The Thirtieth Delusion
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I pretty much forgot to write a newsletter this week, so this is coming a day late. Not that anyone will notice. My parents were in town for a week. We had a great time visiting. One day they came over and I smoked some ribs and we made elote and stuffed jalapenos. It was a damn fine meal. Another day we went to the Tuckaleechee Caverns. That was pretty fun too. They took the kid for a few days and that was nice. Time alone without the kid is precious, especially because we never get time alone these days.
Went to the flea market and sold junk from the basement and stuff my son and wife found while dumpster diving (it’s not as gross as it sounds . . . but I elect not to participate . . . and you’d be shocked at what stores throw out). Did pretty good. I came away with a Uriah Heep record. A big storm rolled through yesterday. A bolt of lighting struck right outside the house and about gave us all a heart attack.
Welcome to Confusions, Delusions, and Formidable Impressions!
News
One news item this week. My first solo author collection has just dropped on Godless a week early of the official release on Amazon. The collection is called Infected Voices and collects the ten instalments of my Infected Voices series on Godless, as well as 11 additional stories. Also included are story notes that give a bit of insight on how the ideas came about or something significant that I thought was worthy of sharing.
Everyone has a unique voice, a unique story. And sometimes those stories are twisted, bent, horrific . . . infected!
Smell the magic in the blood-smeared mirrors of a desolate bathroom wall.
Feel the pain of a thick hair that grows from your back and threatens your family!
Taste the rising gorge as a group of unknown assailants try to achieve a sick world record.
See the crusty landscape of a man covered in scabs!
Feel the rush of a simulated car wreck gone wrong. Smell the pungent aroma of huffing death in a jar!
Taste the fruits of a cannibal feast.
Everyone has a voice. Some voices are sicker than others. Some stories should never be told.
The clowns aren’t always happy.
The players sometimes get played. Fitting in hurts.
When the cab locks and you can’t get out.
When gambling brings you to a dark, dark place. When inflatable animals are your best friends.
That’s when you’re infected. These are the stories from Infected Voices.
Recent Reads from Hell
I finished a couple of great books. First off is You’re Mine by Somer Canon. I listened to this one on audiobook and absolutely devoured it during my commute to and from work. Somer crafts a witchy tale that seems kind of predictable until the moment it doesn’t. And that moment was a total WHAT THE FUCK? I won’t give anything away. She develops a great cast of characters who have complex friendships and all as real as people we all know. She takes the time to do this as the story weaves into something utterly tragic and incredible. I’m not going to write a synopsis, but I will say You’re Mine is a great read. A full immersion into sleek and carefully crafted horror.
Next is The Bleak Season by Lucas Mangum. This is a collection of short fiction with a theme of loss and heartache. The title says it all. These are subtle horror stories brimming with emotion, stories that felt very personal (and were personal to Lucas as noted in the afterward). Heavy on dread, atmosphere and coping with loss, these stories encompass a deeper sense of horror than mere blood, guts and violence.
I am five stories deep into In a Lonely Place by Karl Edward Wagner. Is it as good as everyone says? Fuck yes it is. But I can already tell you that “Sticks” is not my favorite of the bunch. More on that next newsletter.
Free Story!
I believe I promised a free story, yes? Well, here it is to finish off this newsletter. This is the original version of what became a small part of my novel Terror of Rattlesnake Mountain (available on KU for those who subscribe!). I’d never sold this story in its flash fiction form. Probably too unoriginal. I still think it’s a worthy read, so here you go.
Getting Over Rachel Love
It was called Rattlesnake Mountain, but snakes were the least of Ricky’s worries as he stood atop the dry peak of eastern San Diego.
He’d lived in the area since he was five years old and used to climb the mountain with friends until their interests consisted more of girls, music, and smoking weed. But, when he had something on his mind, he liked to take that overgrown path that began from the gate in the corner of his backyard and head upward.
Near the top there was a small cave composed of several rocks that was filled with littered trash and empty beer cans. Ricky had only been inside once. It was cramped and smelled of old cigarettes and grime. If you didn’t watch out you’d palm a sticky old condom, and if that didn’t make you gag you had a bright future cleaning septic tanks.
At the top of the mountain was a large tree--one of the few trees on a mountain that was lush in bushes and shrubs--that had a number of local legends surrounding it. Some said it was haunted by the ghost of a hanging victim, and others said that’s where the rattlesnake den was. All Ricky knew was that when he’d come close to that tree as a young man he became filled with dread.
Ricky looked out over El Cajon. This was the summer of change, the summer he lost his virginity to Rachel Love. What they had wasn’t the type of relationship Ricky wanted, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Ricky tried convincing himself that their lovemaking was more than just a fuck, but he knew damn well that he was just another notch on her bedpost. He knew that every time he went back to her house in the middle of the day while her parents were at work, and he should have been smart enough to realize that he wasn’t going to change her.
Ricky needed something to get his mind off of her, something that would allow him to forget about Rachel so he could move on.
“What are you doing here?” came a voice from behind.
Startled, Ricky turned in an almost defensive movement. Behind him stood a woman wearing some kind of thin gown like a negligee, as crazy as that was. She was maybe in her twenties, gorgeous with a look in her eyes that could only be attributed to lust, though Ricky was but a sexual greenhorn, perhaps too naive to properly judge the intentions of the odd beauty.
“Hi, I’m Ricky.”
“I’m Bea. I haven’t seen you here before.”
“I don’t come up here much anymore. Used to when I was a kid.”
“Would you like to come into the cave with me? I could use some company.”
Ricky was lost for words. This doesn’t really happen.
She sauntered past him, down the small expanse toward the entrance to the cave. Ricky watched and though his conscience told him to leave her be, that something wasn’t right about this, his youthful agility and the erection tightening his underwear told him otherwise.
This might be the best way to get over Rachel.
How it happened, Ricky couldn’t say. His emotions, his sheer unadulterated lust ran amok. The cave in all its nasty glory would have turned him off had it not been for the voluptuous woman lying naked atop her silken dress with eyes afire.
This can’t be real!
But it was, and before long he’d wrapped his package in a Trojan and took his battleship into uncharted territory . . . well, he really couldn’t say how charted she was. Probably another town floozy like Rachel, but Ricky wasn’t complaining.
Melting into her body he knew he wasn’t going to last long. It had been two weeks since he’d been with Rachel. This young man had a lot of pent up sexual frustration just itching to explode. Even the rough scars he felt as his hands glided from her breasts down the sides of her ribcage didn’t cease the rush of his heart and the uncompromising feeling that he was going to climax.
It had only been what, a minute, two!
Even the thought of embarrassment wasn’t enough to prolong this hasty encounter. Ricky grunted and for a moment he thought that she had came with him because she made the most exotic moan he’d ever heard, but when he opened his eyes they were filled with nightmares, for her jaw had retracted into her throat and the top row of her teeth had turned into two large fangs embedded in coarse black hairs. From the scars lining the sides of her torso emerged four arms, two on either side, that were human in appearance yet slightly smaller than her regular arms.
Ricky struggled but she gripped and held him in place with six hands. Her eyes bulged, separating into two pairs of four, glossed over in black. The last thing Ricky saw was her head swing down, those massive fangs sinking into his cranium.
**
The human spider crouched over Ricky’s legs. She liked to begin with the feet. Tapping his toes with her moistened vagina, a strand of silken web stuck there like a thin wisp of delicate thread that was strong like twine and as tacky as flypaper. Using her many arms she quickly spun his body as the constant thread of stickiness concealed him in a tight bundle. She then bit him once in each leg and in the abdomen, secreting digestive enzymes.
By the time she was finished, night had fallen. The human spider grabbed a thick bundle of silk that extended from Ricky’s body like a hefty rope. Exiting the cave she dragged his body to the top of Rattlesnake Mountain, to the shunned tree where she hung him like a chrysalis, waiting for the body to drip, indicating that his insides were digested enough to feed upon.
Closing Words
That’s all for this week. Infected Voices will drop on Amazon sometime later this week, and I will also have copies in my Big Cartel store, so if you get an extra newsletter this week, you’ll know why.
Farewell, you fiends!