Archive for the ‘weird fiction’ Category
A Deity in Therapy, For the Love of Art, and What Kind of Monster? originally appeared in Flashshot Magazine.
A Deity in Therapy
Nyx spread her cloak of starlight across the therapist’s couch then settled her raven head against the leather arm.
“Why would one as old as you need a mortal’s help?” The doctor scrawled a note in his journal.
She laid a hand made of midnight clouds against her brow. “When you are the mother of many discordant deities, it tends to wear you down. My dark children clamor to me for advice. To settle their ceaseless disputes.”
The psychiatrist nodded.
“At least my offspring who roam the day are blessed. Such a carefree existence in the light.”
For the Love of Art
She slid the hammer over his throat. A winter wind fluttered through the open window and plucked the hair from her cheek.
“Wouldn’t you prefer the blade?” Her face held the beauty of deep concern.
“No.” He smiled and kissed her slender wrist. “I want it to be messy. My death should be like my art—chaotic.”
Biting her ruby-painted lip, she drew the claw-head up and back over her head. “I’ll paint a cityscape with your brains, lover.”
“That will be nice, dear.” He nodded, before the blunt, round steel smashed his skull open.
What Kind of Monster?
Ramona shivered as she secured the manacle around his thick wrist. “No idea?”
He shook his bent head. “None.”
Water trickled down the dungeon walls and blended with his blue-black hair.
“The transformation begins.” She swallowed. “We’ll soon find out.”
“No, we won’t.” His voice sounded like metal dragged over broken glass.
Ramona watched as his body contorted into something between animal and human. “My god,” she cried. “What are you?”
“I wish I knew.” He leapt forward and broke the chains, then he tore her throat out.
For more free fiction, check out Happy Birthday, Clandestine.
Copyright 2004 – 2016 Louise Bohmer. All rights reserved.
Happy Birthday, Clandestine originally appeared in Alien Skin Magazine.
Happy Birthday, Clandestine
He led her down the rough, pine board stairs. A spicy mixture of herbs, incense, and old dirt perfumed the air.
“What have you gone and done this time?” She squeezed the arm of her shaman lover, anxious for the surprise he promised.
“I hope you will like it.” He stroked the length of her chestnut tresses and she shivered.
Her bare feet touched the cool, earthen floor, and she fiddled with the black silk blindfold, willing him to take it off with her eager thoughts. “I’m sure I will.”
A humming, thick and low, poured up through the terra firma and into her feet.
“Have you modified it?” She cocked her head and listened while he removed the scarf from her eyes.
“I bought a new one for your birthday.”
He kissed her forehead and the loose skin there moved beneath the motion of his lips. She pushed him away with a half-hearted hand. The decay of her flesh disturbed Clandestine.
“Oh,” her sadness dashed as her eyes focused, “you painted it.” She kissed him. “How thoughtful, darling.” Running her hand along the length of the freezer, she admired its fresh ebony surface. “It is beautiful.” He’d added golden moons with passive faces, and stars as well.
The shaman wrapped his arms around her waist, and a bit of inner meat pulled free from her ribs. “I’m glad you like it.”
Freeing herself of his touch (it only renewed the memory of her death and impatience), she turned and cupped his face. “I’ll sleep like a queen.”
His smile held melancholy as he took her hands in his. “Shall we open it then?”
She sighed, and a hollowness in her chest argued with her need for regeneration.
“Yes.” Bending her head, she kissed the tips of his fingers. “I think it’s time.”
He moved in front of her and peeled the lid back. A gust of wet, frozen air lifted and brushed against her face.
“I am … a year older.” Coming closer, she wrapped her fingers around the lip of her chamber and stared down at the bed of waiting ice.
He nodded, and she noticed the tears he would not shed.
“It means a year longer,” he closed his eyes and took a breath before he continued, “spent in slumber.”
She knew he was trying to hide the pain from her — such a bittersweet arrangement they had.
