Once upon a time I was a young guy making ‘zines with my friends. We didn’t know what we wanted to do with our lives we just knew we loved movies and weird stuff and hanging out together. It was during this time that I wrote a weird little short story called Night’s Dancer about an angry man bent on having his mad revenge on the town that had mocked and judged him for so many years. What had begun as a strange little story became an infection in me that refused to go away and inch by inch the world of Pete Anders, pumpkin headed madman, grew into something much bigger than I ever could have imagined. The book took me ten years to finally get out to the world and I couldn’t be happier. I put it all out there, let the story go where it needed to go, and let Pete Anders, notorious bastard, grow into something far different than what he began as.
A SHADOW OVER EVER is the book I am proudest of because it was the one I never thought would make it out. It took so long, and was so weird that I wasn’t sure it would make it. I am glad it did. It’s the story of the beginning of everything and the beginning of the end of all things. It’s a book that begins in a small town with small town people and ends in a great war with the first children of Eden, angels, devils, and things far greater and far more dangerous. It’s a dark book but one with a sly grin that lives within that pumpkined head of Pete.
If you have wanted to read something weird, epic, freaky, funny, and starring an angry old killbilly well friend, look no further.
When I published my first book BACK FROM NOTHING I didn’t know whether or not there would BE a second book, let alone any other ones. After ten years of working on new stories and books and looking for a publisher I learned that self publishing had come a LONG way since people started talking about it seriously and I began to look into it and within a matter of months I had collected and edited the stories that would become my second book. THIS BEAUTIFUL DARKNESS. This book is a collection of dark, sometimes pitch black stories that never forget that even in the darkest shadows there can still be a light to lead you.
Check it out here – https://www.createspace.com/3386414
Several years ago I thought up something utterly silly and ridiculous. It was a small flying kitty with bumble bee wings. The bumblekitty lead to the thought of little flying sheep with wings. And slowly, slowly the world of THE MEEP SHEEP was born.
I have always loved fairy tales and particularly loved the darker ones where no one was safe but no one necessarily doomed.
This is a dark fairy tale that tells the story of a young woman daring enough to go her own way and find her own path.
The Age of Man is coming to an end.
After a long and steady decline into shadows the world has fallen into darkness and the last days of Mankind have come.
It is the Dead Age.
The Dead have returned to reclaim the world. Driven by an unseen master the dead rise from their graves to feast upon the living and to send the human race into extinction.
As the twilight begins though there rises a resistance and with it the dimmest glimmer of hope.
This is the Dead Age.
This is Cemetery Earth
I recently did a pretty neat interview with the folks from the Creative Alliance here in Flint. The audio is a bit echoey due to some limitations in where they had to film but it turned out a lot better than I had thought. AND there’s a nice interview with a local performer as well.
So, if you wanted to hear me ramble about my writing and the newer books and such give it a look. I am the first interview, about ten minutes in.
The things crawl and caper and drag themselves from their Mother and emerge into the world and thus begins the Dead Age. The world sleeps as they rise but as dawn breaks screams chase the sun into the clouds as blood paints the streets. A man falls into wakefulness at the sound of something scratching at one of the doors. He rises from dark dreams and glances to the place his wife should be and his shoulders slump. Day one hundred and forty three. One more day in Hell. The scratching comes again and he turns his attention to the noise and heads towards the kitchen and the back door. As he passes through the kitchen he glances towards the wall clock and sees it is only six in the morning. He had been out of work for a while now and the last thing he wanted was to be waken up by some idiot with the wrong house. Paper boy. It had to be the paper boy. The man reaches the door and looks down at himself and sees that he is hanging free of his boxers so he tucks himself back in, straightens his undershirt, and unlocks and opens the door.
Jesus Christ it’s Greg.
His face is sunken, his eyes gone, and he is covered in dirt but it’s him. Oh god in Heaven it’s his little boy.
The man stumbles forward, tears streaming down his eyes. First it was the job, then Maggie left, and then his boy, his boy, his beautiful little boy had died. The man shook his head, he blinked his eyes but there, there was his boy. His boy was back. He’d come back to him. The man started to bawl and reached his arms out to Greg.
The boy wavered a moment, took one tentative step forward, then another, then third and he opened his mouth to speak and put out his own arms. The man smiles down at his son. The thing that had once been Greg pulled its arms back and then plunged its skeletal fingers deep into the man that had been and the man screamed as blood and gore spilled out across the thin arms of his boy. The man tried to pull away but was losing too much blood and he fell onto his knees and looked into his boy’s eyes and saw nothing. The man tried to scream but the thing’s teeth sank deep into his throat and blood washed across the boy and in another moment the man was gone and all that was left of him was meat for the thing and its friends as they made their way to the feast.
A Book Of The Living Dead
What You Bury Will Return
In front of him was row after row of benches that lead all the way to the front of the barn and on the benches were people huddled together and bent forward as if in prayer. How they could see, let alone stand the stench, Hunter hadn’t a clue but they were all silent and all focused on what they were doing and had yet to notice him. At the head of the rows there was a podium and behind it yet another cross, this one at least ten feet tall and beside it painted sheets with the same insignia of the lion with the lamb in its mouth and beside the podium was a chair and in it was someone slumped forward. Hunter took the spear in both hands and held it as tight as he could and made his way to the far left side of the rows and began walking forward slowly, his eyes on the parishioners as he moved. Now that he’d been inside a few minutes he was finally able to see more clearly and saw that there was blood everywhere and in the pews humans sat side by side with the things, their hands clasped and all of them roped in place so they’d stay and be still. And there would be no problem with being good little children in church because the tell tale holes were all there in every body he saw and he had been right, this was a dead place, but what it had been, and what had been going on he did his best not to imagine. – excerpted from Cemetery Earth