Rebecca Besser's Blog, page 64
October 30, 2013
Halloween Giveaway - All Hallows Read
Hall of Twelve by me (a short story ebook that is normally sold for $.99) is free all day today, for Halloween and All Hallows Read!
(Click on the cover pic to visit this title on Amazon.)
Twisted Pathways of Murder & Death by me (a short story collection ebook that normally sells for $2.99) is free all day today on Amazon for Halloween and All Hallows Read!
(Click on the cover to visit this title on Amazon!)
Three Tales of Middle Grade Horror by me (an ebook of three short stories suitable for 9-14 yr olds, normally sold for $.99) is free with Coupon Code: UB47T on Smashwords for Halloween and All Hallows Read!
(Click on cover to visit this title on Smashwords!)
I hope you all enjoy the free reads!
Happy Halloween and All Hallows Read!
Copyrights owned by Rebecca Besser, 2013. All rights reserved.
Historical Significance by Rebecca Besser - A Halloween Story
HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE
By Rebecca Besser
Perry Roberts stood at the top of the stairs, staring down into the black depths of his basement. He held the last box that needed to be stored down there, but he couldn’t make his legs move. The light was on when I went outside, wasn’t it? he thought. He knew it had been, but now it was out.
With a sigh, he sat the box down on the floor, reached into the slight gloom at the top of the stairwell, and felt the switch with his fingers; it was still on. Bulb must’ve blown, he thought to himself with another, deeper sigh.
Thinking hard, he remembered unpacking a box with spare bulbs earlier and headed to the laundry room to retrieved one, also grabbing the flashlight he’d stored there. Grumbling under his breath, he descended into the dark depths of his basement. It smelled musty, damp, and slightly metallic; the air noticeably dropped in temperature with each step. The house was old, having been one of the first built in the small New England town, and the basement was designed to hold the cold so that home-canned goods and other food necessities could be stored there.
“Lots of history,” the real-estate agent had said. “Not many places like this left for just anyone to buy.”
Being the history buff that he was, he couldn’t help but be drawn to its charm, even though it had sat empty for more than a decade and had to be drastically updated before he could move in. One of the things he’d found most fascinating about the place was the old player piano sitting in the corner of the basement. He couldn’t figure out how it had gotten down there – the stairs were too narrow and the basement walls consisted of large, rectangle slabs of limestone that looked like they’d been there for hundreds of years.
With the help of his flashlight, he removed the old bulb and shook it beside his ear, and sure enough, he heard the filament rattle. Tucking the flashlight under his chin so he could use both hands, he slid the burned out bulb into the front pouch of his hoodie and extracted the other. As he screwed in the new bulb he forgot the switch was still on and didn’t close his eyes. When the bright glow of the 75 watt bulb flared to life, he dropped the flashlight with a loud clang and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. After a moment, he started blinking rapidly and looking around the room. Bodies in old fashion clothing lay everywhere – some holding bottles of whiskey or tankards of ale. Slowly they sat up and then stood with leering grins, looking him over like he was a succulent piece of meat. They advanced toward him and Perry spun around; he was completely surrounded and the closer they came the more the temperature of the air around him dropped. He tried to focus on them directly, but the light spots in his eyes prevented him from doing so; as his vision cleared the images began to disappear. Almost in a panic, thinking he was being attacked, he spun around in a circle with his arms up defensively, looking for assailants. None were there. All he could see now were the leaning shadows cast by the stairs and the stacked boxes; the rough, bare rock of the walls and floor echoed his harsh breathing back to him, giving him a chill that had nothing to do with the climate of the room.
After dropping his arms, taking a couple of deep breaths, and doing another thorough visual examination of the entire room, he shrugged the occurrence off as his imagination. He bent down and picked up the pieces of his flashlight – having broken it when he dropped it on the hard floor – before he went upstairs, dumped the ruined flashlight in the trash, and carried down the last box. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was down in the basement with him, and he kept looking over his shoulder expecting to find them standing behind him, ready to hurt him. He was beginning to wonder if the house might be haunted, but then reminded himself he didn’t believe in ghosts.
With an effort he forced himself to calm down, and after stacking the box with the others he had in the corner, he headed toward the stairs. Pausing, he glanced around one more time and ran his fingers over the now yellow keys of the player piano, wondering if he could get the old thing working. Once again he pondered on how the piano had come to be in the basement and couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation.
“Maybe the ghosts brought it downstairs,” he said with a mocking laugh.
As soon as the words left his mouth a chill ran down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the air around him suddenly dropped in temperature and he felt like he was being stalked again. Not needing any more encouragement, he jogged up the stairs and could have sworn he’d heard a deep, masculine laugh echo from behind him.
Back upstairs, he turned off the basement light and slammed the short, rough plank door behind him, making sure the old, wrought-iron latch was secure. He pressed both his hands on the door and leaned against it, taking deep, calming breaths, feeling silly about his reaction to his imagination running wild.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts . . . There’s no such thing as ghosts . . .” he repeated to himself over and over again, as if in saying it he could dispel the horrible feelings he’d had downstairs.
