Category Archives: Excerpt

Slice Wednesdaty: Adrift


This is a little something I wrote in my notes one night. I’m not quite sure when it’ll be completed but at least it has a nice little foundation.

________________

He just wanted it over. The inevitable “thanks but no thanks” wasn’t something he was looking forward to. Rejection was a hard thing to swallow.

His gaze took in the other, more younger, applicants and sighed. The young man next to him was still filling out the form. He couldn’t help but sneak a glance. Jerry Damrell, 26, was a MIT graduate with honors as well as a Masters from Berkley.

He knew this was a waste of time.

He stood to leave, the clipboard half way to the chair when the door opened.

“Base?”

“It’s Bass, like the fish.” He said automatically. Bass flinched and his grip on the clipboard turned white. He hadn’t meant to correct the woman, only leave. Now he had to face her and the inevitable rejection.

He turned to find a woman in a suite looking bewildered as if she never met a man named after a fish. Well, he hadn’t either besides himself. “Right this way.”

Bass followed her, clip board in hand, to a corner office that was bigger than his apartment. A different woman sat behind the desk in an outfit Bass was sure cost more than a whole years rent at his place. “Hello Mister Base,” she smiled and motioned to one of the soft leather seats in front of her desk, “have a seat.”

“It’s Bass. Like the fish.” He corrected for the thousandth time that week. Everyone assumed it was bass, like a bass guitar, not bass like a fish. Why he didn’t know.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve just never heard of someone with a fish name!” She slapped her desk with a small giggle but quieted down when Bass wasn’t laughing. “Right, let’s-”

“It’s Sebastian but everyone calls me Bass.” Why Bass thought he had to explain himself to another interviewer was beyond him. He shifted, uncomfortable in his old, worn suite.

The woman motioned for the clipboard. Bass didn’t want to give it to her but he had no choice in the matter.

She smiled and somehow it seemed condescending. “Well Bass, I’m Diane Maycome but you can call me Diane. Shall we get started?” Her gaze flicked over the questioner on the clipboard. She was disappointed, he could tell.

“Fire away.” Bass immediately regretted his poor word choice when Diane’s smile darkened. Her gaze racked him up and down that had nothing to do with mentally stripping him and everything to do with concealed loathing. To him, it seemed she really did want to fire him before even hiring him.

He just knew this was a waste of time.

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Sneak Peek: The Last of Us


I know it’s not Wednesday but I was so excited about this that I had to share anyway.

If you liked my Dark Menagerie story “The Four of Us” then you’ll like this teaser. It’s a piece from the third installment of The Stallions, my flesh eating horses stories. These stores are only available in varying anthologies from Storm Moon Press.

Enjoy this first draft snippet.

WARNING: Horror & dark theme content.

_____________________

The night was dark.

Though not so dark I couldn’t see. There wasn’t anything in this world comparable to the blackness of my soul; let alone the inconsequential night of this secluded, badly kept cemetery.

I stood stone still waiting for them; not even a breath moved the night’s air. A hunger burned deep in my belly for them. I scouted this spot for weeks learning their pattern of behavior. It was like clockwork, most of the time, the group of five would appear on Friday nights, usually inebriated by some form of toxin.

Last Friday should’ve marked my feast but the group never showed. I had waited well past the midnight hour until I finally gave up. That night was only the second occasion the group hadn’t appeared.

Tonight, my hope was alive and well for the group never went two weeks in row away from this place. A shot of excitement made my shoulder muscles twitch, my only movement since assuming my post.

There. A hint of laughter. Dare I hope it was them? Another laugh pierced the silent night air, this time closer. It was them.

The first of them appeared, Lauren, from behind a large, cracked memorial immediately followed by the other four. Excitement almost ripped away my better judgement. I wanted to run after them now.

Patience was never my strong suite. Over the years spent alone I learned to curb my overzealous attitude where the hunt was concerned. The group would eventually near enough. It was all a matter of patience.

“Holy fuck. Look at that new horse statue!” This one, Julie, was grating to the nerves. Her voice was similar to a banshee shriek. It would be my utmost pleasure to dispatch this human, when the time was right.

“How shit awesome is that?” Lauren asked and took a swig of something foul. The others agreed and by some unspoken agreement the group approached like a flock of birds.

Of the group, Julie was the one I held the most hatred for. I wanted to make her suffer like no prey I ever have before and I didn’t know why. Zeke walked behind her. His hair like fire was short save his bangs. This one was quiet when compared to the others of his herd. It was something I appreciated in a human but it mattered not.

