new lease on life, but how much can he really change? A lot, as it turns out.

Officer LaThanya Barber, who just wants to keep tempers down during an eviction, until she discovers the abomination hidden beneath the house.

David Quill, who still thinks of himself as a sailor even though he hasn’t set foot on a ship in thirty years. The only survivor of a terrible shipwreck, the sea isn’t done with him yet.

And Agnes Tennyson, wild-west newspaper editor, cursed to know tomorrow’s headline, but unable to change it.

That’s only eight of the thirteen stories, but I don’t want to spoil too much. I hope that was enough to grab your curiosity.

Beyond the Rail and Other Nightmares is available in paperback for $13.99, or ebook for $3.99

You can pre-order from Amazon and help me climb in the rankings, or you can get a paperback copy directly from me. If you prefer some other outlet, such as Kobo or Barnes & Noble, you can find all the online retailers here.

Lastly, if you’re the blessed sort who picks up their books at brick and mortar stores or libraries, please feel free to walk right in and ask for it! They don’t have it, and if not, they can order it.

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The Oracle

Image by blackrabbitkdj from PixabayThe shin-high covering of damp leaves clung as they passed,

making sandpaper sounds in the early dusk. Bonnie clung to Penny’s arm, flinching at every animal noise.

“We should go back. It’s going to be dark soon,” she said.

“That’s the point. The Oracle only appears at twilight.”

“Do you really believe in this Oracle thing?”

Penny turned, a wicked smile on her face. “Is that real enough for you?”

Bonnie followed her finger to where a man blocked the path. He was rail thin, wearing a double-breasted military coat and a bird-skull mask with black feathers jutting out the back.

“He’s the Oracle?” Bonnie frantically whispered. “He’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Penny laughed. “No, the Oracle is a pool of water, still as a sheet of glass. That’s the… well, the best translation is ‘bouncer.’

She pulled away from Bonnie’s grasp and approached the figure. “We seek counsel from the Oracle.”

The figure continued to stand there, saying nothing. Bonnie grabbed her friend’s arm and tried to pull her away, but Penny shrugged her off. “Aren’t you supposed to ask me three questions?”

The bird skull tilted to one side. “No. You are allowed to ask me three questions in an attempt to ascertain my name. I am required to answer truthfully. Then you are allowed one guess. Answer correctly, and gain the Oracle’s counsel. If you fail, I throw your souls into the river Acheron.”

“You have used your first question.”

Bonnie tugged more insistently. Penny asked, “Is your costume somehow related to your name?”

“No.”

Penny opened her mouth to ask again, but Bonnie clamped a hand over it. “What is your name?” Bonnie asked.

“Cecil,” the figure said. “You have asked your three questions.”

Penny pulled Bonnie away. “That was a huge risk.”

Bonnie shrugged. “He said souls. As in both of ours. And we only had one question left.”

Penny turned back to the figure. “Is your name Cecil?”

The bird-man stepped aside. “You may approach the Oracle.”

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The Cost of Quality Entertainment

Beyond the Rail and Other Nightmares, Coming June 28th!

If you’re on my mailing list, you already know I have a new book coming out. Beyond the Rail and Other Nightmares is a collection of Horror and Dark Fiction stories, thirteen in all, and will be available for pre-order soon.

One of the things I labored hardest over is the price point for my paperback. There was only one non-negotiable factor in my decision, and that was that I wanted to be able to see my book on store shelves, and that meant not going Amazon exclusive. Though there are options, I opted for IngramSpark to print the actual book. They have a calculator, which you can find here, where you can add in your constants and it will figure out printing costs, and tell how much you will earn.

I aimed to price my book under $10 American dollars, and with a 5in x 8in book at 306 printed pages on cream paper with matte cover, per the calculations, this seemed doable. I wouldn’t make a ton on each book, but that’s not the point.

Unfortunately, that was before bookstores got into the mix. It turns out they take a 55% discount in order to shelve your book. At a sales point of $9.99, that discount means they only pay $4.49 per copy, and I’m paying $5.09 just for printing, so I lose $0.59 per copy sold. Not a stable business practice.

I considered changing book size and paper weight, as well as printing companies, but nothing I could do would bring me below the $10 threshold I was looking for without losing money. And I was increasingly unhappy with the quality of the product.

