Lisa Knight's Blog, page 25
February 3, 2015
POETRY: HANGMAN’S HELPER BY PAUL TRISTRAM
“Doesn’t it get really depressing,
seeing and doing the same horrible
hanging thing day in and day out?
Mopping up other peoples shit and piss.
You must hear that gurgling,
strangling sound in your sleep.
If you do sleep?
And those faces, Jesus Christ!
I’ve heard they’re grotesque to look at
when you pull that head sack off.
Eyeballs dangling out and tongues
all purple, black, swollen and twisted,
gives me the heebie-jeebies
just thinking about what you see.
And those dead bodies are heavy,
no wonder your back and legs
are giving you so much gyp.
They’ll be knackered by your forties.
Mind you, the money’s not bad at all.
Well, better than Gravediggers get,
which is why I let you keep doing it.
But the smell on your clothes,
when you come home at night.
From all that ‘herby crap’ the Priest
burns and swings about the place,
I swear, it makes me want to heave.
And you only get Sunday mornings off.
I hardly see you in daylight anymore!”
‘I imagine that each and every one
of those poor demented souls
climbing up into the jaws of that noose
is you my dear, and it keeps me sane’.
He thought silently to himself.
Then started to snore expertly
before pretending to be useless and asleep.
Written by Paul Tristram

January 29, 2015
POEM: IF YOU’RE LYING, I’LL CUT YOUR FUCKING ARMS OFF! BY PAUL TRISTRAM
I wasn’t,
so I did,
counteracted
aggression
with
aggression
and
he lay there
bleeding and weeping
as his
ex-girlfriend
walked
me
home
and
give me
£5
for tomorrow’s beer,
I hope the baby
has
at least
a little bit
of
my smile.
Written by Paul Tristram

AUTHOR NEWS & ANTHOLOGY OPENINGS – 29.01.15
Pendragon Press: Discussing cover ideas for the big launch at FantasyCon in October: Stephen Bacon and Mark West’s double-novella collection “The Lost Film”.
Gabriel Bird is a private detective. He’s been hired to track down Roger Sinclair, an exploitation film-maker who disappeared in 1976, having just completed his last film. Long since lost, “Terrafly” was reputed to have an adverse, often fatal effect on those who watched it. Sinclair’s producing partner, Sorrell Eve, is concerned that the film is about to appear again and wants to make sure it stays lost forever.
As Bird closes in on his target, strange incidents begin to happen to those around him and when he’s offered the chance to watch a clip of “Terrafly”, things turn very dark indeed.
A modern detective story, filled with rich detail of the low-budget heyday of British exploitation films, this will ‘pull you into a dark cinematic nightmare’.
“Lights, camera, action…Mark’s West’s lost film novella will grab your soul by the sprocket holes, pull you into a dark cinematic nightmare, and then re-edit the way you look at the world. Experience it at your peril.”
– Gary McMahon, author of “Pretty Little Dead Things”
AUTHOR EVENT IN LONDON
PunkPunk! – Live music and live literature
Date: 28 February, 2pm to 6pm
Venue: The Hope & Anchor, Islington (London – UK)
We launch punkPunk! in one of the main venues for the emergence of punk back in the 70s.
We have limited space, so please book in advance to avoid disappointment.
We have two bands playing. From 2:30 until 3pm enjoy the music of new punk band anarchistwood.
Author readings will follow, until 4.30pm.
The event will conclude from 4:45 to 5:30 with a performance by a surprise special guest (name announced 15 February…).
Entry fee: £10, including a copy of the book (booking fees apply)
(Authors from the book will get discounted entry.)
You can buy tickets HERE
SUGGESTED READING
Kickin’ the Wily Bobo with Frank Burns
Scaryminds review of Vaudeville by Greg Chapman
Stephan J Myers – The Journey – From the cradle to the grave

