Saturday, November 30, 2013

CYBER MONDAY SPECIAL -- Dec 2 -- My Horror Collection Silhouette of Darkness and all ebooks 50% off at Musa Publishing!




All Books are 50% at Musa Publishing. To receive this special pricing, you must purchase directly from the Musa site.

My horror collection Silhouette of Darkness is available by following this link:

Please check out the other great titles while you are there as well. The ebooks are available directly from Musa in all formats. Authors receive higher royalties when you purchase direct from the publisher.

Silhouette of Darkness  has been described a horror collection that is "Stephen King meets Quentin Tarantino."
Read the entire review here:

If you are shopping online on Cyber Monday, please stop by Musa and check out all the great titles in all major genres.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

My Poetry Debut "Recompense for the Ferryman" is Available Now


My poetry debut is a collection divided into four sections.

The title section finds a poet at the banks of the River Styx. With no coins to offer Charon, The Ferryman who provides safe passage to The Underworld, he offers poems instead, on the tropes of death and resurrection, hoping this recompense will suffice.

This section is the most "speculative" and will seem most familiar to readers of my short story collections.

"La Bete Cinema" offers a unique take on our nation's fascination (some might say obsession) with film as entertainment, art form, and cultural object.

I studied film theory and criticism at Sonoma State University and composed most of these at that time. They provided a more whimsical way to present what might otherwise be a dry subject to some readers.

The poems in "The Kapu and the Mana" take the reader to Hawaii, including four "chicken skin tales" based on local legends. My trips to the islands, especially Kauai, provide the imagery for these poems but several are told through a speculative fiction writer's lens.

"Refractions" closes the collection with poems of misdirection, distortion, and skewed versions of the "ordinary."

I would love to hear from anyone either by email or commenting on this post as to your thoughts about the poems.

Click the cover above or the link below to purchase the book directly from the publisher. You can also comment here or email me if you would like to purchase a signed copy directly from me.



Monday, July 29, 2013

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Preview Cover Art for my upcoming poetry collection "Recompense for the Ferryman"

I am finishing the final edits and compiling of my poetry for an upcoming collection "Recompense for the Ferryman."

The book will be in four themed sections, the first and longest being the title section.

Here is a preview of the great cover art in progress by Robert Zaillo.

I hope to have this published by the end of the summer.

Stayed tuned.

Friday, May 17, 2013

THE PHANTOM STRANGER: a new unpublished story makes its debut

Buy Kindle Version at Amazon


is a previously unpublished story included in Dark Eclipse Issue 21, the April issue of Stoker Winning Dark Moon Books' monthly e-magazine.

The story is written in American 19th Century Gothic mode, and tells the story of a man who is paralyzed when attempting intimate contact with women.

A phantom stranger appears and seems to offer the perfect solution, taking his place in awkward social functions.

But this deal with this mysterious double soon turns sinister, leading to tragedy and madness.

Check out this and other stories today in Dark Eclipse!

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Wormhole Sanitarium by David S. Pointer

Wormhole Sanitarium
David S. Pointer

The space asylum
had its own diagnostic
and statistical manuals;
its own online alien brides
forsaken over the cyber-
alters, it’s own inflatable
doll-bots dispensing all
medications meant to last
many an earth year and
methadone clinic criminals
denied eternal admission
into broken psyche-wards
undeterred, floating through
the halls in leaden slippers
dodging frontal lobotomies

Sunday, March 17, 2013

RARE--a Tale of Horror by George Wilhite

Excerpt from "Rare," a short story in Silhouette of Darkness

Jenna sunk her fork into the barely-cooked steak. She cut off a huge slab, devouring it as though she hadn’t eaten in days. The bloody juice trickled out of the corners of her mouth, and she sucked it back inside.
Watching his wife this way left Gary disgusted, yet speechless. He didn’t want to start another fight.

In the past, food seemed a non-issue for Jenna. She was never overweight or too thin. She just ate when she was hungry and always the right amount.

Now, this obsession with food.

But not just any food.

Meat. And the rarer the better.

In this story, Gary slowly discovers the secret behind his wife's recent bizarre cravings. But will he be too late?

Check out this story, and twelve other supernatural chillers. in Silhouette of Darkness, my latest colleciton from Musa Publishing.

