Carl Alves's Blog, page 42

10 Questions with Wrath James White

1. Where did you come up with the idea of having a novel featuring zombie cage fighting?

I was contacted by Severed Press about doing a zombie novel. As you know, there is a glut of rotting corpses stumbling around the horror bookshelves. The prospect of adding to the deluge of offal was, to say the least, unappealing. But, I like to pride myself on not turning down a challenge. So, I considered what I might be able to bring to the table that no one else could, and the answer was my fighting career. There aren't many other horror writers out there with my fighting background. It would be foolish not to utilize that.

2. Who has been your biggest influence as a writer?

Like most other horror authors who grew up in the 80s, reading Stephen King was what made me want to write horror. Everything I have ever read, watched, or otherwise experienced has influenced my style in one way or another.

3. What is the best zombie novel that you’ve ever read?

I would have to give credit to Jonathan Mayberry's Patient Zero. That was a clever and original take on the zombie mythos. I enjoyed World War Z as well.


4. What current writing projects are you working on?

I am collaborating with Monica J. O'Rourke on an erotica novel. No horror, just straight erotica. BDSM erotica to be specific.

5. Who would win in a fight in their prime, Bruce Lee or former UFC middleweight champion Anderson Silva?

You would have to assume that, were they contemporaries, Bruce Lee would have comparable knowledge and his skills would have evolved along with the sport of MMA, so what we would really be discussing is their physical gifts.

Even were you to give Lee a slight edge in speed, the edge in size, reflexes, and athleticism would still go to Silva. That's a lot to overcome.

6. What advice do you have for beginning writers?

Experience the world. Diversify your interests, your hobbies, and your knowledge. Being a more interesting person will make you a more interesting writer. Just sitting at home reading horror novels, watching horror movies, and playing video games won't cut it. You have to live!

Don't just read outside the genre, live outside the genre. Go outside your cultural, societal, ideological, and geographic bubble as much as possible. Live an interesting life.

7. How has your background in combat sports helped you as a writer?

As I mentioned earlier, it gives me experiences to draw upon that are outside the mainstream. And, of course, when I write about physical violence, I can speak from direct experience.

Once, I wrote a story in which a guy stabbed someone to death after being shot, but couldn't remember doing it. The editor found it unbelievable that someone could do that, but have no conscious memory of it. I then told him about how I chased four guys with a knife for three blocks after being knocked unconscious and could not remember doing it. I heard about it from the cop who stopped me. I have also fought entire rounds that I couldn't recall after taking a particularly hard shot square on the jaw. There's no substitute for experience.


8. Is there any subject that is off limits for you as a writer?

No. The only limits would be in how deeply and graphically I explore those subjects.

9. What draws you to writing extreme or hardcore horror?
How do you define success as a writer?

I write what appeals to me, and I have never bought that idea that a writer should "leave it to the reader's imagination". As a reader, I hate that shit. I always found it to be gutless and lazy. Even now that I am a writer as well as a reader, and know that writing less graphic horror is a stylistic choice, not due to a lack of courage or ability on the author's part, it still pisses me off as a reader. I will not write that way. I believe readers are paying us for our imagination, not to leave it to their own. If that makes me "extreme", so be it.

I will feel successful when I can pay all my bills by putting words on paper, and can quit my day job.

10. If you could pick one other author to collaborate with on a novel or story, living or dead, who would it be?

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Jack Ketchum would be my dream collaboration. That said, if I got a call from Clive Barker to collaborate on a new Hellraiser novel, I would probably orgasm.

Another collaboration that I have been dying to do for years appears to be coming to fruition next year, under unfortunate circumstances, I'm sad to say. Hopefully, something positive and wonderful will emerge from the tragedy that spawned it. That's all I can say about that one, for now.

10. If you could pick one other author to collaborate with on a novel or story, living or dead, who would it be?

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Jack Ketchum would be my dream collaboration. That said, if I got a call from Clive Barker to collaborate on a new Hellraiser novel, I would probably orgasm.

Another collaboration that I have been dying to do for years appears to be coming to fruition next year, under unfortunate circumstances, I'm sad to say. Hopefully, something positive and wonderful will emerge from the tragedy that spawned it. That's all I can say about that one, for now.

To the Death by Wrath James White

With all of the zombie novels, movies, and television shows, it’s hard to find an interesting angle to break through all of the other content out there. Wrath James White accomplishes this with a killer premise. The novel starts off with an African warlord using zombies as part of his army as he tries to take over his home country. That’s not the novel aspect of it. What hooked me in was the idea of forming an underground mixed martial arts organization pitting the reanimated corpses of former fighters against current mixed martial artists. Bill Vlad is the Kaiser Söze in this story, a shadowy figure who many in law enforcement don’t even believe exists. Tyler Pope is a man with serious anger issues who falls into the category of doesn’t play nice with others. Vlad pays him exorbitant amounts of money to fight zombies in his league. Detective Elgin Washington is the homicide detective who is trying to figure out why former fighters are showing up in dumpstairs with wounds that have happened post-mortem.

As I mentioned, the premise is really cool. Also on the plus side is the way that White describes the fights and training. It’s more than obvious that he knows his material, having a background in fighting and mixed martial arts. The more interesting part of the novel is the zombie fighting league, and that is what dominates the novel. The writing flows smoothly and has a real professional feel to it. I also found the protagonists to be well developed. Elgin and Tyler Pope were realistic and vivid characters. Bill Vlad was a little more one dimensional and didn't come off as real. On the downside, there were several aspects of the novel that weren’t well explained or believable, such as how does Vlad show up in Africa at the onset of the zombie army with knowledge of how to control them, how they are controlled to begin with, and if he is so hard to find, then why does he do such a poor job of covering his tracks? This was a thrilling, fast paced novel that I enjoyed and would highly recommend.

Movie Review: Big Hero 6

Big Hero 6 is the latest Disney movie made from a Marvel comic. The original comic was set in Japan, but in this movie it was in a city that was a combination of San Francisco and Tokyo. Hiro Hamada is a fourteen year-old-genius who enjoys taking part in robot fighting. He invents a revolutionary new minibot technology. When his older brother dies, the only thing Hiro has left of him is a robot called Baymax that his brother created that kind of looks like the Marshmallow Man. Baymax’s main function is to act as a healer. When Hiro finds out that the explosion that killed his brother was no accident and it was designed to steal his minibots, he modies Baymax and bands together with his brother’s friends, creating high tech gadgets that gives them superhero type powers, creating Big Hero 6. Together, they try to bring down his brother’s killer.