Perry heard a knock at his front door and almost jumped out of his skin at the sudden and unexpected noise; he stepped from the kitchen into the short, narrow hallway and spied his friend John through the door’s window.
“Hold on!” he yelled, rushing forward and letting his friend in, glad for the distraction. “What’s up?”
John grinned. “Five days ‘til Halloween! What do you think’s up? We need costumes and a lot of ghoulish stuff to decorate this spooky old house of yours.”
Perry laughed and all of his trepidation melted away as he focused on his friend and pushed everything else from his mind. “How could I forget?”
John smacked his forehead in a “Duh!” gesture and pointed with his thumb to his Chevy pickup parked at the curb. “I’ll be out there. Hurry up!”
With that John turned and practically hopped down the limestone block porch steps. He hadn’t been too happy when Perry had decided to move here, wishing his friend would stay closer, but he’d handled it well. They’d known each other all their lives and had just recently graduated from separate colleges. Over the past summer they’d spent a lot of time together catching up, and now they were separated again; growing up was indeed hard to do.
Donning a light jacket over his hoodie – taken from a hook by the door – Perry stepped out into the brisk October wind. Red, gold, and brown leaves littered the yard and street, leaving behind dark skeleton trees to moan eerily as their bare branches danced in the wind. He pushed his hands into the front pouch of his hoodie and his hands came in contact with the light bulb he’d removed downstairs and, for a moment, the memories of his experiences returned. He tossed it in the large trash can sitting in the corner of his enclosed porch, as if ridding himself of the bulb also discarded the disturbing memories permanently, and hurried to join John.
~ * ~
Their day went fast. They’d each found a costume they loved: John, a ghoul of disgusting proportions; and Perry, a very bloody looking zombie. They’d also picked up an array of fake tomb stones and bones to litter in Perry’s yard, to serve as decorations for the huge Halloween party they were planning.
“Stop by the library, would ya?” Perry asked on their way back to his house. “I had the librarian look up some historical information on my house and I need to pick it up.” He paused for a moment and almost continued, asking John if he believed in ghosts, but with a shake of his head he decided not to waste any more time on nonsense.
John raised his eyebrows at Perry’s undecided movements, but when he didn’t say anything more, he nodded consent and drove to the small, out-of-the-way library that served the town.
It took Perry less than ten minutes to retrieve the information he’d requested. John laughed hysterically as he watched his friend come stumbling out of the local library, weighed down with books and printouts of old newspapers.
“Are you writing a book series?” John teased as he leaned over and pushed open the truck door for Perry. “Looks like you have enough research there for five!”
Scowling, Perry managed to maneuver himself, and his load, into the truck. “I didn’t know they’d find this much. Now I feel like I’m back in school!”
John laughed again, shook his head, and drove them back to Perry’s place. They unloaded all their Halloween goodies and discussed the party briefly before John left; he had work early the next day and he knew Perry was itching to get at the materials he’d picked up from the library.
For the next few days Perry poured over the books and old newspaper articles, learning about his new house and its history. He wanted to get through as much of it as possible before the party, and before he had to start his new job; he would begin his career as a website designer the second week of November. The information the librarian had gleaned was very interesting. Apparently the house he was living in used to be a small time, bar-like establishment. It was known for its many visitors of “questionable virtue” and after reading some of the articles, he knew that meant men who lived outside the law. A couple of people had even been murdered in the house, which made him again think of the occurrences in the basement.
One picture particularly interested him. It was taken on October 31st of 1872, according to the notation under the photo. The player piano was in it, but the photograph had been taken in his living room. The people in the photo looked like the ones he’d thought he’d seen in the basement, but he couldn’t be sure because most of them were wearing festive masks depicting demons. The clothing style was the same, as were the bottles and tankards, but he figured what happened could still have been just his imagination. After all, he’d seen plenty of the same in old movies.
The article beneath the picture spoke briefly about the Halloween party, and how wild they’d gotten, referring to a couple of rough men who were believed to have been associated with the occult. As he read on, he was disappointed to find that most of the article was missing due to the photocopier running out of toner, at least that’s what he ascertained from the spotty black ink on the rest of the page. With a crocked grin, he looked back at the photo, thinking it would be great to show it to John, since they too were having a Halloween party in the house.
As he laid the paper aside, he didn’t notice the date on the top – for the article – was for November 1st, 1872, or that the rest of the article was printed clearly on the back telling of the horrible events of the night of that party, and how no one who’d attended had ever been seen again.
~ * ~
On the night of October 30th, Perry lay down in bed, excited about the party that would take place the following evening. Thoughts swirled through his head about all that needed to be done, and about a certain woman he’d invited, hoping she’d attend. Even with these thoughts it didn’t take his exhausted body long to fall asleep.
Shortly after midnight, icy hands gripped Perry’s ankles and fingernails penetrated his flesh like icicles, startling him out of his warm cocoon of sleep. He cried out and struggled, feeling hot, slick, wet blood seep from his wounds and soak into his bed, but his efforts didn’t deter the grip that was dragging him out of bed with astounding force and strength. He screamed and grabbed at the sheets, blankets, and mattress, trying to save himself, to no avail.