Click here for more details

What Waits In The Calendar Shop? by Ken L. Jones

What Waits In The Calendar Shop?
Ken L. Jones

( For Marl Lee Roberts, 1951-2010)
(Just this simple epithet and nothing more, he was my truest friend)

The old man had taken new rooms. He took them because he wanted to get away from people and it had been a good move for him. High above a not very busy thrift store nobody bothered him that he didn’t want to and on top of that he had a nice view of the street below from the kitchen table where he spent most of his conscious hours nursing cup after cup of coffee while he composed the poetry and stories for which he was known. There was only one storefront across the street and it was empty when he had first moved into his new digs but two months after that somebody new opened up shop there. From the sign they raised above it he was able to ascertain that it was a place that dealt in calendars maybe exclusively. Now he thought that was very weird at first because most people bought their calendars right around Christmas if they bought them at all because lots of people got them as Christmas presents from someone so what would such a place do to keep the store open the rest of the year?
            Since it was well past the Christmas season now and the place seemed very busy every day he decided that maybe people came there to have custom calendars made. With this thesis in mind he paid greater attention to the comings and goings of the patrons of the place and was somewhat astonished to notice that every one of them seemed to be bringing calendars with them and then exiting later were missing them. After ascertaining this he started noticing that some of them only brought a single page from a calendar or in a few cases a clipped out day or two from a single page.  Now being naturally curious by nature he vowed to get to the bottom of all this and he probably would have but he had several deadlines to meet and a very time consuming family genealogy that he was working on for his grandchildren’s edification.
 It was during this time of searching out his family tree that he came across a TV commercial for a company called and he decided to try out their free trial period. While it wasn’t as great as they ballyhooed it to be it wasn’t totally worthless either and he was able to gather quite a bit of the info that he was looking for there. During the course of doing this an idle thought occurred to him. What if he could use it to trace someone he had lost track of someone he considered to be the best friend that he had ever had?   Unfortunately as he searched for the person in question one Marl Lee Roberts he came to find out that he had recently passed away.  The news shouldn’t have surprised the old man because Marl had never been a particularly healthy specimen but somehow the impact of learning this struck him a devastating blow and as he read the printout of the coroner’s report of his best friend’s death he felt sadder and more oppressed than he had about anything since his own father’s passing. The impact of all this brought his work to a screeching halt and he found himself obsessing about all the things he had always planned to say to Marl when he reestablished contact with his lost best friend and somehow the idea that this could now never happen shook the old man to his very core. 
            The only thing that seemed to distract him from this was his all consuming curiosity about the strange calendar shop that he had now spent so many hours staring at. Finally hoping to shake himself out of these terrible doldrums he resolved to actually go down there and explore the place for himself hoping to get to the bottom of whatever secrets it might hold. He waited a long time in its line and even though he attempted to strike up several conversations with the people in front of him and in back of him he was unsuccessful in doing so. As he looked up and down its long length he couldn’t help but notice that he was the only one there who wasn’t clutching some calendar page or a fragment of one.
Finally what seemed to him to be hours later he was inside the store itself and he could barely suppress a gasp when he stepped over its threshold. First of all the place was cavernous even though it didn’t appear to be from the outside of it. Most of it was an endlessly deep warehouse illuminated here and there by skylights in the ceiling whose shafts of light were golden and full of dust motes. Most of the place seemed to be taken up by what appeared to be library shelves upon which sat wire baskets which were each carefully labeled. By squinting to look at the baskets closest to him he could see that they were crammed with calendar pages and parts of ones. Stranger than that were the people who were working there for there were lots of them but they only seemed to be of two different types.  The men more than somewhat reminded him of the famous male model Fabio but they were even more muscular and handsome than he was. The women were also identical looking and resembled nothing so much as the most perfect blonde haired blue-eyed Playboy bunny of the year that Hugh Hefner had ever airbrushed into existence. The one hundred or so of them were all identically clad in what resembled long blue and white choir robes, tight fitting powder blue pants and soft black boots and they all seemed to smile softly to themselves as they went about their business. He had a feeling that all of them were watching him even though none of them ever made direct eye contact with him. He might have looked at them longer had it not be for the clearing of a gravelly mucus rich voice in the shadows behind him.
            “What have you got for sale?” the unseen voice inquired.
            “Nothing.” The old man replied.
            “Then why did you stand in line for all of that time?” growled the voice as the unseen man moved forward in his chair and was illuminated by a stray shaft of light.
            The old man was freaked out by how much this person resembled the great character actor Ed Asner. He was chomping on the butt of a cigar and had on a pair of plaid suspenders.
            “I live across the street and I was just curious about your place. I assume you sell calendars here or something like that don’t you?”
