| Confessions of the Blackest
Heart |
Rich Logsdon
|
This may have been an anxiety attack; I'd
experienced one when my sister had been killed in a tractor
accident years before. But at that moment I could feel evil: like a
great bat, it hung over the campground, tangible as smoke, real as
blood, sticky as oatmeal. This unmistakably sickly, tingly
sensation signaled something wickedly grotesque hidden in the
trees, hanging in the wind, hungry for flesh. Closing my eyes to
repel the sensation, I actually envisioned the darkness wrapping
itself around me, sticking to my skin, caressing my throat, and
crawling inside. I felt myself falling, spiraling. |
| Abominata |
Len Rely
|
I picture myself as a
character of those Lovecraftian tales, always descending the steps
into a crypt or sepulcher in search of the abominata. I truly
understand now what he meant when he shouted with revelation from
the abyss "My God, the legions!". I suspect that Lovecraft himself
in his morbid life knew something of the truth, although inaccurate
in his assumptions the fascination was there. The man
knew. |
| Sunspot |
Rich Logsdon
|
My soul turned to lead, my blood to ice,
and I imagined myself sinking into an oily pool. I looked up.
Slight movement of her head and fluttering of her arms told me
Rachel might be alive. I drew closer, not wanting to touch the
body, smelled blood mixed with smoke, and stopped less than thirty
feet away. Feeling sick, even faint, I wasn�t sure I wanted to go
on. |
| November
Frost |
Nickolaus A. Pacione
|
It is in the mind which
sits the horror that waits to be written, that would be inside of
the nightmares of one's soul. The truth of what is written would be
that of one which a testimony reflects a nightmare that looks in
the thoughts -- as when the one falls asleep and the dreams await
for them in the night. |
| The Man
Who Killed God |
Michael LaRocca
|
I killed my best friend, but he
refused to stay dead. My name is William Jackson. My best friend
was Ernest Springer. I buried Ernest in my back yard, roughly once
a week, for several months. I really don't know why, but he was
drawn to the grave like a puppy to his food dish. Then Ernest was
sentenced to a mental institution until such time as he was cured.
He was never cured, but he was eventually released. I buried him in
my back yard seven more times. . |
| Harsh
Reality |
Angela Clarke
|
Those of you who believe
the stereotypes of a vampire are mistaken... we are not the evil
species you take us to be... something a child might be told about
as a scary story. Sure, some beings of our race are twisted and
tormented... who would do horrible things...but how is that
different from your race?...hmmm? |
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| A Modern
Epic |
Michael LaRocca
|
When Nathaniel Brown
awoke, he wanted to scream. He felt the burning pain of the bullet,
as if it were striking him now instead of at some point in the
past, but he could not scream. His body would not
cooperate. |
| Visit To A Madhouse |
Michael LaRocca
|
Come, my friend. Let us take a tour of the
Givens Mental Institution. But first, I must warn you. It will not
be a pleasant journey. We shall see human nature at its absolute
ugliest. Do you feel up to it? |
| Return
Of The Boatman |
Michael LaRocca
|
I opened my eyes to see
only darkness. I did not know how long I had been unconscious or
how much time I had left. I had no concept of time. There was no
way to know if it was day or night. |
| Killing Death |
Michael LaRocca
|
Most men die with quiet resignation, but
others go down with hatred in their eyes and a curse on their lips.
This brave warrior belonged to the latter breed. Have you not heard
of him? |
