Category Archives: horror

The Dirty Dozen, 12 Days of X-mas – DAY ONE: The Seamstress

Hello kiddos! Welcome to Dirty Little Horror’s holiday celebration:

The Dirty Dozen: 12 Days Of X-mas!!!

It seems someone has MURDERED the 12 drummers drumming, the 11 pipers piping, and the 10 lords a-leaping. The 9 dancing ladies and 8 maids a-milking got it, too, and the horror goes down the line right to the stinking carcass of a dead partridge in a burning pear tree.

But fear not! (Or maybe you should get really, really scared…) We will make our own 12 days of X-mas, perfect for horror fans. Who needs turtle doves and french hens anyway?

let's get started

To kick off DAY ONE of our nearly two week celebration, we shall start with a short film: The Seamstress. I’ve also posted a schedule for our next eleven days in case anyone is curious what’s in store. Enjoy. And see you tomorrow!

 

 

Schedule:

Day One: The Seamstress, a short horror film

Day Two: La Cabina, a movie review by Dene Bebbington

Day Three: Spotlight on Adam Pixel Horrography

Day Four: Still Life, a short horror film

Day Five: Spotlight on Death March Studio

Day Six: Spotlight on Flatline Photography

Day Seven: Long Weekend, a movie review by Dene Bebbington

Day Eight: Great Holiday Gifts for the Hardcore Horror Fan

Day Nine: The Naughty List – X Rated Horror Fiction

Day Ten: The Ten Steps, a short horror film

Day Eleven: Spotlight on Devlish Photography

Day Twelve: Get your horror calendar by John J Dick to ring in the new year!

 

“Remedy” by Lindsey Goddard – video and narration by Lee Harral

Hey, guys! I’m popping by to post a quick video. My friend and fellow creative mind Lee Harral produced an eerie video narration of my poem “Remedy”. I hope you enjoy. Subscribe to his YouTube channel if you like it!

Remedy
By Lindsey Goddard

Withered skin and yellow teeth,
Gritty tongue, a stifled call.
Blinding sun adds injury
To her rigor mortis crawl.
Brittle nails, like insect wings
As her frail hands try to claw
To salvation she can suckle
With her chapped and pale-blue maw.

Shards of mirror in the sunlight,
Casting shapes across her picture.
He emerges from the shadows,
Twisted smile. He can fix her.
Spider veins and severed limbs,
It’s too late to sew and stitch her.
Lips strain open; he pours in
Another dose of the elixir.

Interview with author Essel Pratt

Continuing my participation in Blood Moon Rising – a month long tour of horror, sci-fi and dark fantasy authors, today we sit down with Essel Pratt and learn all about him and his dark writings.

essel

Hi, Essel. Thanks for joining us.

Your work ranges from fantasy to horror. In which genre do you feel more comfortable writing?

When I was younger, I was a huge fan of fantasy. C.S. Lewis was, and still is, my all-time favorite author. However, when I was in high school I read the Tommyknockers and was instantly drawn in to Stephen King’s brand of horror. I also watched a lot of horror movies since I was very young. I came to the realization that fantasy and horror shared similar elements that are interchangeable in many aspects. Then I started reading Clive Barker and came to the conclusion that he is the C.S. Lewis of the horror community. I started intertwining the elements of fantasy and horror within my imagination and the images of many future stories manifested within my mind. Naturally, when I started writing seriously I leaned toward the horror genre, but still hoped to start my fantasy masterpiece. Most of my short stories are horror in composition, but Final Reverie, my first novel, is fantasy. In regards to which I feel more comfortable writing, I really don’t find much difference between writing the two.

Your novel, Final Reverie, has some great reviews. Can you explain a little about it?

Final Reverie grew out of a short story I wrote called “Brothers”. The characters had different names, but grew into who they are in Final Reverie. It takes place in a post-apocalyptic world after all technology ceases to exist. A large explosion destroyed the world as we know it, waking Mother Nature from her sleep. Her magical essence was released and split into both good and evil magic. The being created by the evil magic was contained by heroes of the past, but not destroyed. In Final Reverie, the journey of Franklyn and Chij takes them on the path to destroy the evil entity and restore balance to the world, with the help of the heroes from the past.

