one is home. The tidal wave of blood reaches them and their flesh boils
away. From the epicenter, shockwaves emanate as a grotesquely colossal
arm bursts out. It grabs anything living and drags it under.
Soon no life remains. The disfigured arm retreats beneath the soil
and the riders melt back to blood, coating the planet and staining
the Earth red. It floats now, empty and barren, with no memory.
About Emon Anthousis
Emon Anthousis is currently enrolled at the University of South Florida finishing up a degree in Creative Writing and considering dual majoring in a field outside of English. He decided he wanted to be a writer after finishing Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which is currently his favorite book of all time.
His hobbies include watching movies with friends, reading and writing.
Emon doesn't want to limit himself to one form of written work and is currently beginning work on a fantasy novel and a comic book series about his take on the superhero genre.
http://www.facebook.com/Greekcheeze
JASON'S LAMENT
by Dennis Bagwell
Now you listen to me Rita!
I appreciate all you've done for me, but as my agent, you owe me this
I know George Clooney is being considered for this role, but I have given the best thirty years of my life to this industry and it owes me, too
You say fans expect me in certain roles and they don't want to see me in a chick flick, but I want this romantic comedy
What have I been doing for the last twenty years but making comedies, Rita?
Jason in space? Do I look like a Goddamn astronaut to you?
Freddy would never say this to your face, but he was just as disappointed with Freddy vs. Jason as I was
You said it would be the ultimate slasher bromance. It stunk, Rita!
What's next? Abbott and Costello meet Jason?
I appreciate the fans, but let's not forget it's the fans that have type-cast me
Every time the screenwriters kill me off, I think, "Great! Now maybe I can try something on Broadway"
Maybe DJ in some clubs for fun
Then you negotiate a higher salary for the next piece of crap slasher, making it difficult to say no
Well, this time I'm putting my machete down!
Can't you even get me spot on Dancing with the Stars?
I mean, have you seen some of the celebrity hacks they get on there?
Not even a guest spot on Law and Order?
It's time to expand my resume to include some more high profile roles; how about a musical? Have you ever heard me sing?
You know, I took this part when I was young and I had only been in Hollywood a few weeks.
I needed the money and I was excited about being in a "Big Hollywood Production"
If I had known I would be wearing a hockey mask for the next thirty years, I would have passed on it, Rita!
I have a daughter who is older than the kids I kill in these movies!
Half the time I can't even find my hockey mask because my son borrows it to play hockey!
Kevin Bacon was in the first movie and he's gone on to a pretty lucrative career
When does Jason Voorhees get his moment in the sun?
I had lunch with Michael Myers at Spago last week and I poured my heart out to him like I am to you now
You know what he said, Rita?
Absolutely nothing! His silence spoke volumes and we share the same pain
I wouldn't be surprised if he moves back to Haddonfield
Leatherface already went back to his ranch in Texas. Freddy is working with kids
I can't wait for the day when I can wash the blood from this crummy, unforgiving town and retire to Camp Crystal Lake
I mean, I'm in great shape, but how much longer am I supposed to still be young enough to hurl an axe with robotic precision across a room?
I'll be fifty years old next month, for Christ's sakes!
You can't possibly have any idea how hard it is for an angry, hockey mask wearing, machete wielding, psychotic, serial killer to pretend he's an actor portraying an angry, hockey mask wearing, machete wielding, psychotic, serial killer
I've learned to manage a lot of my anger, but I can only take so much of this crap before the bodies start piling up
My therapist says this lifestyle isn't conducive to my mental well-being
Rita, how can you just lay there and say nothing?
Don't look at me with those glazed-over eyes!
Dammit, Rita, say something!!!
