I’ve been gearing up over the past week for the launch of my book tour. It was tough waiting for winter to vacate the premises so I could get started. Big thanks to Monster Man Jack Campisi who worked his tail off creating a special Monster Men episode just for the tour. It’s a ‘best of ghost stories’ that will spark some interesting conversations with those who come down for the fun. I’ll also talk about some of my own experiences with the unknown and how they inspired Forest of Shadows.  

So, if you’re in the Yonkers, NY area on Saturday, March 24th, come on over to the Barnes and Noble at 2614 Central Park Avenue at 7pm.

I’ll be adding more dates in more states very soon, so stay tuned. If you have a bookstore in mind, let me know and I’ll see what I can do about getting there!

Good news is always elusive, but I have 2 things to be happy about today. My story, ‘Commandment Eleven’ is in issue #7 of Dark Moon Digest. You can get a copy for under $8 at Amazon. There are a lot of great writers in this issue. You won’t be  disappointed.

Here’s a little snippet to get your horror engine running:

Commandment Eleven

A sparrow sang just outside the basement window and it almost made Norm’s heart break. He could still smell the sharp, sulphuric odor of burnt matches riding hard over the musty pall of the cramped underground room.  

He strained to catch the tune of a song as it warbled from the transistor radio he’d left on upstairs. Was it Frank Sinatra or Tony Bennett? What he wouldn’t give to be up there with that radio. Man, that voice sounded like heaven.

Since the incident, he loved just about any sound: kids fighting, garbage trucks rumbling, the buzzing of a curious bee. The thought of losing all of those delicious, everyday melodies sickened him with dread. Acidic rivulets of bile hit the back of his teeth and seeped from the corners of his mouth. Instinctively, he went to wipe it away but his hands were held fast by duct tape.

There was a shuffling of slipper-clad feet on the unfinished cellar floor and a stack of old wood boxes went clattering to the ground.

“Son of a biscuit eater!” his wife Chastity yelled.

God, even her infantile cusses (because good Christians don’t cuss) were glorious to hear. 

“Didn’t I tell you to move these somewhere else? You do have working legs and arms, don’t you? Just because I’ve made you right with Jesus doesn’t mean you’re right with me.”