Disney has a had a great deal of success in adapting Marvel franchises into movies. Big Hero 6 is no different even though it is animated instead of live action. The movie had a fresh feel to it compared to many of the animated movies that I have to sit through. The combined Tokyo and San Francisco setting was pretty cool, as was the overall Japanese flavor to the movie. The writing is really strong giving the movie a tight plot and witty dialogue. The characters were also well developed, none moreso than Baymax, who has a great deal of personality for a robot. This was one of the better animated movies that I have watched recently. If your kids drag you out to see it, you won’t regret having to see it.

Movie Review: Interstellar

Interstellar is a long-winded science fiction tale set in the future at a time when the Earth has seen better days. Society is on the verge of collapse as the food supply is dwindling as more and more crops begin to fail. Matthew McConaughey plays Cooper, a former NASA pilot who is now a farmer. Cooper and his ten-year-old daughter Murphy receive a message in her bedroom. Murphy initially believes that it’s a poltergeist but the message gives them coordinates to a hidden NASA site. In secret, NASA has been trying to find alternate planets in far flung solar systems that they access through worm holes to relocate the human race. Cooper, much to his daughter’s chagrin, accepts an assignment to pilot a flight to one of the potential alternate worlds, a mission that may take many years to complete.

The movie certainly had a lot of intrigue. The general premise was an interesting one. McConaughey did a credible job in his portrayal of a father trying to do right by his family but compelled to save the world. There were also strong performances by Anne Hathaway as his co-pilot and Jessica Chastain as an adult Murphy. There were neat visuals and cool moments. However, the movie also had some major flaws. For one thing, it was way too long. There were too many slow spots in the movie. Also, there were many things that didn’t make a bit of sense. For one, for some reason the society no longer has many instruments of technology, such as an MRI machine that would have saved Cooper’s life. You don’t just lose technology. You may not make new equipment, but the technology doesn’t get lost. Also, there was too much techno jargon. Even as an engineer, much of it made little sense to me. Furthermore, I had the distinct impression that the writers were just making up half of the stuff.

The final third of the movie really lost me. That part especially meandered into a non-sensical plot. That doesn’t mean that the movie was terrible. It was still fairly entertaining. The movie falls somewhere between just okay and good. It’s watchable, but come in to the movie with lowered expectations.

The Story Behind the Story: Razzed

The source of inspiration for my story Razzed, which initially appeared in Tabloid Purposes IV anthology, was the old black and white movie White Zombie. I watched it because the movie title was the inspiration to Rob Zombie’s first band. The movie was made in 1932 and features Bela Lugosi as an evil voodoo master who transforms a woman into a zombie. The voodoo master has the zombies working for him on his plantation. This is a very different depiction to how zombies are viewed these days. In today’s day and age, zombies are mindless creatures who live in a post-apocalypse of their creation because they have destroyed humanity and only exist to eat brains.

This movie got me thinking what if people could create zombies to do their bidding. This would certainly be a source of cheap labor. And what industry relies on cheap labor the most? The clothing industry. So, in my story, my lead character is Sebastian, the CEO of hip, trendy clothing company named Razzed, who is getting flack for using sweat shop labor from third world countries. He comes across an African shaman who can create zombies using voudon magic. Sebastian uses these zombies as workers in his factories. However, as part of the deal, the shaman requires that Sebastian do things to improve conditions in his native Tanzania. When things don’t go the way the shaman would like, Sebastian will learn just how hungry his workers can be. You can read this story at http://www.carlalves.com/blog-post/ra...

Razzed by Carl Alves

This is my short story "Razzed", which initally appeared in Tabloid Purposes IV anthology.

Razzed
By Carl Alves

Sebastian Fulton smiled as he read the analyst report. The analyst gave Razzed a strong buy rating and spoke glowingly about the company’s long term earnings outlook. Just a year ago, this same analyst had written disparaging remarks about Sebastian’s abrasive management style.
Mark Evans, his closest advisor, came running into his office without knocking. “We got a problem,” Mark said.
Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Follow me and I’ll explain on the way.”
They exited the corporate headquarters and entered a limo. Mark opened the mini-fridge. “Do you want a drink? I know I need one.”
Sebastian nodded and accepted the Scotch on the rocks Mark poured for him. “One of our manager’s at the Detroit plant has become zombie chow.”
Sebastian sunk his head back into the plush seat. “You have got to be kidding me.” He put his fist to his face. “How? How did it happen?”
“I don’t know the details yet. Kaunde just called and told me that it happened.”
“Damn it!” Sebastian shouted. “He’s supposed to control these things. That’s why he’s here, to control his workers.”
Mark dialed his cell, and hung up moments later. “No answer. We’ll be there soon.”
When they arrived at the plant, located in one of Detroit’s worst slums, everything looked normal. Abandoned warehouses surrounded the plant, some of which had been converted into crack houses. There was little activity in this slum, perfect for Razzed’s operations.
They walked to Kaunde’s office. There was no desk, computer, or anything typically found in an office. Instead, the room was adorned with decorations from his native Tanzania.
“Where the hell is Kaunde?” Sebastian snapped.
Mark turned around. “Right behind us.”
Vuyani Kaunde was a short, elderly man dressed in traditional Tanzanian garb, hardly the norm in a corporate setting.
“What the hell happened, Kaunde?” Sebastian asked.
Kaunde closed the door. “One of your foolish managers thought it a good idea to fix one of the machines that spin the fabric.”
“Of course he would,” Mark said. “When the machines jam, the process stalls. If they don’t get it back up and running, we lose a lot of money. We can’t afford long delays.”
Kaunde’s dark eyes fixed in on Mark. “The man did not tell me he was fixing the machine. When I arrived, one of my workers had already eaten him. There was nothing I could do.”
Sebastian rubbed his eyes. “Who else knows?”
“Nobody. I sealed off the area. My workers are now…sleeping.”
Sebastian paced around the office with his arms folded. “Good. Let’s keep it that way. Mark, get Fitzgerald and Leland to, um, take care of the body. Nobody else is to find out what happened. If anyone asks, he was given an extended leave of absence, and hasn’t been seen or heard from since. This can’t happen again, Kaunde.”
Kaunde’s eyes narrowed. “Your managers know the rules. They are not to be near my workers if I am not present. Enforce that upon them.”
Sebastian sighed. “Fine. We’ll do that.”
Mark finished speaking on his cell phone. “Fitzgerald and Leland are on their way. They’ll discretely dispose of the body.”
“Good.”
Mark followed Sebastian out of Kaunde’s office to the limo waiting outside.
“You knew something like this was going to happen eventually,” Mark said.
“I know.” Sebastian took out a packet of Tums and popped two in his mouth. “We can’t let this blow up. Business is too good.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll fix this problem.”
Sebastian leaned back and closed his eyes, remembering how this all started.

