 Excerpt From Trapped Within a Dream by J. P. Uvalle A blood-curdling scream from a woman jarred me awake. Darkness greeted me on all sides. I was on my back. Carefully, I reached out in front of me. My hands were only able to go so far before they met some kind of silk material. I pushed harder, testing the space. The hard surface wouldn’t budge. The air seemed to thin, my lungs struggling to reel in the air as the realization hit me. I was trapped in an enclosed space, a box or coffin with no way out. My breath became choppy, squeezing my eyes closed; the anxiety of being in a confined place pricked my skin with goosebumps. I could hear the blood rushing to my head as I tried to slow my breathing and think. Then I felt it. Little pinpricks on my legs. Then on my scalp, soon on my arms. A few. Then several. Something crawled down the front of my forehead to my mouth. Oh, God! I swiped at my mouth with a scream, flailing back and forth. Tiny little legs, even some bigger ones, covered every spot on my bare skin. Rocking to the right seemed to tip the coffin slightly. I repeatedly rolled to the right while swatting at areas on my body where I thought I felt spiders. The coffin tipped, landing with a loud boom, splintering open the dilapidated casket made of wood. The spiders spilled out around me. Shrieking, I jumped up to my feet to brush off ones still crawling on me and stomped on the ones on the floor: Axel, you monstrous jerk. The rest scurried across the floor in all directions, disappearing into the dark corners of the room.  JP is a beautifully twisted soul who has the divine ability to make the unbelievable believable. A Colorado girl born and raised, she graduated with a degree in veterinary medicine and worked seven years as a full-time ER tech. Marriage and two beautiful kids later, she currently works part-time at a general practice assisting in surgeries and performing dentals. When JP is not saving lives or coming up with my next plot twist, she loves traveling and spending time with family and friends.
 1) Why write horror?
I've lived in several haunted houses over the years. These places have allowed me to have a plethora of content swirling in my brain. And horror has just always been that genre that constantly pulls at me to come back to. 2) Tell us about your writing style - is it gore, psychological etc? It's a mix of gore and psychological. I'd say some of my pieces really make you think, while others can freak you out and make your skin crawl. And knowing that some of the elements are things I've actually experienced add more to the fun. 3) Who is your favorite woman in horror author? Ann Rice, her novels and movie adaptations are probably what started my love of horror. 4) Who is your favorite scream queen? Alas, I don't have one. I don't watch much television, I'm a rather boring adult. 5) What's next for you? I plan to release a plethora of short stories and the final novel of my trilogy this year. My schedule is booked solid for 2021.  1) Why write horror? My mom told me strange and creepy stories about her youth and elders from the early ‘50s growing up in a small country town, Crawford, Texas. I really enjoyed listening to them. Furthermore, my exposure to the horror/suspense arenas continued prior my junior high years. Again, my mom and I listened to an AM radio station on Friday nights, which aired scary and suspenseful stories. I was sold instantly and couldn’t wait until the next airing. Horror/suspense stories and movies pulled me onto the dancefloor in the ‘80s and has kept me on it to this very day. They made me jump, hide under the covers, look under the bed, pull my dangling foot from the edge of the bed and quickly tuck under the sheets, make sure my closet door was closed before going to sleep, and made my heart beat a little faster. From Scooby Doo, Tales from the Darkside, Night of the Living Dead, Friday the 13th, Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street, Buffy the Vampire, Creepshow, Forever Knight, Supernatural, Lost Boys, Fright Night, Blade, Hemlock Grove, Vampire Diaries, The X-Files, The Strain, The Unbreakable, True Blood, Hannibal, Stranger Things, Teen Wolf (MTV), Underworld, Creeped Out, Grimm, Locke & Key, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, American Horror Story, and Lovecraft Country universes and many more feed my love for horror. These movies/series all influenced my passion to read and create horror stories then and now. I enjoy gifting others scares on different levels too. Furthermore, I crave horror and the multiple elements that can bloom into diverse stories with amazing twists. Sometimes horror stories reveal more than you ever anticipated… 2) Tell us about your writing style—is it gore, psychological, etc? I’m a YA/NA author. Horror and suspense are my favorite genres, but not limited to. I enjoy writing diverse flashes, short stories, and longer works, while threading various social awareness themes into my stories, at times. I like mild gore and psychological building. When I allow the story to take over, I’m surprised where it ends up, which makes the best stories, in my opinion. 3) Who’s your favorite woman in horror author? This is a tough one, Sam. I have to share more than one, if okay. The fantastic Shirley Jackson, Toni Morrison, Tananarive Due, T.J. Wooldridge, and Eden Royce. “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson, Beloved by Toni Morrison, “The Garage” by Tananarive Due, and “The Skelly-Horse” by T.J. Wooldridge are all powerful stories that I continue to think about still. I just ordered Root Magic by Eden Royce—I’m very excited to dive into her new book. 4) Who’s your favorite scream queen? “I was wrong to raise you the way I did, but at least I can protect you. Nothing will happen to you. I know you thought this was my cage… I have to finish this…” ~Laurie Strode~ from Halloween Jamie Lee Curtis! I’ve been a huge Fan~Girl of Ms. Curtis since I was a teenager and today. I loved her in all the Halloween movies, The Fog, Terror Train, and Prom Night. I enjoyed her in the Scream Queens series—I wanted more seasons. I cannot wait until she confronts her brother, Michael Myers, again in the next Halloween installment. Ms. Curtis is a powerhouse actress and woman! When COVID-19 passes, I hope to meet her one day at a horror comic-con. I will be speechless as usual, whenever I encounter a celebrity. LOL! 5) What’s next for you? I’m in the process of organizing a new anthology of diverse short-stories and free-verse poems. I wrote some of those works, years ago. They’ve been on the back burner for long time—too long. It’s planned to be a novelette, but it may transform into a novella. Due to some of the themes in this anthology, it’s geared towards a mature audience. The working title is, Decayed Secrets. The COVID-19 blues has really stalled my writing. I’ve written a few short and flash fiction stories throughout the pandemic. However, I haven’t returned back to my next YA supernatural novel, Misties. I plan to after I wrap up Decayed Secrets. I bet you’re wondering what in the heck is Misties about. Well, I’ll give you a little hint—to stake or not to stake… wink, wink… Sam, I want to take this time to thank you for inviting me to your blog. Chasity and Debbie, thank you both for sharing my name with Sam—I appreciate you both! I’m very grateful for this opportunity and your precious time, Sam, to showcase me. Great questions! I hope to work with you again in the future. Take care and stay safe. I love hearing from fantastic readers, who already know me, and new ones too! My books, Doll Trilogy, and Boundless are available on Amazon and my website. Bio
Miracle Austin works in the medical social work arena by day and in the writer’s world at night and on weekends, when not NetFlix marathoning. She’s a YA/NA author who loves writing fictional horror/suspense short stories and novels. Miracle crosses other genres as well. Doll is her debut YA/Paranormal novel; it won 2nd place in the Young Adult category in the 2016 Purple Dragonfly Awards. She’s a huge StrangerThings/Marvel/DC/Horror Fan~Girl who looks forward to attending comic cons, book events, teen book festivals, and school visits, when pandemic passes. Currently, she attends events virtually. Miracle lives in Texas with her family, and she looks forward to hearing from her awesome readers, who already know her, and new ones, too.  1) Why write horror?
