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THE PUNKIN KING

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THE PUNKIN KING
One of the spooky stories from FLASHY FICTION

It’s that time of year again. I freakin’ LOVE HALLOWEEN. So to celebrate my mostest favorite time of year, I decided to post one of my stories from FLASHY FICTION VOL 1&2. ENJOY! Or he’ll come for your soul.

“Mom, I like this one!” Jack pointed down at a rather robust looking gourd. His mother walked over to where he stood. She looked down and gasped. The pumpkin prices this year were astounding. The one at her little boy’s feet had to weigh at least twenty-five pounds. She quickly did the math in her head and groaned at the price. Twelve dollars for a pumpkin was just a little more than she was willing to spend.

“Jack, that one’s a little too heavy, baby. Come on. Let’s go find another.”

“No, Mommy. I want this one. It perdy.”

“Jack, I said no. Come on.” She reached down and grabbed his pudgy little hand. She tried to pull him away from the pumpkin, but he stood rooted to the ground. She yanked again but couldn’tbudge him. She looked at his face as he just stared at the pumpkin smiling. “Jack?”

“Yes, Mommy?”

“Come on, sweetie. Let’s go find a prettier pumpkin,” Nancy said nervously.

“No, Mommy. I like this one and it really wants to go home with us.” Jack bent down and picked the pumpkin up off the ground without any trouble at all. Nancy’s mouth opened in shock.

“Okay, baby. We’ll get this one, but let me carry it.” Nancy bent down and touched her hands to the smooth surface of the pumpkin. She hissed in shock as the orange flesh burned her skin. “What the hell?”

“Are you okay, Mommy?”

Nancy looked at her hands. The flesh wasn’t even pink. It showed no signs of burns either. She shook her head and chalked the feeling up to being overtired. “I’m fine, sweetie,” she said and reached down to take the pumpkin again. She noticed Jack’s little smile as he watched her hands. She paused midway. “Are you sure you can carry such a big pumpkin, Jack?”

“I’m sure, Mommy.”

She shrugged her shoulders and led her five year old son to the check out register. It had been set up at the entrance to the tented pumpkin patch. Every year they’d stop at the same place along the old highway that led from Lazy Days Daycare center to their tiny two bedroom house on the outskirts of town.

“That’s a mighty fine pumpkin you got there, son. You picked out a winner,” the old man behind the register said. He reached down with gloved hands and plucked the massive gourd from the hands of Jack and set it on a large silver scale. The red needle swooped from zero to thirty five pounds.

Nancy stared at Jack in shock. “So much for twelve dollars,” she muttered under her breath.

“That will be three dollars, ma’am.”

Nancy stopped digging through her purse for a twenty dollar bill and stared at the man like he had grown an extra head. She opened her mouth to say something but just smiled instead. She pulled out a five and handed it to him. She looked back at the scale. The needle had settled right on the six pound mark. She rubbed her eyes to make sure she’d read it right and then at the large pumpkin on the scale. “No wonder he could carry it,” she whispered and looked down at a smiling Jack.

“Here’s your change, ma’am.” The old man smiled and handed her two dollars. She pocketed the change and picked up the pumpkin to hand to Jack. She nearly dropped it. It weighed more than her son did.

“Careful, ma’am. They can get slippery.”

She turned and nodded wide-eyed at the man. Jack reached up and took the pumpkin like it weighed no more than an inflatable beach ball. She stared at him as he ran toward their green minivan.

They made the trip home in record time. Nancy shut off the radio because she couldn’t find a decent song to save her life. Instead she smiled and listened to Jack as he rambled on like he was having a conversation with the pumpkin strapped into the seat next to him.

By the time they pulled into the driveway she was starting to worry. Jack’s conversation had turned into a full blown, one sided argument. Apparently the pumpkin was winning, too.

“Fine. Be that way,” Jack yelled and slammed the back door shut after he got out, leaving the pumpkin alone in the back seat.

“Are you going to carry your pumpkin inside, Jack?”

“No! He wants you to carry him in,” he said and stormed into the house.