“I know.” Kissing the point of his hawkish nose, she left a bit of rosy-lip-turned-grey on the tip of his aristocratic profile. She tried to wipe it off, but he stopped her.
“Leave it, please?” His voice wavered enough to break her sluggish heart.
He helped her into the resurrection tank and she settled into a comfortable position. He zippered her into the body bag quilt, tucking the metal tab securely under her chin.
“It will seem like only a day.”
“Yes.” He laughed sadly, while he traced the hole in her cheek with a slow, lingering finger. “Only a day.” The lazy circles he made tickled her exposed jawbone.
“I’ll dream myself as a redhead this time.” She grinned and closed her eyes, unable to keep them open a moment longer. “Would you like that?”
“Very much.” The darkness behind her eyelids deepened as the lid descended. “Happy Birthday, Clandestine.”
Copyright 2004 – 2016 Louise Bohmer. All rights reserved.
I had the pleasure of interviewing Ben Eads recently for his Cracked Sky blog tour, and I’ll be writing a review of Ben’s debut novel later this month. It’s a great read I highly recommend you check out. Interview and buy links below. Be sure to drop by Ben’s site and pay him a visit also: http://beneadsfiction.com/
Ben Eads Interview
LB: What did you find was your biggest challenge when you started editing?
BE: Finding the best way of expressing to the author their options to fix a character’s motivation, development or whatever may be lacking. Also, being capable of giving them good examples. Some issues could be surgical and some may be larger. I love helping out my comrades-in-arms with critiques, edits, etc… I love the community and everyone pays it forward. We’re all in this together.
LB: What particular books and authors inspired you when writing Cracked Sky?
BE: I avoided reading while writing Cracked Sky. I didn’t want anything spilling out or imitating a “voice” sub-consciously. Whether I like it or not—ha!—I can’t ignore the influence of Lovecraft, Machen, Borgis, Philip K. Dick, Barker, Gaiman, etc… I think Barker’s The Great and Secret Show was the book I kept reminding myself of and the emotions it evoked. I’ll never forget that one.
LB: I’m a sucker for books that involve other dimensions. What drew you to this topic for Cracked Sky?
BE: Once the “movie-trailer” for Cracked Sky played in my head, I knew that death was not the end for this poor, four-year-old girl. Her parents have a heart-rending journey, and there is very little light at the end of that dark tunnel. Also, given the weight of the character’s emotions, it really wrote itself and went into that territory by necessity. I sincerely want to crank the reader’s imagination up as high as I can while connecting all the dots. It’s the kind of fiction I like to read and write. Sure, I’ve written some horror stories bereft the supernatural, but I’ll always try and push reader’s imaginations to new levels. Keyword being try. Ha!
LB: Your antagonist, Darrell, reminded me somewhat of Pennywise. What antagonists provided inspiration for creating Darrell?
BE: Pennywise is one of my all-time favorite creatures! King knocked that one out of the park. For Darrell, I really looked at the human condition itself, in extremis. The old phrase: One man’s terrorist is another’s freedom fighter, kept coming to mind. Hitler, Pot, Stalin or any real-life monster never viewed themselves as evil. Quite the opposite. These are people that found a way to justify their atrocities and believed in them whole-heartedly. Once someone loses their faith in humanity, especially due to a great loss, like that of a child, they may be capable of carrying out all manner of discord. Sadly, we see things similar to this on television all the time. Darrell is the best example of what could happen to anyone, should the proper stimulus exist.
LB: Describe the difference between wearing the editor’s hat and the writer’s hat?
BE: Night and day! When I wear the writer’s hat, it’s my world and my characters I’m creating. When I wear the editor’s hat, it’s all about making the story better. For me, it’s easier to beta-read and edit another’s work because I’m objective to it. It’s more difficult for me to see faults in my work because I’m subjective. We all need editors!
Grab Cracked Sky now at Amazon!