January 28, 2015
WEEKLY SERIAL: THE MONSTER OF BELL ISLAND – PART 11 BY JON OLSON
Mammoth
“The Monster of Bell Island”
Part Eleven
Mammoth had become so preoccupied with speculation about monsters and men that he barely registered the sun’s ascension from slumbering sphere to angry Titan. He’d been walking for many hours but hadn’t taken any notice of his surroundings. They were irrelevant as no one cares where they’re going when justice is an absent mistress.
Soon, Obscurity City would rouse itself.
What would happen then?
Mammoth’s strength had been compromised during an altercation with one of Poseidon’s children. He knew that he’d soon be out for the count. Our protagonist desperately needed to find shelter, before losing consciousness, as Bell Island rarely cared whether its victims were alive or dead.
It always took its toll.
Mammoth decided to rest his bones beneath some trees that had fallen during a storm. After crawling into an enormous pit, coloured by dirt and filled with severed roots, exhaustion consumed him.
He didn’t have anything left.
A dreamless sleep had stolen our hero.
***
Little lady was standing beside a man who seemed to be in awe of the blonde pigtails that were twisted around her wretched fingers. She’d always found men to be weak when faced with prepubescent innocence. They would lose their inhibition whenever she showed any interest in them.
No heart could resist Dr. Roswell’s favourite mutant.
Tim, the technician, whispered some instructions while she feigned an interest.
Little Lady started following him down a narrow corridor as he continued to explain what was expected of her. His voice, while stern, hinted at some barely repressed vulnerability that could be corrupted by an evening with Bell’s scariest inmate.
Then she stopped and turned around.
Something told her to stop following him.
“Who’s there?”
A voice that didn’t belong to either of them started giving commands. They were loud and filled with an urgency that consumed the harlot’s mind. Little Lady’s internal urges had been usurped by someone placing themselves in complete control of her genetically modified personality.
Resistance was futile as Dr. Roswell decided to become his companion’s silent partner.
As she walked away from Tim, he made his creation forget all about him.
Little Lady, who’d retaken control of herself, was walking down a dark tunnel towards an exit sign that had been illuminated by neon lights. She laughed through wicked lips that salivated at the thought of being released upon Bell Island’s inhabitants. After being held in captivity, for many years, instinct took over and made her crawl to freedom.
No one would escape its wrath.
“I’ll make you all pay!” she screamed.
***
Red waited until his boat had been tied down before issuing an apology to its captain. The man gave him a look that said this venture would be anything but trouble-free. He smiled, and Officer Pressman felt immediately unnerved.
There was an air of smugness that couldn’t be dismissed as paranoia.
The captain clearly knew what was going on.
“Where’s Carl?” Red asked. “What have you done with him?”
“You’ll soon find out….”
As Officer Pressman disembarked, the captain decided to follow suit. Together, they slowly marched towards a dark forest, through an intimidating patch of thick foliage, where there were no animal or insect noises.
Nothing felt right, but they walked on in silence.
In the distance, there appeared to be some kind of facility. As Red turned around to tell his adversary, the captain drew a pistol and struck him down.
“On your knees!” he screamed.
Red felt a boot on his left shoulder as three men moved in and surrounded him.
“Who are you people?” he asked.
“Give us your gun and badge.”
“NO!”
“Don’t make us hurt you… Red Pressman.”
How do they know who I am?
“At last,” the captain said in a sinister tone. “We have you.”
“I knew there was something off about Chief Bull!” Red exclaimed as he was pulled to his feet by three assailants.
“I’m sorry,” the captain whined. “We have our orders.”
“Yeah,” his companions echoed in unison. “You’re to come with us.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
As he was forced to walk towards the unknown structure, his thoughts turned into speculation about whether or not he would be taken to an old bunker that many people believed had escaped a decommissioning order during World War Two.
“Where are you taking me?” Red asked. “I demand—”
“Silence!” the Captain exclaimed. “You have no right to ask for anything.”
After walking for another thirty minutes, they stopped at a tree with an electric switch bolted to its trunk. One of his escorts walked towards its red lever and smiled as he flipped it. Red was immediately consumed by fear as dirt started shifting beneath their feet. He thought about protesting but knew that no one would listen.
Before any protest could be registered, they pushed him into the Remnant Pit.
Written by Jon Olson