When I finished Final Reverie, I realized that there is so much more to tell about the past. So, I decided to do something weird and write the trilogy in reverse. Currently, I am working on Abiding Reverie, which is the middle book in the series, and tells the tale of the heroes that entrapped Nafets, the evil being of magic. The last book will tell of how Mother Nature was awakened and how she restored magic to the world.

Two of your latest shorts were published in Rejected For Content 1 & 2, containing “tales deemed too hardcore for other publishers”. Wow. Curiosity piqued! What is so offensive about these stories?

When I wrote Puienne Teur De Cheveaux, it was for a book about strong trans women characters, but crossed a line of mystery, sex, and the unnecessary. The main character is Detective Mansfield, a strong woman detective that doesn’t take any crap from the male dominated police force. She goes through some scenarios that push the line even further than I should have gone, but it seemed natural for the story. When I wrote Marre De Cetter Merde, I knew that it had to be included in the second Rejected book. It tells the story of Detective Mansfield’s beginnings, and is literally a shitty story. I actually wrote a third short story in the Detective Mansfield universe, but have decided to turn it into her first novel.

How did you end up writing for the Inquisitr? What has the experience been like so far?

In the past, I wrote for a couple of video game websites, Infendo and Nerdzy, but left them because I was simply too busy. I missed writing articles and the practice that it provided for much bigger short stories and novels. I was reading a news article on the Inquisitr one day and just happened to click a link regarding writing for the Inquisitr. On a whim, I filled out the app, sent some samples, passed the test, and here I am. I love writing for the Inquisitr, it allows me to write about any news topic I feel comfortable writing about and helps me in research for the stories I write.

If you had to pick a short story to be read by someone who’s never read your work, which one would you choose?

This is really tough, but I would probably narrow it down to three. The first would be Pubienne Marre De Cette in Rejected for Content: Splattegore because I absolutely love Detective Mansfield and her blunt attitude. The next would be Thus is Life in Serial Killers Quattuor, a first person story about a serial killer that cares for his victims in an unnatural way. Finally, I would suggest Bourbon Street Lucifer in Mardi Gras Murders, a story that takes place during Mardi Gras and may blossom into a larger novel one day, possibly with Detective Mansfield as the main character.

Can you tell me a little about your contribution to J. Ellington Ashton Press?

J. Ellington Ashton Press is an amazing press. I love that the company is like family to the authors. Everyone is treated as equals and everyone is willing to help each other to be a better writer. I was lucky enough to be asked to become chief of acquisitions and to work as an editor for JEA, which has allowed me the opportunity to view various areas of the publishing world. The staff lives across the world, which gives a wide range of views and experiences, which may make us one of the most diverse presses out there and allows us to be available for our authors nearly 24 hours a day, since we have staff in the U.S., U.K. and even Australia.

What scares you?

This is a tough question because I cannot think of anything that actually scares me. I’ve watched horror movies since I was very young, and think I became immune to that sort of fear. However, I think if I had to choose, I would be scared of not learning. I have gone back to school to get my bachelors, I love to research, and learning is just part of me. If that were taken away, I cannot imagine what I would become.

What are your favorite horror movies?

Since I grew up on horror movies, I can easily say that Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street, and Halloween are among my favorites. However, Clive Barker’s Hellraiser series is at the top of my favorite horror movies list. Clive Barker created the perfect anti-hero when he created Pinhead. He does what he does simply because that’s who he is. He isn’t out for revenge, to prove a point, or a psychotic antagonist. He is just Pinhead, he has a job, and he does as he is supposed to. He is sort of like a genie without the wishes.

Favorite authors?

My all-time favorite authors are tied between C.S. Lewis and Clive Barker. Each has been able to create a brand new and believable world filled with intrigue, danger, and hope. Harper Lee, William Golding, Stephen King, and Joe Hill are others that I look up to with high regard. However, there are many smaller names that I look up to equally as much. Some of them are Charles Day, Peter Giglio, Jim Goforth, Stuart Keane, Shannon Giglio, Robert Shane Wilson, Amanda M. Lyons, T.S. Woolard, Catt Dahman, Dona Fox, Michael Fisher, and so many more to name. I apologize if I left anyone out, there are just so many out there that have influenced me in one way or another.

