New Horror Anthology

So I was looking at books the other day, and I found an interesting book. It’s called “Poe’s Children: The New Horror”, and it contains various short stories by horror authors. It makes a great read, and it would be a great teaching tool. Just thought you should check it out. It was edited by Peter Straub.

Dirty Little Secret

I’m a fan of classic rock and Celtic music mostly, but that’s never stopped me from listening to the occasional rap or country or disco or punkrock song, but sometimes… When I’m alone because everyone is miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles away, creating the feeling that the characters in The Stand or I am Legend must have had… Well… I like to crank that NSYNC.
I know, I know. They’re gay and they’re so ’90′s, but I just can’t help it. I hear “Bye Bye Bye” and I’m in the zone, doing the dance and using the bottle of Band deodorant oon top of my dresser as a microphone, hitting the occasional flat note and screaming “Damn it, Joey, will you ever get it right?” and dodging an imaginary punch. Lance will make us hug later, but we have a show to do now.
I kept this up for 7 years, my dirty little secret, knowing I had a problem but unable to help myself, telling myself on sleepless nights that there were worse things in the world but unable to think of a single one. Then I met Shelly.
Even though she was a goth girl and her pants were easier to get into than Florida Gulf Coast University, we hit it off. We had some good times, spending many a night with her bending over a toilet, puking because she was just unable to admit that just couldn’t hold her liquor because all the goth people drank, and me holding her hair out of the line of fire, trying not to lose my grip on the jel greased mop that was her attempt at spikes. Then the inevitible happened.
She came over to my dorm. More importantly, she got a look at the music folder on my computer. I tried to tell her I didn’t know the NSYNC folder was there. When you use Isohunt so much, it’s hard to keep track.
Of course the story didn’t stick. She said I had to choose between Justin and her, and like a lovestruck fool I told her I deleted the folder, but in reality I’d just moved it into the Norton Antivirus folder under Program Files. I thought I beat it, my nasty little habit, but then Shelly and I had our first big fight.
She wanted me to start eating Reese’s cups, but I liked Twix. “I can’t stop eating them,” I told her, “it’s the only candy with the caramel cookie crunch!”

And so she left me in my dark apartment, surrounded by inhuman furniture and whatever the hell was living in the garbage that I hadn’t taken out for six months. I began longing for the days of my youth, and I fell off the wagon.
There I was, standing there singing the millionth “Giddy giddy giddy-up” when Shelly stormed in, grabbed me by my nipples and spun me into the wall where I slumped in shame. She had come by to make up–who would’ve thunk it? And so she left for real this time, eventually throwing up on a cop, being charged with DUI and ending up someone’s prison toy.
I guess the moral of the story for guys is be true to yourself. For girls… Don’t ever try to change a man’s candy preferences?

First Pitfall

Well folks, I took my first pitfall on the writer’s road. I submitted a short story to my college journel. I kept it under wraps just in case it didn’t work out, and I’ve just proven that I do have some form of judgment. It’s interesting how rejections can be worded so nicely and be so cold.
To be fair, the story was horror, had violence and strong language, and a campus literary journal probably wasn’t the best outlet for it. I also forgot to take off the signed statement at the bottom of the work from when I tuned it in as an assignment for an advanced fiction class. Or maybe I just suck. That is a possibility. I like Stephen King, but I do think he has lost some of his humility.
So where do I go now? Onward. I still keep the blog going, and I can get up to 130 hits on a good day. And we can’t forget I have been plajorized (I think that guy’s site is still up). In any case, I can now declare myself a full fledged writer without having to worry about someone saying that I haven’t been rejected, and therefore can not appreciate the art itself. That is definitely something.

