Sunday, November 1, 2020

Juan of the Dead Blog Tour #zombies #dayofthedead

 

Today I welcome Jacalyn Boggs, author of Juan of the Dead. 

Something unique with a little snark, some romance, zombies and a Day of the Dead influence.

See the contests below.

About the Book:

Go on a cruise, they said. Learn about other cultures, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. 

Yeah, I thought my birthday cruise would be all sexy pool boys with fruity drinks and me working on my epic summer tan. Instead, I sacrificed my favorite Jimmy Choos and my gorgeous Coach handbag to some awful earthquake while shopping in a crappy Mexican port. That place is getting zero stars.

Oh yeah, and I sacrificed my life. Lucky for me this totally hunky (but nerdy) anthropologist, Jon, hauled my hot corpse in to the nearby ancient Mayan or whatever temple and performed some sort of creepy voodoo ritual on me. 

Forget all the garbage from Hollywood about shuffling, brain-obsessed, homicidal corpses. Maybe that's how it was in the 70's but those misguided souls also thought polyester was a good fashion statement. What the movies got right is that someone always wants to kill off the undead, and I'm no different. I'm too young and too hot to leave the party this soon. I've got a second chance, but Jon and I need to know what's going on with my post-life situation before someone finishes me off for good.

Buy: Amazon - B&N - Books-A-Million - IndieBound  - Add it on Goodreads 

Excerpt of Juan of the Dead:

Through teary eyes, I looked over the side of the tub and managed to find the towel. I wiped my face with the towel, but the tears continued to flow. I gave up. I let the tears come, quietly sobbing. Something snapped inside of me with the release of the tears. I sat in the tub, hair dripping, crying until I could cry no more. I cried for the loss of my purse and my belongings on the ship. I cried for the loss of identification, making it hard to function in the world. I cried for the loss of my life, robbed from me at such an early age.

I cried for the life I’d never known I wanted and now never would. I was living on borrowed time and something inside of me knew that more than just a slower heart and fantastic eyesight changed inside of me. I somehow knew that the things I’d avoided in an attempt to remain young, footloose, and fancy free were no longer options.    

BONUS Contest! (In addition to the RC below, comment to be entered to win an ebook copy of Juan of the Dead. (If you can't comment, email me at the website. Subject: Juan.) 

a Rafflecopter giveaway


#Halloween-After Flash #fiction

 I've got a short flash story up at Spreading the Writer's Word as part of the Ladies of Horror project - 

Everyone is given a photo to write about... be sure to check out the other stories, too. 

Mine is The Old Deserted House




Wednesday, October 28, 2020

Dr. Cushing's Chamber of #Horrors Blog Tour #Halloween #Monsters


 Today I welcome back author Stephen D. Sullivan for a blog tour of his latest monster book, Dr. Cushing's Chamber of Horrors.  If you love traditional monsters, you've come to the right place! This book is chock full of them! 


And for fun... First one to find the werewolf and comment with the phrase "Werewolves, Mummies, Dr. Cushing's, oh, my!"  is entered to win the Easter Egg "Werewolf" Hunt prize, a stuffed wolf! Good luck... :) 


 

About the Book:

Strange things are happening...

The monsters aren’t only in the museum!

Despite a lifetime of traveling with their father to collect strange artifacts, twins Topaz and Opal Cushing have never fully believed in monsters or the supernatural. Oh, sure, they share an eerie psychic connection, and their tarot card readings often come true, but… Werewolves? Vampires? Living mummies? None of those could be real. Those legends are just for rubes. Right?

Since the girls’ father has been away, though, strange things have been happening in the family’s little exhibit—and in the waxworks studio that shares their dilapidated Victorian mansion on the outskirts of London. Now, the twins’ dreams of a fun, romantic summer season are turning into a nightmare, and the monsters are running...

Buy it at: Amazon - Barnes&Noble - Books-a-Million - Indiebound 

Interview with the author:

What inspired Dr. Cushing?