Sebastian Fulton read the New York Times article for the second time. The first time he read it, he was disappointed. Now he was indignant.
He called Mark Evans, his personal assistant and one of the most unlikely corporate executives, into his office. In his late thirties, Mark had a nose ring, a tongue ring and several eyebrow rings. He had a massive tattoo that covered his entire back depicting an elaborate battle scene. He had spent twelve years of his life traveling the world and had lived in every continent. Sebastian had found him surfing on a beach in Southern California. He had sought out Mark because the kids at the beach considered him a local guru. Mark quickly climbed up the ranks of the corporation and became his right hand man because he was better at spotting new trends than anybody he had ever met. Sebastian wouldn’t trade him for any executive on Wall Street.
Sebastian slammed his fist on top of the newspaper that covered his mahogany table. The first few pages tore from impact. “Can you believe this shit? I built this damn company from nothing into a multi billion dollar corporation using my own sweat. And now these media people who never built a damn thing in their life are taking shots at me.”
Mark nodded. “That’s what happens when you’re successful.”
“When I started this whole thing, I didn’t have two nickels to rub together.” Sebastian had started selling knock-off tee shirts, concert shirts, replica jerseys, whatever was hot, out of his dorm room in college. He got so busy that he stopped going to class and eventually dropped out.
Mark nodded, but said nothing.
By staying on top of the latest trends, he had made his first million at age twenty-five. Razzed was one of the first companies to sell merchandise on the Web. Ten years after selling shirts out of his dorm room, he went from being a millionaire to a billionaire after Razzed’s IPO.
Mark picked up the torn copy of the New York Times. “In order to maintain the kind of growth Wall Street’s looking for, we have to lower operating costs by hiring cheaper labor.”
That’s why they manufactured in China and Vietnam. Sebastian folded his arms and looked outside of his high rise, office building. When the protests first started, it was just dopey college kids with picket signs. Then sit-ins popped up in universities across the country. Now human rights activists, labor unions and university officials had joined the protests that their workers were paid below poverty wages, and had unsafe working conditions.
Sebastian pounded his fist into his hand. “It’s a bunch of shit, as far as I’m concerned. In Vietnam, the minimum wage is twenty five dollars per month. We pay the Vietnamese workers almost double that. They ain’t complaining.”
“Of course not. It certainly beats making nothing. Plus we give managerial opportunities for the locals.”
Sebastian shouted, “I couldn’t care less about the workers’ conditions. I’d use slave labor if possible. But these damn protesters…”
Sebastian took out a bottle of Scotch from the bottom drawer of his desk and poured himself a drink. He then smashed his fist against the table. “What can we do about this?”
“Little other than pull our manufacturing operations out of the third world countries we’re operating in. We could propose changes in our facilities to appease the human rights people. But the labor unions are out for blood. They won’t stop until we pull out of those countries.”
“What would that do to our earnings?” Sebastian asked.
“Right now we have the best margins in the industry. Pulling out of Beijing and Viet Nam to manufacture in the States would give us razor thin margins. It would decimate our profits.”
“Son of a bitch.” Sebastian finished his Scotch. “We’re screwed either way.”
They went over different options. In every scenario, Razzed’s profits would suffer. That was unacceptable. Sebastian’s entire fortune was staked in the company. He was the majority owner of the corporation and had few other assets. He would live or die with his firm.
Mark sighed. “We might have one alternative. But it will take a giant leap of faith. Are you prepared to take it?”
“Look Mark, I have no faith other than in this company. Razzed is what I live for. And I trust you more than anyone. So if you have something, then give it to me.”
“Okay…” He took out a photograph.
It was of an old shaman. Sebastian blinked quickly. Behind him were what looked like…dead people, or more like living dead people.
Mark told him about how he had met Vuyani Kaunde in Tanzania while on a safari trip. Kaunde had an enormous estate that housed a small army of the undead under his control.
Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “That might be the craziest story I ever heard. Do you expect me to believe it?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Mark. “I wouldn’t if I were you. I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with my own two eyes.”
“So you’re telling me that the walking dead are real?”
“They’re as real as real can get.”
“Maybe you were hallucinating,” Sebastian said. “Were you on the hashish?”
“I was completely sober. The only way you’ll believe me is if you see for yourself.”
“So what does this have to do with the activists? Do you want to unleash these undead creatures on them and have them eat their brains?”
Mark smiled. “You want cheap labor. You can’t get cheaper than them. They work for free. If we can convince Kaunde to give us a few hundred of these workers and bring them to the States, the activists won’t be able to complain about third world sweat shops and we’d have even higher profit margins. We have to figure out how to feed them. After all, they eat people.”
Sebastian’s mind raced as he paced around the room. He smiled. “Look, I can’t believe your crazy story. But if it is true, then this could reduce the hell out of our labor costs.”
“There’s only one way to prove it. Come to Tanzania with me and I’ll show you so that you too will believe.”

It took Mark two weeks after his arrival in Tanzania before he found Kaunde, who had moved his operations to the northern part of the country near Arusha. Sebastian grew impatient in Mark’s struggles to find Vuyani Kaunde, but was thrilled when they were finally given an audience with the shaman.
Kaunde, now much older and frailer than he looked in the picture, remembered Mark from his visit many years back. Mark’s Swahili was rusty. Fortunately, Kaunde had a working knowledge of English. Mark and Kaunde exchanged stories about his previous visit to Tanzania. Kaunde then invited them for a feast at his house that evening.
That night, they sat at a large banquet table with a bountiful arrangement of food.
During dinner Mark said, “We have come here to see if we can persuade you into a business arrangement. We would like to bring over your fleet of undead to America to work in our clothing factories. We would make it worth your while.”
Kaunde sat silently for a while. Sebastian thought the old man had gone to sleep. “If such an arrangement were made, I would have to join them in America.”
“Of course,” Mark said. “We would provide any accommodations you require and cover any expenses you incur.”
Kaunde turned toward Sebastian. “You do not believe what he says, do you?”
“Well, you must understand that the entire concept is bizarre. I mean, you’re trying to tell me that you can bring back dead people and then get them to work for you.”
Kaunde sighed. “I see that you require a demonstration.” He called for one of his servants.
Sebastian jumped out of his seat. The servant stood tall and erect, dressed in a black suit that fit awkwardly. It had flaps of skin hanging off of its face. Its ulna bone stuck out of its right forearm. Most of its teeth were missing, and it had a major gash on its forehead.
Sebastian cowered behind the table.
“They will not harm you.” Kaunde had a mischievous grin on his face. “I control them.”
Sebastian’s hands shook. “How…how did you create these monsters?”
“I can’t tell you, a disbeliever,” Kaunde said.
Sebastian shook his head. “I believe. I believe now. That’s amazing.”
Servants brought out trays of food and cleaned the table when they were done.
“What you have done here is truly remarkable,” Sebastian said. “My firm would love to have your workers. We would be willing to pay you well for your services.”
“Mr. Fulton, I am an old man. I do not need material wealth. I have lived a full and satisfying life, and I do not have any living offspring.”
“Perhaps there is another way that we can make it worth your while,” Mark said. “We can solidify your legacy so that generations to follow will know of your greatness.”
“I do not care for monuments or any such displays,” Kaunde said. “I care about my people. This is a poor country. The roads are in need of repair, the hospitals are inadequate and the schools are substandard. If I accept your offer, then you must enrich my people.”
Sebastian beamed. “No problem, Mr. Kaunde. Razzed is involved in numerous civic and community projects. We would be glad to help your people.”