Nancy shrugged and took it from the seat. She strained to get it inside the house, but she finally managed. Jack sat on the couch watching cartoons about undersea creatures with annoying voices. Nancy personally hated the show. “Are you going to help me carve it?”

“Carve what?”

“The pumpkin. Tomorrow’s Halloween. We won’t have time to carve it after you get home from scho–” The look of horror on Jack’s face stopped Nancy from finishing her sentence.

“Carve it? Carve it? Mommy you can’t kill Necrostophiles,” Jack said slowly, stumbling over the name.

“Necrowho?”

“Stophiles. That’s his name. If you kill him the other punkins will be very mad.”

“Okay, Jack. Why don’t you go get into bed? You’ve got a big day tomorrow. School and then trick or treats.”

Jack nodded and hugged his mother. She helped him get is pajamas on and got him tucked in. “G’night, Mommy.”

“Goodnight, Jackie. Sweet dreams,” she said and flipped the light switch by his door.

She made her way into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of red wine. She managed not to spill the over-full glass as she made her way back to the small living-room. She sighed wearily as she sat down on the couch in the spot Jack had vacated. She took a sip, realized she was watching cartoons, and flipped on the news. Story after story threatened to send her mood spiraling into the abyss. “The crazies are out early this year.”

She flipped off the TV, checked on the sleeping Jack, and made her way back into the kitchen. She drained the rest of her wine and set the empty glass on the kitchenette table holding Necrowhateverhisnamewas. She gave the pumpkin the middle finger and put her hands on her hips. She stared at it for a full minute before deciding she’d had enough. She opened the drawer under the microwave and pulled out a serrated kitchen knife.

She walked over to the pumpkin and put the tip of the knife about three inches from the stem. She smiled as she drove the blade into the pumpkin all the way to the hilt. The pumpkin screamed. Maybe it was her. Either way, she let go of the handle and backed up against the kitchen counter behind her. Blood, as red as the wine that had been in her glass, began pouring freely from the wound in the top of the pumpkin.

A low moaning noise filled her ears as the blood formed a pool on the table and began falling to the floor in a miniature red waterfall. Nancy turned to run and saw Jack standing in the entrance to the kitchen looking very angry.

“Mommy, I told you no!” He ran over to the pumpkin and began rubbing his hand gently over it and whispering to it softly. Nancy screamed and grabbed Jack’s arm. She tried to yank him away, but just like at the pumpkin patch, she couldn’t move him. He looked up at her and a single tear slid down his cheek. “You killed him, Mommy. I asked you not to, but you did it anyway. The others are coming. I won’t stop them either.

“Who’s coming?”

“The other punkins. You killed their king.”

Nancy put her hands over her mouth and stifled a scream as the first vine shot through the kitchen window. She ducked as it shot straight for her. She managed to dodge it, but a second, thicker vine managed to wrap itself around her neck. She grasped futilely at it as it kept tightening. Fighting to breathe, she reached into the drawer next to her and grabbed a butcher knife. She slashed at the vine and cut through it with one swing. The vine slipped from her neck. She ran back to Jack to grab him and run. She stopped before she touched him. His skin had turned a dark, brownish-green. His face started turning orange. His eyes glowed like twin candles and his nose sank into his face. He opened his mouth and flames flashed between his shrinking lips as his mouth curled in an insanely large smile that spread from ear to ear. She watched as her tiny son began to grow before her eyes. He towered over her, at least seven feet tall.

She started screaming.

Jack’s skeletal brown hand wrapped around her throat.

“I begged you not to kill him, Mommy,” he said in a demonic voice. “Now I am the Punkin King.”

 

* * *

 

Lately, I’ve been having some seriously sleepless nights. I blame it on all the stress on my life. While the lack of sleep isn’t very beneficial to my sanity, it does help me come up with some outrageous stories. I wrote this one around Halloween. I write a lot of horror, but I’ve been focusing a lot more on writing steampunk. I was feeling a little nostalgic for some creepy stories, so I penned The Punkin King. I fell asleep right after with a grin on my face that spread from ear to ear. I do so love Halloween.

 

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I Love Indie Books BLOG HOP!

Welcome to my stop on the

I Love Indie Books BLOG HOP!