He hit the floor with a hard, resounding smack. His head bounced off the hardwood with a loud thud that almost knocked him unconscious; blood gushed out of a gash on his head from where it had hit the metal bedframe during the struggle, falling into his eyes, and making the floor slick. Blinking rapidly, he tried to stay awake and twisted around to get a glimpse of who was assaulting him. He yelled, telling whoever it was to stop, and asking why they were doing it.
The darkness prevented him from seeing anyone or anything, and the more he struggled the tighter the grip on his ankles became; he heard his bones crack and felt the shards of their splinters escaping the encasement of his flesh. Crying out from the pain, and imagining that his ankles now looked like pin cushions because of the protruding bones, Perry tried to grab onto anything he could, but it was no use. Every time he would get a grip on something his attacker would either yank him so hard that eventually his fingers broke with loud pops or he would be lifted slightly into the air and slammed back down onto the floor until he let go.
The violence continued as he was dragged down the stairs, and Perry suffered so much head trauma that by the time he was on the first floor the world around him was nothing more than a blur seen through drops of blood, flowing from multiple gashes all over his bruised head. And as he was dragged toward the kitchen – where he left a light on all night – he saw that no one and nothing was there; he was being attacked by an invisible force and thought for the first time that he might have been wrong about ghosts.
He heard the piano playing downstairs and laughter with it. What’s going on? he thought before he was finally knocked completely unconscious by a battering from the basement stairs.
~ * ~
Perry regained awareness slowly. He was lying on the cold basement floor in nothing but his boxer shorts. He shivered and tried to curl into a ball to conserve his body heat. A harsh male laugh barked behind him, making him jump. Turning his head sharply, he beheld a group of seven men and two women. They were all dressed in clothes from the 1800s. He blinked and frowned. His head hurt beyond belief and his hips, legs, and ankles throbbed. Weak and disoriented, he couldn’t focus or speak.
Desperation soon overcame his weakness when he saw them moving toward him. They didn’t have legs, but floated a foot and a half above the stone floor. The closer they got to him the more transparent they became. Frantically, he tried to crawl toward the stairs, hissing and whimpering at the pain in his ankles and head, but didn’t make it. Cold seeped into his body, causing him to shiver more violently, as the “spirits” came closer, surrounding him and laughing.
“Sweet hot blood . . . ” one of the men said.
“ . . . and meat!” one of the women exclaimed, and cackled.
“What should we do with him?” another one of the men asked.
“Let’s eat him,” the first man said again.
“Wasn’t he going to have a party tonight?” another feminine voice said almost coyly. “Maybe we should possess him and have our fill of the guests!”
The group laughed and jeered in agreement; many to feast upon was better than one.
One by one the spirits drifted over Perry and sank into his body. He screamed as his body temperature dropped and he felt his consciousness being forced deeper and deeper inside himself. He knew no one would hear him but he still called out for help. Even if he had been lucky and someone did come to his aid, he knew there was nothing anyone could do.
“He’s damaged!” one of the women said inside him. “Someone will notice!”
“She’s right, you know,” said the other feminine voice. “We’ll have to clean him up.”
“I’ve got it,” one of the men said with a laugh. “I’ll have him fixed up momentarily!”
Perry convulsed in excruciating pain as his frigid body popped and snapped, healing itself of the wounds which had been inflicted upon him during the attack.
“Lovely,” the first female voice sighed.
“Please stop,” Perry cried out from the box inside himself he’d been pressed into; his consciousness was pushed back and he had no control over his body, but he could still feel everything that happened to his physical self. “Kill me, but don’t torture me like this . . . Please!”
“Oh, shut up!” one of the men yelled, and the rest of the unwelcome spirits inhabiting Perry’s body laughed.
“What should we do with him until the party?” one of the male voices asked.
“He’s still all bloody . . . Why don’t we give him a bath?” asked one of the female voices.
“Oh, yes,” said the other female voice with a giggle.
“You ladies have your fun, but I want no part of it,” a male voice said with slight amusement and a bit of disgust.
The females giggled again and Perry felt himself rising up to a standing position. Awkwardly his body ascended the stairs and he noted that he could see everything around him, but still had no say or control over his body.
Before he was ready, they were in the bathroom and his shorts were being removed.
“My, my, what do we have here?” one of the female voices asked snidely. “Seems we have a naked man to play with.”
“Share!” the other female voice yelled. “You get one hand and I get the other.”
Perry could feel the women becoming more prominent in his body and the male entities slipped back and almost felt like they were sleeping.
“All right, all right,” the first female voice said. “I’ll share.”
They both giggled as they shut the door to the bathroom and found a full length mirror hanging on the door.
“Oh, what fun!” the second female voice squealed.
“Yes, indeed,” the other said with smug satisfaction.
Soon Perry’s hands were traveling all over his body, doing things to himself against his will.
“Please stop!” he groaned from deep within as he was forced to watch and feel what the female spirits were doing to him.
“Don’t you like it, luv?” one voice asked, and both the females laughed.
“Stop!” he screamed, but they just continued to laugh at him.