Dr. Cushing’s Chamber of Horrors was inspired by the classic Universal and Hammer horror films from the 1930s to the early’70s. About the time that Universal was talking about doing a shared universe of monster movies (the failed Dark Universe project), many friends and I were talking online about the fact that though DU seemed a good idea, they were really unlikely to make it in a way that would satisfy Monster Kids. Looking at that, I decided there really weren’t many books out there written to appeal to fans of those old films. So, I decided to write one myself. Dr. Cushing’s Chamber of Horrors is the result.

 As to Dr. Cushing himself… With the name Leigh Cushing, he’s obviously inspired by Hammer stars Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing. And the name of the book is inspired by the film Dr. Terror’sHouse of Horrors, an antholgy film from Amicus (1965), staring Peter Cushing.

What was the most fun to write and why?

The whole thing was fun to write. I approached it as individual stories that then wove together, and that made the writing a unique experience—and very challenging (and a longer book than I usually write). But I guess that the most fun writing was the story’s climax, which is probably true for most books, because you’ve spent a lot of time and energy getting the story to the point where all the threads and characters come together in the final conflict. And in this case, that happens to be a huge monster battle.  Huge monster battles are always fun to write.

What started you writing about monsters?

I have loved monsters literally as long as I can remember, probably starting with dinosaurs, but quickly moving into any other strange and possibly terrifying creatures. In fourth grade, I wrote a story about a race of half-fish half-lizards that lived under the sea and worshiped their own weird god/idol. Looking back, it was a very Lovecraftian idea, though it was many years later that I actually read my first Lovecraft story. That story got a gold star—or maybe even a gold seal—from the teacher. I guess maybe that started all this, though there may have been something earlier, too.

What’s your favorite horror movie and why?

 



That’s a hard thing to 
answer, because some of it depends on how you define “horror.” If it’s as simple as having a “monster,” then it’s 1933’s King Kong, with it’s amazing animation by Willis “Obie” O’Brien and his team. If you need more monsters than that, it’d be The  7th Voyage of Sinbad, with Ray Harryhausen’s cyclops, dragon, skeleton, etc. But a lot of people—including me—consider those more fantasy adventure films than actual horror films.

 
So, on the classic horror track, it’s Creature from the Black Lagoon.  I always identified with the creature, because he’s a great looking monster, loves to swim, and has trouble breathing in the air. I love to swim, too, and have bad lungs, so breathing is often trickier than I’d like. As to whether I’m a great-looking monster…I’ll leave that up to others to decide.  You could argue, though, that the creature is really a science-fiction film that happens to have a monster.

That brings me to The Wolf Man (1941, Universal) starring Lon Chaney, Jr. It’s as perfect a classic supernatural monster film as you can ask for, and its sequels became the first Monster Rally films (movies where there’s more than one monster, usually pitted against each other). The writing is brilliant, too, and invented much of the werewolf mythology that we take for granted today. Besides, what teenager hasn’t felt like a werewolf at least a couple of times in his or her life!

This has a Vincent Price movie flavor… what’s the movie connection on this?

 

With a character named Vincent Duprix, it’s probably pretty obvious that I’m a bit of a fan of Vincent Price and his many horror movies as well. (Duprix is French for “price.”) Since I decided to have a wax museum as well as a Chamber of Horrors, having a character as tribute to Price seemed natural—he starred in House of Wax (1953), after all. His wife, Victoria, is named after the (dead) wife of The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971), another Price role.

So, if you like any of Vincent Price’s horror movies, chances are you’ll like this book, too.

You have how many movies in your collection?

 How many would you say you’ve watched? You’ve been collecting how long?

I started collecting films as soon as DVRs were cheap enough to own. Of course, all those old tapes are out of date and useless to me, now. Most everything I collected then has been replaced in my collection with DVDs or Blu-Rays. I estimate that I have over 5000 movies in my collection; I haven’t gotten around to cataloging them all yet.