A Tale to Give You Goosebumps: The Death of Books

R.L. Stine has a new series out called Goosebumps in Horrorland, a sereal publication of 12 books. The series also has an accompanying website, video game, rerelease of classic Goosebumps novels, and action figures will follow I’m sure. While Goosebumps was primarily liked by the ’90′s (how old doehat make you feel?), a man of Stine’s reputation shouldn’t have to put this much work into selling a book. Why does he do it then? Books are dying. For the release of his new short story collection “Just After Sunset”, Stephen King put a DVD in the packaging with the book, and made it mandatory for people to sign up for his book signings. This same author has also released comic book adaptations of The Stand and The Dark Tower Series. Jim Butcher, author of The Dresden Files, has released a few graphic novels featuring the wizard, and a failed TV show was launched in January of 2007.
There are a few reasons for this. First of all, we are living in the age of technology; the world features information that is just a click away–there’s no need to trudge your way through 500 or so pages to know the highlights of The Spanish Inquisition, or the nature of jinn. The decreasing standards to which writers are held also plays a role, paving the way for blockbuster fiction (books that are written in such a way that they can be easily made into a movie). Finally, people just don’t have the time to read anymore.
These reasons are actually one big link, but you have to dissect something to understand it. Having information readily available to you is something we have all grown used to. You may have found this entry through a search engine. Search engines, however, are not the only culpret. Social networking sites like Youtube or Myspace make it very easy to share information. While the information from these sites may be inaccurate, it is still out there, and influences the reader. The only reason I don’t attack WordPress or Livejournal is that you still have to actually read the stuff that is here, but the information has just as much potential to be inaccurate as it does anywhere else on the net. The users of Youtube and/or Myspace are aware of their position. In the words of Youtube user xcarriebearx, “Fuck books nobody reads anymore.” She has recently changed that, and she likes Twilight.
Blockbuster fiction is rampet. If it sounds like I have a bias against this phenomenon, I do–suck it up. Blockbuster fiction, characterized by authors like Jim Butcher, James Patterson, Dean Koontz, Franklin W. Dixon, R.L. Stine, Dan Brown, and sometimes Stepen King, is a genre designed to sell a lot of books and make a lot of money for the movie company who acquires the bookrights. Ideas are simplex, settings are overly described, adverbs run wild, and there’s a new chapter after every killing, instance of promiscuity, or just when the author feels like it.
The upside is that even kids like are suddle youtuber Carrie can be persuaded to read, the downside is that writers like George R.R. Martin, whose writing has a lot of substance, have a harder time getting readers. These writers must often have their materia compromised to fit a cinema oriented society. Authors like Stephen King have tried to combat this unpleasantry by remaking some of their stuff (e.g. The Shining remake of 1997), but audiences don’t want anything to do with it.
The technology and movies take the time people have to read way. The biggest part of this comes from the fact that people are slower and slower readers because they are out of practice. The result is that people become frustrated with their lack of progress and give up. This has led to the increasing popularity of audiobooks, but people are not auditorially oriented, so it’s not enough.
I’m not calling you to action, here, just reporting the situation. The implecations are yours to think about. If I wasn’t a writer, this probably wouldn’t matter at all to me, and I’m not panicing because you still have to write scripts for movies. It’s just scary how fast things are changing.

Room 309

     “See there?” Carter says, “here you are feeling sorry for her, Sandra, and she’s living like a queen here.”

     “It’s not as fun as it looks.” Said Ruby.

     Just lately, she felt less and less like a queen than she ever had in her life. They did everything for you in the hospital, and Ruby found out that it could drive you crazy when you weren’t sick enough to be completely out of it.

     “Why’s that?” asked Carter. “You’ve got TV, the nurses wait on you hand and foot, unlimited food-“

     He stopped abruptly when Sandra glared at him, and Ruby felt an intense hatred rising in her. She had never liked Carter, and she never was able to comprehend how Sandra could first fall in love with and then get engaged to a sarcastic piece of scum like that, but now she hated the both of them. They had been essentially the same for the whole two years they had been together.

     “The TV isn’t so great,” Ruby said, “we get ten news channels, and the Sci-Fi channel. See?” she points to the TV which is muted and currently showing  an episode of “The Twilight Zone” in which a man in a business suit is currently purchasing a beat up lamp. Ruby has never seen this episode before, but she figures a genie is going to pop out of there. “That show’s been on since seven this morning, and it’s on all day.”

