October Frights Blog Hop – ‘Gus’, by Nina D’Arcangela @Sotet_Angyal @scribe77 #OctoberFrights


Muttering to himself as he always does, ole Gus shuffled to the basement door, pulled it open, and carefully descended the barely lit stairs. Once in the subterranean cavern – as he liked to imagine it – he began searching the dusty shelves for boxes marked ‘Halloween’ in Ester’s neat, tidy handwriting. God rest her soul. Given what a pain in the ass his wife had been in life, he’d never thought he would miss her nagging so much now that she was gone. Oh well, done is done, can’t dwell on the past. That’s the way he’d always lived his life, no reason to go changing things now. If he could just get that damned Priest from their church to stop ‘dropping in’, he could finally catch up on his shows. That old coot would do just about anything to get a little extra change on the Sunday plate. Gus couldn’t see any other reason why the man kept coming by to console him; always bringing casseroles, and baked this or homemade that, from strange women he’d never even met. Yup, it had to be that Sunday Salvation savings account he kept making deposits into. No other reason for it. She’d been dead for, Christ – what was it, three, four weeks now; it was time to stop treating him like a lost mute-child found wandering the streets! These people just didn’t know how to keep to themselves and quit meddling in his affairs. Well, at least he was eating well. Ester, God rest her soul, was a fair looking woman with many fine qualities, but cooking wasn’t one of them. Nope. She must have been looking the other way when that train went whistling by. Oh well, done is done.

Rooting around the musty shelves in the dim light, Gus finally came across what looked like the right boxes. ‘Course, they were behind the ‘X-Mass’ boxes; now he’d have to move those first. Speaking of ‘X-Mass,’ that was something he’d always wondered… why spell it with two S’s on the end? Christmas was spelled with one S, and he couldn’t see the Arch Diocese endorsing X-Priests, like X-Men, so X-Masses were probably out of the question. Now that would be a service he wouldn’t mind donating to – hell, they could charge admission. Those money grubbing, wafer toting, alcohol peddling Men of the Cloth zipping around with special powers… that would be a show! What, no change for the plate? Father Laser Eye, incinerate that cheap son-of-a-bitch. Zap! Ha! Ahhh, well, it would probably be more like Father Lazy Eye with those clowns. Anyway, speaking of clowns, if he didn’t stop imagining The Flying Priest-capades in his head, he’d never get the lawn set up for tomorrow night. And Ester, God rest her soul, wouldn’t have that at her home. Nope. Better get back to gettin’ to it if he was finally going to get back at those little shits for the years of fucking with her lawn.

A few hours later, he’d managed to drag all the boxes and loose pieces of seasonal ornamentation up from the basement and out onto the porch. Looking around at the leaves cluttering the front yard, Gus figured there was no sense in raking them; they added to the ambiance. Plus his back was way too sore for that kind of manual labor, especially considering what was still to come. Yup. Ester, God rest her soul, was going to be proud of his efforts this year; and whether she was too kind-hearted or lady-like to admit it, she’d enjoy the vengeance he had planned for those crap-faced teenagers. Ha! Well, time to break out the cob-webbing, and get the decorating over with.

Gus worked long into the night, waving to passers-by as they called out a hello, taking a break only to sit and eat the latest dish of whatever-you-call-that-stuff the Priest brought by. To any and all watching, it seemed the kindly old widower was going about making his home as inviting as he could for the pip-squeaks who would come mooching for candy tomorrow night. Sometime around 10:30 pm, he placed the final prop in its honored and very conspicuous place. It was the most realistic, most expensive severed head he and Ester, God rest her soul, had collected. It was really a bit too pricey for them, but from the moment she saw it, there was no talking sense to her – she simply wouldn’t leave the store without it. He’d spent the last several years sitting up awake on All Hallows’ Eve just to protect that one piece from the neighborhood vandals. They’re just kids having fun, Ester, God rest her soul, would always say. Kids, my ass, he always thought. Lighting his last cigarette before heading inside to wash up and sleep for a few hours, Gus wondered just how much fun they’d be having this year. After a few drags, he flicked the butt onto his neighbor’s lawn, picked up the prized latex head, and trudged inside to catch a little shut-eye.