BUGS (for Diana)
by Dennis Bagwell
Bugs in the vents
Bugs in the drain
Bugs in my bed
Driving me insane
Bugs in the closets
Bugs in the kitchen
Eating my food
Without my permission
Bugs in the phone
Bugs in the halls
In the kids room
Behind their dolls
Bugs in the bathroom
Bugs in the garage
Following me around
Like a creepy entourage
Invading my home
Like unwanted guests
Hiding in the corners
Like filthy little pests
I hear them in the walls
Buzzing in their nest
While I lay in my bed
There is no quiet rest
Laying in the dark
Sweating with fear
Perhaps while I'm sleeping
They'll nest in my ear
Or drag me away
To their burgeoning hive
Becoming their feast
While I'm still alive
My home is now seething
With bugs in every space
I'll grab a few things
Then I'll leave this place
I think I hear them laughing
Their torture goes undaunted
A home without people
Is all they really wanted
PRAYING FOR THE DAWN
by Dennis Bagwell
The sun is almost down, the fog rolling in
The moon will rise and mock me from the safety of its celestial perch
The creatures of the night will screech, scream and hoot their ugly nocturnal symphonies
The vampires will awaken from their earthly graves
The undead will shuffle from the woods behind my house
The werewolves will howl to signal the beginning of the night's festivities
The hounds of Hell will sniff around my porch and mark their territory
I will be waiting quietly in the dark
Waiting for some or all of them to get into my house
Praying I live to see another day
Praying for the dawn
About Dennis Bagwell
Dennis is a thirty-something, politically incorrect, mad at the world, X Generation, heathen, musician, poet and writer from suburban Orange County, California. Dennis moved to North Georgia in 2007 and is quietly preparing for the inevitable zombie apocalypse. He has been writing in one form or another since high school. His warped rantings and observations about the cesspool of a world we are surviving in keep his spiraling descent into madness at bay.
Dennis has had his poetry published by the League of American Poets, The American Poets Society, 63Channels, Black Petals, Death Head Grin and Word Salad Poetry Magazine. He has released two spoken-word CD's, A Random Litter of Thought (2006) and Paid in Full (2007) on Batteryface Records. A short film of Dennis' poem Hollywood was made available to coincide with the release of Paid in Full.
http://www.dennisbagwell.weebly.com
THE GHOUL
by John T. Carney
The tombstone wall was gray and cold,
Like a corpse's flesh left in some nameless morgue.
I could almost touch you; feel
you; hear you as in life,
Though your soul was trapped in the eternity of the grave forever.
I placed both hands to caress the faded words on the slab,
My fingers slipping along the rain-drenched granite,
Like a mountaineer losing his grip.
Maybe I was losing mine.
Raindrops fell amongst the lonely tombs,
As I lingered there, unsure of what to do,
Where to go next.
Finally, I moved on to the next crypt,
Placing my hands firmly on the niche,
With a soft caress,
A gentle touch for the dead.
Yet I was losing my grip,
Slipping along the edge of the stone,
Losing my way on the ascent up the incline.
The rain continued to fall,
And I moved on to the next grave,
Staring, transfixed, at the withered stone,
The stone stared back, unmoved.
So like Death, aloof; indifferent.
I stared blankly at a statue of St. Michael in the distance,
A blackbird rose from amidst the stones and soared high in the air.
My hands slipped clumsily through the stones,
Groping, seeking, finding nothing but tears,
Amongst the dirt and rocks of the incline I faced.
I had lost my way, forgotten the route,
Left the path.
A steep mountain of graves loomed in the distance,
I knew I could never leave.
You would never allow it,
Your love had bound me here,
Amongst the tombs and stones of this lonely ascent.
An ascent I would never complete,
Until I returned here for the last time,
And found my place amongst these lonely stones,
On Death's summit with you.
KINGDOM OF SHADOWS
by John T. Carney
Rushing shadows storm the endless night,
Washing through an endless sea of space,
In this void these shades find dark delight,
The King of Shadows rules this darksome place.
Here, where Styx rolls fat and wide and still,
As in some drugged and hazy, lurid dream,
The fate of souls flows where it will,
One often hears the sorrowful souls scream.
These pause along the vast, unholy shore,
And beg for coins to pay the ferry man,
Else to linger there forevermore,
Or lurk wherever Death is damned.
They whisper through the ancient veil of time:
Drink not so vainly Life's luxurious Wine.
MEMORIAL DAY
by John T. Carney
A solitary mourner stood lingering by an open coffin,
The corpse laid in state in the mausoleum before the open niche,
Awaiting internment.