Indie Hop

 

Welcome to the darkest corners of my mind…

Okay, it’s just my blog, but welcome anyway :D

My latest full length novel recently got a major cover overhaul. I know, I was pretty excited, too. I have another surprise for you. I held on to just a few of the first editions with the ORIGINAL cover…

“Why?” you ask. Well, for awesome giveaways such as this!

Now let me tell you a little about My Soul to Keep:

It was only a wish.

Connor Sullivan was painfully average. The very highlight of his existence was going to school, doing homework, and playing video games. He thought nothing

would ever change that. Unfortunately, homework usually screws everything up.

A cut, some blood, and a hastily scrawled promise to sell his soul for his fondest wish…and all hell breaks loose. Literally.

The Demons take him up on his offer.

In a last ditch effort to keep his soul, he wishes to become one of the demons, or Fallen as they call themselves. Connor thought he had found a solution
to his problem. He never fully understood the meaning of the phrase, “From the frying pan into the fire,” until his wish was granted. The biggest catch?
Never ever fall in love with a human…

And then she walked into his school. Beautiful, red-haired, funny…and blind. Connor’s heart didn’t stand a chance. Neither did the Fallen’s rules.
He had saved his soul, but could he find happiness without hurting the girl he loved? Or would secrets Jessica didn’t even know she had destroy them all?

SO WHAT CAN YOU WIN?

photo (6)AUTOGRAPHED first edition paperback and mini book charm!

HOW DO I ENTER?

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Now go back and check out the rest of the Hop Stops. Click Here!

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Tell A Story Day…part deux. (deux on my part, but there’s many more parts)

Okay. I’m sure you read my first part of the Tell A Story Day Story. I’m sure you went back and read it from the beginning to see the AMAZING story that has unfolded. I’m sure you continued reading the story after my part, too. If you didn’t…I don’t know who you are, I don’t know where you are, but I can promise you, I will find you and I will beat you with a wet noodle. Like, OMG…this is the coolest thing ever. What’s the matter with you? Anyway…here’s my second contribution to the story. Hope you like it.

“You would learn to love him in time…I’m almost sure of it,” Papa Noel whispered softly. More to himself than to his reduced-statured daughter. “Pretty sure.”

“You don’t care about that. You don’t care about me. You just want what he promised you!”

He spun, tearing his gaze from the surreal images emblazoned within the softly glowing glacier. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you think I didn’t know? Did you think that I wouldn’t find out?”

“Zyx…I…you must be mistaken–”

“Save it, Daddy. Tinselton is keeper of the list! Can you imagine his surprise when guess whose name should appear in the naughty column? Yours, father. You made the naughty list. I bet even you didn’t know that or were too wrapped up in your schemes to notice!” The confession brought forth hot tears that ran steadily down her elven countenance. The froze half-way and fell to the ice below, only to shatter…just like her dreams.

“But you have no idea, why!”

“Ha! Did you think Tinselton would see your name and not dig? Santa himself was being naughty. The elves that swore to serve you for an eternity to help you bring goodness to the worlds were suddenly faced with a quandary… Why would Santa’s heart turn black as the coal he justly gave to naughty children? Imagine the shock when they found out it was because you were going to replace them! Replace every single one of them with an automaton built for you by the Assembly General himself! All for the simple price of your only daughter!”

The very last vestiges of Christmas cheer left the jolly fat-man at that moment. His eyes turned as red as the suit he wore. The gentle snowfall took on blizzard-like proportions as the winds swirled in his anger. “I can’t take it anymore! I can’t stand them. The skimper-skamper of little feet in pointed shoes. The smell of gingerbread always upon their breath! Yes…I did it. But I did it for the sake of the children! How can I continue as the Claus when I can’t stand to be…

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Tell A Story Day

Very excited to be a part of the TELL A STORY DAY blog chain tale! It started on April 15th and will run until the 26th. Two people will add to the story every day until then!

If you’re just checking in start reading from the beginning HERE

 

Hope you enjoy my contribution :D

…Seafoam and Spiderpants by MANDROID.