It took over an hour for them to play games with him and molest him in the shower, after which he felt more dirty than clean; they’d done unimaginable things to his body.
~ * ~
Later that day, John arrived to help with the Halloween party, letting himself in with the key Perry had given him when there was no response to his knock. As he turned from shutting the door, he spotted Perry standing silently at the top of the stairway in his zombie costume.
“Hey, man,” John said, as he jumped in startled surprise. “You scared the crap out of me!” He looked his friend over and grinned. “You’re costume is intense, but I thought we weren’t going to change until after we had things set up for the party.”
Perry’s body just stood there with its eyes staring down at John while the spirits inside argued about how to answer the question and handle this newcomer; they finally came to a decision.
“Hello, Earth to Perry,” John said, looking slightly worried and confused at the foot of the stairs. “You okay, man?”
“I’m fine,” Perry’s voice said, being controlled by one of the males. “I was excited and decided to don my festive apparel early.”
“You sound strange,” John said, his confused frown deepening. “What’s with all the ‘don my festive apparel’ shit? You sound old or something.”
Perry’s face sneered at John behind the zombie make-up as he descended the stairs toward him. When he reached the bottom step his arm shot out and he wrapped his hand around John’s throat, squeezing and lifting him off his feet.
“You’re a cheeky bloke,” a strange masculine voice said, using Perry’s mouth, no longer trying to disguise himself. “I don’t like being called old!”
John dropped the bags of stuff he was carrying and tried to pry the strong hand from his throat so he could breathe; he kicked and clawed at Perry’s hand and arm as he was lifted off the floor.
“Now we have to do something with him,” Perry heard one of the male voices say as they again began talking internally to each other.
“It is crowded in here,” another said, “maybe some of us should possess him, so we’ll have more space to move around and breathe!”
The other voices agreed and started to argue about who would go and who would stay. Perry broke into their argument . . .
“If you are going to do something, do it soon!” he yelled. “Otherwise you’ll kill my friend and have nowhere to go!”
The voices quieted for a moment and Perry’s hand loosened slightly on John’s throat, allowing him strained breathing rather than none at all.
“I think Ginger, Frank, Paul, and Peter should go,” one of the female voices said.
It was the first time Perry had heard them refer to each other by name and listened carefully. Something about the names seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place them. Then it hit him! Those were some of the names of the people who’d attended the Halloween party in the old newspaper article! He wished now, more than ever, that he’d been able to read the end of the article, so he could know what had happened, and was going to happen.
They argued some more and then Perry felt his small containment area expand. Four of the spirits drifted out of his body and into John’s, who was instantly released. He fell gasping to the floor and started thrashing around, screaming, and clutching at his body. Finally, he stilled and looked around with eyes that weren’t his own.
Perry cringed and whispered, “Sorry, my friend.” He wished John hadn’t gotten involved, and more than anything he wished he would have mentioned what had happened in the basement a few days before, thinking this wouldn’t have happened if he’d acknowledged it. He also thought about the horrible experience he’d had earlier in the bathroom and hoped his friend wouldn’t have to endure something similar when he changed into his costume; as if reading his thoughts, the female spirit who was still inside him laughed softly.
“He might like it, luv,” she said. “After all, you seemed to enjoy some of it.” She cackled with a perverse laugh and Perry didn’t respond.
~ * ~
It didn’t take the spirits long to master the control they had over Perry and John, and they extracted from their brains and thoughts all the things that needed to be done to prepare for the party; they’d just finished when the first guest arrived.
Nicole Winters – the tall, raven-haired, blue-eyed beauty who lived just down the street – stood on the porch with her coat hanging slightly open. Perry heart sank when he was forced to open the door and let her in. She smiled broadly, sporting a sexy fairy costume that would have made him drool if he hadn’t been possessed by crazy entities from the past; some of the comments the male ones were making about her made him panic and try to take back control.
“Run, Nicole!” Perry screamed. “Run!”
But of course, she couldn’t hear him, he still couldn’t control any part of his body, including his vocal cords.
“Shut up, you,” one of the males growled. “We’ll have our fun with this little tart and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Thanks for inviting me, Perry,” Nicole said, stepping inside and sliding off her coat, revealing more of her costume, or lack thereof. Most of it was sheer and see through; the male spirits were going wild.
“Ever seen any dressin’s like ‘em fellas?” one of them asked.
“No, but I’d like to tear them off with my teeth and devour what’s underneath!” another exclaimed.
John entered the hallway, coming from the kitchen, and Perry saw a reflection in his eyes of what he was hearing within.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Perry’s pleasant voice said, as his hand was placed on her butt and he squeezed.
Nicole gasped and giggled, giving him a wink. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I love Halloween parties. They give me an excuse to dress up.” She was pressing herself against his body now and practically purring with wicked intent in her eyes.
“Oh, yeah, boys,” one of the voices said. “We’re gonna have us a slice of that Heaven.”
They all laughed.
Perry cringed and wished there was something he could do to stop all this, but he couldn’t think of anything.