It was time to accept that this price option had gone the way of $6.00 matinees at my local theater ($11.14 at time of writing).

The price I settled for is $13.99. This may seem like a lot for a self-published book, and before I educated myself, I would have balked at the price. The cost to print is still $5.09, but after retailers take their 55% cut, I will make $1.19 per sale.

So, is a high-quality book worth the cost of a matinee movie and a small soda (hold the popcorn)? Just consider the twelve+ hours of entertainment versus the hour and a half you’ll get at the local theater. If it’s still not worth it, the $3.99 e-book may be for you.

Or, given that $12.80 goes to printing and shelving, is $1.19 more than I should expect for over a year of work, with professional editing and cover design? That’s for you to decide. If it comes down to the writing for you, and you don’t know the quality I offer, you should definitely join my list just to get the free novella, Between Bloom and Decay. Emily Singer would have fit quite comfortably between the covers of Beyond the Rail and Other Nightmares, except I committed to it remaining exclusive and free for list members.

If you have any thoughts on the subject, please drop me a line. I would love to discuss it with you.

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The Meteor

Image by Free-Photos from PixabayThe helicopter deposited the two figures in hazmat suits and immediately dusted off.

“Now can you tell me why I’m here?” Dr. Phillips asked. “I’m an exobiologist, not a forensic scientist. I can’t tell you what burned these trees.”

“Nothing burned these trees,” Major Brennan said. “Until 4:15 this morning, this was grassland.”

“I don’t understand. Are you saying these bare trees grew this way? Today? What about the barren earth… the smoke in the air?”

“Follow me, Dr. Phillips.” The major trudged toward the center of the devastation, and Dr. Phillips followed.

“At 4:07 AM, Edwards Air Force Base picked up a meteor entering the atmosphere. Initial projections had it impacting Palm Springs, but before any evacuation could be issued, the object turned ninety degrees, landing here.”

“A meteor strike could certainly cause this level of destruction—”

“Grasslands, doctor. There was no fire. There was barely an impact crater, as you will see in a moment.”

“You’ve already been out here?”

“Negative. Everything we’ve learned so far has been through satellite imagery. The boys at Palomar recommended you be first on scene. We’re here.”

The two men stopped at the edge of a crater some twenty feet across. The pit was dominated by a porous gray sphere perhaps half that.

“That’s impossible.”

“Impossible has new meaning today, doctor. Near as we can tell, that sphere is producing this atmosphere, causing those lifeless trees to grow.”

“It’s terraforming the area around it! Making the area suitable for some other lifeform! Major, this is an alien artifact!”

“You’re here to tell us what sort of alien.”

Dr. Phillips set down his kit and opened it. “I’ll need air and soil samples, scrapings from the artifact… I—” He broke off.

“Yes, doctor?”

“Major, were those tree trunks so close a moment ago?”

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Antique Roses

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

“Aly,” Maddie called as she pushed through the side door, thumbing through the mail. “I’m home.”

She listened for any response, then bumped the door shut with her hip. She glanced at the clock and returned her attention to the mail. It was almost 7:00. Aly must be home, but was either engrossed in a book, or pissed off at her.

Maddie continued through to the living room. “I know I’m late. Do you want to order Thai? I feel like—shit.” About to toss the mail on the end table, she noticed it was strewn with antique roses and candles. A heart-shaped box sat in the center, tied up with twine, with a tag proclaiming, “i love you.”

Aly’s boyfriend must have been over. Was today the day Maddie was supposed to be elsewhere? She vaguely remembered hearing Aly say something a week ago, but there was no follow up, and she forgot.

She paused again, listening for any movement upstairs.

Maddie had gone unnoticed. She decided to make her exit before that changed.

She turned, finding a man standing between her and the door. He was dressed all in black, except for a pink heart spray-painted across his hoodie and a cherub mask over his face. “Hello, Maddie,” he said. “You got my note.”

Maddie swallowed hard, reaching behind herself for anything to use as a weapon. “Who are you?”

He shook his head. “No clues. If you love me too, you’ll know—”

“Milton! It’s you, isn’t it?”

“What? How did you…?” He slid the mask up onto his head.

“Because you’re always creeping on me! And Aly said she saw you parked out there yesterday!”

“Doesn’t matter. Do you love me?”

“No!” Milton pulled the mask back down and reached behind himself, retrieving a bow and arrow. “Then I’ll make you love me.”