     Even when Carter and Sandra had their fights, Ruby always knew they would make up. When Ruby had started feeling just a bit tired, however, the doctor who was just supposed to recommend some healthy kind of pick-me-up instead recommended that she go into the hospital for blood work.

     “Haven’t been getting much sleep, huh?” Sandra said.

     Of course I haven’t, you bitch, Ruby thinks. I don’t have a fiancé who’s always a jerk and then willing to go to the ends of the earth to make up for it. I have blood test results that say I should have X-rays to see if there is a cancer, which might be treatable. On screen, smoke begins to poor from the lamp. I got that one right..

     “I wish Sandra would wait on me hand and foot, but she only cares about herself a lot of the time.”

     Sandra’s hands close into fists at her sides. “When’s your next X-Ray?”

     “Sometime this afternoon. They never give you a time here.”

     Ruby wants them to leave. She’s feeling tired again, like she might pass out at any minute. She doesn’t want them to come back. Ever. Let them go and live their happy little life, she thinks, I just want to sleep. From outside, Ruby hears the sound of heals on the linoleum. An older, heavyset nurse comes into the room, wearing that frozen smile that nurses are paid to wear because, honestly, anyone can bus patients back and forth.

     “We’ll be taking you down to X-ray in about ten minutes, Ms. Smith.”

     Ruby nods. The nurse turns and leaves.

     “Talk about your ugly broads.” Carter laughs.

     “We should be going now. See ya, Rubes.”

     Sandra turns, and begins walking out of the room, faster than is normal for her. Carter follows.

     Ruby shifts in the bed, bumping the remote. On screen, the businessman is crying. The sound comes back on, and it’s really loud.

     “I wish it all back.” The man seems to scream into Room 309. “Take it away.”

     “I can’t.” says the genie in mock sympathy, “A deals a deal, sport.”

 

Word Count: 598

 

The Cycle of the Dragon

Hi Folks,

Since I’m considering becoming a writer, it’s high time I released some of my work to the public. The first is below.

 

 

The Cycle of the Dragon

 

 

 

    

      We glide along the hallway of the high school. We can smell an odor that consists of disinfectant, and cafeteria food. There are also at least a thousand different colognes, perfumes, and deodorants mixed in for good measure. It’s not a bad smell exactly, but it can make you nauseous on some days. It is a good smell, too, because it carries with it a sense of familiarity and security to all those who experience it.

     We pass the lockers, many of them battered. If there is one thing a locker is good  for, it’s being able to slam the door shut, releasing much of the frustration that one may experience during their time as a high school student.

     We come upon the bathrooms, and the smell is different here. There’s the same hall odor as before, but the combination of bleach, fecal matter and cigarette smoke make it unpleasant.  It’s kind of dank, and it makes you nauseous any day. It may just be the way the air currents direct us, or maybe we have nothing better to do, but we end up floating in to the men’s room through the open door.

     In the third stall, a middle-aged man is finishing his business. He pulls the baggy sweatshirt over his head. He has plenty of room to do this because the stalls in this particular bathroom are a pretty fair size. He steps up to the mirror, and sees green eyes, his eyes, staring back at him. He pulls the hood of the sweatshirt over his bald scalp, and then straightens it, making sure that it  covers everything well. The picture of the dragon on the front of the shirt appears to move, but we know it is only the result of the fabric moving. His heart rate speeds up the slightest bit. There is a fluttery feeling in his throat. His stomach flutters. This man thinks that this is what vampires must feel when they are in anticipation of a good feed.

     He smiles, and he sees his own teeth, white and perfect. No caps. No fillings. It is, in fact, the only part of him unscathed by his time spent in this world. The man  leaves the stall, letting the door swing shut behind him. We hear the hollow booming sound it makes.  He realizes that he has left his hat, which is black and also embroidered with a picture of a dragon, in the stall. He can get it later.