Over the next two months, the firm’s fleet of private jets brought the undead into Canada. They were then brought by the truckload to Razzed’s new manufacturing facility in Detroit, which had been renovated from a clothing manufacturer that went bankrupt.
“You know, I can’t believe Kaunde didn’t hold us up for more,” Sebastian said a week before opening the Detroit plant. “I was prepared to up the ante a hell of a lot more.”
“Kaunde is a good man,” Mark said. “You should see the regard his people have for him. He genuinely wants to help them. He’s a better person than either of us. We just want profit.”
“It’s more than just profits. I built this company from an idea. My initiative and hard work turned that into a multi-billion dollar corporation. And I’m not about to let these liberal pansies stop me. They wanted us to pull out of these third world countries and we did. Now what’s going to happen to the people who we employed? We gave them a paycheck. We put food on their table and now they have nothing. These protesters can go to hell.”
“Whatever makes you sleep better at night,” Mark said. “Since I’ve been working at Razzed, I’ve gotten the taste of the good life. And it sure beats being poor.”
“Amen to that. So when will the Detroit plant be operational?
“Two weeks. We’re going to run with a minimal amount of human personnel. Kaunde controls the workers. He’ll work with the managers working at the plant. I’ve made sure they’re all stable and reliable. They’re being paid real well as long as they comply with complete secrecy. Nobody else finds out what goes on in the plant, not even their spouses.”
Sebastian smiled. “There are so many things that can go wrong with this plan. I’ve never had a project with so much risk. But it’s worth it.”

In the early going, Mark and Sebastian faced numerous problems with these new employees. The biggest problem was the food supply. These creatures couldn’t just roam the streets and kill people, so they chose an urban area with a large homeless population. The plan was to use the homeless as food. They were disposable and nobody would miss them. Sebastian felt he was doing Detroit a favor by getting rid of them.
After a few weeks, newspaper reports surfaced about a substantial number of missing homeless people. Mark decided they needed a new source of food, so they brought illegal immigrants across the Mexican border up to Detroit with the promise of high paying jobs.
Because the undead did not have the best hygiene, they fitted them with plastic smocks and used a special washing procedure to remove unwanted residue from the clothing.
They had bugged the common areas and the managers’ office in order to ensure compliance with their secrecy mandate. Sebastian’s henchmen, Leland and Fitzgerald, monitored these conversations. When they overheard a conversation between two managers, in which one said he was going to go public about the use of undead workers, they quickly dealt with him. From that point forward, nobody talked about unveiling Razzed’s new labor force.
***

Six months later, profits had soared due to their increased margins causing the company’s stock price to soar.
Despite the accidental death of one of the managers, Sebastian couldn’t have been more pleased. The managers would be forced to have Kaunde accompany them when they walked in the areas with undead workers.
His biggest concern was Kaunde. Recently, the shaman had complained that he wasn’t satisfied with the progress of the promise to provide aid to the people of Tanzania.
The last time Kaunde had called him, Sebastian attempted to explain. “Look, Mr. Kaunde, we’re doing everything we can, but the Tanzanian government is a royal pain in the ass. Every time we attempt to do something, they try to attach a million stipulations that make it prohibitive. I understand your frustrations, but you have to believe me when I tell you that we’re doing everything we can.”
Kaunde did not seem satisfied with this answer and voiced his displeasure.
Later, over cocktails, Sebastian said, “I don’t know what his problem is. His country’s government is a mess. If they had their act together, the country wouldn’t be so dirt poor. And what is he so hung up about anyway? Like anything we do will make a difference. The people in that country have been living in poverty for hundreds of years. Nothing we do will change that.”
“Maybe not,” Mark said. “But we need to keep Kaunde happy. Let’s do what he wants.”
“Fine. You to take care of it. You lived in that shit hole before, so you should have an understanding of their customs. Take care of this thing.”
Reluctantly, Mark agreed to the assignment.

Regardless of what Sebastian told Kaunde, the shaman never seemed satisfied. In their last conversation, Kaunde said, “I tire of your lies and excuses. You had better produce results soon or suffer drastic consequences.”
Sebastian gritted his teeth. “Is that a threat, Kaunde? We’re working hard to meet your demands and it will happen, but you better watch what you say. I run this company. And you’re my employee. Anybody can be replaced.”
“I do not care how you perceive what I say, but you better produce results.”
Sebastian slammed the phone. Who was this backwards witch doctor to make threats to him? He was the CEO of the most profitable apparel company in the world.
He called Mark, who was in Dar es Salaam in Tanzania. After waiting a half hour, he got a line to Mark’s hotel.
“I’m making excellent progress,” Mark said. “Maybe another month or two of heavy negotiations, and we’ll strike a deal. I’m meeting all of the major players in this country. There are a lot of people holding out their hands to get a piece of it.”
“Well Kaunde’s getting restless,” Sebastian said. “He might try a power play and put his undead on strike or something.”
“Let me talk to him,” Mark said.

Less than a week later, Sebastian was in his office hanging a plaque given to him by the governor of Michigan for outstanding civic involvement and community development. Incidentally, Sebastian was a major contributor to the governor.
He heard a knock on the door. It was Kaunde. “What are you doing here?” Sebastian asked. “Why aren’t you running the plant?”
“There has been a change of plans,” Kaunde said softly. “I am an old man and my patience runs thin. I have warned you to meet my demands, but you have done nothing.”
Listen, Mr. Kaunde…”
The Shaman cut him off. “The time for excuses is over. I would like you to meet two of your employees.”
Sebastian looked in horror as two of Kaunde’s undead walked into his office. The first was tall, but hunched over. Its left eye hung out of its socket. Sebastian cowered away when it smiled and maggots escaped from its mouth. The second was shorter but stood erect. The skin on its forehead was nearly gone, and blood dripped from its mouth.
Sebastian tried to pick up his phone, but before he could reach it, Kaunde grabbed his wrist with amazing strength for an old man. “I am tired of your inability to get things done. Changes are in order. As you said, anybody can be replaced.”
The door to Sebastian’s office was closed by one of the undead. Sebastian frantically looked for an escape path, but there was none to be had. Kaunde watched as they savagely tore into Sebastian, ripping the flesh off of his limbs and feasting on his brains, heart and liver.
When they were finished, Sebastian’s phone rang. Kaunde answered.
“Mr. Kaunde?” Mark said. “I didn’t expect you to answer. Where is Mr. Fulton?”
“Mr. Fulton is no longer among us,” Kaunde replied. “Perhaps we can still make use of him in the Detroit plant, however.”
Mark gulped. “But what happened?”
“Mr. Fulton continued to disappoint me. I do not tolerate failure.”
“Um, I was just calling to say that I have reached an agreement with the president of Tanzania. We will be starting road construction in your country at the end of the month.”
“Very well,” said Kaunde. “Return soon. This is now your company to run. But remember to keep your employees happy, especially the ones that crave your flesh.”
The End