I have been a fan of horror from an early age. I watched the Friday the 13th movies and read Stephen King as a kid and it is my favorite genre. 2) Tell us about your writing style - is it gore, psychological etc? I prefer psychological, I think it is scarier although I do use gore from time to time. 3) Who is your favorite woman in horror author? I love Anne Rice but I like a lot of indie authors too - DJ Doyle, Lily Luchesi, Baileigh Higgins and so many more, it would take all day to name them! 4) Who is your favorite scream queen? Jamie Lee Curtis is the original and best scream queen and always will be. 5) What's next for you? I write a few different genres, but for horror, I think I will be working on the next book in my Hotel Hell series.  Amadan Dubh
Copyright D. J. Doyle Mike and Jerry wasted no time, when Mike’s parents pulled up outside the log cabin and raced to the river with their nets and buckets. Best friends since they were two, but not alike in any way, Mike had brown hair and eyes to match, while Jerry was ginger with blue eyes and freckled head to toe. “Be careful boys, don’t get too near the edge. Dinner will be in an hour,” said Deirdre, Mike’s mother. “We will. See you in an hour. C’mon Jerry,” Mike had begged his mother for Jerry to come along on their short holiday, saying he’d miss his best friend too much and would be bored without him. His little sister was too young to go fishing with him and cried as she saw the two boys, barefoot and in shorts, scarpering through the long grass. “Oh man, I hope we catch a toad,” said Jerry. “No, bruh, we want a fish. Imagine my Dad’s face if we went back with a huge flapping trout or pike for dinner tomorrow.” “Yeah, sure. I’m not a big eater of fish, though,” replied Jerry, and viewed the small bucket they had and struggled to believe a fish would fit. They stood at the bank with their nets stretched out, and waited to dip it in once they saw movement in the water. “Look bubbles,” yelled Jerry and pointed to the water. He swiped the net and scooped up, the murky water flowed through and splashed down below. A fish flapped in the net. Jerry brought it in close and picked the fish out of the net. Mike fell to the ground laughing, pointing at the little minnow fish, no bigger than his index finger, twitching in the breeze. “You got a huge one there, Jerry. We’ll have full tummies with that one,” he chuckled. “Not funny, Mike. I thought it was a large fish.” As Mike rested on the grass laughing, a buzzing noise flew by his ear, he knew it was too loud for an insect, but birds didn’t make that sound. He leapt from the ground and swung his head around. His pounding heart drilled against his ribs. “Did you hear that?” Jimmy frowned. “Hear what? Don’t start messing with me.” “I’m not, something buzzed right by my ear, something big. It wasn’t an insect, too loud.” “Well, nothing else buzzes. It’s your imagination. Are we getting into the water to get closer to the middle?” Mike still focused on his surroundings, he had a hunch it would pass by again and readied his net. “Shhh, I can still hear it, somewhat.” On the ground again, he instructed Jerry to hide in the long grass, while he waited. Adrenaline pulsed through his blood, as his vision became like a chameleon’s, darting in every direction. That’s when he saw it, a little black figure hovering towards him. Within a split second, Mike held up the net and swiped downwards, the metal wire slapped the ground. Without looking, Mike knew he had caught it. When he turned his head, he nearly shit himself. Although he was expecting some unusual insect, maybe affected by toxic waste and mutated, what he entrapped befuddled him. “Did you catch it?” asked Jerry from afar. “Yes, but I don’t know what it is.” Trapped in the net, stood a little creature about a foot tall, humanoid in shape, but with black leathery skin with a purple hue, blacker wings with a blue tint, and silver razor-sharp teeth which stood out because it had no lips. It had no eyes or nose, yet two tiny ears pointed outwards from each side of its head. Its growl and hiss were barely audible. Mike stood in a state of shock while he studied this ‘thing’ in front of him. “Let me see, let me see.” Jerry thundered towards Mike who put out his arm to stop him from getting close. Once it came into his vision, Jerry gasped and was about to scream but Mike covered his open mouth. “Shhh, I don’t think it can see us.” With a squeaky yet intimidating voice, it spoke, “I can’t see too well but I can hear and sense your every movement. If you release me, I will do you no harm.” “Wh...Wha...What are you?” asked Mike. “Why, I am a fairy, of course, Have you never seen a fairy before?” “Not like you. In the cartoons, they are bright and magical,” answered Jerry. It growled again. “I am known as Amadán Dubh, and I do have magic, yes, but as you can see I’m not beaming nor glowing.” “What does that mean? Amadán Dubh,” questioned Mike. “Oh, your Gaeilge is not good. It translates as ‘Dark Fairy’. As you can see from my skin, I am very dark.” “So, you