 

Her voice resonated through the room like an untuned harpsichord as she strummed the four golden strings of her bone ukulele. Burbleglax whined pitifully from the corner as her cochlea shattered. Greenish ichor that passed as blood within the body of the gimpy imp began to leak from her cranial orifices. While Zyx’s singing caused her GREAT discomfort, it brought a modicum of peace to the exiled monarch.

Just as Burbleglax’s medulla oblongata was about to liquefy, the princess stopped her less-than-merry tune.

“I tire of song. I tire of romping through the woods on a white stag. I tire of everything! Burbleglax…it is time. Time to end my exile.”

“But, My Lady, where will you go. Your father will surely find you and force you to wed.”

“Not if he does not recognize his own daughter. I would rather face life as a peasant, than wed that monster!”

“But how?”

“We must find Doctor Glockenshpiel. If anyone can make my face look even better, surely the multiverses leading reconstructive mage surgeon can!”

* * *

The android slipped in a puddle of marinara the likes of which even a Chef Boyardee-bot had probably never seen. It coated the streets in a two inch thick miasma that stretched as far as the optical-sensor could see.

“Definitely the elf.”

Within seventeen nanoseconds, the android debated between Alice’s restaurant and the Fortress Boudoir of the Assembly General as the most likely destination of the elf. Sliding it’s hand along the puree covered asphalt, it lifted its mass and stood again. He turned north toward the Assembly General until a voice called out…

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Executive Decision

Okay, so…I’m not the president…YET.

 

But that doesn’t mean I can’t make an executive decision. In fact…I just did.

A while back , I wrote a short story as a call for submissions to an anthology. I don’t even remember what the anthology was about, but I ended up with a cute story at 4k words about vampires. The theme of the anthology dictated how the plot of the story played out. Needless to say it wasn’t accepted. It was for a large publisher and they had a ridiculous amount of submissions.

No big deal.

So what the hell was I sposed to do with this story?

I pondered and pondered and pondered some more. Then I had a minor flash of brilliance. I should just publish it and make it free. It’s much to short to charge people for.

So I did.

My intent was just to give people something to read for free when they had a spare moment and to give them an idea of what it might be like to be a vampire and live eternally. What lengths one might go to to keep a spark of life in an endless cycle of undead days.

I also figured people  might read it and enjoy it.

Maybe they would check out some of my other works.

Maybe hell would freeze over and politicians would develop souls.

The bitchfest started.

The reviews came in and people loved it or hated it. I mean that literally. The reviews were split right down the middle. Those who loved it explained why they did. Those that hated it just said it was a piece of shit and too short and not worth the one star they had to put to leave a review. Some of the reviews weren’t even in English (I do know how to swear in 47 languages and I could pick out a few choice words).

Just goes to show, you can’t give away something for nothing.

So I made an executive decision. Due to fear that people would ACTUALLY read the reviews an decide not to read anything of mine ever again…

THE GAMES WE PLAY will no longer be available on Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, Sony, Kobo, or whatever.

 I may post it on my blog as a free story down the road, but not until I figure out how to shut the comments off on my website!

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I’m Going To AA!

CHEERS!

Wait! What?

OMG. I’m going to AD ASTRA! Not Alcoholics Anonymous! Sheesh.

Okay, I can see by the confusion on your face that you have no friggin clue what an AD ASTRA is.

Neither did I, honestly, until I went to WORLD FANTASY CON last year with the beautiful, Jen Wylie. Everyone kept speaking about Ad Astra and asked if we would be attending. Naturally we said yes. One does not simply say NO to famous authors and stuffs.

So, come next Wednesday, I will be flying up to Canada once again to see the lovely, Jen Wylie, and spending a few days there before driving across the frozen tundra of Canada as we make our way, once again, to Toronto. I’m very excited. A lot of authors that we know but have never met will be attending. If you’re going to be in Toronto next weekend…Come see us! We’ll be running the UNTOLD PRESS table and selling our fantabulous books. Hope to see you there!

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3/18/2013

Okay. I’m sure if you’re visiting, you MIGHT have noticed some changes round these parts. I’m completely redoing my webpage, migrating my blog over here, and basically doing all the stuff I should have been doing as a good little author/publisher. So please excuse the dust while the renovations are in effect! And thanks for stoppin’ by!

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