Nice. I very much approve of that list. Now… I have to mention the anthology Fractured Realms because you and I both have poems in it! I loved yours, entitled “If I Had One Wish”. The perspective you chose was very moving. I almost cried at the end! What inspired this poem?

I am glad you liked it, “If I Had One Wish” was quite far from my normal writings, yet still contains a bit of real horror. I am currently going to school to get my Bachelors in Psychology and have volunteered at a local facility that caters to adults that have autism, Downs’s syndrome, and other mental handicaps. When Fractured Realms came around, I felt that I had to write something for it, something that told of how a person with autism feels and might think to themselves. I felt a lot of emotion while writing it and am glad that others were able to feel that same emotion while reading.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever written?

Lately I have written some weird stuff, but I think one of the firsts was in Nightmare Stalkers and Dream Walkers 2, titled “Makin’ Bacon”. It is an odd tale of a pig man, a woman, butt bacon, and unintentional cannibalism, without going into too much detail. I guess another strange piece was my children’s book titled ABCs of Zombie Friendship. It started out as a joke project that I would work on with both of my daughters. They backed out, as teenagers often do, and I submitted the story to my publisher. She loved it, started the artwork, and within no time it became a reality. I never intended to write a children’s book, but am so glad I did.

What are you working on at the moment?

At the moment I am working on multiple projects. I am writing a couple short stories for some open anthologies, my next book Abiding Reverie, and planning a couple more books that I plan to write. Alongside the writing, I am also working on edits for a couple authors and writing for the Inquisitr. I am also trying to finish a few books so I can finally write reviews that I promised. I used to write quite a few book reviews, but have not written as many as I would like to, lately.

Where can we find you on the web?

I try to have quite an active web presence. Facebook is my most active spot, but I can also be found on Twitter, Goodreads, Google +, and many more. I will place the links below.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ScottLPRATT
https://www.facebook.com/EsselPrattWriting
Twitter: https://twitter.com/EsselPratt
Blogger: http://esselprattbooks.blogspot.com
Website: http://esselpratt.wix.com/darknessbreaks
Google +: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+ScottPrattEssel_Pratt
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7280467.Essel_Pratt
Inquisitr: http://www.inquisitr.com/author/scottp

essel3

Dark poetry by Lindsey Goddard

The great response we’ve received to horror poetry so far has got me itching to share one of my own. Do you mind if I steal the spotlight for a moment? The following poem has been published twice. In 2009, it appeared in the anthology Mausoleum Memoirs, and in 2013, it appeared in the October issue of Infernal Ink Magazine. It’s my favorite poem I’ve written. I hope you enjoy it. Well… as much as one can enjoy gloom and doom. 🙂

Within These Walls
By: Lindsey Goddard

A ghost who mourns; her earthly name
was tarnished by the word “insane”.
The curse of life: her mortal bane,
her rival… ’til she stopped the pain.

Her name is now synonymous
with how she chose the Reaper’s kiss,
and how she stopped her heart for this–
eternal ache, with no dismiss.

And now she floats within these walls,
follows me down every hall,
eyes me from the shower stall,
begging me to hear her call.

“Lobotomy,” she heard them say
on that strange and frightful day,
“is sure to wipe her tears away.”
Choked up, her father said “okay.”

An ear still pressed against the door,
she listened as the doctor swore
her grief and strife would be no-more.
His words, they chilled her to the core.

She ran until her legs gave out,
chest heaving with her final shout,
“It ends right here, there is no doubt!”
And she began to look about.

The gallows towered in the distance.
She ignored her limbs’ resistance.
Permitting not a moment’s hindrance,
she bid this world a curt good riddance.

Her tortured soul, it didn’t stay
near her gallows of dismay.
From its deathbed it did stray,
finding its way home that day.

And now she floats within these walls,
follows me down every hall,
eyes me from the shower stall,
begging me to hear her call.

Her name is now synonymous
with how she chose the Reaper’s kiss,
and how she stopped her heart for this–
eternal ache, with no dismiss.

Dark poetry by Rick Powell

Greetings, and happy Friday. Today I offer you the dark poetry of Rick Powell. If you like what you read, grab a copy of his book!

rp-cover

She’s Waiting

She is waiting, crouched on the floor,
A trembling figure, covered in gore,
Clutched in her hand, a cold crimson knife,
She has relished this moment, waited her whole life,
Shivering and tense, her mouth a bloody grin,
Caring not of consequence, caring not of sin.

