We’ve officially rolled out our first two volumes of With Malice Magazine, and we’re already setting our sights on our 2027 kickoff. If you haven’t stepped into the dark with us yet, here is a glimpse of what’s been haunting our pages:
The Audition: A man on his way home finds himself begging for his life and mercy for his sins. But is he facing final judgment, or just trying out for a role?
The Bond: A newly minted widower discovers that “till death do us part” isn’t always the end of the contract.
The Wishlist: Proof that a child on the Nice List can harbor the most wicked holiday desires.
The Detour: A woman learns that an unquenchable thirst for revenge can lead you down roads best left untraveled.
These tales—and plenty more—are waiting to take up permanent residence in your head rent-free.
Got a story that deserves to bleed onto the page? We are actively reading submissions for our upcoming 2027 lineup. Send your work to WithMaliceMagazine@gmail.com ($5 review fee; $30 payout per published story).
Recently, I came across an interesting video on YouTube (and I am sure there are many like this) that ranked all of Stephen King’s books. Currently, he lists 77 books (has me beat by quite a few!).
Now I knew I had read many of them, but I never counted or determined exactly how many. After reading Never Flinch, I discovered that I am up to 42 of his books. Almost everything he wrote in the 80s I collected. Without a doubt, I am the writer that I am today due to his writing and influence. I know many of the other indie writers that I network with feel the same.
He is not perfect, of course. But, yes, I do have a list of my favorites, a list of so-so novels, and the ones I will never put on my bookshelf. I realize some of my lists will surprise you or even upset you, but keep in mind, we all have unique tastes and expectations. I will not agree with all of your favorites, and you will not with mine. Some of these books I read many years ago, so it gets listed based on the general impression I remember of the book.
Also note, I put three *** next to titles and links for those I have written actual book reviews and gave in-depth opinions and blogged on here about them. Feel free to enjoy those as well!
I will start with my least favorite Stephen King book of all time: The Tommyknockers. This was an alien invasion story that went off the rails for me, and I really struggled with it. I do not have a long list of DNF (Did Not Finish) books, and unfortunately, King does have a couple on there.
Here is the rest of the LEAST FAVORITES (From Worst to Not Good)
The Tommyknockers(1987)
The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger(1982)
The Dark Tower II: The Drawing of the Three(1987)
Under the Dome(2009)
Desperation(1996)
Thinner(1984) – as Richard Bachman
Carrie(1974)
Here is my next list of books that I found entertaining, but they did not reach the same level as the top 25 favorites. Again, some of these are well-known but old, and I cannot recall much about them, so that means I was not overall swept away by them.
Back in 2023, I dipped my toe into the magazine industry. This first issue release on 1/31 was a great, but exhaustive experience for me. I met some great talent and found a strong network of indie horror writers on the net and through social media.
I didn’t pursue the project as I already had a lot on my plate: family, full-time job, low budget, and an onslaught of story projects I wanted to do and finish (like my epic fantasy series, The Wyvernshield Series).
While it is three years later, and I do still have a lot of the same obstacles, I am really excited by this endeavor and determined to make this go-around a much better success.
Yesterday, I completed the online setup: you can find my online magazine at WithMaliceMagazine.com.
Each quarterly issue will have three to four stories (3,000-3,500 words each), unique, original cover art, writing craft articles, an author interview, book reviews, book recommendations, fan artwork, and book ads. I would also like to establish an annual writing challenge for a grand prize!
If you’d like to send in a submission, here are the guidelines.
Ebook versions will be $7.99, paperback versions (only in the continental US) will be $17.99 (Yearly subscriptions will be offered at $28 for for all four ebooks, $64 for all four paperbacks). Shipping and taxes are not included. All paperback copies will be on sale at Books.by.
I hope to continue to bring you my novels (like the Eclipse Series and Beneath the Skin, a new phobia anthology), but this magazine will be my primary focus.
Take a chance, roll the dice to see if you’ll be brave enough to finish each issue!
The holidays are finally over. I’ve neglected my blogs, and for that I apologize. So to make up for it, here is a little new content to throw your way. This is just the intro to a new Body Horror short story that I hope to have completed and submitted to an anthology by the end of the year.
ENJOY!
THE FIRST DISCIPLES
“Hey there, little man. Time to wake up.” The words were tinged with an English accent.
Matt Clark woke to the unfamiliar voice, startled and immediately alert. Thad Jamieson, a tall man with auburn hair and light green eyes, sat at the foot of his bed. A broad smile crossed his face.
“Uh, hi!” he replied shyly.
The room about them was large, larger than any that Matt had ever been given. This was the first castle he’d ever seen or stayed in. There were two towering windows on the north and east walls. A small clothes cabinet stood in one corner with a hanging ceiling lamp. The dark stone floor had three red and white throw rugs. A pair of nightstands bracketed the sides of his full-size bed. He was impressed and a bit daunted by the accommodations.
Unusually intuitive for a twelve-year-old, Matt was not often caught off-guard and without a proper response in mind. However, today was his first morning in Switzerland, and it was the first day with his new adoptive parents.
“Amanda is downstairs, brewing up a storm of eggs and pancakes in the kitchen. Are you hungry?” asked Thad.