10 Questions with Tim Marquitz

1. How has your life changed since you became a full time writer?
TM: I’ve gotten fatter. Outside of that, it’s been great. I’ve been able to sit down and so what needs to be done without all the stress of squeezing in the writing between the day job and everything else. With it being the day job, I’m able to write to my heart’s content and work on more projects.

2. What Epic Fantasy series is most like your Blood Wars Trilogy?
TM: Good question. I’m not really certain. The Blood War Trilogy has a bit of Abercrombie in its bleakness and a more traditional voice than my Demon Squad stuff, but I don’t think I’m well enough read in the genre to make any substantive comparisons. I also haven’t seen any made in the reviews of the books. Might have to hunt more epics down to see where BW falls.

3. Who has been your biggest influence as a writer?

TM: While I regularly claim Clive Barker as the man whose work pushed me to write, I have to say Jim Butcher is a more direct influence on me stylistically. If I hadn’t read the Dresden Files, I think I’d still be splashing around trying to find my voice. His books really hammered home the point that I could write more naturally, using my own personality as a template, rather than having to slip into a role for a story.

4. Do you outline prior to writing your story, or do you work out the plot as you write?

TM: I definitely plot everything, at least loosely. I’ve found that I falter and stray off course when I don’t have an outline to follow. I’ll make adjustments as I go along, sharpen certain plot points and shift others, but it’s always best for me to outline the plot direction.

On the other side of that, I tend to leave almost all of the creative decisions to my brain as I write. Things like descriptions and voice and character interaction is often imagined on the fly. As long as I have the plot to follow, I feel more capable of being creative without screwing up the story.

5. Do you prefer series or stand-alone novels?
TM: As a writer, I prefer series, but standalones are often palette cleansers of a sort. Sometimes the need to write story after story in the same world becomes a drain. I love writing the Demon Squad series because it’s got so many twists and turns and I love the voice of the main character, but books like the Blood War felt better being completed after a few books. It’s all a strange, love-hate kind of thing that comes along with the creative aspect. I always want to move on to something different except in the case of the DS books, because that’s like coming home after a long time away.

6. Do you consider yourself a fantasy or a horror writer?
TM: Most definitely fantasy. I love the horror attributes I add to my writing, but at the end of the day I prefer the freedom of the fantasy genre and audience. I’ll never completely give up my horror roots, but I’m always more satisfied writing the more fantastical stories.

7. What advice do you have for beginning writers?
TM: If you want to write, do it. I know so many people who tell me they want to write a story/memoir/whatever yet they never sit down to actually do it. You can’t get anywhere with that mentality. If you truly want to write, make time for it. Get up early, go to bed late, skip a movie or TV show. Whatever it takes to put a few words on paper.

Writing is about determination and dedication. Move forward with every word, every action, and chase your dreams. Publishing is difficult, but the more you work, the better you’ll do.

8. What type of scenes do you most enjoy writing?
TM: I’m not sure I have a real preference, but it’s mostly predicated on my mood. Some days I find myself walking away from a story when there’s an action scene to write because I’m just not in the mood for it. Other days it’s more about the angsty scenes or internal dialogue. I like all aspects of writing but there are times when a literary passage thrills me more than a fight scene, or vice versa.

9. How do you use social media to promote your writing?
TM: I use it to promote me and my friends. On top of the writing stuff I put out there, I try to create a dialogue with folks on the various platforms, make friends. It isn’t just about a sales pitch. It’s about meeting likeminded people and forming a relationship.

10. If you could invite five people to a dinner party (alive or dead, real or fictional) who would you invite?
TM: This is a toughie. I’m so anti-social that I think I’d want to invite folks who would overwhelm the room so I could just sit back and soak in the atmosphere. Let’s say Clive Barker, King Diamond, Freddy Mercury, and I’d really have to think beyond that, to be honest.

Embers of an Age by Tim Marquitz

After a brutal battle with the Grol, in which Lathah has fallen, Arrin and members of the royal family retreat to Pathrale and the race of cat people who live there. Arrin comes to the conclusion that he needs an army to defeat the Grol and he needs to arm them with Ohra, the magical amulets that the Grol are currently using against them. In order to do this, he and his band must go to the Funeral Sands, an incredibly dangerous area of desert where creatures lurk underneath the sand. Meanwhile, the Prince of Lathah is plotting treachery in taking the throne from his father, proclaiming himself to be the king, and killing off the remaining members of the Royal Family. There are enemies at every front that Arrin must deal with.

This novel doesn’t really feel like a stand-alone novel, and in fact ends with a cliff hanger. Much like the first book, there is non-stop action in this installment. The story progresses at a furious pace with few wasted words. On the one hand, this makes for great reading. On the other hand, with the extensive cast, I think a few of the characters could stand for a little more character development. Marquitz does, however, a good job of distinguishing these characters despite the large cast. Although I would have liked to have a more definitive ending for the book, the cliff-hanger ending definitely makes me want to read the final part in this series. This is a very action-oriented epic fantasy novel that I highly recommend, a definite must for readers of epic fantasy.

The Story Behind the Story: Intercom

I used to have an intercom system in the first house I owned. Mostly, I just used it to communicate with my wife when we were on different floors. One night, my wife and I were freaked out when a strange voice broke into the intercom system. I couldn’t tell for sure what the other person was saying, but the man on the other end had one of those voices that you hear in horror movies – you know the rugged voice of the backwoods killer who is about to hack a dozen people into pieces. We later tossed the intercom system, but it inspired me to write this story, which was published online in the now defunct Sinister City.
In my story, Mel, my story’s protagonist, buys a home intercom for a present for his wife. All is normal at first until the intercom starts to speak to Mel. Initially, it freaks him out, but it has a mesmerizing quality to it, and he eventually falls into an almost hypnotic state when speaking with the intercom. At first, it gives him good strategy to advance his career, but eventually its advice becomes far more sinister leading up to the intercom trying to convince Mel that he must kill his wife. It was a fun little story for me to write. You can read it at http://www.carlalves.com/blog-post/th...

