Dave Zeltserman's Blog, page 25
April 14, 2015
Bullet of Prose #23 from BLOOD CRIMES
Faces of the perverts and rapists and sociopaths that Jim had killed over the last three years blurred in his mind into something generic, something almost cartoonish. Outside of that first thug who attacked Carol in Newark, it was hard for him to recall any of them. Even the latest one from only several hours before. Their faces just kept fading in and out, never quite coming into focus. He forced himself to concentrate, to try to picture what at least one of them looked like, but couldn’t do it. Whenever he came close, the image would morph into Bluto from those old Popeye cartoons. Giving up, he forced himself to count how many of these predators he had killed since hooking up with Carol. It took a while but he came up with a number—a hundred and ten, plus the two vampires that Serena had sicced on him. Fuck. If this kept up and he lived to a ripe old age he could go down as one of the deadliest serial killers in history, or the most successful vigilante, depending on your point of view. The fact that these were all violent sociopathic thugs, the worst that humanity had to offer, only slightly helped to ease his conscience. No matter how hard he tried convincing himself otherwise, it still came down to that he was robbing them of any chance of redemption. Even though he had to kill them for his survival, he probably wouldn’t be able to do it if they weren’t trying to hurt Carol. Not that he hadn’t killed before becoming a vampire.
April 13, 2015
Bullet of Prose #22 from Blood Crimes
She knew the bartender was right, that Duane would be out there waiting for her. She had done this enough times to know that, and besides, Jim’s intuition with these things was almost never wrong. She walked briskly away from the bar. It didn’t take long before she could feel Duane’s presence and imagine the soft padding of his running shoes as he raced to catch up to her. Good. This was what Jim needed before he could feed and, just as badly, this was what she needed. She needed to be brought back to that moment of helplessness from three years ago when that punk scumbag ripped off her clothes so he could bend her over and violate her. She needed that feeling so she’d have no remorse for Duane, and more importantly, so she could enjoy what was going to happen to him.
April 11, 2015
Bullet of Prose #21 from BLOOD CRIMES
The other vampires nodded. Ninotchka’s was the current flavor of the month—one of Manhattan’s trendiest hotspots. In another hour or so the place would be jammed tight with the rich and beautiful crowd. The thought of being squeezed in among all that warm, hot flesh was intoxicating to Serena. She’d be so close to them she’d be able to hear their blood pulsating through their veins and their hearts beating like mad. Not that she would be feeding on any of them. The heroin would keep her hunger suppressed, besides she had a large enough supply of fresh blood as it was. Early on before Metcalf moved to the west coast, they maintained “cattle pens” and milked their cattle each day. Serena never liked that, it was such a bother having to dispose of the used up bodies. Once Metcalf left, she came to other arrangements, first buying blood under the table from several blood banks, then infecting her sources when they eventually tried to discontinue their arrangements. Enough blood was being delivered each day to keep the twenty-two vampires in the house well fed. All in all, she was much happier with the arrangement.
April 10, 2015
Bullet of Prose #20 from THE BOY WHO KILLED DEMONS
Celebrating THE BOY WHO KILLED DEMONS being released in the UK with another bullet of prose.
A new student was brought into our homeroom. Supposedly his name is Connor Devin, and the story we were told is that he had just moved to the area. They didn’t tell us where he lived before, and Devin didn’t volunteer the information, but I knew where he really came from. Hell. Because Connor Devin is a demon. And I know it’s no accident that he was put in my homeroom—not with the way he took a desk one row directly behind me, and not with the way I could feel his demon eyes burning into the back of my neck. And for the pièce de résistance. He’s in every single class I’m in. Every single damn one!
A new student was brought into our homeroom. Supposedly his name is Connor Devin, and the story we were told is that he had just moved to the area. They didn’t tell us where he lived before, and Devin didn’t volunteer the information, but I knew where he really came from. Hell. Because Connor Devin is a demon. And I know it’s no accident that he was put in my homeroom—not with the way he took a desk one row directly behind me, and not with the way I could feel his demon eyes burning into the back of my neck. And for the pièce de résistance. He’s in every single class I’m in. Every single damn one!