“Yes, sir.”
Thad chuckled. “No need for the ‘sir’ here. You weren’t drafted into our military. How was your sleep? That was some bluster of a dreich last night, no?”
Matt nodded, yawned, and stretched. “Do you mean that thunderstorm?”
“Yes. It was a terrible welcome to our castle. Want to check out the basement with me before breakfast? The real estate agent did warn us about flooding from Lake Thun. I had a sump pump added last month, but haven’t had a chance to test it.”
The boy reluctantly smiled, charmed by Thad’s infectious good mood. “I have to use the bathroom first, then dress. Can I meet you in ten minutes… in the hall?”
Thad nodded back. “Sure thing.”
Fifteen minutes later, the pair crept slowly down a set of stone steps. The stairs were narrow and steep. Some of the stone was slick with moisture and slimy with small patches of gray-green mold.
Matt followed a short distance behind his new father. He carried two thick towels in his arms. There was a distinct sound of lapping waves echoing.
“That’s not a good sign. I had hoped the pump would automatically start.”
They came to where the final few steps were submerged in churning, muddy water. The basement chamber was massive, lit with caged, dirty light bulbs, and a set of three short, ground-level windows. The tops of racks, tool workbenches, and storage shelves could be seen above the surface. Random items like fishing baskets, plastic bins, and old wooden brooms floated everywhere.
“Wow!” the boy exclaimed as he ogled the high water.
“That’s easily seven feet. I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Thad sighed with frustration. “The water must have flooded in from underneath, through old sewage tunnels beneath the castle.”
He glanced over his shoulder and eyed the pair of towels. “You up for a swim, Matt?”
“I don’t like to be over my head.”
With an exaggerated smirk, Thad gave away that he was joking with him. “That’s smart. Sound thinking. Well, no worries.”
He stopped and pointed to a white extension cord hanging off a nail high on a concrete support pillar. “That’s supposed to be plugged in. Must’ve forgotten. I’m going to swim over to it and connect it to the other cord.”
Moments later, a small burst of bubbles in the center of the basement announced the pump’s ignition.
“How long will it take?” Matt wondered aloud, still in awe of the water.
The man shrugged as he used a towel to dry his face. “It’s likely to take a couple of days. In the meantime, after breakfast, would you like to go on the sailboat? I can teach you how to fish. I bet you didn’t have any city folk in Buffalo, New York, show you that.”
Thad was rewarded with a truly happy expression for the first time. “Yes! Please! Is it –“
The walls shuddered, followed by a huge, muffled thud. The flood waters of the basement frothed. The dark waves rushed back and forth, broke upon the walls, and washed over their feet. A distant feminine shriek was barely audible.
It was over as fast as it came.
“Was that an earthquake?” Matt shouted. His hands clutched onto a wood railing that bordered the steps.
“No. We don’t get those often in Switzerland,” Thad replied, shaking his head. “I think something, perhaps a wall, gave way in the water.” They stood motionless, held their breaths, waiting to hear or feel anything else.
The first-floor door squealed above. “Thad? Matt? Are you guys okay? What was that?” Amanda’s stressed voice echoed in the stone stairwell.
Halfway back down the steps, Thad replied, “I think something gave way due to the flood water and the sudden work by the sump pump. It seems over with now. Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“Yes. Is Matt with you?”
“I’m here, ma’am,” Matt called out.
“All right,” her words faltered in confusion. “Well, I have to go back to my skillet, but let me know what happened.” The door shut to the stairs again.
As the pump continued to lower the water level, Matt could see a thin wall, perhaps four inches thick, near the back had given way. Now it was a ragged, semi-circle of mortar and brick. Thad swam carefully over to it and started to examine the damage.
“Wow! Would you take a look at this?” he muttered under his breath as he peered beyond the wall
“Is there a lot of damage? Does it look like more will fall?”
He didn’t answer. For a minute, Matt wondered if the man had heard him. “Should I come —”
Thad spun around and hastily treaded his way back to the steps. His face was flushed, the skin pale. “No! Stay back. We’ll wait for the water to be completely pumped out.”
The water continued to churn, and the hum of the pump filled the interior of the basement. A gurgling rush of flowing water echoed beneath the sound of the machine.
“What’s back there?”
“Huh. The water is going down fast! I got a nice-sized pump, but it can’t work that fast!” he pointed out, ignoring the boy’s question. “It shouldn’t be cleared until tomorrow afternoon.”
Matt nodded, “But it looks like it’s going to be done after breakfast.”
“Right. That fallen-down section must’ve blocked the source of the flood water coming in from the sewer tunnels.” He put a towel on his head to catch the excess water. “Let’s go. I’ll get a fast shower, then we can sit down and eat. Maybe we’ll come back in an hour or two.”
****
The basement air was gamey, reeking of fishy slime and earthy mud. The water had reduced to a little over a foot. Thad and Amanda were inspecting the broken back wall. Matt maintained his vigil on the steps.
“It’s amazing,” Amanda said softly.
Thad shook his head in agreement.