Intercom by Carl Alves

Below is my story Intercom, about a malevolent intercom system that comes to life. It was initially published in Sinister City about eight years ago. I hope you enjoy.

Intercom
By Carl Alves


Mel Tesauro came to an abrupt stop when he saw it. There it was on the shelf of the electronics store, beckoning him to pick it up. Tania would love this, he thought. Perhaps he could give it to her as an extra birthday gift. He had already spent more money than he had planned on the pearl necklace that he bought her, but what the hell, a home intercom system would be cool. He brought it to the counter, convinced this was a terrific purchase.

Mel sat at his desk in his den at home, brooding over the report. Earlier that afternoon at work, his boss Sam Woodson, told him to review the report written by one of his colleagues. He couldn’t believe it. It was all his work. His colleague, Larry Davis, had stolen it from him. He slammed his fist on his desk. He contemplated saying something to Woodson about it, but knew it would be futile. It would be Mel’s word against Davis’ word. Woodson didn’t like him much anway, so he would probably believe Davis.
Mel sighed in frustration. The chime of the intercom startled him.
“Hey Mel, can you bring me up the laundry basket?” Tania asked.
He put the report down and grinned. “Sure thing, honey.” He knew Tania would like the pearl necklace, but he was surprised how much she enjoyed the intercom system.”
Before he exited, he turned around when he heard a hiss coming from the box. Then he heard his name. He clicked the speaker button on the intercom. “Tania?” There was no response. He shook his head and went to get the laundry basket. He frowned. That wasn’t Tania’s voice. It was a man’s voice. He was sure of it.



Mel checked underneath his bed for his checkbook when he heard a crackling hiss from across the room. His head jerked up. He looked around the room, but could not tell where the sound came from.
Mel continued looking for his checkbook, and then heard a voice. He frantically looked around the room. He opened up the door to the closet, but there was nothing inside except for clothes. “Tania,” he called out, even though he knew he was alone in the house.
He shook his head and walked down the stairs, his hands shaking. That was unlike him to get so freaked out. He forced his hands to remain steady.
Back in his bedroom, he found the elusive checkbook. And then he heard the voice again calling his name. “Who’s there?” Mel called out tentatively. “Whoever this is, stop playing around.”
“Come here, Mel,” the voice said in a level yet commanding tone.
He moved towards the voice, mystified. “Who is this?” His voice was barely above a whisper. If a phantom or some other apparition appeared, he would have a heart attack.
“Come closer, Mel.”
He inched toward the sound of the voice, and then jumped back when he heard the ringing of the intercom. Instead of answering, he ran downstairs where the second intercom was located. There was nobody there. The downstairs box rang. Involuntarily, he touched the talk button. “He-hello.”
“It is about time that you answered, Mel,” said the hollow voice on the other end.
“Who are you?”
“I am your new friend, Mel. You didn’t buy a gift for your wife when you bought me. You found your salvation.”
“Wh-what are you talking about? Is this a joke?”
A rumbling laughter came from the box. “This is no joke. You went to five jewelry stores before you bought the necklace. You were going back to your car with no intention of buying another gift, already having spent more on the necklace than you wanted to. But you were drawn to the store. You were drawn to me. Because I chose you. Do you remember?”
Mel nodded. “I remember.”
“I sought you out and you found me.”
He looked at the receiver with stunned disbelief and shook his head. He wondered if he was losing his sanity.
“You are not crazy, Mel. You truly are talking to me.”
“But how?”
“That is not important.”
“Well, what do you want?”
“I want to help you, Mel. I am going to make you better.”
“Um, okay.”
“Remember this. From now on, I am the most important factor in your life. Not your wife, not your parents, not your boss. That is all for now. We will talk again later.”
Breathing heavy, Mel backed out of the room. This was impossible. He considered the possibility that he picked up some miscellaneous person who was on the same frequency as his intercom. But that couldn’t be the case, because the person on the other end knew who he was, called out to him in fact. But how? Spooked, Mel ran out of the house and waited on the porch until Tania arrived.


Nearly a week passed by since Mel’s conversation with the intercom. He did not tell Tania about it. She would think he was crazy. But it was all that he could think about. He barely ate and slept. Tania repeatedly asked if there was something wrong. But he insisted he was fine.
Mel stood staring at the intercom system as he frequently did these days.
“Is their something wrong with it?” Tania asked.
Mel shook his head. “Wrong? There’s nothing wrong with it. Why would you say that?”
“Take it easy, Mel. Why do you keep staring at it.”
Mel’s eyes narrowed as his anger rose. “There’s nothing wrong with it, so leave me alone.”
Tania stepped back as if she had been slapped. “Mel, what’s wrong with you. I was just asking a simple question.”
He stepped toward her, his fists balled. “You should leave. Now!”
Tears streamed down Tania’s face as Mel continued to glare at her. She left the room, and Mel buried his face in his hands. Why did he do that? He never lost his temper with Tania. She was the emotional one. He was the level headed one. Lost in thought, he continued to stare at the intercom receiver on the wall.