John walked down the hall toward them and pressed up against Nicole from the back, trapping her between them. He bent forward and whispered something in her ear that Perry didn’t catch. He knew it wasn’t John doing any of it, but he still felt betrayed for some strange reason.
Nicole jerked and struggled, trying to break free, just before her personality flipped and she giggled and sighed, accepting the attention from both men. Perry and John realized instantly when their containment expanded slightly that the female spirits had both moved into Nicole’s body. She began to wiggle against and grope both of the men, and pouted when someone knocked on the front door.
“Bloody hell!” she growled. “All these interruptions are spoiling our fun!”
Both of the possessed men laughed. None of them were themselves any longer and just watched and felt everything that happened around them.
Guests continued to arrive for the next forty-five minutes and none of them knew a thing about what was going on. If Nicole, John, or Perry did something strange, the guests would just shrug it off, assuming they’d already started drinking.
A couple times Nicole disappeared from the room with John, and a couple of times she left with Perry. No one really noticed, but Perry was devastated; he really liked and cared for Nicole, and the damned possessing spirits were making them both do tainted and lewd things to each other. He didn’t even want to think about what she was doing with John, knowing it was probably just as bad or worse.
“Why are you doing this to us?” Perry asked as he was again entering the living room where the party was, after being with Nicole. “Why not just kill us? Why play with us like this first?”
“Well, you see . . . ” one of the voices started in a teasing manner.
“Don’t tell ‘im!” another barked. “Then he’ll know!”
“What does it matter if he knows?” another asked. “He can’t do anything about it.”
“Just shut up, you,” the second voice ordered. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
Everything kept moving smoothly along until around midnight, and then Perry’s mouth announced that he wanted to show everyone the player piano in the basement. They were intrigued, so like cattle the twenty-three people at the party (including Perry, John, and Nicole) went down into the basement; Nicole was the last one and she shut the door tightly behind herself.
“What’s going on?” Perry asked from deep within himself. “Why did you bring everyone down here?”
“Shut up!” all the voices barked at him.
Everyone was ohing and ahing over the piano while Perry, John, and Nicole stood at the base of the stairs. No one saw their eyes glow bright red, and no one saw the humans’ bodies transform into red scaled monsters with vicious long claws and mouths full of long, sharp teeth. But they did hear the panting and growling that emanated from them; the guests all turned and screamed.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve had human flesh,” the once Nicole growled, running her long black tongue across her teeth. “I want the first bite.”
Both the beings who were once John and Perry growled and stepped forward.
The crowd cringed and moved backwards, pressing themselves against the far wall.
The Nicole-demon lunged forward, and with one clamp down of her jaws, she ripped a woman’s head clean off. Blood dripped from her mouth and onto the floor as she chewed the skull and slurped out the brains within before swallowing it all. The woman’s body fell to the floor and her blood began to drain out onto the stones. Instantly a pentagram made of flames appeared on the floor, encompassing the entire room; the body burned and dissolved to nothing in the fire.
More and more bodies joined the first as limbs were torn from torsos and hips, devoured by the bodies that had earlier been possessed and were now transformed. They gorged themselves on the flesh of the frightened, screaming guests and didn’t stop until they were all dead.
The three stood in the center of the pentagram panting. Their eyes were ablaze with adrenaline and their bodies were covered in the guts and blood they’d spilt.
“It’s time for the last three,” a deep, growling voice said from beneath them as the floor disappeared and turned into a raging, licking fire.
“Yes, master,” the three growled.
The female spirits left the body of Nicole they’d inhabited, and instantly it turned back into human form with Nicole at the helm once again. She blinked in confusion and screamed as her body began to burn. Soon there was nothing left of her; the same happened to both of the men.
Once they were consumed the floor reappeared and the fire was gone. The spirits floated in the air, looking at each other.
“I guess that pays our debt to Hell for a few more years,” one of the females said.
“Yes,” a male said with a laugh. “Happy Halloween!”
~ * ~
Days passed and none of the cars in front of Perry’s house moved. Neighbors became angry and then concerned. The police were called and they finally contacted Perry’s family when they couldn’t reach him.
A search ensued for Perry, John, and all of the others, to no avail.
When nothing and no one was found, Perry’s house was emptied and sold.
No one noticed the newspaper article from long ago when it was thrown into the trash, and no one knew to be afraid of what lurked in the basement, waiting for the next Halloween.
Historical Significance previously appeared in Halloween Frights III from Wicked East Press and is included as a bonus story in the print version of Rebecca Besser's short story collection: Twisted Pathways of Murder & Death.
Copyrights owned by Rebecca Besser, 2010-2013. All rights reserved.
October 28, 2013
New Release - The Carnival 13 from SAD House Press
The Carnival 13 from SAD House Press
A charity novella for Scares for Cares!
The
Carnival 13
Come one, come all! Step right up and
join thirteen masters of macabre literature as they take you on a
journey unlike anything you've ever traveled. We've got freaks,
fantasy and fear; all lined up waiting to take your breath away.
Will you be tempted by the Freaks of
the Flesh? Astounded by the Freaks of Fantasy? Baffled by the Freaks
of the Mind? All this and more await you for just the small price of
three tickets... and your soul.