April 9, 2015
April 8, 2015
New Demons review and Bullet of Prose #19 from BLOOD CRIMES
A new review for THE BOY WHO KILLED DEMONS is up on Ginger Nuts of Horror
and now for today's bullet of prose!
Metcalf’s private lab was reminiscent of some nightmarish scene from the Island of Dr. Moreau, and like Moreau’s laboratory, was a place of pain and abomination. For Metcalf, the lab served dual purposes; it helped him gain insights into the effects of the virus, and it acted as a deterrent to the other vampires in the compound from thinking about challenging his authority. The test subjects were all infected with the vampire virus. Some were originally brought in as “cattle” and had the misfortune of being chosen for this capacity—which was a fate far worse than being milked until illness or anemia set in; others were members of the compound who needed to be made examples of. All of the test subjects had their arms and lower halves removed; which made them appear like grotesque doll-like creatures. Some were pinned to their tables by spikes through their shoulders, others were chained along the walls. All of them were in the midst of experiments that would’ve made even the infamous Joseph Mengele cringe in horror.
and now for today's bullet of prose!
Metcalf’s private lab was reminiscent of some nightmarish scene from the Island of Dr. Moreau, and like Moreau’s laboratory, was a place of pain and abomination. For Metcalf, the lab served dual purposes; it helped him gain insights into the effects of the virus, and it acted as a deterrent to the other vampires in the compound from thinking about challenging his authority. The test subjects were all infected with the vampire virus. Some were originally brought in as “cattle” and had the misfortune of being chosen for this capacity—which was a fate far worse than being milked until illness or anemia set in; others were members of the compound who needed to be made examples of. All of the test subjects had their arms and lower halves removed; which made them appear like grotesque doll-like creatures. Some were pinned to their tables by spikes through their shoulders, others were chained along the walls. All of them were in the midst of experiments that would’ve made even the infamous Joseph Mengele cringe in horror.
April 7, 2015
Bullet of Prose #18 from BLOOD CRIMES
Metcalf looked down at the livestock. The near-ghost must’ve been a vagrant before he’d been picked up. His face was now as thin as a railroad spike, his beard sparse, his cheeks hollowed out and his eyes small as they remained buried within dark circles of ruined, grayish flesh. There wasn’t much left of him, another week or two of milking at the most. Metcalf scanned the glass walls separating the cattle pens from the milking area and spotted several other livestock who looked like they were going to need replacing soon. He felt no emotion about it—to him they really were never anything more than livestock to feed off of and dispose. Whatever empathy a normal human being was born with had always been missing from his makeup. That part of him hadn’t changed because of the infection. He knew Vanessa was the same—that was really the thing about her that he had felt instantly attracted to even if he didn’t understand it at the time, and it was why he’d been feeling more of a bond with her. It was also why she was the only member of the staff that he still had assigned to milking. The compassion that the other vampires showed the livestock made him sick. Because of this growing bond he’d been considering moving her to the main house permanently. It seemed to make sense, and besides, she was far better at sex than the other female vampires. Even before he brought her back to the compound, he’d been gradually losing interest in the others. Their constant sadness was becoming a real turn-off.