After nearly a week passed and he had not heard from it again, Mel started to wonder if he imagined the whole thing. But it seemed so real.
Mel jumped back when he heard the intercom’s mesmerizing voice. “It really did happen. You did not imagine it, Mel. I have not spoken to you since then because I wanted you to think about our initial contact. I am pleased that you have.”
“Of course I have. I can’t think about anything else.”
“Good. We have much to speak about, Mel. I want you to do better. Face it. You’re an underachiever. When you were in high school you could have gotten better grades, and then been accepted into a better college. And if you did better in college, you could have gotten into a good graduate school. And then maybe you could have landed a better job. If you were more aggressive, then you would not still be at your entry-level job. And let’s face it, Mel, you could have done better than Tania.”
“Tania?”
“Yes. She is a rather mediocre wife.”
Mel tilted his face. “There’s nothing wrong with her.”
“There is,” the intercom said. “And over time you will realize this. Think about it until we next speak.”
Over the next few days, they spoke briefly. Somehow, it knew everything about him. Mel made sure he was alone in the house. He could only imagine what Tania would think if she saw him speaking to a box. But more than that, he wanted it all to himself. He did not want to share this wondrous find with his wife.
One morning before work, the intercom said, “It is about time that you start moving up the corporate ladder.”
Mel sighed. “They always overlook me for promotions.”
“You have to create your own opportunities. Mr. Woodson, has a growing heroin addiction. On Wednesday afternoon he meets his supplier on an alleyway behind Parkington Avenue, usually between five and six in the evening. Go there today and bring a camera. Take photos of the drug deal and submit them to Mr. Virgil.” Fred Virgil was the senior accounting director at Mel’s company. “You should be in a good position to take Woodson’s job.”
Mel nodded. “All right. I’ll do it.”
That afternoon, he followed Woodson as he drove to Parkington Avenue, exited his car and waited. When the dealer arrived, Mel snapped off a few shots. He smiled. He was not sure how, but the intercom knew everything. It was his ticket out of mediocrity.
The following day, he submitted the pictures to Fred Virgil anonymously. The day after he submitted the photos, two security guards escorted Woodson out of the office building. He haHHzHhhhhhhh
He had been terminated.
But the promotion that Mel had been expecting had not come. Instead it went to his co-worker, Larry Davis.
Later that day while speaking to the intercom, Mel showed his frustration. “I thought that I would get Woodson’s job.”
“The problem is that you were not aggressive in pushing for the job,” the voice said. “Must I spell everything out for you.”
Mel folded his arms. “What should I do now?”
“Go to Beckwood Pharmacy and see Jeremy, the pharmacist. Bring large quantities of cash. Ask him for the Friday Night Special. Take the contents of the packet he gives you and insert it into Davis’ morning coffee. He will become ill. This time pitch yourself for the position.”
Mel did as instructed. The day after he inserted the powder into the coffee, Davis did not come into work. When it became apparent to Mel’s employers that Davis was not going to return to work, Mel lobied for the job and got it.
Mel smiled widely when he spoke to the intercom after receiving his new promotion. “I owe you so much for what you have done for me.”
“I am here to help you, Mel. You must trust me unconditionally. Do you understand?”
“Oh I understand. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
“Do you know Deborah, from your office?”
“Oh yeah, she’s nice.”
“Invite her for dinner and drinks. She will accept the offer, since you are ascending the corporate ladder.”
“But what about Tania?”
“As I told you, Tania is a mediocre wife. You can do better. Deborah comes from a prominent family that has considerable wealth. You will need that for the grand designs I have for you.”
“What grand designs?” Mel asked.
“I will let you know in due time. For now ask her to go out with you?”
“You haven’t steered me wrong, yet, so I’ll do it.”


In the ensuing days and weeks, Mel spoke to the intercom system more frequently. It became a crutch. He could not make any decisions without consulting it. He no longer cared if Tania was around when he spoke to it.


The first time she saw him he speak to it, she said, “Mel?” Her voice cracked. “Mel.” Her voice had a desperate, pleading quality. She put her hand on his shoulder, and gently shook him. When he did not respond, she shook his shoulder more vigorously.
Mel turned around and glared at her. “Leave me the hell alone.” His eyes showed hatred. It was something she thought the gentle man she had married would never do.
Tania backed away, slowly at first, before running.
Downstairs, Tania sobbed softly. Over the last few months she saw her relationship with Mel splintering. He had never yelled at her during their whole marriage.
The way he treated her lately had been hurtful. She cried frequently and withdrew from the rest of the world including her friends and co-workers at the hospital where she worked as a nurse. Tania prayed that this was a phase he was going through. But after what had just happened, she could no longer sit back and hope that he would change.
After Tania had shed all her tears, she went to the basement and called her brother Mike.
He answered the phone, “Hello.”
Fresh tears flowed. “Hello, Mike.”
“Tania? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mel,” she said. She told him about what had been happening, agonizing through every moment. If she could reach out to anyone, it was Mike. A teen mentor at a local community center, he was used to listening.
When she was finished, Mike sighed. “That just doesn’t sound like Mel. He’s always been a good, caring person.”
“That makes this so much harder to take. What’s happening to him? He’s breaking apart. When I saw him talking to the intercom today, I knew something was wrong with him. And the look he gave me, if I didn’t leave I don’t know what he would have done.”
Tania waited patiently for her brother to talk. “Listen Tania, I know this is tough for you, but there are two ways to go here. Either leave him, get a divorce and go on with your life; or try to help him. He needs a psychiatrist. I would try to talk to him, but this is way beyond my understanding. But I know some capable psychiatrists that can help.”
Tania looked at the door at the top of the stairs. For a second she thought Mel was there. “I can’t leave Mel. I love him. Or at least I loved the Mel I used to know. I just… can’t imagine my life without him.”
“I’m worried, Tania. It sounds like he might turn violent.”
Tania shook her head. “Not Mel. Maybe I could help him. Do you think I could?”
“I don’t know, Tania. I’ll stop by the house and talk to him, so I can see for myself.”
“Can you please?”
“Of course. But look, you have to promise me that if he gets violent or you think you might be in danger, you’ll get the hell out of there. You always have a place to stay and someone to talk to at my house. And if Mel comes after you, I’ll take care of him.”
Tania nodded. “I will.”
Tania avoided Mel the rest of the night. She slept on the couch that evening. The following day, she told him he should see a psychiatrist.
“Why would I want to see a psychiatrist?” Mel had a sinister grin on his face. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m doing great at work, better than I ever had. I have never been better in my life. You’re just jealous. He warned me that you would bring me down. Said you’re nothing but a mediocre wife. At first I didn’t think so, but now I believe him. Oh yes I do.”
“Who are you talking about, Mel?”
“That’s none of your business. You’re just trying to bring me down.”
“I’m not trying to bring you down,” Tania said. “I just want to help you. I want you to get better.”
“Oh yeah. That’s funny.”
***


Tania hung her jacket on the hook next to the front door. She sat down and hung her head back. Today had been another horrible day at work. She couldn’t concentrate. All she could think about was Mel. He had to be losing his mind, having these one-sided conversations with the intercom.
She trudged upstairs, and frowned when she heard Mel’s voice. He was talking to it again. She had to confront him about it. She opened the door to their bedroom. “Mel, who are you talking to? There’s no one on the other end.”
His face contorted. “What are you talking about? I know that you’re jealous of me, but you don’t have to lie.”
“Lie?” Tania grinded her teeth. “I hear you talk, but I don’t hear anybody else. We’re alone in the house, so that means that there’s nobody on the other end.”
“You’re so stupid. Talk to Tania. Tell her something,” he said into the receiver.
Tania waited a few moments. She shook her head. “I don’t hear anything.”
Mel’s voice rose. “If you’re going to pretend that you don’t hear him speak, then leave. I’m sick of you.”
“Why do you talk to me like that, Mel? Don’t you know how much that hurts?”
“Why don’t you call somebody who cares?”
She went downstairs, called her brother Mike, and asked him to come over. When he arrived, Mel eyed him suspiciously.
“Mel, I wanted to sit down and talk to you,” Mike said.
Mel shook his head. “No. I have to leave. Now.” He bolted out of the house.
Mike sat at the kitchen table while Tania brewed coffee. She put her palm to her forehead and sighed. “I don’t even know what to do anymore. You saw how he was.”
“I know,” Mike said. “He’s a different person. It’s possible for mental disorders to manifest themselves suddenly later in life. I think that may be happening here. But once again, that isn’t my field of expertise. He needs to see someone who can help.”
“He won’t do it,” Tania said. “I told him he should see a psychiatrist and he thought that I was the crazy one. I think it has something to do with that damn intercom. He talks to it and insists that there is someone on the other end, when obviously there isn’t.”
Mike shrugged. “This intercom might be the focal point of his neurosis.”
“I tried to confront him, and he said that I was lying when I could not hear any voices coming from it. What if I get rid of it?”
“I don’t know. He might have an extreme reaction. He should be the one to realize he no longer needs to talk to the damn thing. We need him to see someone who specializes in mental disorders.”
“What if I have him committed?”
Mike shook his head. “That would be difficult. He’s functioning well at work, right?” Tania nodded. “The only place he’s dysfunctional is at home and it would be your word against his. They would never commit him.”
“Then what do I do?” Tania threw up her hands.
“There isn’t much to do if he’s not willing to help himself. Maybe you should leave him. There’s something that doesn’t seem right about him. I don’t like it.”
“I can’t give up on him, Mike. I just can’t.”
“It’s your decision. But be careful.”
Tania thought for a while. “Maybe the best thing would be for me to get rid of that stupid intercom.”
***