Featuring all-new and exclusive
chapters from John Everson; Jason Darrick; Dan Dillard; Charles
Colyott; Dale Eldon; James Garcia Jr.; Matt Schiariti; Anne Michaud;
Rebecca Besser; Armand Rosamilia; Jon Olson; Brent Abell; and
Julianne Snow - this twisted tale will leave you gasping until your
last breath.
All proceeds to benefit Scares That
Cares!
Available at:
Amazon: US,
UK, Canada,
Germany, Spain,
Italy, France,
Brazil, Japan,
India, Mexico
The Carnival 13
Excerpt:
From
Chapter One –
John Everson
“I hate fuckin’ carnivals,” Brian said to a captive audience of
clothes. They hung silently on their hangers, steadfastly refusing to
comment. He absolutely did not want to go to the carnival. His
clothes weren’t going to argue. But that didn’t change the fact
he had to get dressed.
The colorful B & S Enterprises trucks had started
unloading and setting up the tilt-a-whirl, Pirate’s Delight, and
Bumble-Bee Bop rides in the Blackburn Mall parking lot on Wednesday.
Polly had seen them on her drive to work after school. As much as
Brian hated the damn things, he wasn’t going to let her see that,
not after Polly had asked – with big gosh honey please eyes
– if they could go. He was sure his face had lost all expression
when he’d realized what she was begging for, but he’d gained
control before letting her see his game-losing stare.
“Uh, sure!” he’d somehow managed. And Polly, excited about the
idea of cotton candy and watergun balloon games, had managed to
ignore or completely miss the look of frightened, anxious “Oh
God, please no!” on her boyfriend’s face for the second it
had appeared.
He rolled his eyes in the silence of his room and pulled his American
Idiot concert t-shirt from the hanger. Somehow it seemed
appropriate.
Fifteen minutes later, he was forcing a smile on the doorstep of
Polly’s place. When she came to the door, light brown hair
perfectly tousled over her shoulder, wearing a tight pink t-shirt and
blue cut-off jean shorts, Brian’s forced smile changed from false
to full-on for-real. She looked delicious.
“Don’t be too late,” her mom called from inside the house.
Polly turned and flashed an “oh puh-leez” look behind her. “I
won’t,” she promised. Then she took his elbow and pulled him
toward the driveway. “C’mon,” she said. “I want to get there
before dark!”
Brian took another look at her glowing smile and even brighter eyes
and decided that as much as he hated carnivals, this was going to be
an amazing night.
***
The mall parking lot was already packed when they pulled in and were
directed off the asphalt to an impromptu lot in the neighboring
field. The carnival itself straddled both the asphalt and the long,
normally empty grass to the west of the mall. It was the first real
heat of summer, and everyone in town was ready for a party. The
visiting carnival gave them a good excuse, and they didn’t pass it
up. It looked as if everyone in Blackburn had turned out. The buzz of
the crowd was already loud above the festive music of the midway.
Brian and Polly stood in a long line at the ticket counter for 10
minutes before a ticket-taker – oddly garbed in clown makeup, with
pitch-black fingernails – snapped up their money and slapped down
two generic red rectangles that said ‘Ticket’, proving they
should have entrance.
“Can we get cotton candy?” Polly asked, as soon as they stepped
past the ticket booth.
“Sure,” Brian agreed, and led her across the asphalt to an
electric pink cart just a few steps away. A man in a white coat and
hat was busy swiping a cardboard cone around the inside of the glass
cart, gathering up strands of spun sugar to create a hive of sweet
cotton for someone waiting just on the other side of the window. The
air around them throbbed, alive with tinkling bells, calliope music,
and the screams and laughs of people diving and soaring not far away
on one of the big oval rides that took you up into the air almost to
the moon before suddenly dropping down to the earth in a pendulum arc
that looked guaranteed to end in a crash to the pavement. Lights
caught them, blinded them in hazy yellows, reds and blues and then
were momentarily gone.
They were in the center of it all, and Brian knew that his
trepidation, no, alienation about the carnival, was not going
to find a receptive ear here. All around them people were having a
blast.
They eventually made it to the concessions cart’s window and as the
white-clad man spun sugar onto a paper cone for his girlfriend, the
hair on the back of Brian’s neck stood up straight as a voice from
behind yelled out, “Polly! What is up, girl?”
It was Francis Blellingfield. Brian knew that without looking….
Copyrights owned by Rebecca Besser & SAD House Press, 2013. All rights reserved.