In honor of Women In Horror Month, here, in no particular order, are my recommendations of women who write in said genre that you should check out. These authors also write dark fantasy, historical, young adult, romance, and in a variety of genres, or they review horror. Definitely visit their sites and pick up a book! You can also check out Women In Horror at Facebook.
We’ve got a return guest in the forest today, who sat down with me and the satyrs and nymphs for three questions about Chuggie, Brent Michael Kelley’s muse and drought personified. So pull up a stump and settle in for a quick Q & A that’s sure to entertain!
Brent Michael Kelley’s debut novel Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater was released in December of 2011 from Omnium Gatherum. His short story “Ride” was included in Detritus, a collection of stories about collections (also by Omnium Gatherum). His story-poem “Gnoem” was published in A Pocketful of Moondust, a children’s anthology from Rebel Books (UK). He recently finished Chuggie’s next adventure: Chuggie and the Bleeding Gateways of Glughu, which is available now. His regular column “5 Keys” can be read in the pages of CadreZine, where every issue BMK offers five tips or insights for aspiring writers (or, at least he tries to until he gets derailed by his own logic). Visit him at: http://www.catbat.com/bmk/
Three Questions with Brent Michael Kelley
1. So who is this Chuggie anyway? A master of mischief and mayhem? A father of drought? Tell us more.
Chuggie is Drought personified on a world called Mag Mell. He’s the kind of guy who can drain a lake overnight, even rip the moisture from living creatures. He has vast destructive power inside that constantly begs to be unleashed. He has wiped out cities, turned forests into wastelands, and caused lots of misery the world over. Chuggie doesn’t like that aspect of himself. He found that when he got good and drunk, the thirst quieted. Naturally, he got all boozed up and put a curse of permanence on himself. He’s got an elongated skull with five horns growing from it, which combined with his drunkenness, makes it hard for him to fit in anywhere. He drifts about, getting in trouble and having adventures. His world is full of monsters and madmen, so there’s plenty of trouble to be found wherever he goes.
2. Chuggie already raised merry hell in a place called Stagwater. Now he’s back messing with the Bleeding Gateways. Can you tell us a bit about his latest adventures there, and what’s next for Chuggie?
Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater was the first book. Chuggie stumbles upon the remote city of Stagwater, where he finds himself caught in the middle of various forces battling for control of the city. In Chuggie and the Bleeding Gateways, we pick up with Chuggie a few days after the Desecration of Stagwater. There’s work to do, there are people to find, and there are monsters to fight. Chuggie’s new dagger, the Bleeding Jaws of Glughu, has been doing strange things. Like the first book, we follow some other characters, too. A lot of people like Fey Voletta, the young blade cultist who works with the Steel Jacks. Covered from head to toe in the ceremonial scars of her order, she’s exotic, sexy, and as deadly as the day is long. The Steel Jacks themselves are lots of fun. They’re creatures of pure energy who live inside 8’ metal suits. They’re masters of technology in a world of magic and mysticism.
Next up for Chuggie… I can tell you the next book has a working title of Chuggie and the Prisoner Gods. I can say nothing more than that. No, wait. I can say a little more. It’ll be filled with horrors, funny drunken ramblings, and plenty of colorful profanity. There’s a good chance this will Chuggie’s most horrific adventure yet. Should be some grins in there, too.
3. How did Chuggie come to claw his way inside your brain?
Back in college, an instructor of mine told us about her muse. This ghostly woman in a brown dress stood behind her while she painted. I demanded the Cosmos send me a muse of my own. I’d hoped for a pretty lady in a bikini or a tight leather dress. Instead, I was sent a gravel-voiced drunk who always had a story about everything. Imagine a very drunk and surly Tom Waits dropped in the middle of Monsterland. Now give him a chain linked directly to his ribcage and an anchor on the end shaped like a lady. There are no vampires, werewolves, elves, fairies, dwarves, dragons, orcs, or trolls. It’s so much fun to write about Chuggie and his friends, I plan to do so for a long time.
You can pick up Chuggie and the Bleeding Gateways now at: