New vid! Strung Up #TenMinuteTerror #Horror @YouTube @Sirens_Call

Hey, everyone!

New video is live: Strung Up, originally published with Siren’s Call Publications, over at They’re good times.

In the meantime, enjoy this tale of a conductor who finds out that he doesn’t have as much control as he believes…


#FlashFiction #Friday: Formative Experience, @YouTube @HorrorTree

Hi everyone,

I’m here posting news of my inaugural YouTube video, which technically went live yesterday. This piece, originally published at The Horror Tree, is a little flash piece I’m categorizing as a Sixty Second Scare.

Let me know your thoughts below, and thanks for stopping by!

Frost Bite: #ThrowbackThursday #amwriting #horror #shortstory #free #zombie @Sirens_Call

One from the archives: “Frost Bite,” originally published five years ago in an issue of The Siren’s Call, the eZine put out by Siren’s Call Publications. That’s a free ‘zine, by the way, so go check it out.

This was back when I wrote under the name Alex Chase, so if you want to read it in the original eZine, be sure to look for the right name. …You’ll also notice I’ve changed the title slightly since then.

But in the meantime, here’s my story. It’s zombie themed, so anticipate violence, gunfire, and lots of angry chewing.


Frost Bite

Ross Jackson stared out at the white-washed landscape; an icy gale screamed, hurling snow and ice at his team. He paid no notice. He was too preoccupied with the prestige that would come with their triumphant return home.

“Look, all I’m saying is that I’m glad to live in a world where we don’t need to carry guns around anymore. Walking around without a weapon… it’s liberating, you know?” said Joshua Newman from the backseat of their all-terrain Humvee. He seemed to be too large for their vehicle- at six foot four and nearly three-hundred pounds, he dominated any space he found himself in. That’s ignoring the fact that he almost always had a shotgun, assault rifle or other such heavy weapons at all times.

“What are you talking about? We’re all heavily armed. And not five minutes ago you said, ‘I love my shotgun almost as much as life itself’.” James Wake smirked, staring at Joshua. James, conversely, was a wiry man who barely scraped five foot ten. He had his legs crossed beneath him and a belt of assorted grenades strapped to his chest.

“I said we don’t need guns. I didn’t say they aren’t fun to have,” he grinned, resting his hand along the barrel of his custom VT-19 combat shotgun.

The Humvee sputtered to a halt outside of a small metal tube that led to the International Antarctic Geological Survey Center. The frigid gray walls towered over them. Lisa killed the engine as Ross threw open the door, blasting the interior with snow. They clambered out and trudged carefully through the snow to the shelter of the enclosed entryway.

James looked over at Karen; her eyes showed fierce determination, but they also glistened with repressed anguish. They were a few feet behind the other five members of the squad.

“Are you ok?” He asked softly.

“Yeah, why? You wanna lecture me too?” She snapped. He drew back. “Save it, James. I don’t wanna hear it. Don’t give me that, ‘You’ll be ok, everyone lost family to ‘em’ crap, got it?”

Karen Jensen was the small arms technician; they hadn’t found a single gun that she couldn’t take apart and reassemble in less than a minute. She lost her temper just as quickly.

James glared at her, “Actually, no. I was going to say that it is ok if you’re not ok. I was going to say that I’m here for you if you need to talk- though some of us didn’t have family to lose. But you know what? Fuck you, Karen.”

He stomped off towards Ross, who was working to cut down the door to the facility. She wanted to go after him and apologize but knew it wouldn’t help. James had been an orphan up until the Newman family had taken him in while he was in fifth grade. He had no real family, and the only remaining member of his adopted family was right there by his side.

She covered her eyes. Guilt was the last thing she needed. “Pricilla… you were always so much better at this touchy-feely crap… I really should’ve listened when you gave me advice,” she whispered. Pricilla Jensen had been bitten during a reconnaissance mission in the Swiss Alps and put down immediately thereafter.

“Almost got it- the power’s been cut off, but there should be backup power to the research and residential wings. James, you and Joshua are going to escort Shadow to the data facilities to see what can be recovered. I’m going with Karen to the residential suite while Marcus and Denver are going to get the main power on.”

“Got it,” James growled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Hey, James,” Denver’s high-pitched voice barely carried over the wind. “Is it true that you had the highest kill count out of any soldier?”

“He has the highest,” Joshua clapped a hand over his back. “This little weasel came close to killing me more than a few times, but he’s sent thousands of those god damned zombies straight back to Hell.”

“And that’s precisely why close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,” James patted the canisters on his chest.

“So you’re the one who blew up the Golden Gate Bridge?” Marcus looked over.

James matched his stare. “Yup, that was me.”

“Nice.” His face couldn’t be seen through his mask, but it was clear that he was grinning. James smiled back.

“How many did you kill in doing that?” Denver prodded.

“I don’t know, honestly. At least ten, twenty thousand. Maybe more. We hovered over the center of the bridge in a helicopter. They were climbing all over each other trying to get to us, so it was hard to get a read on the body count.”

Ross kicked down the remnants of the front door and motioned for the team to follow. They fell silent and drew their guns. They crept inside; the building was dark and cold. The screech of the wind through the open door echoed throughout the hallway.

“Ok, we’re splitting up here. Keep your radios on and if there’s any sign of trouble-”

“Come on, dude, we’ve been fighting this war for almost a decade. We know how to handle this. Besides, zombies are slow and stupid. All you have to do is point and click- as long as they’re an arm’s length away, we’ll be fine. Let’s just get this over with,” Karen growled. She noticed James looking at her; she looked away, unable to make eye contact.

Ross glared at her. “Be careful- we’re still not sure as to how many bogeys we might find here.”

“Hold up,” James called. He gave a package of remote explosives to Marcus and another to Ross. “Leave one in your respective bays… just in case.” They nodded.

Marcus started off towards the maintenance bay. “Do you have any idea how to work a generator?” He whispered to Denver.

“Don’t worry, I think I’ve got us covered,” she laughed. Her voice still bore the light-hearted melody of one who hadn’t seen bloodshed. Though she’d been at the forefront of the war, her role was always within the bases she was stationed at. She never ventured beyond their walls. Her few friends were all kept safely within those confines as well.

Marcus had been a field “medic”- which meant it was his solemn duty to execute any and every bitten soldier he came across.

Ross and Karen tromped down to the residential suites. She spared a glance back towards James. He looked away, his countenance twisted by contempt.

“Let’s go,” James muttered. He led Joshua and Shadow towards the research labs.

“So, why do they call you Shadow?” Joshua looked over at the girl beside him.

“Why do you ask?” She said hesitantly; her low voice was barely audible.

He chuckled. “Look, I don’t care about what you’ve done; in times like these, only what you do matters. First we clear the world of the undead, then we rebuild it; it doesn’t matter what you did before. I’m just curious.”

She shrugged. “I’m quiet and can get in and out of anywhere without detection. If something needs breaking into, I can guarantee I’ll get you in, whether it’s a building or a computer.”

Joshua smirked, “Humble.”

“Fact,” she countered.

“Interesting,” James grinned. “So what brought you to the war zone?”

She rolled her eyes, “I got sloppy. Someone caught me rerouting troops from within the D.O.D. mainframe. They said I could be a soldier or be bait. My choice should seem obvious.”

“Why were you…?” Joshua squinted at her.

“Probably to ensure the zombies got distracted and went somewhere else, right?” James looked back. She nodded.

The group turned and walked into the main lab, where the computers were located. James and Joshua secured the room as Shadow took a seat in front of the glowing screens.

“We’re lucky the backup power kept these working,” James jutted his thumb towards her. She’d taken off her scarf and mask, exposing her angular chin, thin lips and pale neck.

Her fingers danced across the keys, the rat-tat-tat of her typing mimicking the constant gunfire that marred the better part of their lives. Sure enough, she’d broken through the facility firewalls within a few minutes. She thrust a flash drive into the USB port and began siphoning the data that had been collected, but froze.

“Hold on… there’s a file marked ‘URGENT’ on the desktop. Doesn’t look relevant, but you want me to examine?” she turned to the men.

James nodded. She opened it up to a series of video logs. She selected the earliest entry and hit play. It was dated from nearly seven years ago, towards the beginning of the zombie outbreak.

The screen buzzed, displaying the image of a well-groomed man with dark brown hair and a white coat. “Dr. Spaulding here; we recovered a few bodies from the ice. They appear to have once been zombified, but perished in the cold. The molecules in their brain burst as the water within froze. To be safe, we destroyed the heads.” The video ended.

The second showed the same man, looking notably more disheveled. It was taken roughly three days later. “I’ve just been informed that our evacuation has been delayed by an ice storm. Not sure if we have the supplies to make it until the end,” his eyes darted about. He was scratching his neck profusely. “In case we don’t… I understand. Whoever’s out there, calling the shots… I forgive you… there are more important things to deal with than rescuing us. Just tell my family that I love them.”

James stared at the ground. Joshua watched him. Shadow clicked the third video, taken later in the same day.

Dr. Spaulding was wild-eyed and shaking. “We were wrong to bring them here, so wrong, so very wrong! It wasn’t just the water that froze- the virus froze too! It went into a dormant state, or something, became spore-like, and finally… it… it… evolved. The freezing made the virus more powerful, somehow.

“We breathed it in when we smashed the skulls. We’re all infected now. One already turned… We shut down the power, he’s locked in. The regular virus can live for a few weeks outside of a host, not sure about this version. It takes you over, you don’t have to get bit to turn, you just itch, itch, itch… then stop being human. The new strain… keeps the flesh from decomposing. These zombies are faster… Stronger… Deadlier… Please… if you’re watching this… run.”