can grant us a wish?” asked Mike. “No, but I give you some of my riches. I have plenty of gold.” Mike and Jerry glanced at each other and back to Amadán Dubh. “Well, will you release me for gold?” “Yes, of course. How can we trust you?” asked Mike. “Yeah, how do we know you won’t just fly away?” added Jerry. “A fairy cannot break their word, we wither and die an excruciating death. We must follow what we promise.” Mike turned to his best friend, “What have we got to lose? It’s not like we can keep it trapped.” Jerry shrugged his shoulders in a kind of agreement. Mike gently lifted the net. Amadán Dubh rubbed his hands together, his razor-sharp nails clanked as they hit each other, and sneered at the boys. “I hope you are up for the challenge to receive my gold.” “Challenge? You never said there would be challenges,” said Mike. “You don’t think I can just hand it over? You must go get it.” “And where is it?” asked Jerry, his hands firmly placed on his hips. “In the river, of course, well hidden from human eyes. You must go to the centre and dive down. There you will find a shiny, silver bag full of my gold.” “Hold on a minute.” Mike took Jerry by the arm and walked a few feet away from where the fairy was perched on a rock. “What do you think?” asked Jerry. “He could have flown away, but he stayed. It has to be real. Do we swim for the gold? I’m strong enough to dive, even with the current.” “Me, too. Let’s do this. Our parents will be so happy.” Amadán Dubh raked its nails off the rock, sharpening the talon-like claws. “Have you made a decision?” it asked. Mike stepped forward and nodded, “Yes, we’ll do it. Point towards the section we must swim to.” Amadán Dubh flapped its wings and set off down the river bank with the children running behind. As they sped up, Amadán Dubh turned, and from the palm of his hand, blew dust into their faces. They fell coughing and wiped their eyes. “What was that?” shouted Jerry. “Oh, just a little magic so you can breathe underwater. We’re here,” replied Amadán Dubh. Mike giggled. “It makes me feel funny.” He raised his hand and viewed his psychedelic aura surrounding his skin. “Wow, this is cool.” “You can swim down just there.” Amadán Dubh threw a pebble into the water which caused a splash and ripple. To the boy’s amazement, the ripple didn’t flow out, the water stayed alive in that little space. Mike dipped his toe into the fresh water and shivered. “With my magic, when you go under, you won’t feel the cold either,” said Amadán Dubh. Full of confidence, the boys cannonballed into the water and swam down to the bottom to find the gold. Although neither had tried to breathe yet through instinct, they were unable to find the gold on this dive and came back to the surface for air. “It is not there, you are lying, Amadán Dubh,” said Jerry. “No, it must be the magic wearing off, it only lasts a few minutes. Here, try again.” Amadán Dubh hovered over the water, his black wings fluttered majestically and it blew some more fairy dust into their faces. Without the first dust wearing off completely, the boys felt invincible. They dived down with full lungs and searched for the bag of gold. Coloured water droplets danced in their vision as the sun shone through, their hands tossed reeds and stones in search of the treasure. Still, they could not find the bag. It was time to resurface, but Mike pointed to his mouth, he was going to breathe out and then in. Jerry nodded, they felt safe. In unison, the boys opened, letting the old air bubble to the top, and breathed in the water, all the way to the bottom of their lungs. Instantly they knew their error and tried to swim to the surface, clutching at their necks desperate for oxygen. It was too far and the water inside impeded their efforts. Mike’s vision went blurry, his body jerked in distress. Jerry lost consciousness and his eyelids closed for the last time. Two bodies floated to the surface face first and looked as peaceful as angels. An immoral howl of laughter rang out from Amadán Dubh, and a high pitched calling to those hidden around. Eight dark fairies flew over the bodies, four on each, and clamped their spiked claws into the soaked tender skin, blood dribbled down and dripped with the water as their bodies were lifted out and carried away for a feast fit for a Fairy King. Amadán Dubh ensured there were no traces of the boys and slashed the net to smithereens, for no one captures an Amadán Dubh, the trickster Fairy, and lives to tell the tale.  In the 21st Century, horror movies have changed dramactically. They are much more inclusive, have improved on their special affects massively and the use of technology as a whole has changed everything about horror movies. Whereas in the past, the main character might be lost in the woods, with no way to call for help, now she can use her phone to get rescued. Movies have tried to include the new technologies, making them part of their story. They have had to move with the times, to make the story more realistic and to add new dangers for the characters to face.