I have not watched every movie I own, but I also don’t own every movie I’ve ever seen, so it’s certainly possible that I’ve seen over 5000 movies in my lifetime, counting re-watches, because who doesn’t re-watch favorite films? Four years ago, I started keeping track of how many films I was watching every year, and I was pretty surprised at the numbers.

In 2017, I watched 567 films. Holy cats, that was a LOT.  We had a lot of family stuff going on in 2018 and 2019, so the numbers fell off in those years—475 films and 393 films and seasons, respectively. (I added full seasons of TV shows and movie-style TV shows to my count in 2019.) This year, 2020, because of being shut at home with the pandemic and my friend Derek at Monster Kid Radio doing movie streams twice a week, my movie/show watching has skyrocketed again. I may have broken my 2017 record by the time you read this… And I’ve still got November and December to go!

What do you like to write the most and why?

If you look across my career, back to my days working on Dungeons & Dragons, to my work on CHILL, to the comic books I’ve written, to my Dragonlance novels, and even the teen detective books I ghost-wrote (one of which had a giant ape in it), it’s pretty clear that what I love to write is MONSTERS.

 
Sure, my Tournament of Death books are epic fantasy in scope, but they’re also filled with monsters! And with things like White Zombie, Manos the Hands of Fate, and the current Frost Harrow series and, of course, Dr. Cushing’s Chamber of Horrors, it’s pretty clear that monsters are where it’s at for me.

Of course, all those monsters would be pretty boring without some human characters to interact with. So, I try to make the heroes of my stories interesting and involving as well, whether they’re battling giant monsters in Daikaiju Attack or supernatural menaces in Frost Harrow and Dr. Cushing  If you don’t have people for the readers to like and identify with in your stories, I’m pretty sure nobody will read the tales. And a bit of romance or sex never hurts, either.

What’s your tip to writing scary?

It’s all about the characters. If the readers don’t care about your characters, they can’t get scared for them—and it’s character identification that makes a story scary for a reader. So you have to try to get your readers to identify, even with characters you’re just introducing, so that you can kill them off.

The original Night Stalker TV show used to be really good at that. They’d sketch in an expendable character in Kolchak’s reporting voice-over only to have the monster murder them in some gruesome manner before the end of the scene. I probalby do that more in Frost Harrow than Dr. Cushing, though Cushing has its share of hapless victims as well.

Hopefully, once you’ve had the monsters dispatch some characters like that, readers will become worried about your main characters as well. Keeping up the suspense, and making readers worry about characters they like, is a huge key to writing scary.

It helps too if you can build a creepy atmosphere for what’s going on. Anything that adds to the suspense is fair game. Obviously you want to go for honest scares, and not cheap tricks, though certainly a “cat scare” can work as well in a book as in a movie.

********


Excerpt of Dr. Cushing's Chamber of Horrors:

A Tarot Reading from Chapter 1

 The sign in front of the building read “Dr. Cushing’s Chamber of Horrors,” but it more accurately could have read “Daughters Cushing & Father’s Chamber of Horrors” since the twins ran the exhibition most of the time, while their sole parent was traveling, seeking the latest attractions for his macabre museum.

The chamber was a walk-down storefront in the basement of an aging Victorian manse on the outskirts of London, at 1951 Fisher St., next to the wooded end of Olde Kennington Park. It shared the building with the Duprix Waxworks, run by Vincent and Victoria Duprix, the landlords who lived in the grand quarters on the second floor. The Cushings rented the basement for their attraction, and the third floor—with its eccentric nooks and crannies and gabled ceilings—for their residence.

The waxworks occupied most of the mansion’s first floor, though the building was strangely shaped, so that the waxworks and the Chamber of Horrors abutted each other in the middle, with only a short flight of stairs, a pair of frosted glass doors, and, (when those doors were open for ventilation), a red velvet rope separating the two attractions. Most of the time, customers did not pass from one exhibit to the other, though, with a little work on the part of the Cushings and Duprixes, that would have been possible.