At 2:00 am, his alarm clock sounded. After splashing cold water on his face and shaking off the sandman, Gus got down to the real business of this year’s decorating.  Collecting his shovel and pickax from the shed out back, he shambled his way around to the front lawn. He might be an old geezer, but years of working in the mill had hardened him into something much different than most people thought. He was a smart man, one who knew how to foster good will and empathy, but one who also knew when it was time to use his strengths to his advantage. Making his way to the spot where the prized head would sit later that evening, he tossed down the shovel and began breaking up the dirt on his front lawn.

Back inside, he made his way to the shower, cleaned himself up, then cooked a hearty breakfast of poached eggs, instant grits, bacon, maple sausage links, and six slices of toast. Just like Ester, God rest her soul, used to make… well, maybe a little better, but don’t tell her that.

Sitting on his front porch that afternoon and evening, Gus dutifully rewarded all the little children with their hands held out begging for candy. As the night wore on, he was sure to keep an eye on that ghoulish head, and all the little bastards who had their eye on it, too. He knew that one of them would come back and make a play for it well after everyone was asleep. With all the wee ones home by 9:00 pm, it was just a matter of waiting the right amount of time. By 11:30 pm, Gus had been alone on his porch for an hour and a half without seeing another soul. Giggling to himself and saying a silent prayer that Ester, God rest her soul, was watching, he began his own Halloween fun! Tucking the latex head inside the house, he slid the board covering the hole he’d made in the early hours of the morning out of the way and tossed it under the porch, hiding the evidence of his deceit among the other debris stored there. Sitting down on the lawn, Gus dangled his legs over the opening for just a moment before he shimmied his way into the ground. Having left one arm free, he scooped the loose dirt and leaves that had concealed the board onto his broad shoulders, then worked his arm into the dirt as well. Buried up to his neck, Gus stood in the tight confines of the vertical grave he’d dug earlier and waited. It didn’t take long.

Judging it to be about half past midnight, he heard a rustling sound, and the drunken whispers of the aforementioned idiots approaching. Holding dead still, eyes closed, he waited and listened.

“Damn man, it looks so real!”

“Of course it looks real, dick-head, that’s why it’s such a great grab for this year’s scavenger hunt. Plus that pain-in-the-ass isn’t sitting on the porch guarding it like he usually is.”

“Show some respect, man. The dude just lost his wife. My dad comes by here with food and shit from the church cronies like every night.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he does it out of respect. He’s just hoping the old fuck leaves his money to the parish.”

“Whatever, asshole. Just grab it so we can get the hell out of here before someone sees us.”

The sound of footsteps grew closer as the leaves crunched in his ears. Gus felt the warmth of the little bastard’s hands nearly touching him.

“You sure the coast is clear?”

“Yeah, man. Just hurry the fuck up and grab it!”

Sensing the impending hands closing around his head, Gus’s eyes shot open as quickly as his jaw. He’d taken the time to file his teeth to razor sharp points while he’d waited inside. In one fluid motion, he turned and snapped his mouth closed on the arm of the fuck-wad trying to steal his head.  His teeth sliced clean through the connective muscle and sinew at the boys elbow; as soon as the kid yanked backward, his forearm detached with a sickening squelch. They all started to scream like the little piss-ants they were. Blood spurted everywhere, making Gus’s head really look like the latex gem. As the teens ran screaming for their lives, Gus spit the arm out toward the bushes. Cackling with maniacal laughter, shreds of fabric and gristle still clinging to his teeth, Gus shouted, “See Ester, God rest your ever lovin’ soul, I found the perfect prop to finish our display!”

~ Nina D’Arcangela

© Copyright Nina D’Arcangela. All Rights Reserved

Welcome to the October Frights Blog Hop!

A cadre of horror and paranormal authors are offering chills and thrills from
October 10th-15th.
We have stories, books, giveaways and more! Come along the dark path for all the scares!