     He starts up the hall. We get ahead of him, because this man is of no concern to us for the time being. Later, we will have reason to give the man (dragon he calls himself) our undivided attention. As we move along the hall, we pass a skinny kid with glasses

and a big nose. We pay him no more attention than the man we have left behind. Eventually, we come to a classroom. The panel next to the door reads C101. We could squeeze in through the keyhole if the door had one. The school has been upgrading for reasons of “better security” just recently, and there is only a slot for a teacher to slip his or her keycard into.

     No matter. We have no substance in this world. We go right through the door like ghosts, and into the classroom. There are twenty students, and one teacher. Today is the chapter two history test.

     Max Carter wonders just how he is supposed to know how the Black Death brought on the Catholic Reformation and the Protestant movement. Truth to be told, he doesn’t see the fricking connection. All he really wants is to be done with this stupid test, it means he is closer to the end of the schoolday and the weekend.

          Harry is taking the test without even thinking about it. He doesn’t have to think too hard. This is just a high school test, and he’s covered the material before. He’s thinking about the trip he’s going to be taking to Bush Gardens with his friends. Jacob’s dad will be paying for the whole trip since it’s Jacob’s birthday.. It promises to be fun, but he has to finish this pointless test first. These two things  are the only important things in his life right now. He will pass this test, the next one and as many tests as it takes to graduate with a 4.0000 GPA. He will go to college, get a degree in some field and then watch as the people who fail this test because they just didn’t want to study make more money than he ever will. He has figured out the world and its workings, and he still can’t control it. This frustrates him.

 

     Sarah circles the answer to question five, and lets her pencil drop to the desk. It’s not been an easy couple of weeks with her mom working double shifts, her boyfriend leaving, and there’s her little brother. He’s not really that bad, but he’s always getting into something or other, and he decided to try flying from his top bunk last night. By the time she had gotten him back from the emergency room, it was two o’clock in the morning and she was dead tired. Needless to say, she was not prepared for the test. Each question is a monster , and she hasn’t even looked at the essays yet. On top of everything else, Sarah is pregnant. This is a fact that she managed to keep to herself. Lately, though, she’s been sick a lot in the mornings. If she gets up at seven, like she usually does, the sickness passes by quarter to eight at the latest. No one knows about Sarah’s adversity to breakfast, but then there are random attacks of nausea, like the one in her now! She burps once, and she knows she has to run or blow breakfast right here in front of nineteen other people. Twenty if you count Ms. Carlson.

     She stands, almost knocking her desk over. Her pencil rolls on to the floor, and Sarah is actually going to reach down and pick it up. Her stomach reminds her that this is not a good idea.

     “Ms. Waterberry?” Ms. Carlson asks. That’s all she says, but she means “How dare you leave in the middle of my test.” It’s just the way teachers do it. They yell without yelling at all.

     “Bathroom.” Sarah half says, half chokes because her gorge is starting to come up her throat. She can taste it.

     “You need—“ Ms. Carlson is telling Sarah that she needs a pass.

     I don’t have time for the pass, Sarah thinks as she races out the door and toward the bathroom which just has to be all the way at the other end of the hall, which just has to be so fricking long. She’s doing a full sprint now, her sandals sounding like a set of cap guns that have been set to rapid fire. She sees a group of boys who look as if they are in a hurry to be away from where they are, and she passes them without even wondering what they were doing or why they look so guilty.

     She almost has a head-on collision with the guy who is coming up the hall. She wants to tell him to watch where the hell he’s going, but words are impossible now. She swerves to the right, and almost falls. The guy reaches out and catches her arm with one hand. She cries out, but doesn’t lose her breakfast on the guy’s sweatshirt. That would be a shame if I did, she thinks. It would ruin that awesome picture on the front. She’s never known any picture on any piece of clothing to be so detailed before. And such bright colors!

     The guy reaches under his sweatshirt. Sarah’s mind knows something is wrong, but she is only dimly aware of the alarm going off in her head. The dragon on the sweatshirt appears to move, ever so slightly, and she is temporarily entranced by the way it looks when it does. So lifelike, almost like the fire could really jump out and burn you if this guy wanted it to. Then the shirt falls into place, and the picture is still. (We wouldn’t have been impressed. We know better, don’t we?)  Sarah looks up into the guy’s eyes. They’re so big, she thinks. She can’t pull her gaze away, either. Somewhere, far off, she thinks that this is what it must have been like for Dracula’s victims.  She wants to get away. It’s too late.