But, Victoria—Madame Duprix—spent most of her time running the waxworks or taking tea with her friends, while Vincent labored endlessly in his second-floor studio loft, which vaulted up into the space that otherwise would have been occupied by the third story. (He was a sculptor—and quite a good one.) The house also contained servant’s quarters with a separate entrance in the back of the building, near the seldom-used kitchens.

Perhaps the Duprixes had once employed domestics, but Topaz and Opal had never seen any staff since they and their father had moved in. And if there had been any servants there recently, the twins would have noticed some indication. The girls—often alone for the last ten years—had plenty of time to look around and discover all of the old house’s secrets.

But the secrets of other human beings and the world outside…! Those remained largely a mystery to both girls. Though lately, there had been a boy or two…

“All right,” Topaz said to her sister, “if you’re so good at absent readings… What do the cards say?”

Opal flipped up the first card on the right. “The distant past… I’d rather skip this and just look for the future…” she said.

“But that’s not the way it works,” Topaz agreed. “Assuming you can get it to work at all.”

Opal stuck out her tongue at her twin.

The picture on the pasteboard showed a woman in an elaborate robe wearing a crown topped by an orb.

“The High Priestess,” Topaz noted.

“Our father’s past, surrounded by mysteries and hidden influences,” Opal read.

“Which only makes sense, since he’s been collecting occult artifacts all of our lives.”

“And before we were born as well,” Opal noted. She flipped the second card; it showed a trio of swords piercing a stylized heart. “Three of Swords, inverted.”

“Father’s more recent past,” Topaz said. “The loss of something dear to you—I mean, to Father. I’m guessing that would be Mother.”

Opal grinned at her sister. “Who said you weren’t any good at this?”

Topaz tried, unsuccessfully, to fight down a blush. Her sister was so good at nettling her! But then, Opal undoubtedly felt the same way about Topaz.

Opal turned the next card—the one in the center of the reading. “The present…”

Topaz nodded. “The key card.”

The illustration showed the face of a bright moon beaming down upon two animals, a dog on the left and a wolf upon the right. The beasts were flanked by two solid-looking watch towers.

“The Moon,” Opal intoned, “a time of loved ones in peril and tricky choices. Choose your companions well, or they may betray you.”

******

About the Author: 

 Stephen D. Sullivan has over 60 published titles to his name and helped create more comics and games than he can either list or remember.
     A Scribe award-winner for “Best Novel Adaptation, 2016” with his book Manos: The Hands of Fate, Sullivan lives with his wife in a small town in Wisconsin. Contact him via Twitter, Facebook, Patreon, or his website: www.stephendsullivan.com


 

** You Found It!

BONUS!! A comment on the blog here also gets an entry to win an ebook copy
 of Dr. Cushing's Chamber of Horrors!  Please leave an email to contact you.
 

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Friday, October 16, 2020

New #Horror: Farewell Ghost, Rock 'N Roll Never Dies

 Rock 'N Roll never dies...right? Today I'm featuring a new book with an interesting premise... 


Farewell Ghost, Larry Caldwell - (Just released!) When rock-star Rocco Boyle dies at the height of his fame, guitarist Clay Harper losses the idol whose life he always wanted. In his wildest dreams, Clay never imagined that he’d soon be living on the infamous estate where Boyle spent his last night. 

Or that Boyle would still be in residence…. 

But in the hills of Los Angeles, things are seldom what they seem, and despite all warnings, Clay ventures deep into the city’s underbelly—touring its famous rock clubs and hangouts, auditioning for a rising local band led by the talented and alluring Savy Marquez— to discover what really happened the night Boyle died…. And though the answer is terrifying, uncovering it may be the very thing that launches Clay to stardom.


Wednesday, October 14, 2020

#OctoberFrights: Something Scary #Halloween Story excerpt

 Welcome to another day of celebrating up to Halloween!

😈  Start at October Frights 1  & Giveaways

* Don't forget to stop by the other October Frights blogs!