Are You Afraid of the Dark?
Kelly Martin
Tia Bach
James P McDonald
Barbara Custer
CURIOSITIES – Debbie Christiana
Nicholas Paschall
Hawk’s Happenings
Patricia Lynne
Alice de Sampaio Kalkuhl
M’Renee Allen
Carmilla Voiez Horror Author
Ash Krafton
Stephanie Ayers
Claire C. Riley
McCallum J. Morgan
K. M. Cooper
Danita Minnis
Philip Harris
JD Blackrose
Caroline A. Gill
Hidden Worlds Books
Naching T. Kassa
Megan O’Russell
Steve Vernon
John Linwood Grant
Anne Hogue-Boucher
Katie M. John
Hello Romance
Sloane Murphy
Mary Rajotte
Lavinia Urban
Scarlett Flame
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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Leah Lederman @leahbewriting @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Gatekeeper
by Leah Lederman

She was the guardian. Feared, hated, misunderstood, but she did her duty. Her lips, the gate, opened wide, leading the way to the gaping chasm she protected. She waited.
The first twin had been silent in its descent through the birth canal, but the second rumbled and twisted, shredding its near-dead mother. The mewling lump came forth. She swallowed it whole and withdrew, wiping the corner of her mouth with a clawed, skeletal finger.
Not all babies go to heaven.
Fiction © Copyright Leah Lederman
Image courtesy of Marge Simon 


More about Leah Lederman:

Leah Lederman is a freelance writer and editor from the Indianapolis area, where she lives with her husband, their two sons, two cats, and puppy. Since obtaining her Master’s degree in English Literature from the University of Toledo in 2009, she’s busied herself with writing, editing, parenting, and teaching (though not always in that order). She started her own parenting column in The Toledo Free Press, and has had her short stories published by Bloodlotus Online Literary Journal, The Indianapolis indie magazine Snacks, and in Scout Media’s anthology A Matter of Words. Her most recent work will be released by Indie Authors’ Press in Issues of Tomorrow. Several other pieces are awaiting rejection. As an editor, she’s worked on dozens of indie comic scripts and has been featured on the comics news sites “Creator Owned Expo,” “The Outhousers,” and the podcast “Comics Pros and Cons.” In addition to her work in comics with writers like Dirk Manning, Howie Noel, Bob Salley, and Kasey Pierce, Leah has edited short story collections, children’s books, dissertations, and several novels.



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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Stacey Turner @Spot_Speaks @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Rescue Mission
by Stacey Turner

Clara watched as the ship capsized, the men aboard tumbling into the blue. She held back, watching them flounder and splash ineffectually. Silly, the water was much easier to navigate if you relaxed, cradled in its embrace. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen such behavior from land walkers. She circled underneath, eyeing their struggles with amusement, watching as they tired, slowly giving up. All but one. He seemed stronger than the others, younger, shapelier. He tread the water gracefully, trying to hold another’s head above the surface. Failing, of course, as each swell sent water lapping over the man’s face.
Clara swam up next to him, breaking the surface about four feet away. The man startled, relaxing his grip on his companion. She dove and brought the other man back up, cradling his head on her shoulder.
“Where did you come from?” he asked through chattering teeth. Was the water cold? She hadn’t noticed.
She smiled. “I live here. Where did you come from?”
“Live here? No one lives in the middle of the ocean. There hasn’t been land for miles.”
“I don’t live on the land,” she whispered, winking at him.
“But mermaids aren’t real.”
She could tell he was beginning to tire and wouldn’t be able to keep himself afloat much longer.
“Oh, we’re real enough all right. But so very different from your fairy tales. I don’t long to walk on the land because I can if I want to. I can change forms at will. And I’ve never fallen in love with a human, prince or not,” she giggled a little at the ridiculous notion. “Although, my sister fell in love with a werewolf.”
His face registered surprise.
“Oh my, you didn’t think they existed either, did you?”
He shook his head.
“Long story,” she continued.
“Um, could we get on with the part where you save me?” he asked. “I’m exhausted and I can’t keep doing this much longer.”
Clara through back her head and laughed. She reached out and stroked his face. “This isn’t a rescue mission.”
He frowned. “Then what is it?”
“Grocery shopping,” she growled, the change tingling through her limbs. Fangs burst through her gums as she reared back and then sank them into his companion’s throat. Through the noise of her feeding she could hear his sweet screams. The younger ones were delicious.
Fiction © Copyright Stacey Turner
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com


More from Author Stacey Turner:

Morbid Metamorphosis 
Short Story Feature: The Lake

Metamorphosis occurs every day as caterpillars become sweet fluttering butterflies, tadpoles become gorgeous frog princes and chameleons become one with the beauty of nature – but you won’t find any of that here.