            “Yeah, something like that at least sometimes under the right circumstances. What’s your name?”
            The old man told him his full name even though he wasn’t sure why he did so then the other man disappeared into the shadow’s depths again. The old man then heard the sound of pages being turned as the other man mumbled to himself.
            After a long while he said, “Yes, you’re here and right on time. We have exactly what you need. It will cost you all the cash you have on you and here’s how it works. We are going to give you something in a minute and tonight before you go to sleep take the calendar page or portion thereof and place it under your pillow. This works out best if you start out real slow and you really should begin with the first day that you met Marl Lee Roberts… that is why you want to do this isn’t it?’       
            The old man just nodded yes, stunned by how surrealistic and unexpected all this was.
            “If it works for you, you can come back for more. You’re preapproved according to my ledger here. Now how much cash are you carrying on you today?”
            The old man took out his wallet and retrieved the hundred and forty-seven dollars that was in it and put it on the shadowy desk in front of him.
“Yes, this is more than enough to get you started.” He said then he got on the fuzzed out loud speaker in front of him and called out for Marhariel and one of the Fabio clones came forward and led the old man deep into the warehouse where he retrieved a complete calendar page and three partial sections too.
            Marhariel put his hand on the old man’s shoulder and smiled in a sincere way when he handed them to him. Too stunned by all this to think straight the old man floated out of the place on numb feet and somehow without conscious thought found himself back in his sequestered rooms. Being exhausted he immediately prepared the calendar pages on his bed as the other man had instructed him to and fell upon it still fully clothed. As he drifted off something about the segue into the past reminded him of the same rush and thrill he got whenever he watched his DVD of the musical version of the Phantom of the Opera as directed by Joel Schumacher where the disfigured crooner sailed through the Paris sewers on his gondola boat. The past of course turned out to be the past and what it once was and will always be but it was also at the same time pulsatingly pristine and brand new to him as he relived it all once again.
            The first day naturally enough that he re-experienced was when he began work at Knott’s Berry Farm. Now he had been hired for minimum wage to work less than fulltime at night guarding the amusement park’s parking lots and making sure that fence jumpers did not get into the place for free. The work was alternately way too boring or way too exciting for his taste but since he had just gotten married and what he had majored in at college didn’t translate into too much in the real world he had to make a living. He liked a lot of the other guys that he worked with doing this but one in particular seemed to gravitate to him. He was exactly his age, was married and had a small baby daughter and was moonlighting at this job from his fulltime work in a hospital laundry. Unlike the old man he had been hired because his mother-in-law and brother-in-law were both long time employees of the place.
At first the old man hadn’t know what to make of this rotund little man from Texas with the bad teeth and glasses and wiry hair and mustache because he really had never been very sociable even as a child and had never had any very deep or long term friendships with other men or boys but there was something about Marl Lee Roberts that won him right over and made him come to regard him as the brother he had never had. For one thing they pretty much seemed to like all the same things. Then there was the fact that he found that he was comfortable in saying anything that came into his head to Marl who acted like he was honestly interested in hearing it and so he wound up taking him into his complete confidence and telling him things that one would only tell their own priest or minister.
 Then there was the fact that Marl was honestly the most generous person he had ever encountered. He literally would do anything for the old man to help him out at anytime and at any place and he never asked for anything in return or even brought it up after he did it. Because of all this the old man and his wife and the Roberts family became very close very fast which was especially fortuitous since about six months into all this the old man’s wife became pregnant un-expectantly with their first child. All of that was very disorientating to the old man and he literally couldn’t have gotten through it without Marl’s constant encouragement and many acts of helpfulness through it all. This relationship burned brightly for about six more months after his first son was born and then needing better employment for his growing family the old man went fulltime doing roustabout work for the state school district and as happens despite either side not wanting it to the two fast friends drifted apart due to lack of proximity. 
A decade passed during which another son was born and due to extreme dissatisfaction with the school district work the old man pursued his real passion which was to be a writer of comic books. He was just in the earliest stages of making this come true when one day he took his family out to Disneyland where they had year round passes and they by chance met on Tom Sawyer’s Island there Marl and his family who had also added a son to his kin. All was wonderful once again and it was if they had never drifted apart and Marl became instrumental in helping the old man make his writing career happen including driving him hundreds of miles sometimes to meet people and go to such places as the San Diego Comic Con and Disney and Paramount Studios, which was both vital and deeply appreciated as the old man never had driven a car nor ever would.
 Then another five years flashed by during which the families were inseparable and during which the old man drove himself so hard and fast achieving his writing goals that he shattered his health. During this time of sickness and confinement the ever active and gregarious Roberts clan drifted on to new concerns and as the old man’s family moved further away from where Marl lived in his mother-in-law’s rented house they once again lost touch.