Filmmakers have also been taking into account social trends and issues that are affecting people today. It is important that they keep listening to the public and improving as they progress. It will be interesting to see what movies will look like in ten, twenty or even fifty years time and it will be interesting to see if horror is still popular, although I believe it will always be a popular genre.  A toast to Death. (A short story by Baileigh Higgins) Copyright Baileigh Higgins “It’s the zombie apocalypse, huh?” Ryleigh asked as she pushed her empty glass across the bar counter. “For real?” “I guess so,” Gretchen answered, her eyes glued to the TV screen above their heads. She reached for the empty glass and tipped in a measure of whiskey on auto-pilot. Some of the golden liquid sloshed over the side, pooling onto the polished wood beneath. Ryleigh pursed her lips and reached for a napkin. “Don’t spill. We don’t know how long we’ll be trapped in here, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on sobering up any time soon.” She couldn’t afford to be sober. Not when worry and longing for her husband, Brandon, and the rest of her family, ate her up inside. “Sorry,” Gretchen said, still not looking away from the screen above her head. Ryleigh glanced up and immediately regretted it. Gruesome images of dead people eating living people were being aired on all the news channels. Criminals ran around looting and killing while the government tried to keep order. Troops were being deployed, schools and community centers barricaded, and panicked citizens evacuated to so-called safe zones. “Switch that off, why don’t you? It’s depressing,” Ryleigh said. “No more depressing than them,” Henriette said with a slur in her voice, pointing an empty tequila bottle at the front doors of the bar. Bodies were pressed up against the frosted glass, and blood was smeared across the gold lettering that read “Gretchen’s Pub.” Security gates added a much-needed layer of protection but couldn’t shut out the moaning and groaning. The sound was a constant reminder that they were trapped. Ryleigh looked away and sighed. “I wish there was some way to get rid of them. They’re killing my buzz.” “I know,” Gretchen said, switching off the TV. She reached for her phone and dialed her husband. Again. After a few seconds, she shook her head and tossed down the phone. “Damn it! Still no signal.” “Told you so,” Henriette said, her body slumped across the counter. She burped, and at the same time, her eyes went wide, and her cheeks paled. “No hurling on the counter,” Gretchen shouted. “Move!” Henriette lurched off her chair and stumbled toward the bathroom. Even so, they could hear her heaving into the toilet as she brought up the better part of a bottle of tequila. Ryleigh frowned and took a sip of her whiskey. “What a waste. Now she’ll have to start all over again.” Gretchen slumped against the chest freezer behind her, clutching a bottle of beer. Not one for hardtack, she preferred lighter brews and ciders. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” “We’re all starving,” Henriette said as she made her way back onto her stool. Her breath smelled of the mints Gretchen had placed in the bathroom ever since hurling became a regular part of their routine. “Is there nothing left?” Ryleigh asked, referring to the snacks they’d been living on for over a week. Gretchen shook her head. “Nothing. We finished it yesterday. All we’ve got left is the mints.” “She ate the last cupcake,” Henriette said, pointing an accusing finger at a snoring bundle of humanity in the corner. Lee-Anne. The youngest of them all at a tender nineteen years of age. “They were going off anyway,” Gretchen said. “The last one I had was green, and not because of the frosting, trust me.” “God, I can’t believe this is happening,” Ryleigh said. “Then you’re not drunk enough,” Henriette said. “Drink faster.” “So I can puke it all up like you?” Ryleigh asked. “No, thanks.” “Hey, don’t start your shit with me, Ryleigh. I’ll knock you so hard your own mama won’t recognize you,” Henriette said. Gretchen stepped in between them, holding out her hands. “No fighting in my pub. You want to fight; you take it outside.” Ryleigh eyed the zombies blocking the doors. “Uh, no thanks.” Henriette shuddered. “And end up like Cherise?” Ryleigh looked at their former friend, Cherise, scratching at the glass with bloody fingers tips. Her fake bunny ears still sat on her head, the left ear drooping sadly. Cherise was the reason they were all at the pub when Z-day hit. A bride-to-be celebrating her bachelorette party at Gretchen’s pub. Z-day. That’s what they’d named it. The day the dead rose and trapped them all inside the pub. Or should it be Z-night? Ryleigh snorted. It didn’t matter what they called it. Not really. It’d been a fun night at first, filled with shots, cupcakes, rude games, and more alcohol. By the time midnight rolled around, the other girls had left, drunkenly making their way home to their grumpy husbands. It’d been