The transformations you’re about to witness are unnatural, sometimes gruesome and deeply psychological. They will make you question reality and take your mind places it was never meant to go.

Cover art and design by Greg Chapman

Terrifying Tales of Transformation from Greg Chapman * Roy C. Booth & R. Thomas Riley * Terri DelCampo * Dave Gammon * Nancy Kilpatrick * Rod Marsden * Jo-Anne Russell * M.J. Preston * Stacey Turner * Tina Piney * Suzanne Robb * Franklin E. Wales * Donna Marie West * Suzie Lockhart * Cameron Trost * Daniel I. Russell * Simon Dewar * Amanda J. Spedding * Ken MacGregor * Erin Shaw * Gregory L. Norris * Nickolas Furr

Available on Amazon!



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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Rie Sheridan Rose @RieSheridanRose @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

by Rie Sheridan Rose

“Well…I’m not sure how to put this…”
David blinked. “What do you mean?”
The towering gray figure before him leaved through the pages on the clipboard he held in one taloned hand. “Well, you aren’t in the database.”
“What do you mean? I worked hard to get on that list! I killed four people—one of them with my bare hands. I burned the car that three of them had been driving before they picked me up hitchhiking—with their dog inside!”
The demon jerked back a step. “Dude! That’s just cold.”
“See? I told you. I deserve to be here.”
“Deserving or not, you aren’t on my list. I can’t let you in.”
David looked over the demon’s shoulder. “Look—that guy there–” He pointed at one of the shuffling figures behind the doorman. “–I know that guy. I robbed a liquor store with him in ‘04. He can vouch for what a really horrible person I am…”
The horns on the creature’s head seemed to extend inches as David watched. “You can’t get in! Unless your name is on my list, Hell has no place for you.”
“Well, this is awkward,” David sighed. “I’m dead now, and I am certainly not getting into Heaven. Where am I supposed to go?”
“I don’t care,” answered the demon, raising one hand to stem David’s protests. “You’ve got to get out of here. The Boss does not like complications. Go on, get out of here!” He made shooing motions.
David sighed, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. “Do you at least validate?”
Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com


More from Author Rie Sheridan Rose:

The Grotesquierie
Short Story: House Call

Twenty-two short horror stories written by women are here on display for your enjoyment or your perverse fascination. Within these pages, beauty becomes deadly, innocence kills, and karma is a harsh mistress. The Grotesquerie is now open…


Available on Amazon!




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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Elizabeth H. Smith @bethsmithwrites @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Hell Mask
by Elizabeth H. Smith

To untangle the coming night, I must succumb to savage needs. Those of the past are what led me here, to the darkest place any musings could fabricate. Deeds of the future would define what I already became. Salvation is futile, as are my attempts to subdue the raging monster pulling me out into the autumn evening.
Each year I think of tales spoken by my former peers… The ones which told of Hell Mask, devourer of children. We always stayed in the light when trick or treating, all afraid to stray. But I never believed the stories. And so I stepped into the dark, alone, testing my theory.
Little did I know I would not be eaten. But rather transformed, replacing the old and withered creature. It had been ready to die. But the legend could not. And so I became…
My heart might regret that decision, but sorrow is useless now. Only the hunger matters, the relief, the hunt for scents of fear behind those plastic masks. One always peers into the shadows, curiosity overpowering superstition. And there I’m always waiting, feeding until I’m full.
Fiction © Copyright Elizabeth H. Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 


More from Elizabeth H. Smith:

Through Clouded Eyes: A Zombie’s Point of View

Through Clouded Eyes: A Zombie’s Point of View: a collection of twelve stories told from the Zombie’s perspective.

