Kill Creek

by Scott Thomas

NO HOUSE IS born bad. Most are thought of fondly, even lovingly. In the beginning, the house on Kill Creek was no exception.

The house was made from nothing more fantastic than wood and nails, mortar and stone. It was not built on unholy ground. It was not home to a witch or a warlock.

A house stained by spilled blood cannot escape the harsh sentence passed by rumor.

This is the voice you hear right before you’re born, Sam thought. The voice that says, “Fight the good fight,” before you are thrust into the unforgiving world.

“I love horror. There’s something about letting another person lead you into darkness that is both unbearably terrifying and exquisitely thrilling. And I have trusted each of you to lead me into that darkness . . .”

“Perhaps he realized he had opened a doorway to a dark, empty place, and so he sealed it and hoped he had caught it quickly enough. That he had stopped it before the darkness could escape.”

He felt a warmth in his chest, the hidden flame that meant home.

“Yes!” Moore cried out. “Fuck yes! Nero burned down Rome just so he could rebuild it the way he wanted it. Yes, if I’m going to sweat blood to write a book, I want my publisher to bleed in marketing the damn thing.”