Matt strained to see; he was hesitant to approach closer. The room’s poor lighting kept most of the area in shadow. He shrugged and gave in to his curiosity. Neither of the adults noticed or protested his presence when he came up behind them.
Thad was pointing at something in the inky shadows. Standing only three feet beyond the broken wall was a towering square bas-relief carved from smooth, black rock. It stretched four feet wide by seven feet, floor to ceiling. Thick, snake-like coils wrapped in and out of each other. Mysterious symbols were inscribed in random, small squares. An eerie electric feeling pulsed from it. The hair on Matt’s arms stood, and he noticed strands of his adopted mother’s hair standing out from her head to rise and fall in the air. She didn’t seem aware of it.
Amanda whispered, “This is so exquisite, Thad! It’s gotta be an ancient art piece or something.”
“Look at these minute scales. The time to etch all of them would have taken many years.” He replied and then ran his palm lovingly along one of the coils. There was a sudden flash as a pulse of transparent energy passed over him. It reminded him of the waves of heat radiating off the streets of New York.
Matt froze in shock, but neither Thad nor Amanda made any mention of the odd occurrence. They continued their intense inspection of the wall sculpture. Then it happened again when Amanda slid her hand over another of the coils. The obscure energy flowed through both of the adults.
“Oh, wow! It’s really smooth to the touch, too,” she stated with excitement.
“Are you guys all right?” Matt asked as he stepped closer.
Thad spun around and snatched the boy’s wrist. “Good! You’re here. You have to feel this!” His words were high-pitched and tinged with an almost frenzied energy.
Matt twisted his arm trying to extract himself, “NO! I DON’T WANT—”
“Excuse me? After what we’ve done for you already, you are going to throw a tantrum and give me disrespect?” Thad bellowed in the tight confines of the basement corner.
The words were harsh and bitter. Their ferocity caught the boy off guard, and all he could do was stare in shock.
Thad slapped Matt’s open palm against the bas-relief. The cool stone pressed against his skin. However, he didn’t feel any flash of energy.
Amanda backed her husband. “In this house – castle – we will do as instructed without hesitation or attitude. Do you understand, Matthew Adam Clark?”
He nodded nervously.
“Good. Go up to your room, get dressed for the lake. I want you to wait for me to come get you. Be quick now!” His tone had not changed. There was no emotion or humor, only an edginess to it.
From master storyteller Stephen King comes an extraordinary new novel with intertwining storylines—one about a killer on a diabolical revenge mission, and another about a vigilante targeting a feminist celebrity speaker—featuring the beloved Holly Gibney and a dynamic new cast of characters.
When the Buckeye City Police Department receives a disturbing letter from a person threatening to “kill thirteen innocents and one guilty” in “an act of atonement for the needless death of an innocent man,” Detective Izzy Jaynes has no idea what to think. Are fourteen citizens about to be slaughtered in an unhinged act of retribution? As the investigation unfolds, Izzy realizes that the letter writer is deadly serious, and she turns to her friend Holly Gibney for help.
The Review:
This is the seventh novel involving Stephen King’s popular eclectic character, Detective Holly Gibney. Her debut as a support character came in Mr. Mercedes (The Bill Hodges Trilogy), then the sequels Finders Keepers, and End of Watch. Then she played bigger roles in the novels The Outsider and in the title short story in If It Bleeds. Finally, in 2023, she was the main character in the novel, Holly.
Although King has faced some fan criticism for his seeming infatuation with Holly Gibney, in my opinion, he has created a stand-out character who has grown and has seeemingly come into her own inspite of her adult ADHD and OCD tendencies. Holly has proven herself to others, including her overbearing and destructive mother, that she has what is most important at heart and the strength to drive through any challenge placed before her.
That being said, Never Flinch is not quite as strong a story as I felt the prior novel, Holly, was. In Holly, King went back into his darker, terrifying art form and told a tale of barbaric cannibalism, focusing on a sadistic pair of elderly serial killers.
In Never Flinch, King tells a new tale that is more “true crime”-like and suspense-thriller. It was a good story, but it was not as satisfying, and honestly, what I want to read from the “Master of Horror”. While there is plenty of Holly Gibney content, as a reader, I found myself asking, “Just how often can one person actually find themselves in this much crisis or danger?” In other words, this is again the seventh time Holly and those around her encounter serious danger. In reality, I don’t think many people would associate with this person for very long. The ending, as well, comes a bit too easily and quick for me, which also diminished the impact of the tale.
The Rating:
RECOMMENDED READING! For rating purposes, I score this 4 out of 5.
(IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE FIRST SNEAK PEEK, CLICK HERE!)
“Jesus, Doc,” he muttered. “Am I going to be alright?”
“You are under the best care in Chicago, and I’ll be making weekly visits to the rehab to ensure your recovery is going as planned. The surgeries sound scarier than they really are, I promise. The brain damage you suffered can be handled. The movement in your arm and hand will resume by the end of the year. You are young. Your body can work miracles, you will see.”
Mitch shifted under the sheets. His back ached from the prolonged time in one position. “How long do you think I’ll need to stay in the hospital – I mean, the rehab facility?”