For more than an hour he stood staring,
As if waiting for the eyes to flicker; the muscles to twitch.
Finally, he turned his face to me with a strange, stiff smile,
His bared, sharp fangs coldly gleaming,
And slowly approached.
Behind him, the stiff, pale corpse rose from its rest,
Stared, palely, at his back,
And clumsily followed.
I fingered the shaft of my own fangs and grimaced.
My master slowly approaching with bloodstained lips.
It was Memorial Day at Cedar Grove,
And the day had only just begun.
About John T. Carney
John T. Carney was born in San Francisco in 1960 and has lived most of his life in the Bay Area. He graduated from Moreau High School in Hayward, California, in 1979 and from The University of Pacific in Stockton in 1985. He has had several poems published by the International Library of Poetry in their various anthologies and has also been published in small college literary magazines.
His favorite horror short story is "The Red Lodge" by H. Russell Wakefield. His favorite horror movie is The Shuttered Room, based on a story by H. P. Lovecraft. Estronomicon.com (Screaming Dreams) has agreed to publish two stories of his, the first called "The Lake People" and the second, "The Curse of the Leper."
John has published a book, available on Amazon, titled The Vampire Sonnets. It is a novella combined with sonnets about vampirism.
https://sites.google.com/site/johntcarneybooksandmusic
THE LIGHT UNDER THE DOOR
by Teresa Ann Frazee
We, the pale children of our time
Slide homeward across a hundred years
Into the darkness where shadows fly
Tonight we'll play with our living peers
While the contented sleep dreaming
We roam about our old dwelling place
Where sweet memories are kept alive
Bartering innocence with time and space
Sweat pours through astral bodies
Dripping into sockets of cloudy eyes
Like faded pipers stirring boyish days
Of long hot summers catching fireflies
Or riding wooden horses that go round
Reaching to grab shiny brass rings
And the smell of tiny cakes rising
While lost in play on old tire swings
In a world of nothing all day
Imagining these things to come
With stiffened postures we lay
Our hearts are filled with dust
Icy breath trapped in the lungs
Only when the golden daylight falls
Can words roll from our tongues
Yes, speechless until we're midnight born
Confined daily under roofs of stone
At night we join our small glowing hands
But we never seem to feel a bone
Like flaming rockets in the dark
When our sparks and lightning mingle
The jolt of life ignites our souls
And our imaginative senses tingle
Then up the black staircase we ascend
Cradled in a whoosh of rising air
Plunged through the light under the door
To our old room with its new heir
Will the living child accept us
Or will his hair stand on end?
We're young and not certain
If our true natures will blend
Right near him now we hovered
He smiled then blew a hollow flute
Played us an ancient melody
A tune that had long since been mute
We danced on our vacant beds of rust
Once again moved our cold feet
And swayed the body in its way
To youth's wild frenzied beat
Away from our monotonous rest
Flung our day clothes all about
Stomped on those lifeless things
And shook the world with our shout
Tumbling adrift toward anonymity
In a slow motion race against our curfew
As we played freely and left our print
On the same toys we never quite outgrew
Suddenly dawn waved high her magic wand
As we scattered around she counted heads
Then swiftly caught us all with one hand
And gently tucked us in our daybeds
THAT STRETCH OF ROAD
by Teresa Ann Frazee
That stretch of road lies between home and somewhere
Celestial light slices through the mahogany sky
Lured by ancient shades of boundless galaxies
Which hold the power to charm the mortal eye
Neglected on the map of transient dreams
The road takes on dimensions of infinity
Right on course into the passage of fate
As the span of time monitors obscurity
&nbs
p; Onward we travel toward our destination
Through miles of air the road approached a hill
Trees rustle among us like whispering kings
And in the hushed black of night they're reigning still
THE ROADSIDE ROSE
by Teresa Ann Frazee
Amid the glow of haunting flares
A rose blooms there in the night
She stands against a boundless sky
Charming the last shards of light
She cradles the sweet breath of Eros
In each sultry curve of her petal's fold
Velvet thorns blush behind bursting buds
According to the ancient legend told