This time being so distracted the old man didn’t give much thought to it and kept thinking that they would come back together again as they had in the past but his thoughts of Marl’s friendship were never far from him on a daily basis and as he graduated from writing comic books to writing short stories and poetry for publication a thinly disguised version of Marl crept into a series that he wrote on a regular basis about an occult detective in the 1970’s.The old writer’s children grew up during his time and moved on and at some point after that his wife grew tired of him and so he found himself single once again.
He tried living in a couple of different places then settled into his current address where he occupied most of his waking hours producing his literary endeavors while pretty much cut off from the rest of the world. Through it all he was hoping for one more reunion with Marl and would have settled even for a simple phone conversation with him but somehow despite the old man’s best efforts that never came to be and then with the accidental discovery of Robert’s death certificate online all hope of that was forever erased this side of the other side.  Something about learning this had a very bad physical effect on the old man and his health and it literally became as if he felt himself slowly fading from existence. Now each new day he felt like he was becoming more and more of a ghost and he actually embraced the idea of that. Through it all he even more intensely sought out the comfort of the calendar shop and the pleasant memories of his friendship with Marl in better days that were available there.
            It was in the coldest part of that winter that he realized that his end was near but that didn’t hold much fear for him. He took great solace in how kind and caring the old Ed Asner look alike was and then one day “Ed” came out from behind the desk and put a fatherly arm around him. He escorted him away from the front of the building into a golden buttery shaft of light and whispered quietly into his ear, “I think you’ve known for a long time who we really are and what this place really is. Tonight you will pass over in your sleep. I think that you might want to go into one of these calendar days and stay there forever. Correct me if I’m wrong about that.”
            The old man who could barely talk just nodded yes. He now realized that he could only travel back into the past via calendar one last time and that he would never be able to return again to the real world after he did so. The basic idea of that didn’t bother him much and his recent reunions with Marl during which they had relived the totality of their deep friendship had been more then satisfying the second time around. But yet which of those many good days would he want to be encased within forever? Then it dawned on him and he went and spent his last dime in the world on a calendar square that said January 8, 1983. Like he had done before he placed it under his pillow and went to sleep only this was a deeper and even more profound sleep than any of the others or of any other sleep he had ever experienced or had ever heard of before. He awoke in his and his wife’s bed back in the apartment that they and their young sons shared. All was as it was back then. Donna and his sons had already gone visiting her parents and as he well knew Marl was already on the way to pick him up so that they could go aluminum canning together. The old man pulled on some scrougey old work clothes and ate a handful of bologna and American cheese which he washed down with Royal Crown cola which he drank from the large bottle in their refrigerator and then Marl arrived. The old man brought along his homemade can picker which was two interconnected steel tubes that could be telescoped out from one another and which ended in a long bent out coat hanger. He also brought along several large red potato sacks that were perfect for keeping cans and deposit bottles in. Marl and he had decided to check out a far away beach to see what treasures lay there because everyone had told them that it was chockfull of such items. All the way there they had chatted happily about everything under the sun especially their future plans as they listened to the oldies station K-Earth 101 and grooved on the good old rock and roll from the fifties and sixties that it played.
            Now none of Marl’s cars was ever much to look at and the one he had that day was no exception but it felt to the old man like he was riding in the finest of stretch limos. Before long they were at the beach and it was a perfect salty gray day there and the place felt tangy and bracing. The delicious smells of the previous evening’s barbeque pits made the air pregnant and mouthwatering. The cawing of the seagulls was in perfect synch with the rhythm of the pounding surf. Marl and the old man were like kids again. All their cares were far away from them as they picked up bottles and aluminum cans and odd bits of bric-a-brac that caught their fancy. In a very short few hours they had almost more than Marl could take away in his car. On the way home the old man knew with every cell of his body that they would stop for simple fish sandwiches, malts and onion rings at McDonalds and then would visit several used book shops and comic book stores. Then they would go back to Marl’s funky rented house where both their families would be waiting to join them for an evening of Marl’s “burnt bernie” hot dogs cooked on his scorching  portable barbeque. This would be followed by a night spent watching newly released VHS’s that their wives had rented for them.
All seemed right with the world because there was still so much time ahead of them, time to have fun time before they would have to grow old, time to accomplish all that they hoped to achieve and as Marl’s mother was often quoted by him as saying “And it was good” as good as anything could be and truly all of this was Heaven for it would now never have to end and would keep on recycling itself through all of eternity like an aluminum can picked up on a perfect beach by the two best friends that there ever were.