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The Treasure Map

Image by Pexels from PixabayJason paced forward, staring over the curled patch of deerskin in his hands.

“You’re not going to find anything,” Tyrone called after him.

“Shut up. I’m counting.” Jason’s mouth continued to move after his terse response.

“Just because you found it in McCreary’s shed doesn’t mean it’s that square on the map.” Tyrone jogged to catch up with Jason.

Jason stopped, turning east, only then addressing his brother. “This wavy line shows where Silver Creek pours into the Illinois River. That’s how I know this is McCreary’s shed.”

He pointed a little north of east and said, “Would you say that clearing is teardrop shaped?”

“Maybe, but who cares? So, there’s a question mark on some stupid map. If McCreary had treasure, he wouldn’t live in that broke-down dump.”

“He was a miserly bastard. But he dressed too nice to be poor.” Jason started forward again, counting under his breath.

“He was also a creepy old coot. Instead of treasure, you might just find some teenager’s body.”

“Are you trying to make me lose count?”

Tyrone followed along in silence until Jason stopped in the center of the clearing.

“That’s twenty-three paces. Right where the question mark is drawn.”

“Yeah, but there was no compass bearing or anything. If your guess back there was off by three degrees, we could be twenty feet from the spot.”

“Look who got all book-smart.”

Jason traded the map for a trowel.

It struck something hard the moment it hit soil. “What do you think of that?” Jason asked, tossing Tyrone a white rock with a question mark in Sharpie.

A foot beneath that, the trowel thunked into hollow wood, and Jason pulled out a small chest.

“Not a body, then,” Tyrone said.

Jason opened the chest.

A small white card read, “Made you look.”

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Road Trip

Image by SplitShire from Pixabay

I can’t believe my wife cheated on me.

God, and it’s always this way, isn’t it? I came home to surprise her with takeout from Fromage and a romantic evening.

My mind slides right over it. I’ve got to get as far away from her, from the house as possible. I need to clear my mind.

I twist the throttle. The speed limits on these country roads are rarely enforced, and the feel of the motor between my legs, the blur of the trees going past, are just what I need.

Five years, two months and fourteen days. She had no idea that this date meant anything, but we’ve officially been together longer than any relationship I’ve been in. Like an idiot, I’d been keeping track of it, getting excited about it since our fifth anniversary, and this is what I come home to.

In my man cave. On my couch.

God, I’m such an idiot. How could I not have seen it coming?

And who the hell was he? I know all her coworkers. All her friends are my friends. But I sure as hell didn’t recognize ‘Alphonso.’

Crap. I got lost in my thoughts and ran through a pothole, nearly losing control. The way I feel right now, I barely care. Loss of control may be exactly what I crave.

I’m never going back, that’s for sure. Maybe I’ll just head south and keep going. Tierra Del Fuego, maybe? It’s probably stupid to make any long-term decisions in my state of mind, but I’m definitely done with that place. I should have lit a match on my way out. Yeah. That’s what I should have done.

Alphonso.

Bastard won’t mind that I took his bike.

Neither of them are going to mind anything now that they’re dead.

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Finding Pony Brown

Image by Dariusz Sankowski from PixabayWas it the way the sun struck the map on this particular day? Or the angle I was standing at?

But I saw it. Exactly what I’d been missing for the last eight months.

Penelope Brown disappeared the day I was planning to propose. Her playful nature was what I loved about her, but when she went missing, it felt like a test—like she was hiding, and I was supposed to find her.

The cops ruled out foul play, and her credit cards went unused. Her clothes were gone, and a packed bag was at the end of the bed for me.

The only clue was this map spread across the table with three Polaroids taped to it. Each had the same message: “Always Smile!” Signed, Pony Brown—that’s what Penelope’s friends called her.

I once thought Always Smile was an anagram, but the best I could come up with was, “Yes, a sawmill.”

The map was archaic, using ancient names for countries, like Castille, Granada, and Aragon. It even displayed mythical places like Hy-Brasil and Atlantis. The photos were of major European capitals, Rome, Paris, London.

None of it made any sense. Until today.

I saw the Eiffel Tower like an arrow, and couldn’t unsee it. Down the center of the Coliseum was another, and on Piccadilly, or whatever, was a third.