This heard was young, high school seniors if I remembered correctly. This age bracket was an accidental discovery since Xanthos’ departure fifty years ago. The adolescent confusion of older teenagers tasted the best.

A shot of anger threatened to overtake my sense of self from the thought of Xanthos’ abandonment. However, the immediate satisfaction of a meal so close eased my ire.

Their scent was rich and ripe indicating their readiness for devouring. To young and the meat was defiled with innocence. With age the meat turned rancid without the appropriate dose of fear. A young adult’s confusion and uncertainty, the pressures of adulthood, mixed with the fear of their impending death was divine.

They were closer now and I fought the urge to strike. Each was bundled in warm garments to fight a bone chilling cold I couldn’t feel. These older teenagers were the outcasts of their society. Each wearing darker clothes and makeup. Wild hair of varying colors displayed their rebellion against society. Several had piercings in varying places.

Woman of this day wore makeup but the men in this herd did as well. It wasn’t something I’ve ever considered but I found it oddly appealing.

Zeke reached me first and it took everything in me to stand still. His hand petting across my back was foreign. Several other pairs of hands contoured over my body, petting me as if I were a real horse. Excitement built within, not from the petting, but from the impending hunt.

Over the millennia me and the others like me have lost all physical feeling. It was as if we were petrified alive. I haven’t felt anything in longer than I could remember. The texture of goosebumps, the softness of a beating heart, or the burns from a good carpet fucking were all things I never felt. Humans took sensation for granted.

It was as if my body was asleep from lack of blood. I knew they were petting me only because I saw them.

My lack of feeling didn’t bother me in the least. If anything, my excitement for the hunt was manifesting. My cock twitched in its sheath, dropping and hardening.

“Holy shit!” Lauren exclaimed. “The statue’s got a boner.”

The energy of the group morphed into confusion. I took a breath, my nostrils smoked from the frigid night air. My eye moved and Lauren stood stunned, her jaw slack. Urine seeped down her leg to defile the sacred ground.

What disgusting creatures humans were.

She screamed and I snatched her head in my powerful jaws, her skull crunched like a pinecone followed by an eery silence. I chewed her skull once and something snapped in the others.

They ran.

My inner desire for the chase, my natural hunting instinct, wrenched away any control I had left. I took chase, my hooves digging into the soft ground.

Their fear was a perfume to my inner sadist. Cries of panic and horror were sonnets to my primal butchering need.

I wanted them.

I wanted their hearts.

Slice Wednesday: The Four of Us


A little taste of what’s in my last anthology release with Storm Moon Press, Dark Menagerie. It’s a little bit horror and a little bit mythical. Enjoy.

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It’s what drives us. The four of us.

The inner need compels us despite our ever-present want for normalcy. We can never have what others have.

“Please!” His screams echo. Our own piercing cries vibrate along the earth. Thundering hooves beat the ground, playing a symphony of death.

Whoever he is, pleads again. We don’t care, we can’t. It’s not in our nature to care. The four of us laugh. Our own laughter echoes within.

Look at the little human run.

He’s ours!

The marrow is ours.

Run, human.

We laugh again despite the dulling chase. The four of us come to a mutual agreement: end it now. We speed up, easily enough to catch a human. Hunting humans has lost its thrill.

The four of us tune together like a well-orchestrated piece. We know what to do.

As to who is who and who does what, it’s all very unclear. We are so well attuned it seems as if we are one. We’ve been together so long our thoughts have intertwined. Our own individual identities have vanished. We all think and feel as one.

“No! I-” His last words die in a gurgle of blood, and his windpipe collapses under the pressure of our jaw. A bone snapping crunch and another final cry ends this chaos only to bring anew.

The four of us fight for supremacy; we fight for the best meat. It’s truly the only time we seem to be individuals. But even in this frenzied state the old habit of our and we cannot be broken.

Our bodies slam against one another; we bite, kick and scream for dominance. The tenderest and most valued part of our quarry can only go to one of us. The heart. It’s the whole reason we even orchestrate this little sham of a hunt. Without the heart of a human we will die. As individuals we must consume one every other moon. If one of us, as individuals, need it more than the another is inconsequential. Whomever reaches the heart first is the victor.

Our hooves smash the human’s fragile bones. A kicking hoof rips open the dead thing’s chest, exposing what we all desire the most. Our fighting intensifies, if possible, escalating to a height we haven’t achieved in well over two centuries.  Violence such as this was common place of ages ago.

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