OCTOBER FRIGHTS PARTICPANTS:

Are You Afraid of the Dark? - Night to Dawn Magazine & Books LLC

Hawk's Happenings - Heidi Angell - Curiosities

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💀Today I'm featuring a scary story excerpt... read with the lights on....


(Photos: pixabay.com)

"Nightless Dreams"

By James Noonan 

He ran faster and faster, the rainbow of primordial energy pulsated toward him giving him strength. Grandfather held the key. 

Grandfather was the key.

Grandfather was the gatekeeper as well as the gate. And Grandfather favored him.

Jacob bolted upright, drenched in cold sweat. Another dream fleeting in the moments after waking. Nothing except the sound of thin flutes. Piping mindlessly their never ending song.          

 He rubbed his eyes and looked at his phone. Its screen blinding him in the darkness. Jacob groaned, it was only three-thirty in the morning. Jacob laid for a moment in the soft embrace of his bed. Momentarily wrestling with the idea of going back to sleep. The thought terrified him, so he decided now was as good of time as any to get back to work. He couldn't shake that awful feeling, however, of something in the darkness glaring at him with the intensity that one might study an insect. It triggered a primal fear deep inside.

He pulled up the pictures he had been going over, and some Sanskrit texts to compare them to. The odd thing is where the writings were found. A cave in the Grand Canyon. These along with some oddly misshapen figures carved from different minerals. Many seemed onyx or obsidian but there was a greenish tint deep within the black stone. The team was waiting to hear from the mineralogy department on some conclusive answer on exactly what it is. All of them grotesque and misshapen beasts of nightmarish design, yet, somehow, holding a master craft level of skill in the other worldly carvings. 

Jacob was tasked to see if anything pointed as to why or how these things would have ended up thousands of miles from such similar discoveries. He was having no luck in this endeavor. He let out another loud sigh, "Suppose I could just blame aliens..." He proclaimed with sleepiness in his mocking tone. He rubbed his temples.

 So far what the texts found was just nonsense about other worlds and giant creatures living in the darkness. He wondered what kind of religion or warped human mind could create such wild tales. Translating it was slow going. Jacob was the one to first crack the strange new writing. Jacob noticed a vague similarity to cuneiform with pictographs that looked suspiciously Central American and worked back from that. He could be wrong for all he knew. His colleagues seemed to agree, mostly, on his translations however.

Maybe the carved figures are this malformed pantheon, he pondered. As he sank deeper and deeper into his own thoughts reading through the most bizarre tales, a pit in his stomach began to form. He knew that such things were not meant for the eyes of sane men. The texts spoke of races long past and those yet to come. They spoke of blasphemous rituals to steal a body and hurdle one through space. They spoke of the end of all mankind. His mind started to panic. He began to sweat. The sudden vibration of his phone made him jump, bringing him out of the trance-like state.

 "Hello, sir. Yes, I have been working on the translations, but nothing so far." He wiped his brow, flicking his hand dry. "Most of it is talking nonsense about gods and the like...Yes sir, if I do find anything related to this 'dark star', I will contact you immediately." 

For reasons he couldn't start to figure, Jacob began to sweat more. Why call now? It was so late, or early Jacob supposed. How could they have known I was awake? After a moment Jacob was able to take the phone away from his ear, as he tried, without luck, to reason it away as nothing but an early riser getting a jump start on their work.

He was under the employ of some unknown private investor working through several of the Ivy League schools of the area. He had never spoken to Jacob, but his lawyer "Roberts" is the one who kept track of Jacob's progress. 

Roberts was as close to the devil as Jacob ever wanted to come.

 Roberts was a pale man and awkwardly tall. Balding almost completely although he claimed to be barely thirty-five. He must have been heavier at one time, Jacob thought, for he had several folds around his tightly buttoned collar. He also had large eyes that seemed to never blink no matter how long Jacob stared into them. Always glaring his ugly stare. 