April 6, 2015
Justified, Better Call Saul, and another Bullet of Prose
Over at WBUR I opine about two of my favorite shows: Justified and Better Call Saul
Another bullet of prose from BLOOD CRIMES:
Vanessa was taking a pint from one of the livestock. She nodded at Metcalf as he approached, he nodded back. She had been a prostitute before he infected her. Originally he had picked her up to be a replacement for one of the dead livestock, but he liked the way she looked—long red hair that fell halfway down her back, sultry lips, almond-shaped green eyes and a thin waist with near perfect legs. Her breasts were smaller than what he typically liked—no bigger than what would fit in a champagne glass, but they had a perky quality to them so he decided to overlook that flaw, and besides, the infection would shrink them anyway. The infection had since bleached out her hair and had shrunk her tits to the size of small apples, but she dyed her hair the same reddish color as before and even with the changes to her body that the infection caused, he still liked the way she looked. There was something else about her that he found himself instantly attracted to. It took him a while to figure out what it was, but he eventually understood it. In her own way she was as ruthless as he was, even reminding him a bit of Serena, although she wasn’t nearly as cunning or as crazy. Since the other vampires were complaining about how overworked they were—and because of his immediate attraction to her—he infected her and added her to the staff. He was glad he did. Unlike the others, she accepted her situation and never showed any self-pity. As far as her competency, well, she never really developed a touch for drawing blood and was rough with the livestock, but it didn’t much matter. She’d get a pint out of them regardless of how many times she had to poke them searching for a vein. And it was not as if any of them were going to complain. All in all, Metcalf was glad he chose to infect her instead of making her one of the livestock.
Another bullet of prose from BLOOD CRIMES:
Vanessa was taking a pint from one of the livestock. She nodded at Metcalf as he approached, he nodded back. She had been a prostitute before he infected her. Originally he had picked her up to be a replacement for one of the dead livestock, but he liked the way she looked—long red hair that fell halfway down her back, sultry lips, almond-shaped green eyes and a thin waist with near perfect legs. Her breasts were smaller than what he typically liked—no bigger than what would fit in a champagne glass, but they had a perky quality to them so he decided to overlook that flaw, and besides, the infection would shrink them anyway. The infection had since bleached out her hair and had shrunk her tits to the size of small apples, but she dyed her hair the same reddish color as before and even with the changes to her body that the infection caused, he still liked the way she looked. There was something else about her that he found himself instantly attracted to. It took him a while to figure out what it was, but he eventually understood it. In her own way she was as ruthless as he was, even reminding him a bit of Serena, although she wasn’t nearly as cunning or as crazy. Since the other vampires were complaining about how overworked they were—and because of his immediate attraction to her—he infected her and added her to the staff. He was glad he did. Unlike the others, she accepted her situation and never showed any self-pity. As far as her competency, well, she never really developed a touch for drawing blood and was rough with the livestock, but it didn’t much matter. She’d get a pint out of them regardless of how many times she had to poke them searching for a vein. And it was not as if any of them were going to complain. All in all, Metcalf was glad he chose to infect her instead of making her one of the livestock.
April 5, 2015
Bullet of Prose #16 from BLOOD CRIMES
Carol pulled the bedspread off and kicked it away into a corner, then opened the suitcase and removed a small medical kit from her nursing school days. From inside of it she took out a rubber hose and a syringe. She wrapped the hose tightly around her upper arm, then walked over to Jim and sat in his lap while he pulled the hose even tighter and tied it. She walked back to her medical kit, sat down on the bed and flicked on her arm until she could spot a vein. She had such thin arms, and it was hard for her to locate a good vein. Once she had one, she pushed in the syringe and took a blood sample, her face a complete blank as she did this. Jim kept his eyes squeezed shut. He couldn’t risk seeing blood now, not in the state he was in. He heard her remove the plastic vial from within the syringe, then the rush of blood filling up a second vial as she took another blood sample. After a minute or so, he could hear the hose being untied, and then the door opening and closing. He was ashamed of the fact that he was salivating.
April 4, 2015
Bullet of Prose #15 from THE INTERLOPER
They left the house then. After opening the door, Willis stood back and let the others leave first, and then they all moved in a half jog to the side of the house where their cars had been parked. As they approached the van Willis drove, which was the best vehicle they had for transporting the painting, Lowenstein cried out and dropped his end of the painting. He fell to one knee and grasped his ankle which was now covered with blood. There had been no sound of gunfire, so a silencer had to have been used. Willis dropped into a crouch and searched for where the shot came from. From the corner of his eye he saw the top of Hack’s head fly off, and then Pruitt’s throat explode into a bloody mess. He realized then how many shots had actually been fired and the source of the gunfire, but before he could turn his gun on Lowenstein, he took two bullets to the chest.