They’re shambling toward you, feet dragging on the broken roadway. Arms outstretched, faces slack, they move as if they’re tracking your scent on the wind. You want to run, but you know there’s nowhere to hide.

Aware of their insatiable hunger, fear paralyzes you. These things were once human, people someone loved. Is there anything left inside them – some sliver of humanity that may save you from this nightmare? Your mind doesn’t want to accept the inevitable, a single thought consumes you: what are they thinking?

With your chance of escape dwindling, you snap out of it and run like hell knowing there is little to no hope; fate is coming for you. Soon you will see what they see Through Clouded Eyes…

Featuring stories from Maynard Blackoak, Calvin Demmer, Paul M. Feeney, Stacy Fileccia, Trevor Firetog, DH Hanni, Shannon Lawrence, Josh MacLeod, Zachary O’Shea, Neal Privett, Mark Steinwachs, and Alex Woolf

Available on Amazon!


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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Jo-Anne Russell @Fictishia @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Devil’s Night
by Jo-Anne Russell

“Bourbon, neat.” Charlie took a quick look around the bar.
The bartender poured the drink. “You know Halloween isn’t until tomorrow night, right?”
Charlie downed the drink. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
The bartender gave him an odd look. “Nothing.”
“Another.” He watched the bartender pour and then walk away. Charlie caught his reflection in the mirrored backsplash of the bar. His red eyes stood out against the grey of his skin. Cracked black lips fell under the wet lick of his tongue. “What the hell?”
Pain scorched through his mind as he tried to remember. He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘We finished the gig and went back to Gil’s for the after party. Lydia got me a drink, I sat with her hot friend, what’s her name? Lucy, that’s it, and we went back to my place and then-‘
“Charlie, where the fuck have you been? Zack’s freaking out! That gig’s tomorrow night and you haven’t been to a rehearsal in three days.”
Charlie opened his eyes. “Three days…”
“What’s up with your face, man?”
“My face…It was burning; everything was burning, and Lucy was…”
The memory revived through the pain. Everything was clear again. He had made a deal with the devil – the she-devil and it was time to do his part.
“Sorry, John. Things have been a little bit nuts since the party. We got ourselves a new manager, and she wants some changes.”
“What changes, like your make-up job?”
Charlie gulped his drink and slammed his glass to the bar. He turned to John. “The band is going big time, Lucy has plans for us.”
“Our new manager is a chick? Is she hot?”
Charlie smiled. “You could say that, yeah. Now listen up – The new set will blaze a trail to our future.”
Fiction © Copyright Jo-Anne Russell
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com


More from Author Jo-Anne Russell:

Little Dead Things

Moments; that’s all we really have in this world, isn’t it? Little Dead Things is a single author collection of 41 stories, flash, and drabbles that tell the tales of the most dire, dreadful, or impactful moment for each character. Perfect for commuters, lunch hours, or waiting at an appointment, these tales will give you much more than a distraction, for the hours that follow just may lead to the contemplation of your very existence. Do you have a moment for Little Dead Things?

Available on Amazon!



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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Leigh M. Lane @LeighMLane @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