“Normally, for one skull fracture surgery, you can expect a twelve-week recovery period. However, since you suffered the dual cracks and adding in the time, you’ll need manual movement therapy, it may take you through July or August. That is, of course, provided you don’t have any infections or setbacks from the surgeries.”
Mitch felt his shoulders slump as a huge weight settled upon them. The news hit him hard.
His normal dark thoughts had descended into anger and misery. His life as he knew it was snubbed short and may be permanently altered. He was a prisoner to his body and what it demanded now to rebuild and recoup.
Don’t worry. You’re free now… We have a lot to plan for in the future. New pleasures like you have never had before. That wispy voice spoke in his mind, as if somehow spoken behind him. It had an unusual feeling with it. Like an itch you couldn’t reach, yet not necessarily uncomfortable.
Once you called me vile… I like that. You may address me as Vile. I’m here now.
You are free. And we are unleashed…
****
“That was pretty good. You got to the sixth.” Jo Anne replied. “It’s only been a few days since you arrived. It may be a long road ahead, so you must try to have patience—”
A blue flashing light suddenly came to life overhead near the entrance of their therapy room. “CODE GRAY ROOM 207! REPEAT CODE GRAY ROOM 207!” A female voice declared.
Jo Anne leaped from her metal chair. “I have to assist. Stay here, Mitch, and keep practicing. In ten minutes, you can switch and do those planking exercises I showed you yesterday, okay?” She rambled with distraction and bolted down the hall without waiting for his response.
The other two therapists in the room also left to answer the medical emergency.
Mitch pushed the wooden square away from him in disgust, and then looked about the room. Only four other patients remained, absorbed in their exercises.
He scooted his chair back and stood.
Yes. That’s good. Take it, take this opportunity. He will be alone… Vile’s voice, whispering from within the dark confines of his mind, urged him on.
The image of an elderly black man popped up. Mr. Coranell. Dwight Edwards Coranell. Room 403. Two rooms north of his own.
Two nights ago, Monday, January 28th, Coranell was brought in. The man had been injured in a fall in his grandson’s home. Along with the broken hip, the man suffered from long-term dementia.
At 9:33 PM, every night since his admission, Coranell began an unending tirade of cursing and indecipherable screaming. The medical staff had eventually been forced to sedate him. Quickly, Mitch learned that after three or more hours, the drugs would wear off and the litany of gibberish would play out again.
At 5:47 AM, Mitch demanded earplugs from the staff. He became so irate that he was also threatened with sedation. He stifled his true thoughts as he hated the fuzziness and mind fog that the drugs would bring. Being medicated would only delay his rehabilitation.
Now, as he crept along the hallway toward the stairwell, he grew excited and anxious. His hands became sweaty, and his heart raced with excitement.
Can you do it? Are you hungry enough for this, Mitch?
I am. I am! The old bastard deserves it, he’s got it coming!
Carefully, he poked his head inside the stairwell, scanning the steps leading up to the other floors. They were empty. He snuck through and ascended as fast as he could. His window would be short. Jo Anne and the others would surely be returning, or the nurse on their floor would be at her post.
Yes, it has to be now, Vile continued. You know you won’t have this chance again. Are you going for the blood? You could rub it on your face, maybe even taste it?
NO! I’ll be caught. I can’t. I… I will have to be happy with just the act of silencing him.
But… Vile objected. Its tone was petulant.
If they find me covered in his blood, I’ll never be allowed another opportunity.
The voice went quiet.
He poked his head in through the door to his floor, following his same scouting process.
The room was dark, cold, and had that antiseptic clinic smell choking the air. A pair of monitors loomed over the bed. Wires and sensors were connected to Dwight’s prone form. The man’s heavy breathing rasped in and out, churning like an over-taxed engine. He was sedated and sleeping – oblivious to the world around him.
Mitch stood only a few feet away. His body was rigid. Sweat trickled from his brow and temples. He repeatedly clenched and unclenched his large fists.
Vile tried once more. What do you want to do, Mitch? He’s all yours for the taking.
He did not respond. He remained frozen from the wicked combination of dark needs versus anxious fear. A wrong move or an overlooked detail could result in an investigation leading directly to him.
Mitch was incredibly intelligent and always thorough. In all of his imagined scenarios, he scanned them from every possible angle, every point of view. In his mind, he had all the time in the world to execute his precise plans.
But here, in the murky gloom of the man’s room, he didn’t have time as a luxury. The pressure choked his primal drive. His conflict paralyzed him.
Maybe I can get the pillow, he mused.
You are fucking kidding, right? You want to puss out with a lame smothering? NO! Make an example of him — make his mutation an affront! Throw it in their face! Vile was seething.
“Wh—what?” Mitch gasped.
Show them all this is what you’ll do when they stand in your way! They can’t expect you to accept this bawling lunatic! Rip his face off, put it on the chair by the door. Squeeze his throat till his eyes pop and then open—
ENOUGH! Mitch screamed inside his mind. His hands clamped to the sides of his head. I AM IN CONTROL HERE! I decide when and how. You want blood, but I want more than that… I want more than one old, tattered man who isn’t even awake to scream for me. Vile, you answer to me!