The trio looked at each other. James’s hand flew to his radio and slammed down on the talk button. “Marcus, whatever you do, don’t-”

The lights flicked on and the ventilation system gave a dull hum. Stale air washed over them.

“What?” Marcus radioed.

“Shit,” James hissed.

“I don’t understand,” he radioed back.

“Let’s get out of here,” Shadow leapt up and started for the door when a figure blocked her path. It looked human enough- except for the blank, white, telltale eyes.

Joshua whipped out his shotgun, but the figure had already lunged forward, tearing out Shadow’s windpipe in an instant. It threw her to the ground, snarling as it ran at Joshua.

He fired, blowing off its right arm. It stumbled and fell, but lashed out with its remaining arm and caught his ankle. James fired, putting a round through the front of its skull, but the bullet missed its hindbrain. It sank its teeth into Joshua’s ankle before he could pull away. He screamed, aimed down and smashed it’s skull with the butt of his gun.

Joshua dropped to his knees, slamming his fist into the ground. James knelt beside him. Joshua was sure it was just the trickery of a frightened mind, but he could already feel the burning, festering sensation of the virus taking over.

The words “Man Down!” came through over the radio- someone else had been bitten too. James put out the same call.

“I knew I should’ve gone with semi-auto,” Joshua tried to smile.

Marcus rushed in. “You too?” He looked down; Marcus had fresh blood on his jacket.

James nodded, biting his lip.

“Hey,” Joshua thumped James on the shoulder. “We had a good run, right? Besides, I kinda always knew I’d die during this war… Killing zombies was the only thing I was ever good at. There’s no place for me out there. Get out there and live.”

James gaped, “But the video…”

“I know, but I don’t believe that. I won’t believe that. Just go… alright?” He looked at Marcus, then handed over his VT-19. “Do it with this, will ya’?”

Marcus nodded. James threw his arms around Joshua and squeezed him tight. “Wait for me up there… got it?”

Joshua nodded, “I’ll have fresh coffee ready.”

James choked back a cry and retreated to the doorway. “I’ll miss you, bro.”

“I’ll miss you too.” Joshua shut his eyes; so did James.

The roar of Joshua’s shotgun echoed down the hall. James clung to the wall as he was wracked by sobs, hot tears spilling down his cheeks. Marcus laid the gun beside its fallen maker, grabbed James and ran to the entryway.

Ross and Karen met them there. They didn’t need to ask what had happened.

“We’re leaving,” Ross growled. He started for the door.

“No,” James’s cracking voice stopped him. “You’re leaving.” He held up the remote detonator.

“James, come on… don’t do this,” Karen whispered.

“I have to. I’m ending this war in the only way I know how… I’m not letting some other team come back here and risk more deaths.”

“You can come with us, blow it up as we go!” She yelled a bit too desperately.

“No… I can’t… the signal wouldn’t reach in these conditions,” he waved his hand at the snow-strewn gale, “and either way… I won’t.”

“Come on… he’s made his choice,” Ross said, gently taking her by the elbow and leading her back to the vehicle.

Marcus turned to James. “I’m sorry.” His eyes shimmered.

“You didn’t kill him,” James gave a weak smile.

Marcus nodded and walked off. The three remaining members climbed in and began driving away. Karen pressed her face to the window, taking one last look at him before the snow blocked her vision.

Nothing could prevent her from seeing the wave of fire tearing across the ice. A tear slid down the side of her nose.

It only took them a few minutes to reach the military transport plane. They drove inside, shed their snow-gear and tried to relax as the plane took off.

“That… sucked,” said Marcus.

Karen sniffed and nodded, falling silent for a few minutes.

Marcus scratched at his neck. “Is it just me, or is it itchy in here?”

“I’m itchy too,” Karen nodded.

“Probably just from the cold,” Ross said. “Slight frostbite, you know? It’s probably nothing. Besides, a little itchiness never killed anyone, right?”

#MovieReview @Netflix: I am the Pretty Thing that Lives in the House #horror #suspense

There’s no shortage to the amount of good–and bad–horror movies on Netflix, so I’ll be sharing my thoughts as I purview the supply. Hopefully these serve as guideposts for those who want to avoid wandering the virtual isles of the digital video store.

Fittingly, my first pick, I am the Pretty Thing that Lives in the House, is a Netflix original. Written and directed by Osgood Perkins, this film was released just before Halloween last year. It focuses on Lily Saylor (Ruth Wilson), a live-in nurse for the horror writer Iris Blum (Paula Prentiss), who lives in a remote area while suffering from dementia.