As Above
by Leigh M. Lane

The numbing chill burned Lana’s toes as her bare feet broke through the morning frost. The path behind her stretched into the horizon, but the shrine was near. She could smell the sulfur. Her pack had grown considerably lighter over the past week, her provisions down to a few cups of rice and a baggie of dried fruit. The river she followed provided sweet water most of the way, so she’d only boiled enough to keep the canteen refreshed. The sour region had unfolded slowly enough for her to overlook her extinguishing supply, however, and now she took sparing sips, the canteen nearly dry. Her body craved rest, but the virgin-lily she’d protected had already turned from white to black, so her trip had to be nearly over. She pressed on.
The river’s remnants swirled with yellow foam, the flow obstructed by tangles of bog weed, and the stench grew to a whole new level of olfactory torture. She nearly dropped the flower when the sulfur had moved her to gag, and she let out a heavy sigh as she righted herself, clasping the delicate stem with both hands.
She steadied herself with the reminder of how many people depended on this single act. Only this one chance, or the river hag would come for her sister. Her limbs trembled and she sweated despite the cold when she spotted the shrine at the river’s bend. Made of stone and bone, the coffin-sized mass supported a single, silver tray. Lana eyed the flower for any imperfections while she moved toward shrine. Satisfied, she set the flower onto the tray.
She shuffled backward when the river stalled, but she knew better than to run. She held still while the hag rose out of the steaming shallows. Those who’d survived the journey had described her as wrinkled and ugly, but the creature before her had a youthful face and a pleasant smile.
“You’ve brought this gift to me?” The hag’s voice defied her appearance, and Lana suppressed a cringe at the shrill, grating croaks. “Why?”
“I’ve come to beg you cleanse my family’s name from your ledger. I bring the sacrifice of a virgin-lily for you to add to your underwater garden.”
The woman eyed the lily. “Bring the sacrifice to me.”
Lana brought it to the river’s edge, but hesitated when her toes hit the boiling, icy water.
“You know what you need to do.”
Lana took another moment, then strode toward the hag and handed her the lily. The water came up to her knees, and Lana cringed at the foam and other debris that collected and bubbled around her legs.
“And now a test.” The hag dipped the lily into the water, then offered it to Lana like a chalice.
Lana took it, but held it at arm’s length. “Um… thank you?”
“Drink it.”
Lana tipped the flower to peer inside, surprised that the water appeared to be clean. “I don’t understand.”
“The water will reflect what the flower sees in her carrier.”
Lana sniffed the water, finding only the mild but pleasant aroma of the flower itself. With one last steeling breath, she swigged down the contents.
“Such a shame,” said the hag.
Lana felt the flower slip from her hands right before her legs both failed her. She knelt in the freezing water, her trembling body growing increasingly weak. “What’s happening?”
“The flower saw deception. You were supposed to be a virgin.”
“But the water—”
“The water lied.”
Lana looked down. “Daddy would’ve killed him. We were planning on marrying… soon.”
The hag gave her a sympathetic nod. “Then it really is a shame.”
Lana collapsed, dropping into the shallow water and submerging. She tried to hold her breath, but her heart raced and her lungs burned. She let out the last of her air in one final shriek.
The hag turned her to her back, letting Lana bob just beneath the water’s surface. Lana breathed in the foul liquid before her lungs seized as well, and she watched the hag through the water’s haze while her mind slowly slipped.
“Well, let’s get you planted before you shrivel up,” said the hag, staring back. She grabbed Lana by the hair, and then pulled her bounty beneath.
Fiction © Copyright Leigh M. Lane
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com


More from Leigh M. Lane:

Finding Poe: Special Edition

Finding Poe is a riddle to be solved, and this edition caters to those who feel up to the task. If you’re a Poe fan, you’ll already know he was the father of the deductive detective story. Many scholars will argue that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes series was inspired by Poe’s Detective Dupin stories.
This book asks the reader to assume the hat of the deductive detective. Throughout the text, there are numerous clues to direct the reader toward an alternate speculation about Poe’s untimely death. Before you set out to solve the riddle, however, you must first find the question….
About the story: When reality and fiction collide, there’s no telling what horrors might ensue.
In the wake of her husband’s haunted death, Karina must sift through the cryptic clues left behind in order to solve the mystery behind his suicide–all of which point back to the elusive author, Edgar Allan Poe.
Karina soon finds that reality, dream, and nightmare have become fused into one as she journeys from a haunted lighthouse in New England to Baltimore, where the only man who might know the answers to her many questions resides.
But will she find her answers before insanity rips her grip on reality for good? Might a man she’s never met hold the only key to a truth more shocking than even she could have imagined?
Finding Poe was a 2013 EPIC Awards finalist in Horror.
“Atmospheric, lush, and lyrical, Leigh M. Lane’s Finding Poe is a haunting Gothic novel which will delight anyone familiar with the works of Edgar Allan Poe, as well as anyone who enjoys an evocative and classic tale of terror.” –horror/mystery author Dana Fredsti.

Available on Amazon!


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