Worst of all was a particular smell Roberts seemed to leave in his wake. Like he ate something he found rotting under a dock in the Charles. The whole set-up of the thing made Jacob uncomfortably paranoid. Like he was in a bad movie. He sank back into the chair, cradling his head in his hands, trying to shake off the awful feeling of the unknown...  ##

(The author, James, is new to writing, but no surprise he's been inspired as he also works at the Lizzie Borden B&B, the original home of accused ax murderess Lizzie Borden.

-------------------------------------------------------


*  For another take on the 1892 Borden murders, see my Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter series.)

*************************


Was Lizzie Borden's doctor haunted? 

A ghostly love story. Halloween Sale! 99 cents.

The Haunting of Dr. Bowen: A Mystery in Lizzie Borden's Fall River 


Bwa-ha-ha! Hope you enjoyed the stories this week! Be sure to stop back for more Halloween fun!

Tuesday, October 13, 2020

#OctoberFrights: #Halloween Story, Pumpkin Patch

 * Go to October Frights 1 & Giveaway! - Next: Day 5: Story excerpt, James Noonan

Today I thought I'd reprint one of my favorite little Halloween tales. A little twist on that perfect Halloween centerpiece, you could say...heh-heh.

* Don't forget to stop by the other October Frights blogs!

OCTOBER FRIGHTS PARTICPANTS:

 (Image: Pixabay.com)

The Pumpkin Patch

Every year he sat in the pumpkin patch, waiting for that one special person to come his way.
   Day after day, he grew larger and a vivid, brighter orange as he turned into a grand specimen of the pumpkin family.
   Then it happened. A cute little boy with a big smile and freckles almost as orange as his skin came and picked him up.
   The boy’s hug felt nice, so good, just like his ancestors had told him it would.
   The others rustled their big green leaves on the vine in goodbye as the man carried him to the family’s car.
   He rode to his new home nestled in the arms of the boy. He relished the warmth of the boy’s hands around him. The pumpkin patch seemed far away now.
   The boy insisted on carrying him in. Wait, what was that? A flash of orange on the porch step caught his eye. Another pumpkin. But-but what was wrong with that pumpkin’s face?
   He didn’t have the chance to see enough as they carried him inside. A rustle of paper. He sat on the table waiting to be set in the place of honor. That’s all he’d heard as he grew up in the pumpkin patch—that the one chosen had a place of honor in the family’s home.
   “All right,” the father said. “Scary or funny?”
   “Funny!” the boy cried.
   Wait . . . what-what was happening? ARGGGH! Something sharp cut into his brain. No-No! What are they doing?
   Oh, the pain! The cutting, the searing pain, the stabbing, seemed to last forever.
   Then the worst came. The horrible humans dug inside, scooping out his innards—his heart, his brain—until he sat there, nothing but an empty shell.
   Through the magic of the pumpkin patch, he still felt, though. He still followed their motions. The little boy, who had seemed so good, so loving, turned his gap-toothed smile of terror in his direction. The man gave an evil leer and leaned ever closer with that instrument of torture.
   He quivered in fear as the man cut into his soft, tender flesh. One cut, and then another, and soon a big evil smile with five little pointed teeth decorated his face.
   In surprise, he blinked, his vision sharp and clear as the man cut two triangular eyes above his newly formed mouth and nose.
   The electric candle they put inside him gave an eerie glow and lit the space around him. He looked out from his place of honor by the fireplace, listening as the house quieted and the family went to bed.
   Slowly, carefully, he rolled and bumped his way off the fireplace bricks. He slid along the wood floor, going down the hall. At the door, he stopped and listened to the soft breathing where the little boy slept.
   Longing filled him.
   Chomping his teeth, he slipped into the room without a sound, eager to be with the one who had given him new life. ## 



* C.A. (Christine) Verstraete is the author of the Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter series and the spooky ghost-love story novella, The Haunting of Dr. Bowen (now on sale, 99 cts!). See her website for more details.