Friday, March 8, 2013

Try Some You Might Like It by Kevin L. Jones

Try Some You Might Like It


Stillness had come over the old white house that stood directly across the street. He could not put his finger on it but something about the home was different. It was almost as if one day it had been alive and vibrant then suddenly it had passed on. Ordinarily he would not have been quite as worried about this but this was not an isolated incident. The whole neighborhood seemed to be little by little growing quieter. Being a retiree he had little to occupy his time. He would spend countless hours doing busy work in his front yard’s flower garden. During his labors he had noticed a rhythm to his street. People coming and going, getting their mail, mowing their lawns in the same general time frames but that had all changed with the arrival of the strange boy with the dark piercing eyes.

He had first noticed the peculiar child lurking around the neighborhood a few weeks back. There was something about this kid that was just off. He didn’t seem to belong to anybody and the other children wanted nothing to do with him. The strange lad would stand on the sidewalk bouncing a small black soccer ball up and down for hours on end. For the longest time the old man thought nothing of this but then he began to notice something eerie. Whichever house the odd boy would dribble his ball in front of would soon go quiet then there would be several more missing faces in the neighborhood. As the old man sat at his kitchen table pondering all this, his stomach began to rumble. Feeling suddenly famished he went to the refrigerator in search of sustenance. Inside setting on a plate were two large steaks that he did not recall purchasing when he had last made a trip to the market. He shrugged his shoulders and muttered, “Must be getting senile.”

He removed the cuts of meat and fried them up. After he had greedily consumed his meal he decided to take a stroll around the neighborhood to walk off his supper. As he wandered along he noticed a police car parked out in front of the Kovac’s house. An officer with a clipboard in hand stood on its porch taking a report from a visibly upset Mrs. Kovac.

As the old man shuffled passed he said to no one in particular, “Neighborhood’s going to hell in a hand basket.”

As he neared his home he saw the strange boy who endlessly loitered around the neighborhood exit the Widow Murphy’s home. His black soccer ball was tucked under his arm and over his shoulder was a brown burlap sack. As the boy stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of him the old man decided he would follow him and see where he lived. As he traveled in the odd child’s wake he noticed something dripping from his sack. The old man stopped, bent down and dabbed some of the liquid onto his finger. The fluid appeared to be blood. The old man frantically looked around and for a moment he thought he had lost the boy and his strange burden. 

The old man balled up his fist as he saw the child cross onto his own lawn trampling through his flowerbed as he made his way to the old man’s front door.  He shuffled after the trespasser as fast as his elderly body would allow. The old man was more than a little surprised when he saw the boy open his front door and enter his home. He could not even begin to guess at how the intruder had gained entrance to his home given the fact that he knew that he had locked the front door before he had left for his walk. He rushed in after him and saw the boy vanish into the basement shutting the door behind him as he descended the stairs. When the old man arrived at the cellar he was shocked to see a large padlock on its door that he had never seen before. He angrily grumbled, “What the hell’s going on here? Is this kid Harry Houdini or what?”