So… hooked yet? Don’t worry! You and Vile can satisfy your bloodlust in October when I officially release ECLIPSE PART I! Then the whole story series will be released in March or April, 2026.
It’s been a while since I’ve teased you with some new content…
I have an awesome new short story that I am submitting for a possible July edition to the magazine Wordpeddler’s Society.
This isn’t the full story, so don’t be upset. This is just a teaser:
FAST BY THE FADING LIGHT
“You have till dawn, buddy-yo. Else…”
The words echoed in his head. They haunted him and floated behind his closed eyes. His head throbbed with an ache at the back of his skull. Waves of nausea followed closely behind the painful pulses. The rest of his body felt non-existent and insubstantial. His limbs bobbed in icy water at his side and were numb.
With an unbelievable amount of effort and will, he opened his eyes. Wind-swept tree canopies whipped about in all directions above him. They blocked out the evening’s dark skies. Patches of flickering orange flames were growing among the leaves. They jumped randomly from branch to branch. Curled, torched leaves fell among ashes in the air, slowly drifting toward him.
His eyes were focusing in and out upon the danger, but his mind could not connect the dots. Where was he? …Who was he?
He lifted his head a couple of inches to survey the area. A flowing channel, no, a rapid river stream, ran past his little rest stop. Somehow, his unconscious body had been carried into a shallow, branch-clustered inlet. His tall frame was snagged on several branches.
Trees on both sides of the stream were brimming with fire. The sound of crackling and popping wood grew louder than the river’s babble.
“You have till dawn, buddy-yo. Else…”
Those words weighed down on him again. What did they mean? Who made that threat? Why? He fought the panic and tried to calm the brewing storm inside his head.
“It’s gotta come back to me. I’m sure it will,” he said aloud. His voice was raspy and barely an audible whisper.
Water splashed and filled his mouth. He sputtered, coughed uncontrollably, and tried to sit up. The water was too deep and too crowded with branches for that. His left arm felt heavy and trapped under the surface.
Yanking it free, he discovered it was handcuffed. The other end was locked about the wrist of a severed hand!
OH GOD! WHAT HAVE I GOT MYSELF INTO? He screamed inside, his arms pinwheeling in the water as he tried by reflex to get away from the bloody remains. It did no good, and the appendage now floated among the waves inches from his face.
The stump severed inches down the wrist was cut clean and precisely. Most likely with a sharp knife or tool. It was a deliberate act with no signs of hesitation marks. The nails were well-maintained and polished with a peach cream color. The fingers were slender and unblemished. It was a woman’s.
Whose? I should know! Who was I handcuffed to? He shook his head slowly. His world was a blended mess of questions and surreal surroundings.
The area around the inlet flashed as a series of gusts stoked the flames, and more trees caught fire. Smoke rolled in with the wind and choked the air. He pulled himself free of the mire of the mystery. A larger piece of a rotted tree trunk bumped into his legs.
Yes, time to go, he answered the log as he kicked the piece free of the other branches. Then he curled his arms around a knot at the top of it. This would keep his head above the waves. He continued to kick with his legs to propel himself out of the bay of branches and head further downstream. Unfortunately, this carried him deeper into the heart of the forest fire.
Moments later, his own heart seized up as he spotted a tattered white blouse with gold lace trim. It partially dipped into the edge of the stream. Blood-spray and obvious patches of red blood soaked a good portion of the right side of it.
A stretch of sandbar on his side of the riverbed peaked up among the waves. It was only a few yards from the blouse. A green-sequined skirt lay in the watery mud ahead. Next to it, a crumpled, faux-leather boot lay abandoned.
I know that dress somehow…
Using all his remaining strength, he scooped water with one arm, guiding the log to beach itself upon the sandbar. So far, the forest fire had spared most of the area.
In the shallow few inches of water that flowed over the sandbar, he fought to get back to his feet, but it was a short victory. His vision suddenly blurred as the world seemingly spun out of control. A minute or two passed. The world slid back into place, and he rose even slower out of the water.
His head pulsed once again like rolling thunder. He pulled his right arm from the water and rubbed the back of his head. This only caused another sudden spike of pain. Snatching his hand back, he discovered his fingers were dripping with fresh red blood. More pain accompanied the effort. Gingerly, his fingers explored the back of his head and found a nasty gash that crossed the back of his skull under the nest of dark brown hair.
That might explain why I can’t remember anything, he thought. Then he patted his legs and discovered a black leather wallet jammed into a pair of dark blue slacks.
Inside on a laminated card, Nicholas Allen Troy stared up at him from a small picture. Age 32, brown hair, blue eyes. Lives at 287 S Fernwood Ct, Apt E5, Baton Rouge, LA 70806. Faint familiarity came to him as he studied the driver’s license.
He went by Nick, never Nicolas. Not even his family called him by his full name.
On his wrist was a broken watch. The silver frame was dented, and its crystal face was frozen at 11:43 PM.
A sudden recalled memory hit him like a fist to the mouth.
Hope you enjoyed this! When the rest of the story is published and ready for sale, I will announce it in my newsletter!
Back in 2019 & 2023, I wrote blogs focusing on some of my favorite new horror films at that time. Hard to believe but two years have already passed, and it’s time to once again to review some of the latest film releases.