I grabbed a pencil and extended the lines into a triangle over the map. They corners touched over Hy Brasil, Atlantis, Tunguska.

“That one’s not mythical,” I said. I could almost hear her teasing laughter as I searched for a ruler. A little geometry, and I’d found the center point of the triangle. A little town in the forests of Bohemia called Sägework.

There was nothing on a modern map at its location, so I looked up the word in case the meaning was important.

The English translation was Sawmill.

“Yes, a sawmill.”

I grabbed my bag. “I’m coming, Pony.”

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Sunshine and Smiles

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

The girl looked like a throwback to a Seventies commercial, with a hippie asthetic, leaning on an avocado green VW Bug with a Coca Cola cooler on the roofrack.

“Hey, pull over,” Matt said, rapping R.J.’s bare shoulder and hastily rolling down the window.

The blonde was idly tilting an old steamer trunk with the heel of her boot. She only seemed to notice them as they pulled up.

Matt leaned out the window. “Car break down?”

She smiled, removing her sunglasses. “It’s not my car.”

Matt’s heart sank. “Oh.” He noticed the wooden surfboard next to the cooler. “Your friends surfing?”

She shrugged. “I think they ditched me. Where are you heading?”

“South. You?”

“South sounds good,” she said with another smile. “You guys mind a little company?”

Instead of answering, Matt launched out of the car and grabbed her steamer trunk. He tried to show off his strength, but the damn thing was heavy.

He staggered toward R.J.’s old Cherokee and somehow got the door open and the trunk inside.

“Thanks,” she said, dragging a finger across his chest and slipping in next to the trunk.

He wanted to sit next to her, but she pulled the door shut. He got in front, and R.J. merged back onto the road.

“I’m Sunshine. What are your names?” she said from the back seat.

“I’m Matt, and this is R.J. It’s real nice to meet you.”

“For sure,” Sunshine said and shook Matt’s hand. “How about we put on some tunes? I feel like vibing.”

Before Matt could say anything, R.J. turned on the radio. This was not going his way.

Twenty miles down the road, she said “Hey, pull over. I never miss a sunset.”

The sun was getting low over the ocean, and R.J. pulled in to a sandy turnout. Just as the Jeep came to a stop, Matt felt a loop of wire go around his neck. “What the—?”

Sunshine pulled tight on the loop, then plunged a knife into R.J.’s chest. “Sorry, Matt, but I could tell you only wanted to add me to your list of conquests.”

The wire was so tight against his throat that Matt could say nothing in his defense. Sunshine let go of the knife and R.J. slumped across the gearshift. Sunshine opened her trunk, revealing five human heads covered in white powder.

“Instead, you’re going to go in my collection.”

The wire tightened, biting into Matt’s neck. Hot blood trickled down his chest.

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The Archer of Blue Sector

Image by Stefan Keller from PixabayThrough trial after trial, Cynth had risen through the ranks,

and today was the finale. The top seven archers from all sectors of the country competed for all the honor and their sector’s dominance. Her family would be gathered in the viewing chamber to watch.

“Arinth is almost finished,” Radne said, interrupting Cynth’s thoughts. “Put your helmet on and we’ll verify its orientation and depth of field.”

Cynth stood for her fitting. Until now, the trials had been a series of stationary targets of various sizes and distances. For the finale, she would enter a virtual word where the targets would move and the landscape would change. She had just twelve arrows for ten targets, but if she needed all twelve, she’d probably lost.

A siren blared.

“Check complete,” Radne said. “Good luck.”

Onscreen, a door opened onto an alien world where the sandy, rock-strewn land undulated in the tide. She drew an arrow and charged in.

Twenty-eight seconds and eleven arrows later, she was done.

“Did I win?” she said, removing her helmet. She had hoped to see a score displayed, but the walls were bare.

“First, let me show you what the rest of the world saw.”

A projection appeared upon the walls. Cynth was home. Her family came out to greet her, but she drew back her bow, firing an arrow through her father’s forehead. Shock and terror filled her relative’s faces, but one by one, she hunted them down and murdered them.

“No,” she gasped.

“Oh, yes.” The projection ended, and the walls came down. Her family were strapped to chairs, riddled with arrows.

Cynth fell to her knees. “Why?”

Radne laughed. “Because you thought you were worth leadership. Now your sector sees you how we always have.”

Radne had made a mistake.

Cynth still had one arrow.

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