As he stood pondering the things he had witnessed that night something drew his attention to the framed photos that lined the hallway walls. He began to tremble as he examined one of the photographs more thoroughly. The picture was of his mother and standing next to her was a boy with a black soccer ball clutched in his hands. It was the same boy that had vanished into the basement moments earlier. He wondered how this could possibly be since he was the child in the photo. Somehow he knew the answer to this strange string of events lay beyond the basement door. He went out to the garage, retrieved a hammer and smashed opened the padlock with one vicious blow. Slowly he descended the basement steps and by the time he finished his journey down the short flight of stairs he knew that he was hopelessly insane. His missing neighbor’s dismembered corpses lay scattered haphazardly on the cellar’s cement floor. In the corner sat a pile of human bones. He felt bile rise up into his throat when he observed that some of the skeletal remains bore his teeth marks. The old man began to sob when he saw the boy seated at a wobbly card table. Piled high on a plate before him was the butchered remnants of Mrs. Murphy. The boy motioned to a folding chair and the old man took a seat. The child stuck a fork into a hunk of the raw bloody flesh and offered it to the old man. The child smiled sweetly and whispered, “Try some you might like it.”

The old man ate the offered morsel and God help him he found that he did like it very much indeed.

About the author:
Kevin l. Jones comes from a lifetime of experience in the popular arts. He has in the last two years widely published at such companies as Static Movement, Panic Press, Red Skies Press, and Rainstorm Press where he has gained great notice for his many works of short horror fiction. He has been especially prolific at Static Movement where he has over fifty stories either come out already or are about to be published soon.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

New Fiction by Ken L. Jones

The High Tower of the One Orbed God


Ken L. Jones

A giant of a man named July Star was riding a huge Clydesdale warhorse which had an ornate saddle and which had shrunken human heads woven into its mane. The rider was covered in tattoos of mystic symbols both on his bare chest and upon his bald head and clean shaven face where he also had war paint and a huge earring in one of his ears. He was considered handsome by the standards of his time and was hugely muscled and was clad in tight buckskin pants and high topped deerskin boots.  The terrain he rode through was bombed out, burnout and full of large craters in this era known as the Dark Days. As he rode on he eventually spied a high tower that had somehow survived all the recent carnage.
            “By the Mother of All Wheat yonder lies the tower of the one-eyed god, “he mumbled to himself. “Tis said that those who undergo the rites of that demon are never fit for a useful life again.”
            Coming upon the place at last he tethered Mankiller his horse and then retrieved a long crude hemp rope with massive stag antlers attached to it from the back of his mount. The elders of yonder Pitts Place had hired him to destroy this scourge before there was no one left to till and tend the fields anymore and he was more than glad to do that for them for the price they had agreed upon. As July Star swung the makeshift grappling hook he invoked the Father of All Rain and if to guide his aim and if to prove that deity was listening, his rope caught the ledge of an open window at its apex with nothing more than a gentle clanging. July Star then pulled a huge battle axe from its berth in the side of Mankiller’s saddle.
            “By the Womb of Stars let nothing know to man stand ‘gainst this pure forged steel and my own good right arm,” he prayed aloud tucking the weapon into his belt as he began working his way up the rope.
            It was a long dizzying climb and he tried hard not to be nervous about how high he was up now. Something like a demon’s chatter began to make itself manifest the closer he got to the top of the tower and he realized that it must be the mad god he had heard such fearful whispers about.
            Finally reaching the ledge of the window he looked in the room and gasped in astonishment. “Such wizardry have mine eyes ‘ner beheld in truth this god holds his supplicants prisoner by magic most black indeed.”
            Thus saying he came carefully into the room and with battle axe drawn reared back and shouted for the Green Goddess Liberty’s torch to guide his aim. Leaping boldly into the room he was shocked to see the source of all this. It was an ancient dusty square of some kind that was flat and somewhat resembled a black mirror. Images and voices leapt across its ebon depths. Nearby it were other strange and ancient boxes that seemed to have something like veins and arteries running into it. Lying around it on the dirty stone floor were the missing inhabitants of Pitt’s Place that he had been sent to liberate. They were glassy eyed and drooling on themselves as they stared at the god and something about their very demeanor reminded him of the dreamers in the lotus eating palaces he had been in, in many a distant flesh pot of a decadent city . Always a man of direct action July Star jumped over the groveling worshipers with his battle axe reared back and with all of his might he planted it in the lone orb of this pulsating god and as he did so it bit him back with something very much like lightening the shock of which sent him flying across the room even as his axe remained melted and fused with the now sputtering and smoking eye of this evil god from a long lost era. Screaming and crying at the death of their end all and be all the one-eye god’s followers dove one after another to their death out the very window that July Star had just climbed through leaving no one who knew the exact details of what had just transpired to besmirch July Star’s otherwise unparalleled reputation.
This was the only time that July Star ever walked away in shame from an assignment or bounty that he had agreed to execute. He slunk off to new adventures and he always bristled if any one mentioned the one time he had failed or dared to ask him what had become of his signature battle axe. The weapon remained embedded in the high tower even after everyone deserted the now mute god.
Two centuries later a young man hearing the tale of all this made his way to that fearsome place of rumors and because of his titanic strength arms and the truth of his intentions was able when no other man could to withdraw the battle axe from its place of long interment and in doing so became a mighty king whom people spoke of for many centuries after that.