Here are five of the latest horror films I did enjoy:
Yes, it is an old running series that has almost covered every angle possible… except this one. What happens when you offer a dying man a possible life-saving treatment, but in secret, you are only attempting to con him out of thousands of dollars? What happens when that same old man is a mass serial killer… and he finds out what you did?!
Not the best of the series, but I enjoyed the premise of this one, and let’s be honest, who doesn’t wish terrible things on con artists when prey on the elderly and dying?
Again, this is another installment in a long-running series. This was another interesting idea, and it also gave you a bigger picture look at why all these tragedies were occurring. In other words, it attempts to give you background reasons for the first five films. This is also the last film of horror legend Tony Todd (famous for his Candyman role), which made this a must-see for me.
This sequel delves deeper into the lives and investigative methods of the famous Warren couple. I enjoyed this one more than the original. I’m also looking forward to the next installment, The Conjuring: The Last Rites, which covers their “last case”.
A spin-off film in the Train To Busan universe. In this Korean horror film, a man soon finds himself trapped and isolated in his high-rise apartment building while hordes of zombies ravage the rest of the city. I love this new take on a zombie survival film.
Easily the scariest film released in quite some time. A teen struggling with the grief of her mother’s passing takes a daring challenge at a party: hold the severed hand of a now dead psychic who claimed to talk with the dead. Intense horror sequences and frightening imagery of Hell. Take note: This is in Australia so the accents take a bit to get adjusted to.
Honorable mentions (entertaining, just dumb fun films):
Another disappointing edition to this poorly written franchise. There is so much they could do but they fail to really capture the essence and treasure that the first two films were.
Ugh! What a waste of two hours! Nick Cage could’ve saved this film as its menacing psycho but he’s in it for maybe twenty minutes. Just dumb! And they didn’t even address why the film was called Longlegs!
A very poor adaption of Stephen King’s original novel. More than half of the film doesn’t even follow the book. They should’ve left this story alone. The 1979 film version isn’t perfect but at least it had heart and tried to be faithful to the novel.
I hope that the trend for horror films gets better and we see more original stories versus sequel after sequel. I’m always available Hollywood should you want some help! 🙂
For those who could not find the Vella series I started before Amazon closed its program, I thought I should post the first few rough draft pages for you to consume!
I am hoping to have this published by the end of summer.
Eclipse will have ties to both Elude and Evade series and will be strictly a non-supernatural true crime thriller!
A sadistic new serial killer has the city of Chicago in his grip. A bold, rookie detective haunts his every step. Which will slip up first?
Chapter 1
Mitchell stared at the paper, focused, and felt himself sinking into the growing spot of red ink his grading pen had left. His mind slipped deeper, spiraled then dove into the heart of it. His eyes blurred, his head grew heavy, and his thoughts revolved around the blood…
No, not blood… ink! Red pen ink, his inner voice scolded him.
No, it is blood! Or it could be, another voice insisted. The words were low and whispery. Hot, thick, gooey, smooth. You could make this happen. You know where you could get all this blood.
Mitchell imagined the liquid flowing through his hands. A pool of it, sloshing and washing up over his torso, flowing over his chest and up to his neck. In his thoughts and in reality, he stuck out his tongue trying to get a taste of the hot liquid. With—
“Whoa! Are you… Mr. Michaels, are you alright?” a student asked, standing at the corner of his desk.
Mitchell shook his head, slamming back into the real world. His fourth-period English class at Bogan High School materialized in front of him. “I’m sorry. What?”
The student stared at him. It was seventeen-year-old, Corey James.
Punk! Always a smartass, Mitchell’s inner voice snarled.
Mitchell murmured instead, “Mr. James, did you need anything?”
Corey sneered, “Do I need something? Man, you looked like you were about to make out with that homework paper.”
“That is enough. If you are finished with your work, please place it on the pile and return to your seat. Thank you.” Mitchell grinned pleasantly at him. Mitchell’s mask as the always-earnest and generous Mitchell Michaels slipped back into place. Corey scoffed, tossed the paper down, and shuffled over to his cluttered desk in the back of the room.
No one else had paid any attention to their interaction. The time remaining for their pop quiz was nearly over.
Known among the school staff and his friends as “Gentle Giant Mike”, Mitchell stood 6’4”, weighed 260 lbs., had a thick head of dirty blond hair, and a beard kept short and trim. He towered over his students and most of the faculty, but his giving nature always won them over. Mentoring and volunteering his time had made him a standout among his peers. Most of his students thought the world of him.
Mitchell returned to his work on the assignment he had been grading. His eyes glanced a brief moment at the splotch of red his pen had caused. The ink had gotten on his finger and thumb as well. He picked up the broken pen and dropped it in the basket at his desk. He shot a glance at the digital clock hung on the wall behind the class. 12:14 PM. School was almost over for the day.
That was good. The mild hangover from some after-school drinks the night before had eroded his energy and his patience for the day. Brad Keller always convinced him and several of the other teachers that it would be a quick drink. The twenty-nine-year-old bachelor always had a charm and a looming presence about him that made it hard to say no to.