AUTHOR NEWS & ANTHOLOGY OPENINGS – 28.01.15
Short story by DJ Tyrer to appear in These Vampires Still Don’t Sparkle
Sparkly Vampires? Oh Pluuueeeaasse!
Since when have there been sparkling vampires? Are they a new brand of champagne or what?
Vampires are supposed to be wily, tricky, and even evil. And they never, ever sparkle. In this book, you’ll find stories with some refreshing takes on vampires: vampire heroes, vampire villains, humorous vampires, among others. Check out 22 stories with the most bite by Carol Hightshoe, Lee Pletzers, J.A. Campbell, T. Fox Dunham, Stephanie Ellis, and other exceptional authors. Grab some garlic, wooden stakes, and crucifixes, and get ready to party, because these vampires don’t sparkle.
BUY FROM AMAZON UK / BUY FROM AMAZON US
BENTO 15 – FOR A FREE DOWNLOAD VIA MYSTERIA PRESS CLICK HERE
HAIRY HANDS by Josh Reynolds
THE WARRIOR FROM OUT OF THE SKY by Adrian J Watts
WOOLY FERN by Janie Cannarella
ALUAKI VS SMILODON by Matthew J Barbour
SNOW SHARKS by Zachary Houle
THE VISITOR by Matthew Wilson
GREEN WALLPAPER by DJ Tyrer
NEVER SEEK TO TELL THY LOVE by Geoffrey Parsons
MISSING by Sean P Chatterton
FIVE HUNDRED YEARS LATER By Guy T Martland
LUNA’S WAY- PART 2 by Louise M Hart
THE ROACH – BELOW THE BOTTOM: PART 3 by Robbie Lizhini
MAMMOTH: PART 5 by Jon Olson
ARIANA By E.N De Choudens
Merry-Go-Round and Other Words by Bryn Fortey
Bryn Fortey has been writing short stories and poems since the 1960s, from science fiction to horror and all points in between. His work appeared in seminal anthologies, such as The Fontana Book of Great Horror Stories and New Writings in Horror and the Supernatural. Forty plus years later The Alchemy Press presents Bryn’s first collection, a comprehensive array of his best stories and poems. Stand out stories include the two “Shrewhampton” tales that bookend this collection. Merry-Go-Round includes an introduction by Johnny Mains. (Book length: approx 350 pages.)
BUY FROM AMAZON UK
BUY FROM AMAZON US
SUBMISSION CALL: ‘Your One Phone Call’ is a literary zine based in Wales. We only want Top Notch poetry, obviously. We’re not interested in your ‘Reader’s Wives’ scribbling’s, send us only your best! Submit 3 to 5 poems, 2 pieces of Flash Fiction or 2 Short Stories. No simultaneous submissions and no reprints. No attachments, put your work in the body of the email. Publication will be on a rolling basis. Expect a timely response. Send submissions to Dai Shotter at youronephonecall@yahoo.co.uk
Cameron Trost: Would you like a free book? I’m running a giveaway competition. You could win a print copy of “Hoffman’s Creeper and Other Disturbing Tales”, my collection of twenty-six strange and mysterious stories.
1) Like Cameron’s FB page
2) Follow Cameron’s blog (click HERE to visit his page)
3) Share the image on his blog (click HERE to go to the appropriate page)
#bookgiveaway #freebook #australianhorror #brisbanebook
Via Black Beacon Books: Ditmar (Australian sci-fi / fantasy / horror) nominations close on the 1st of February. If you have read and enjoyed Greg Chapman’s collection, “Vaudeville and Other Nightmares”, please vote for it under the category of “Best Collected Work”. If you haven’t read it, buy an ebook copy today.
http://ditmars.sf.org.au/2015/nominations.html
Open fiction markets via Ginger Nuts of Horror
“If you know of any open markets please send the details to GNOH via the submit button on the website.
PLEASE MARK THE SUBMISSION AS PAYING ON NON-PAYING”
SUGGESTED READING
Daubuz Moors by Paul Tristram
A face like a wet fortnight by Paul Tristram
On the Offense by Robin Wyatt Dunn
News of a forthcoming book by Josh Reynolds
SUGGESTED LISTENING
Yanna Avlianos – Get On Your Knees (EP Demo) via Soundcloud
Howard Billington – Santa Monica (Everclear cover) via Soundcloud
Camden Radio Broadcast #1
Camden Radio Broadcast #2