October 25, 2013
New Release - Nightmare Stalkers & Dream Walkers from Horrified Press
Nightmare Stalkers & Dream Walkers
Horror Anthology: Nightmare Stalkers & Dream Walkers
EDITED BY: Suzie Lockhart & Bruce Lockhart 2nd
Author List:
Desperate Dreams – By Chantal Boudreau
Dose – By Jay Wilburn
Chosen – By Rebecca Besser
Virtual Black – By Todd Nelsen
Dreamer – By Ben Pienaar
Silent Scream – By Scarlet Norton-Duperre
MacKenzie’s Rose – By Rie Sheridan Rose
If You Should Die Before I Wake – By Josh Strnad
Flesh – By James S. Dorr
Dialogues with the Dead – By Kate Monroe
Seven Snowy Deaths – By K. Trap Jones
Nightmare – By Rick McQuiston
Shadow – By Mathias Jansson
Knock Knock – By Joel M. Kremer
7 Hours – By Max Booth III
Whispers – By Mark Slade
Gateway Drug – By Lindsey Beth Goddard
Rêve Noir – By Eli Wilde
A Daffodil or Tulip Shan’t Compare – By Justin Tate
Phantom Flirts – By Justin Tate
The House on Cedar Street – By Sean Farren
The Twenty – By Ray J. Robbio
The Boy Who Usually Wasn’t There – By Allan Izen
The Patrol – By Kenneth W. Cain, author of FRESH CUT TALES, THESE OLD TALES, THE SAGA OF I trilogy and THE DEAD CIVIL WAR
Arcticus – By Greg McWhorter
The New Gaoler – By Konstantine Paradias
Special Delivery – By Wiiliam Holden
Oh Baby! – By Patrick O’ Scheen
Apep – By Joseph A. Pinto
The Ferryman – By Suzie Lockhart & Bruce Lockhart 2nd
Mr Creator – By Joe McKinney (Bram Stoker Award winner and author of ‘The Dead World’ series, as well as ‘The Savage Dead’)
October 22, 2013
Drink Up The Horror - October 19, 2013
Drink Up The Horror attending authors (left to right):
Brian Dobbins, Courtney Rene, S.p. Durnin, Rebecca Besser (ME!),
Patrick D'Orazio, & Brady Allen
As you may or may not know...I was involved with a book signing event at Fado Irish Pub in Columbus, Ohio this past weekend. Six authors made it to the event (three who had planned to attend did not make it).
There were raffled off prizes:
And books for sale:
New friends:
Old Friends:
Decorations, technology, and advertising:
And all around food, drinks, and fun:
For those of you who didn't make it, you missed a great time!
I hope to see those of you who didn't make it next time!
October 9, 2013
Honesty - People Can't Handle It
The other day we were visiting some family friends. While we were
sitting and talking, one of the women (in her 90s) brought up how she
didn't think sex had a place in books. She told me she wrote to an
author and complained about the way she put sex scenes in her stories.
Her main argument was: What if children read it?
My response:
Adult books aren't written for children. They're written for adults. If
children are reading them, their parents are at fault for not paying
enough attention to what their children are getting their hands on and
reading.
I also made if very clear that people who write
ADULT
books don't have children in mind when they're writing them, because the books are for adults.
Later, I was informed that the woman thought I was "opinionated."
This
didn't offend me in the least. I know I am. I'm proud that I know
myself well enough to stand up against something I don't like or believe
in just because it might upset someone else. I can't live with the
what-ifs of others and be true to myself.
People have to be
responsible for themselves. This goes along with people getting
offended, and the thinking that the author is ultimately responsible for
who gets their hands on their books, regardless of the genre or age
group.
I can't be responsible for a child getting a hold of one
of my stories or books that isn't written for their age group. That
child and their parents are responsible for regulating their intake of
literature. That's the truth. Take it or leave it.
Stop blaming
everything on the authors. If you don't like what they write, find an
author you like better. God knows there are plenty of authors out there
and they could use real fans.
Authors don't sit and think about
how everything in there work will offend people, or make them like their
work better. We sit down and we tell a story. Maybe it's a happy story.
Maybe it's an ugly story. Maybe the characters are messed up. Maybe
everyone in the story is completely sane. Who knows! At the end of the
day (unless it's nonfiction) it's all made up and not real anyway; it's
just a story for entertainment. If the stories authors write happen to
push your comfort zone and make you think beyond you're own experience,
so be it! But don't blame the authors for what you like or don't like.
We didn't write the story to personally piss you off.
Read and be
enlighten, and stop pointing fingers at authors who have no control
over each reader's likes and dislikes. Because, if you continue to do
so, you might just run into a writer like me who will straight up tell
you you're wrong.
Copyrights owned by Rebecca Besser, 2013. All rights reserved.
October 8, 2013
Characters - Why We Love or Hate Them
According to my husband's TV viewing show choices, I've discovered that he tends to like female characters that I have similar traits with. I'm not "identical" to any of them, but they all seem to embody something I've found similar in myself. You could literally take all the female characters he likes, put them in a blender, and end up creating me as a whole. Example: On one show my husband watches, he likes the goth chick character that's kind of smart/nerdy, but completely adorable and loving at the same time. I kinda fit that. While on another show, he likes the wild, crazy, unpredictable chick with a great sense of humor. That could also fit me.
Through this observation I've learned to watch characters more closely to see why I do and don't like them. I've found that I like a lot of characters that have the same traits as my husband. I've also found that I like children characters that have the same cute/silly characteristics as my son!
It's really not that far fetched to recognize and realize why you do and don't like characters, when you can identify who you do and don't like in your everyday life and why.