“Oh, come on, fellas. Live a little,” he would taunt them. Just like that and with a snap of his fingers, he snared them all. They would hit O’Mallory’s Tavern on the way home. Drinks that would lead to an inevitable fast round of poker.
“Not tonight, my friend,” he whispered to himself.
Mitchell liked and hated Brad Keller if that was even possible. The smooth salesman in the History Teacher was relentless. Mitchell envied the skill as he speculated that Keller also had a wild sex life.
Wind kicked up outside and a splatter of wet ice and snow flurries hit the windows along the south wall. An afternoon snowstorm had swept in off Lake Michigan. Premature for this time of year, but most people in Chicago learned to be ready for anything. Notorious for being fickle in the Midwest, the weather could not be predicted especially near the Great Lakes.
He would have to take everything home versus staying the extra hours at the school to grade yesterday’s homework and the pop quiz. Gina, his fiancée, expected him over tonight for dinner as well.
Mitchell wheeled his chair back from his desk and crossed to one of the windows. Snow had already fallen and gathered on the football field and near the parking lot. The skies were cobalt and overcast. A chill draft leaked in. He rolled his shoulders, stepped back from the frosty glass, and went to a beige wall phone. Mitchell dialed an extension.
“Mr. Michaels, here. Yes, Stan, I think you should consider an early release. The weather outside looks nasty. I imagine in a half hour the roads are going to be treacherous—”
His last words were drowned out by the uproar from the excited students. Mitchell waved at them and tried to minimize the noise in the room.
“Alright. Very good. Yes, you have a wonderful night too.” He ended the call.
A moment later a sharp bing sound came over the intercom. “Students. We will be closing early today due to the inclement weather. Please begin to make your way to the buses. Thank you.”
“Hell yeah! Thanks, Mr. Michaels!” one student, a small lanky kid exclaimed.
One of the school cheerleaders, Danni Codren who sat near the middle of the room spoke up. “May I use my cell phone to get my dad to come get me early?”
Others quickly repeated her question asking to also use their phones. Mitchell nodded. This was against school policy to use phones during school hours, but he saw no harm in allowing it now. School had been dismissed.
A PA system bell rang out and made it official.
The students filed out, laughing and overall giddy. They were high school students, but inside they were all still kids.
As the last of the line proceeded out, Corey came up to his desk with another paper in hand. “Hey Mr. M! Here you go in case you get lonely tonight. Enjoy!”
He flipped the paper onto his desk, cackling with laughter as he slipped through the door. The paper had on it a crudely drawn naked woman, her legs splayed open obscenely. The words LICK HERE with a black arrow pointing the way was written above her. Mitchell swept it up in his hands and crumbled it, his temper beginning to growl.
The storm outside also grew in strength and fury as if feeding off Mitchell’s mood. Now, blinding flurries of fresh snow pelted the windows incessantly. Mitchell took a long sip of his coffee, settled back in his chair, and worked to calm his nerves. Corey was a typical jock with the usual obnoxious behavior. Yet something about the mouthy teen got under his skin. He was expected to do well in a college football program somewhere as a running back. For that reason, he barely made any effort with his assignments and tests.
The plain digital clock on his wall displayed 12:45. He had to heed his own advice and started to gather his papers and texts into his work duffel bag. A few minutes later, he jogged with his hands up over his head to shield himself from the snow as he opened his gold Toyota Camry. He flung his bag in the backseat and waited behind the steering wheel.
A few minutes later, he cruised down the I-83, keeping it slow and steady on the slick roadway. He dug out his cell phone. He knew it would be better to call now versus when he reached the woody outskirts of Chicago. Cell towers were not as prevalent, his reception grew spotty. Despite the long everyday drive to and from Bogan, he loved the time of isolation and freedom it gave him. He would often listen to classical music or even lose himself in an audiobook.
Sometimes when the mood took him, he would allow himself a fantasy. A homicide fantasy would bloom in his mind, like a black and thorny rose. He would spin the encounter in his mind in every gruesome detail and direction he could. Mitchell liked to work out the opportunities, challenges, and the obstacles. He conjured every conceivable angle to how he would fulfill his darkest craving to kill a person in the scenario. He buried the needy feelings deep, as deep as his victims in his scenarios.
He called his fiancée. The phone rang twice and as expected, she picked up precisely on the third ring. Gina was a stickler for routine. Currently, she was a stay-at-home marketing exec for a large law firm downtown. Her hours were long, but at least she didn’t have the hassles of commuting.
“Hey, honey,” she greeted him. “How is your day going? Are you still in class?”
“No, Stan called school off early.”
“Wow, really? Why?”
Mitchell shook his head. She had a kind heart, but she would never be regarded as an intellectual. “You haven’t noticed the weather?”
The squeaking wheels of her computer chair could be heard as she scooted away from her desk. “Oh… yeah, okay,” she murmured, obviously looking out the window of her small, third-floor apartment.
“The weather station on the radio reported we will see a record four inches of snow coming in tonight. You okay if I stay tonight after dinner?”
She giggled, “Only you would use the weather as a way to parley a reason to spend the night in my bed!”
