Shawn M. Riddle's Blog, page 2

New Projects

Currently I am working on a story for submission to the "Code Z" anthology from Knight Watch Press. In addition I am editing and putting together the "Soul Survivors" anthology for Knight Watch Press. It is a closed invite open only to memebers of my facebook group "Moody's Survivors-The Last of the Living". A fan group for David Moody and it has also eveolved into an authors forum as well. After those two submissions, I have a major project in the works that I cannot be any more specific on at this time. Hope you all are well.

An exerpt from my story "Rock a Bye Bigfoot"

He heard another distinct howl, different from the first, just beyond the tree line--the cry of a creature in agony, then a triumphant, primal roar and a sound like that of wet burlap being torn apart. Ken's blood ran cold. He breathed heavily, gulping in air and felt sweat begin to run down his face. Once again, he scanned the tree line for any sign of movement, as the dogs inside the cabin whimpered loudly.     A deep guttural growl now filled the air. Something flew from the tree line toward the cabin, nearly hitting Ken. It crashed into the front of the cabin with a sloppy wet smack and slid down the wall onto the porch. His eyes followed the trail of blood, and settled on the head of a large black bear, trailing bits of fur, bone, and flesh from the neck laying on the porch step. He looked back toward the forest. Standing in the clearing was a huge creature, perhaps eight to ten feet tall, covered in long shaggy black fur; it was difficult to tell for sure in the moonlight. Its eyes glowed a fearsome red in the moonlight, blood dripped from long razor-sharp teeth. In one of its hands it clutched what looked to be one of the bear's legs, its vicious claws dug deep into the flesh. 

An exerpt from my story "One For The Road" due to be published next month in Knight Watch Presses anthology "Rhonny Reapers Roadkill Cafe" Enjoy

"Shit!" Jim yelled as he arched his back and reached between his legs, trying to locate the burning cigarette before it burnt a hole in him. He glanced away from the road to look for it. A heart-stopping thud and the sound of glass cracking jolt him back. The safety glass of his windshield cracked and bent in, blood splattered all over it as Jim slammed hard on the brakes, screeching the vehicle to a halt.
With his heart pounding in his throat, Jim tried to look past the spider-cracked windshield, seeing blood in what seemed like buckets, thickly trailing down towards the windshield wipers. "Holy shit!" Jim screamed as he threw the driver's door open and jumped out of the car, tripping over the door frame. He hit the asphalt hard enough to
make him see stars. Fighting his way to his hands and knees, he shook his head in an attempt to clear it. The combination of huge amounts of alcohol and a sudden blow to the head from the asphalt make it almost impossible. Holding the top of his pounding head, he struggled to his feet, swaying in place for a moment. He turned looked at the blood soaked windshield, and then scanned the road around and behind the car. His blood ran cold and a mix of nausea and terror rushed through his body unlike anything he had ever felt. Sprawled out on the road about twenty feet behind his car, was the body of a man, his arms and legs bent into unnatural and impossible angles.

A small excerpt from my short story "The Four of July" due to be released in the Wild Wolf Publications Anthology "Wish You Were Undead" due for release this June.

Before we get to the front door, Jack says "First things first, hold up," He heads to the beer cooler in the back and opens it. Pulling out a twelve-pack of beer, he frowns at it. "Well, warm beer is better than no beer!" He opens up a bottle and downs it in seconds. "Much better!" "What are you doing? Isn't this is a fucking crime scene?" Mike asks.  Jack lets out a huge belch, "Do you think the cops, or anyone else is gonna give a shit about a twelve pack of beer missing. Are they gonna come in and take inventory? No, they're gonna walk straight over to dead Fred or whatever the hell his name is, stick a meat thermometer in his ass and vacuum up what's left of his brains." Mike and I start chuckling and it doesn't take long before we're out right laughing. I start for the door, "Good point." Immediately after opening the door, something grabs me by the arm and pulls me toward it. I look into my attacker's face and nearly piss myself. The thing looks like a man, with pale greenish, bloodshot eyes, half of the left side of its head has been torn away; its left eye bulging from its socket and dripping with thick yellow pus. The bones of its jaw protrude through the torn skin. It moans as it tackles me to the ground, opens its mouth and lunges. As I punch and push the thing away from me I yell "Get this fucking thing off me man!"Mike kicks the creature in the head, knocking it off me. It stands up as I scramble away. Jack stares into its rotting face, his eyes wide with shock. Mike is fixed to the spot, staring in horror. It begins to move toward him. Jack reacts faster than I've ever seen him. He punches the thing in what's left of its face, knocking it back to the ground. Breaking the empty beer bottle against the wall he jumps on its chest, he raises the broken bottle over his head and jabs it straight down into its left eye. Thick yellow-brown fluid shoots out the top of the bottle, splattering his shirt. It twitches, and then lay motionless.