People are drawn to the people and characters that speak to their baser instincts. No one likes someone who they know is going to screw them over and who can't be trusted. Most people avoid those people and dislike them in real life. When you put those traits in your "bad guy" in a story, you'll get the same gut reaction of dislike, often more intensely and more clearly because when you're reading or watching a show, you're in a safe environment. There will be no backlash from the "character" that you don't like, so you'll speak your mind freely about what you dislike about them. This also goes for characters you like - there's no fear of rejection. For these two reasons alone, I believe, is why reading and television capture the interest of so many.
I hope now you'll look at characters in a different light and learn to break them down to the point where you can see the "humanity" of them according to your world of influence (people around you). This will help you understand why you love and hate them, and it will make it more fun and interesting to write characters in your stories and give them more depth.
Have fun with your characters...there are patterns all around you.
Copyrights owned by Rebecca Besser, 2013. All rights reserved.
October 7, 2013
Honesty - People Can't Handle It
My response: Adult books aren't written for children. They're written for adults. If children are reading them, their parents are at fault for not paying enough attention to what their children are getting their hands on and reading.
I also made if very clear that people who write ADULT books don't have children in mind when they're writing them, because the books are for adults.
Later, I was informed that the woman thought I was "opinionated."
This didn't offend me in the least. I know I am. I'm proud that I know myself well enough to stand up against something I don't like or believe in just because it might upset someone else. I can't live with the what-ifs of others and be true to myself.
People have to be responsible for themselves. This goes along with people getting offended, and the thinking that the author is ultimately responsible for who gets their hands on their books, regardless of the genre or age group.
I can't be responsible for a child getting a hold of one of my stories or books that isn't written for their age group. That child and their parents are responsible for regulating their intake of literature. That's the truth. Take it or leave it.
Stop blaming everything on the authors. If you don't like what they write, find an author you like better. God knows there are plenty of authors out there and they could use real fans.
Authors don't sit and think about how everything in there work will offend people, or make them like their work better. We sit down and we tell a story. Maybe it's a happy story. Maybe it's an ugly story. Maybe the characters are messed up. Maybe everyone in the story is completely sane. Who knows! At the end of the day (unless it's nonfiction) it's all made up and not real anyway; it's just a story for entertainment. If the stories authors write happen to push your comfort zone and make you think beyond you're own experience, so be it! But don't blame the authors for what you like or don't like. We didn't write the story to personally piss you off.
Read and be enlighten, and stop pointing fingers at authors who have no control over each reader's likes and dislikes. Because, if you continue to do so, you might just run into a writer like me who will straight up tell you you're wrong.
Copyrights owned by Rebecca Besser, 2013. All rights reserved.
September 18, 2013
New Release - Print Version of Twisted Pathways of Murder & Death by Rebecca Besser
Twisted Pathways of Murder & Death is available in paperback!
The paperback has four bonus stories not included in the ebook version.
Twisted Pathways of Murder & Death
When emotions go to extremes murder happens.
Sometimes it’s because of betrayal.
Sometimes it’s in revenge.
Sometimes it’s to hide a lie or in self-defense.
Sometimes it’s to feed a secret hunger.
Whatever the reason, the human mind lends itself to twisted pathways that lead to murder and death…
Includes four bonus stories: Evil Mountain, The Heart of Heroism, Historical Significance, & Memories
Copyrights owned by Rebecca Besser. All rights reserved.
September 3, 2013
Publishing Mistakes - Happily Ever After
I've had a bad experience with a press in the past, and I've seen other people I know having bad experiences with presses they've worked with. I honestly believe that ever writer will have some type of experience along these lines at some point. It could be with a press, an editor, or even an agent.
When things don't go the way you expect, or are supposed to, with your publishing, it's disheartening (which is putting it mildly). You spend a lot of time on your short stories, novellas, novels, etc. You want to birth them into the world and have everyone behold the beauty of your brain child. What you don't want is to have a doctor (publisher, editor, agent) who is known for malpractice.
The Preditors & Editors site is a good place to start when checking out viable options. But, please keep in mind, that presses don't start out bad. You could be with a press that's doing great, and all of a sudden things start to spiral downward. This can have something to do with the owner, or if there's a new head editor. When policies change, everything changes. People focus on different things... Maybe the old editor was faster at getting works out and doesn't spend as much time on cover art, but the new one takes their time and waits for everything to be perfect. You just don't know what changes will come about with a shuffling of people associated with a press.
You should be prepared to deal with let down because not everyone works the same, and people make mistakes. Even you when you choose to go with a press that eventually lets you down. Don't be too hard on yourself. Learn from the situation and move on - that's what I did.
Relationships in publishing can be like dating... You like someone, get to know them better, things don't work out, and you break up. But, you try again next time you find someone you like and who gets you excited... You keep going with the process (wiser for the past mistakes and learning) and eventually that one special someone (press, agent, editor) comes along and makes all the dreams you've been hoping for come true.
Don't give up because things don't go your way. Step back out into the world wiser and chase down you're "happily ever after" in publishing.
Copyrights owned by Rebecca Besser, 2013. All rights reserved.