He cruised past a beat-up sign that announced it was 33 miles to Romeoville. He’d grab his overnight bag first from his condo and then head to Gina’s place in Lockport. He guided the Camry to the connecting ramp to merge onto I-171. Immediately, Mitchell found the road caked with at least a half inch of snow and not packed down much from other vehicles. He felt the back wheels fishtail a bit. He eased back on the gas and let it coast down to 30 mph.
“I don’t accept that as a rejection of my inquiry, Miss Dawson. I think you are the one who wants…” his words faded as the road took his focus.
Ahead the tarmac angled up as it crested a small hill. He gave it some speed to help clear the top. However, on the other side of the hill, the road appeared to be clear. It was spared the weather since it wasn’t facing the coming wind and storm. He kept the speed going at 45 mph when a patch of orange color darted across at the bottom. A large golden retriever had skidded to a stop and stood in the center of the road. It had dropped something from its mouth and was investigating with its snout.
“Stupid—” Mitchell shouted in surprise. His wheels found no purchase. A hidden, thin sheen of ice covered the freeway. He slid into the other lane and then back to the original. The car’s momentum carried him around and twisted it violently backward. He panicked trying to regain control, yanking the steering wheel on reflex in the spinout’s direction did not help.
Soon gravel ground underneath his tires and the car jerked downward as he launched from the shoulder. The Camry bounced and careened. Screams and pleas for Mitchell to answer Gina came from his phone that had been projected and lay neglected in the back seat.
Mitchell’s hands were torn free from the steering wheel as he rocketed over the center counsel. He crashed hard into the passenger window. His ear lobe burst open, and blood sprayed the interior with tiny droplets. He screamed in terror as he saw the massive tree trunk looming ahead, getting closer, closer!
Before his world shut off like a television set unplugged, Mitchell was launched forward and cracked the windshield with his head. He bounced back and crumpled into the wheel well. The front right fender took the majority of the incredible impact, but the rest of the car wrapped itself around the base of the tree.
There were several lacerations along his cheek, temple, and the top of his skull.
Blood oozed out… Hot, thick, gooey, smooth… A small pool gathered along his neck and shoulders.
Happy holidays, everyone! I wanted to take a quick moment to update you on my newest releases, my current works-in-progress, and what I’m planning for in the near future.
NEW RELEASES:
**VICTIMS: A Horror Short Story Collection has been doing well, sold on Amazon & Kindle. S.W. Salzman, my narrator, is wrapping up his production of the Audible version and should be on sale before the end of the year!!
**Two new anthologies will be released before the end of the year. First, is The Weatherly Lane Anthology.
A malicious evil taints the land. Any who step into the house at 1214 Weatherly Lane suffers an unspeakable curse. Witness and live through the multiple encounters, decade by decade.
The second anthology from The Fear House Press is Gates of Hell Unleashed. There isn’t a cover yet, but this is in the works and set to be released soon. My story, Suicide Is For Suckers, will be printed within. It’s a tale of desperation and the drive to survive. Does anyone ever win when they sell their soul to the Devil? When more details and information are released, I will pass it along.
**Wordpeddler Society Magazine’s next issue, the Horror Edition, will feature ME and will be released also by the end of the year. In this edition, I am interviewed about my start, my motivations, and my writing process. Also, I have another short story (never published before) called Beneath The Surface. It’s a horrifying tale where summer camp thrill-seeking and curiosity leads to pure terror.
WORKS-IN-PROGRESS:
**Beyond the Barrier, the last in the Wyvernshield series, is in the final wave of edits. It is slightly behind what I hoped for, but it may be out by the end of 2024 or in the first weeks of January 2025. The cover is in the works—another knockout beauty by Joy Landa, who designed all the covers of this series!
**The Deity Staff will have an Audible version available in the first half of 2025. Again, this will be performed by the exceptional talent of Laura Richcreek who has done all of the prior books in the series. She has also agreed to lend her talents to Beyond The Barrier in the coming year!
FUTURE PROJECTS:
**Unfortunately, the serial killer drama,Eclipse, will not be continued on Kindle Vella. Amazon has decided to shut down the entire Vella program by February, 2025. Up to that date, you are able to read the released episodes for free! I will continue the novel, and with luck, it will be out by the end of next year. Eclipse is my first, true crime horror novel (no supernatural elements this time!). It also has ties and links to the previous two series, Elude and Evade.
A sadistic new serial killer has the city of Chicago in his grip. A bold, rookie detective haunts his every step. Which will slip up first?
**I have teamed up with a small indie press known as Phoenix Oasis Press and will be working with them on an upcoming literary anthology centered around the theme of “curiosity”. I hope to submit a new short story to them in March, 2025. Publication is expected around August. More details to come.
**Also, for anyone in the local Phoenix, Arizona area, I will be having a book signing at the SUPERHERO SATURDAY EVENT on January 18th, 2025 at the Metro Mall parking lot area. Come by and say hello! All items will be signed for free!
**Keep an eye out for me on BookTok, a part of TikTok. I hope to release in the coming year videos highlighting my content, new releases, my author life and my writer processes.
Thanks again for all your interest in my work and your support as always!