     “Turn around.” The Dragon, tells her. He doesn’t shout, he doesn’t have to. His voice, while quiet, has a lot of power at its disposal. He has given a command, and there is no misinterpretation here. She has forgotten about her previous problems, this man is all that is important.   Sarah turns, and the man raises the arm with the hand holding the gun, reverses the position of the weapon so that the muzzle is facing toward Sarah, and brings his arm down around her middle, so that she will get the world’s cheapest abortion if he pulls the trigger. On the heals of that, we begin to wonder how Sarah could be so stupid. So slow minded. We would have surely watched the hand going under the shirt before looking to see how his face looked, we think. Would we? It is, of course, natural for us to take in all of a person’s features when we meet them.

     “We’re gonna go to your classroom,” the guy says, “We’re gonna go through the door just like this. Don’t try anything.”

     The guy’s voice never trembles or raises, Sarah thinks he sounds like a doctor giving her a prescription and saying, “Take two every day for the next week. No alcohol.,” instead of a man who is ready to blow away a bunch of kids for no reason other than to feel the adrenaline rush. As they walk, Sarah is aware that her life has taken quite a drastic turn. A jumble of images floods her mind: A test that is impossible to pass, her little brother saying, “Look Sarah,” and jumping off the bunk. A positive pregnancy test. The strangest thing is, she feels no impulse to fight this man or to try to get away. The arm around her shoulders is comforting, she realizes.

     We watch them as they go, and they almost look like a couple of lovers. We think to ourselves that that man would not have found us so easily cooperative. You think you’d just kick him in the groin and run. Someone else might say that they know Karate, and could have kicked the gun out of his hand. There are even those who say they wouldn’t have had sex. That way, they wouldn’t have gotten pregnant, gotten nauseous at a bad time (as if there is ever a good time for nausea?), and avoided this situation altogether. These people are blind, and there ideas are defective guns.

    We hear the first shot from the classroom, and oh how loud it is out here! We know it is even louder in there. There are multiple screams, and a cry of “Why the hell—“ Another shot, and  the voice falls silent. Maybe it’s Harry. At this point, we decide we don’t want to see or hear anymore of this. We have a general idea of how it will end anyway. Most of those students will never graduate, and there is a good chance that Ms. Carlson has reached early retirement. Hopefully the police will manage to subdue the dragon before he does too much damage.

     We float back along the hallway, back towards the bathroom, We see the lockers as we go, some of them and decorated with a number of slogans and symbols, and one slogan catches our eye. It’s not original, but we have no doubt it meant something to the kid who wrote it. The paint used to write it looks fresh enough, so that one might think that the job might have been done just this morning. It reads “Today is the first day of the rest of my life.”

     We are passing the bathrooms with there nauseating odor, and those damned air currents pull us in again.  We go back to the third stall. It is not a man in there this time, but the skinny kid we passed earlier. He looks beaten up now. His shirt is torn, and his nose is bleeding. His papers are scattered helter skelter all over the wet floor. It’s the third time this week something like this has happened. He cleans up as best he can, and begins putting the papers that are still worth anything back in his bag. He picks up the black hat, and looks at the monster on the front before tossing it in the bag too. He leaves the bathroom, and practically runs into the campus cops who are running to room C101.     “Get in a classroom, kid!” one of them shouts over his shoulder. “Whole school’s on lockdown.”

     The skinny kid opens his mouth to ask for help. He has after all, just been terrorized for the third time this week. The cops are gone before he can even take in a breath, though. His bag emits a RIIIIP! sound as the bottom tears out. Everything falls out. The kid bends over, and sees the hat. He picks it up, and examines it more closely. That dragon is awesome, he thinks. Without a second thought about where it came from, or who it might have belonged to, he puts it on. He thinks it makes him look pretty cool.