just the five of them left, stubbornly stretching out the party until Cherise wandered outside for a breath of fresh air. Ryleigh could still remember her screams as the crowd of zombies drawn to the pub’s music and lights surrounded her. Shocked into a semblance of sobriety, the remaining four girls stumbled outside only to be confronted by the sight of Cherise being ripped to shreds. The zombies hadn’t taken long to notice them either and left the unfortunate bride-to-be bleeding out on the asphalt as they made their way up the steps to the pub. Gretchen, not one to waste time on dirty bums and murderers, quickly slammed the doors shut and locked them tight. The girls were safe but also trapped. The only other exit, a wooden door leading to the storage room and kitchen, opened onto the parking lot next to the main entrance. They’d never get past the zombies in time. Shocked and horrified, the four girls had watched as the undead filled the lot, soon joined by a zombified Cherise who added her moans to the rest. And there they stayed, refusing to budge no matter how much time passed. At first, the girls tried to call their husbands and family, then the police, the fire department, the hospital. Hell, they even tried the veterinarian up the street—all to no avail. The networks crashed almost immediately, and not one of them got a call or message through except Gretchen. She received a garbled voicemail from her hubby, Gideon, that help was on the way. They just had to stay put. That was eight days ago. The Internet followed not long after as the local networks gave way, and the television soon began playing on a loop. The same footage aired over and over, and nothing new was coming through. Stuck, the girls decided they had no choice but to stay inside and hope that Gretchen’s husband followed through on his promise. Bored and frightened, they started drinking and haven’t stopped since. It numbed the worry over loved ones, the knowledge that death had come for them all. Ryleigh stared at zombie Cherise for several minutes before turning back to her glass. Confronted by the awful truth of their situation, she pushed it away. Her stomach rumbled, an empty pit that would soon lead to starvation. It was time to face facts. “No one is coming for us.” Silence fell as two sets of eyes swiveled her way. “You don’t know that,” Gretchen said. “Yes, I do. It’s been more than a week. Gideon’s not coming. No one’s coming,” Ryleigh said, raising her chin. “So, what do you suggest?” Henriette asked. “We save ourselves. We need food, or we’ll starve to death,” Ryleigh said. “Did someone say food?” a croaky voice said from the corner. Lee-Anne. “Awake, at last, I see,” Henriette said. “Huh?” Lee-Anne asked, her blurry eyes indicating she was still very much out of it. “Ryleigh thinks we should try to get out,” Gretchen said, folding her arms. “She thinks no one is coming for us.” “Well…are they? It’s been so long,” Lee-Anne said, earning her a death stare from Gretchen. “Come on, Gretchen. You know it’s true,” Ryleigh said. Gretchen stared at her with quivering lips before bursting out. “I know, okay! I know. I just didn’t want to admit it before. If I do, that means he’s dead.” Ryleigh sighed. “I’m sorry, Gretchen. Maybe he is dead. Maybe all our families are gone, but maybe not. There’s only one way to find out, though, and that’s not by sitting around on our asses all day.” Gretchen nodded slowly. “All right, fine. What’s the plan?” *** After sobering up with the last of the coffee, the four girls put their heads together and devised an escape plan of sorts. They got everything ready and lined up at the front doors, their faces pale but determined. “Okay, Gretchen. You open the door a crack while Lee-Ann blocks it with the chair. Henriette and I will kill them with these,” Ryleigh said, hoisting a broken beer bottle. “Deal,” Gretchen said, positioning herself off to the side. “Ready?” “Do it,” Ryleigh said. Gretchen unlocked the safety doors and slid them aside before turning to the glass front. Her hand trembled as she pushed the key into the lock, her knuckles white as she twisted the handle. Immediately, the door swung inward, the frosted glass groaning beneath the weight of so many bodies. Gretchen screamed as she pushed back, trying to keep it open only a crack. Lee-Ann pushed her chair into the gap, blocking the lower half. A foul smell washed into the pub—the rank smell of rotting flesh and unwashed bodies. Excited by the possibility of fresh meat, the zombies pushed harder against the barricade, with Gretchen and Lee-Ann struggling to keep them out. Panicking, Ryleigh jumped forward with her broken beer bottle and thrust it into the closest zombie’s face. The jagged edges cut deep, popping an eyeball like it was made from jello. Putrid fluid sprayed from the wound, and she pushed harder to reach the brain. The infected stiffened and sagged but didn’t fall away, propped in place by his brethren. Henriette moved in next to her and killed the next two zombies with