The Set-Up:

The opening is strong, with a mysterious voice over by Wilson offering strange insight to the nature of a house’s history–namely, that if others have died there, no one can buy it, only borrow it from the ghosts. This is presented with a cold, objective removal, simultaneously dread-inducing and artistically/intellectually engaging. It’s clear from the beginning that this draws on classic Gothic literature, especially The Haunting of Hill House, with its equally detached, lonesome narrative opening.

The Good

Labors of love shine like diamonds among the mass-produced Hollywood horror that saturates our virtual libraries, and it’s clear a lot of passion went into this. The acting is compelling throughout, with Wilson breathing life into her role in an array of subtle mannerisms and expressive reactions. She doesn’t play a Victorian heroine so much as that she truly is one, stepped right out of the pages of one of the Jane Austen novels that so clearly influenced the plot.

To this end, the wardrobe and setting are great, feeling antiquated despite the modern setting. Characters gasp, and you can almost feel dust tickling your throat by proxy. During tense moments, the viewer isn’t left thinking, “Grab your phone!” because these characters have left the present behind. Couple this with a tense atmosphere as a result of Saylor hallucinating as time goes on, and there’s a foundation for a very powerful movie.

The Draw

There’s a problem with ‘idea’ films though, and that’s the fact that, once you present the idea, you don’t necessarily have much else to work with. While the acting is on-point, the costumes effective, and the setting well-constructed, there simply isn’t enough story to carry this movie through to the end. This is a pretty big issue considering the fact that it’s just story–all the drama and horror comes from the circular timeline and recurring events.

Unfortunately, there’s a suggestion that Osgood recognized this, because in a movie that has almost no jump scares, leaving the fear in creaky boards and shadows passing through distant reflections, the climactic moment is marked by one of the most shrill and, frankly, obnoxious instrumental burst in film history. There’s no harm in making characters speak softly throughout an artistic piece, but blowing out the viewers’ ear drums in the last five minutes isn’t scary. It’s frustrating, it’s a cop-out, and, frankly, it’s rude.

The Conclusion

While there’s compelling acting and an excellent insertion of dated environments into the modern timeline, this winds up feeling like a graduate student’s thesis. Rather than artistic horror, the viewers gets a splash of mystery in the beginning that fails to carry the movie through the middle, let alone the end.

I give this movie a 7/10, with a ‘Background Film’ suggestion–meaning, it’s perfect to put on if you’re, say, doing the dishes, or playing a video game with little to no narrative, but it’s not something you’ll be enthralled by if you watch it straight-on. I am the Pretty Thing that Lives in the House is indeed a pretty thing, but won’t hold your gaze for long.

Dad Infinitum: #Shortstory #horror #flashfiction #free

Dad Infinitum

Flash fiction. 100 words. No repeats.

I traced a figure eight on Catherine’s forehead. Sweet daughter, hands crossed over her chest, unmoving; she was more precious than ever before, pale skin glowing under faint moonlight. Death makes masterpieces of us all. Frail child, even in infancy, how did anyone fail you so?

Nodding off is never harmless. One brief second’s blackout, then jerking back to reality, hearing shrill screaming as headlights roared forward. Cutting the wheel accomplished nothing.

Lids flutter open, revealing blue eyes, stretched wide with surprise. Time for making amends. My rotten index finger pressed against chapped lips, dead voice whispering, “Daddy’s here. Forever.”

Last Rites: #Free #Horror #Poem about #HHHolmes

Today’s free creative writing is a poem based on “America’s First Serial Killer,” H. H. Holmes, aka Herman Webster Mudgett. While based on a real person and real events, my “Holmes” poems are fictional, and only provide speculation to what he might’ve actually been like.

This is a poem about a serial killer, so, you know, trigger warnings for violence, child abuse, murder, religion, etc.


Last Rites

Father always said,
Love hurts,
God’s most of all.

Pastor agreed, quoting Job,
Whom I felt had it easy—
Sickened, crops killed, livestock
Scattered, never having to learn
Piety through the snap of parental
Belt across bare buttocks.

Red lines, large welts, blemished my skin,
Tears staining Sunday vest while Mother
Looked on. Cries and bruises failed to move her.
Quoting Pastor: All are granted what they deserve.

First came the boy, small and frail,
So much like myself. Easily overpowered,
He succumbed to me, his life forfeit,
Parents believing he perished on the trip home.

Barrier breached, the rest meant nothing—dozens of lives
Ended by these hands, none more significant than another.
Yet, trying to cleanse this soul, sitting in a confessional, I once told
Priest of widows wooed, tenants tortured, children chopped,
Adding, for good measure, the time I swore at a bank clerk for giving
Improper change, attempt to cheat me of not one, but three hard-earned dollars.

Rather than tell me to pray, he left his booth, walking softly away,
Slow prey prompting my hunt. Soon he lay slumped, face down,
Drowned in the baptismal font.

Gazing upon his form, I said again:
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.