Following the intercom’s suggestion, Mel sabotaged a colleague’s project and was in line for another promotion.
He had been seeing Deborah a few times a week. At first he told Tania that he was working late, but he no longer tried to cover up. Deborah wanted him to leave his wife, but there was part of him that still had a small, emotional attachment to her.
But that part continued to erode. One day the intercom said to him, “You must dispose of your lackluster wife.”
Mel frowned. “You want me to divorce her.”
“No, Mel. You must get rid of her.”
“You mean…”
“Yes, you must kill her.”
“But why?” asked Mel, his voice pleading.
“She is dangerous. She is a threat to everything we want to accomplish. It is not enough to tell her that you want a divorce. No, I am afraid that there is only one way out of this. She must die.”
Mel somberly nodded his head.


Each day Tania saw her husband regress. He was not the man she married. She looked at her wedding album and spilled tears onto it. Every day he became more callous.
Tania went to the garage and took a hammer out of the tool chest. There was nothing that would stop her from doing what she needed to do. She went into the basement and looked at the electronic device. She no longer saw it as a simple intercom. It was an object of evil. One that she would have to destroy in order to save her husband.
Before she had her opportunity, she heard footsteps. She looked up the stairs, and saw Mel. His eyes were cold and impassive. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked in a level tone. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” This time he screamed.
“I have to get rid of this thing, Mel. It’s tearing you apart.”
For a moment his anger faded. His shoulders stooped and he relaxed. And then he heard the voice from the receiver.
“Do you see what she means to do, Mel? She is trying to destroy us. She does not want you to become better. Kill her, Mel. Kill her now and end it.”
A cold glint entered his eyes. “It’s right. I have to kill you.”
“No,” Tania cried. “Please, Mel. I love you.”
“Don’t believe her, Mel,” the intercom said. “She will bring you down. Kill her.”
Mel nodded. His hands raised, he charged after her and grabbed her soft throat. Tania cried out. She swung the hammer, smashing the fleshy part of his thigh. Mel let go and fell to the floor.
“You stupid bitch!”
For a brief moment she considered attacking him with the hammer, but couldn’t bring herself to doing it. Instead, she ran up the stairs and into the kitchen. She grabbed the phone with her trembling fingers and dialed Mike’s number. He answered the phone. “Mike, Mel’s trying to kill me. Please help me. Oh God, please.”
“Get out of the house. I’m coming right over.”
Mel emerged from the basement, his eyes smoldering. She dropped the receiver and backed away. “I’m back. That hurt bad. You know I don’t like that.”
She stepped back. She looked into his eyes and saw that whatever sanity he had was now gone. “Please, Mel. Don’t do this.”
“You’re not getting off that easy.” Mel lunged at her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and Tania scrambled to break free. She raked his eyes. Mel shrieked and let go. She lost the hammer during the struggle and went to retrieve it. Before she could, he punched her on the side of the face, knocking her to the floor.
Tania looked up bleary eyed. Tears streamed down her face. She scrambled to the kitchen table, grabbed a chair and used it to block Mel. Every time he charged at her, she thrust the chair at him.
“Come on, honey. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be. I need to kill you to get on with my life.”
Tania slowly got to her feet and held onto the chair. When Mel charged, she swung the chair and grazed him on the shoulder. His momentum carried him forward and they both crashed into the kitchen table.
“Shit,” she muttered. She had to find a way out of the house. He wasn’t going to hurt her, he would kill her. Tania climbed onto the table and Mel climbed after her. She jumped and ran around the side. He lunged at her, and grabbed her foot, causing Tania to trip.
Tania cried when he punched her in the back. She tried to breathe. Then Mel jumped on top of her and punched her several times, cracking her jaw and knocking two of her teeth loose.
Tania looked up and saw the room swirl. She forced herself to crawl away, as Mel let out a maniacal laugh.
He slowly stalked her. Tania’s face was swollen and she was racked with pain. Drawing strength she never knew she had, Tania still crawled away. Just as he reached her she grabbed the hammer and swung at his knees. She heard a crack as his tibia fractured.
For a while neither moved. Tania fought through the pain. She pushed the door open. On one leg, Mel hobbled after her. He held a steak knife that he had taken from the kitchen. She stepped outside. Tania screamed as her brother’s car pulled forward. Mike ran out and pulled her away from Mel. When he turned around, he could not prevent Mel from burying the knife into his stomach.
“No!” Tania yelled.
Mike dropped to his knees. Mel took the knife out of Mike’s stomach and raised it. Fighting tears, Tania picked up a loose stone, and smashed her husband in the head.
Mel was dead to her. Whatever he had been was now gone. She took the knife from his hand, and plunged it into his neck.
A siren roared in the background, as Mel choked on his own blood.


Officer Ludlow, who arrived on the scene shortly after Tania’s brother, sat in the office of homicide detective Joe Heckert. Heckert was on the phone with an electrician who had analyzed the intercom system. Ludlow and Heckert had tried it out after listening to Tania’s story the evening that she killed Mel. It did not work.
Mike had dialed 911 on route to the house. Ludlow arrived at the house shortly after him. Mike was still in the hospital. He was upgraded from critical to stable condition. Mel was dead when he arrived.
Detective Heckert hung up the phone. “Mel Tesauro must have been completely crazy. The electrician said that there was a missing wire in the intercom receivers. They couldn’t have ever worked.”
Ludlow scratched the back of his neck. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Tania Tesauro said that they had used the device for a month or so before Mel started going wacko.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Heckert.
Ludlow shook his head as he left the office. The electrician had to be wrong. Inside the house, he had heard it call out his name. He had to get the intercom system from the electrician. It had almost become a compulsion for him during the last couple days.