She remembers the times, his warm gentle touch,
Of candies and kisses, flowers and such.
Now, later every night, smelling of whores,
Once, whispers in her ear, now, yelling about chores,
The bed they used to lay in, was comfort from life’s storm,
The caress of naked flesh, their bodies were so warm.

Flesh entered flesh, she loved him so much,
Now, a bruised crushed breast, a hard dry thrust.
She came from the kitchen, to the bed where he lay,
With every plunge of the knife, the blood, a fine spray.

After she dials the phone,
She waits for them to arrive,
She never felt so free,
She never felt so alive.

Now, she is waiting, crouched on the floor,
A trembling figure, covered in gore,
Clutched in her hand, a cold crimson knife,
She has relished this moment, waited her whole life,
Shivering and tense, her mouth a bloody grin,
Caring not of consequence, caring not of sin.

Here, She Sits

Here she sits, near the edge,
Staring at the open sea,
The ocean blue all before her,
Nature’s beauty for all to see,
Of all that beauty, she sees not,
Of the nighttime sky and more,
All she sees is her destiny,
To lie at the ocean’s floor,
She’s done with all the living,
And with the life long fears,
She knows if she were to weep,
She would cry ebony tears,
Her life has been a waterfall,
A despairing cascade of sorrow,
She is done pondering about the past,
And dreading what is tomorrow,
She looks down at the waves,
As they crash on the vacant shore,
It will take a moment’s time,
Maybe a few minutes, nothing more,
She wishes for a distant voice,
To stop what will be done,
Maybe she will let this cold night pass,
And wait till the morning sun,
But for now, she will just sit,
Wondering if she will be missed,
With her feet, dangling over the edge,
“Should I dive, into the abyss?

It Was A Night Unlike Any Other

It was a night unlike any other,
The night that they first met,
The lamplight reflecting off the cobblestones,
In a darkened alleyway, the sun long set.

He went walking alone this night,
His heart full of remorse,
For a love that had abandoned him,
Her life had found a new course.

A long way he had walked to this village,
Streets with no name, passed houses unknown,
Passed businesses in need of great repair,
Passed dark, dirty windows, where light is not shown.

The only sounds in that dark night,
Were of his footsteps on the damp cold stone,
Not another soul about did he peer,
Glad in his misery, to be left all alone.

He turned into an alleyway,
To go back the way he came,
When out of the midst of the darkness,
He heard a soft voice whisper his name.

He paused, frozen, to see who would appear,
Then his gaze fell upon a shadowy form,
A hooded figure, still as the stone,
No other sound, except of an oncoming storm.

The figure took a few steps, silent and slow,
The dark robe whispering, to arrive where he stood,
A pale, slender hand touched at his sleeve,
The other cold hand then pulled back the hood.

A flash of lightning revealed the face,
The face of a woman, so pale and fair,
Lips so red, like dew on a rose,
Framing her visage, the darkest of hair.

What captivated him the most, was the depth of her eyes,
The color, indescribable, it made his soul swoon,
They were the brightest, as the sun on the sea,
And also the darkest, as the eclipse of the moon.

He meant to ask how she knew of his name,
But all of his words, over his tongue they did tumble,
No sound at all, passed over her lips,
The only sound in the night, the storm’s steady rumble.

She seemed to sense the misery in his heart,
When slowly she took him into her embrace,
He felt her cold breath upon his neck,
The feel of her locks upon his pale face.

He felt his misery leave his tired form,
Like dried leaves in the October breeze,
Though the pain was nothing like he could describe,
The hurt could not stifle how she set his soul at ease.

He felt his blood mingle with hers as she drank,
With every pump of his heart, his agony did drain,
Though the lightning did flash, the bolt he did not see,
Though his body did drench, he felt not the rain.

Now he walks these streets at night, no thoughts of past love,
Not thinking of woe, not of despair, agony or strife,
His home is with the darkness, he is at rest with the shadows,
All gone is the pain of his past, he has found a new life.

***

If you enjoyed these poems, please visit Rick Powell on Amazon and show your support by buying/ reviewing his work: www.amazon.com/author/rickpowell

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