Visit Ken's poetry page on this blog: for more information on the author as well as many of his poems.

Monday, January 7, 2013




LEENA7--On the Verge of Madness, signed

Pamlea K. Kinney--Musa Gift Certificate


I will contacting you all via email.
Thanks to all who stopped by!

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Welcome to the New Year's Blog Hop!

Click Here to Jump to the Main Page
Well, it's 2013 so the world didn't end as predicted once more. I trust none of you reading this went too overboard in expectation of yet another predicted apocalypse and lived your lives to their fullest despite all the hype. The world moves on and what better way to start the New Year than by blog hopping, meeting new authors, and perhaps finding a new book to read?

As part of my post, I am featuring a story from a frequent contributor to this blog, Dorothy Davies, "Happy New Year." To read this story click this link:


CARRIE ANN  BLOG HOPS IS GIVING AWAY THREE GRAND PRIZES. You, as a reader, can go to EACH blog and comment with your email address and be entered to win. Yep, you can enter over 200 times!

1st Grand Prize: A Kindle Fire or Nook Tablet
2nd Grand Prize: A $300 Amazon or B&N Gift Card
3rd Grand Prize: A Swag Pack that contains paperbacks, ebooks, 50+ bookmarks, cover flats, magnets, pens, coffee cozies, and more!


Signed copy of my self published debut collection of horror stories On the Verge of Madness. For more details and reviews of this book, click this link: On the Verge of Madness.

$5.00 gift certificate good towards e-books at Musa Publishing. Check out my new collection from Musa, Silhouette of Darkness or Musa's Main Page to explore the e-books available. 

COFFEE!! -- Your choice of either Starbuck's $5.00 gift card for (2) Specialty beverages (ecups) from Peet's.


Simple! Leave a comment on this blog post. Say something about New Year's Eve, New Year's Day, your resolutions for 2013, the 12/21/12 hype--anything along those lines.

You must provide your email address in the comment to qualify. I don't want to pick a winner and then have to find them. It's not fair to the other participants.

The gift certificates can be sent via email.

If you are the winner of the signed copy of On the Verge of Madness, I will pay to ship it to you but you will need to provide a shipping address.

You can enter once per day, so that gives you up to six chances--you just need to make a unique comment each time--no cutting and pasting! PLEASE NOTE--YOU WILL ONLY BE ENTERED ONCE PER BLOG FOR CARRIE ANN'S GRAND PRIZES.

I will post the winners at this blog on January 7, 2013.

This contest is fully administered and funded by this blog and is in no way affiliated with the giveaways of the main blog page or of any of the other participants.

Enjoy the hop and good luck with your prize entries. Before returning you to the hop, and the over 200 great blogs involved, I will leave you with a quick poem by David S. Pointer, another frequent contributor to this blog.

Please follow my blog for more information about myself, other contributors and special guests that pop in from time to time. Mike Flanagan, director of Absentia, and Jeffrey Thomas, author of the Punktown novels are just two guests to be interviewed here in 2013.

David has recent work in Star*Line and elsewhere. He is the author of Sundrenched Nanosilver (soon to be reviewed and featured here), Sinister Splashplay, and others.

Post Party Clean Up
David S. Pointer

Every white January 1st,
womens’ bodies strewn
on our front lawn like
yard art decorations,
encased in protective
metal, we kiss to great
days ahead then release
champagne bottle shaped
balloons before alerting
locality bound space cops