January 26, 2015
AUTHOR NEWS & ANTHOLOGY OPENINGS – 27.01.15
Oddville Press is always searching for short stories, poetry, and art that is stimulating, thought-provoking, and beyond the ordinary. Send submissions to oddvillepress@gmail.com.
Check out previous issues at oddvillepress.com
Call for submissions: issue 4 of the lazy fascist review
No poetry. No reprints. No multiple submissions. No simultaneous submissions.
Title your submissions LOVECRAFTIAN ISSUE: [Story Title], and send them to lazyfascistreview at gmail dot com.
The reading window is from the moment this appears on the Internet until July 1st, 2015. Anything arriving after that date will be deleted unread. Final selection will be announced by mid-September, though rejections may arrive earlier.
I’m giving away some eBooks when I reach 200 likes! Show your support & like the page http://facebook.com/erikhofstatter #IndieBooksBeSeen #IndieAuthor
Sold another flash story. Bit of a meagre payment but still enough for beer. Details: http://t.co/UtgCYzKKza #winning
— Erik Hofstatter (@ErikHofstatter) January 21, 2015
The Green Tide by Erik Hofstatter – To be published by Theme of absence on the 6th March 2015
@PenOfTheDamned provides #free short #horror fiction like no other. Feed your darkest desires with us every Tuesday! http://penofthedamned.com
#Damned #horror Damn fresh ~ Lake Lurkers by Jon Olson via @PenOfTheDamned
SUGGESTED READING:
Ebooks: A Treasure Trove For Dyslexic Readers
Blackfriars Bestiary
Bento 15
VOICES #2

POETRY: A FACE LIKE A WET FORTNIGHT BY PAUL TRISTRAM
It was her favourite saying,
and it would make me laugh
whenever the preposterous thing
slid shit-like from her pursed gob.
(Her face would contort witchily.
Just like slurping piss from a nettle!)
The funny thing about it was she always accused someone else of it
whenever she had a mood like Thunder
and a face like a cold, dark Winter.
Which, incidentally, was every day
and nearly all of the neurotic time.
Written by Paul Tristram

January 24, 2015
POETRY: LIKE CHUCKING A CHIP UP WINDSOR ROAD BY PAUL TRISTRAM
Communal is not a word
one normally wants to associate
with the tender act of intimacy.
But call a spade a spade and all that!
There’s quite a queue gathering outside
and it’s still only lunchtime
on a dreary, Winter’s Wednesday.
I swear I heard someone in the pub
last weekend boast about settling a debt
with his son’s school dinner tickets
Why do I even still come here?
Well, it’s nice to catch up with the boys
and have a quick doorstop natter
with the Old Man, now isn’t it, mun.
Written by Paul Tristram

January 20, 2015
POETRY: BOLLOCKS AND BULLSHIT BY PAUL TRISTRAM
Bollocks & Bullshit are your drinking buddies.
I’ve seen the three of you out together,
whispering deviously in traitorous corners.
Slapping each other happily upon the back
and mistakenly applauding two-facedness
with cleverness.
Cowardice X3 = more Cowards!
You are deranged in your scheming
and outrageously self-righteous in your unjustified anger,
which is steeped and stewed in the Devil’s Envy.
Instead of fixing yourself, you try to break others?
Your petty soul is not even worth having.
How do you sleep at night? Oh, that’s right, you don’t.
You’re too busy plotting and planning destruction
on all that naturally shines brightly.
You’re a loser, a half-life and a waste of breath.
You are a mistake that has become a rat of an excuse for a human being.
Written by Paul Tristram

January 15, 2015
POETRY: THE LIQUID PIGGY BANK BY PAUL TRISTRAM
That’s exactly how I’m feeling lately.
Picking them up and pouring them down
as automatic as a factory worker.
Gently tapping and twisting my mood
to the beat and insane rhythm
of this inward brain rain dance.
The Sump, The Drunk, The Guzzler!
Keeping the raised Bar of Alcoholism
at a dizzyingly competent level ;)
I am a Martyr to the cause, yes I am,
for I was handicapped at birth with
two perfectly useful pint holding hands
but with only one damned drinking mouth.
Written by Paul Tristram