wild yells of abandon. Blood sprayed into the air as the razor-sharp glass cut through flesh and flayed the skin from bone. She was smiling, her teeth white against her tanned skin, now speckled with crimson. “Are you crazy?” Ryleigh cried over the chorus of groans. She thrust her weapon at Cherise, who had reached the front of the pack. “Maybe!” Henriette shouted back, throwing herself at the next infected. “But who cares? We’re all gonna die anyway.” Ryleigh choked as a wild laugh that bordered on hysteria bubbled up her throat. She cut and slashed at Cherise’s once beautiful face. The bunny ears the girl had worn for the party were soaked in blood and barely clung to her torn scalp. Finally, Ryleigh scored a solid blow on Cherise’s temple, and the jagged glass cut into the brain. Cherise fell onto the other dead bodies that blocked the door but was soon torn away by the zombies behind. Fresh infected thronged the opening, eager for the kill. Lee-Ann and Gretchen shrieked as they began to lose ground, pressed back by sheer numbers. “I can’t hold them,” Gretchen cried, her lips bleeding where her teeth had cut into the tender skin. “Me neither,” Lee-Ann said, her expression strained. Henriette renewed her efforts, screaming like a banshee as she hacked and stabbed at anything without a pulse. Her bottle broke, and Ryleigh passed her a new one, scooping up a metal pipe when her own shattered as well. With the pipe, she killed two more zombies, stabbing the end into their eyes. Gradually, the crowd thinned, the corpses falling away and giving them breathing room. Encouraged, Ryleigh stabbed another infected, only to hear Lee-Ann scream in pain. Looking down, she spotted a zombie that had wriggled its way around the chair. It had a hold of Lee-Anne’s leg and was chewing on her denim pants, trying to tear through the thick material. With a deep breath, Ryleigh lifted the pipe and brought it down onto the infected’s skull. The iron rod skewered its head like a chicken kebab, spraying brains everywhere. The sight and smell were enough to push her over the edge, and she turned away just in time to spew all over the floor. The bitter tang of alcohol stung the back of her throat as she wiped her mouth. Straightening up, Ryleigh stared at the scene with watery eyes. Silence had fallen. Henriette stood heaving for breath, her face and arms covered in blood. Gretchen was wide-eyed and shivering. Lee-Ann cried while holding her leg, but a quick examination showed she was lucky. The zombie’s teeth hadn’t managed to cut through her denim. Ryleigh caught a glimpse of her own blood-spattered and frightened face in the mirror opposite her. She looked just as bad as the rest did. “So…what now?” Gretchen stood up and dusted off her pants. “Now we get the hell out of here. We can use the pub’s delivery truck.” Ryleigh nodded. The truck was big and sturdy. “Smart.” She helped Lee-Ann to her feet, and together with Henriette, they edged through the open door. The infected corpses lay dead still, their eyes milky, and their stench as powerful as ever. “Man, they stink,” Henriette said, her short red hair sticking into the air. “Poor, Cherise,” Lee-Ann said, looking at their former friend’s body, splayed out like a broken doll. “I feel so sorry for her.” “We’ll be the sorry ones if we don’t move,” Gretchen said as she pushed past them, her lips set in a determined line. “Come on.” Ryleigh and the others followed, tired and bloody. The night air was cool against her skin, and Ryleigh shivered as she looked around. “Where are we going?” “Somewhere safe, but first, I need to find my husband,” Gretchen said, heading for the truck. “We all do.” “What if he’s…what if they’re all…” Ryleigh faltered, unable to finish the sentence. “I’ll bet Peter is dead already,” Henriette grumbled. “Dumb-ass wouldn’t last a day without me.” Ryleigh stared at Henriette, wondering how the woman could be so unfeeling. Henriette noticed and shrugged. “I don’t mean it. Not really.” “Okay,” Ryleigh said, knowing Henriette’s prickly ways were just a front. She trudged along, her mood low, until she became aware of a deep rumbling. “What’s that?” “What’s what?” Henriette asked, twisting this way and that with a combative look on her face. “If it’s a zombie, I swear, I’ll squash it like a bug.” Ryleigh shook her head. “Not zombies. Vehicles.” A set of headlights appeared at the end of the street, followed by another set, and another. The girls pulled closer together, raising their weapons in readiness for trouble. The first car, a huge army truck, pulled to a stop in front of them, the engine rumbling like a big cat in the night. Ryleigh tried to shade her eyes against the blinding light but failed to make out any details. “Who’s there?” “Babes? Is that you?” a voice called. “Brandon?” Ryleigh called. Could it really be him? “In the flesh, babes! We came to save you,” Brandon called. “A bit late, aren’t you?” Henriette said, her hands on her hips. “Where’s that lousy man of mine, Peter?” “Over here, darling,” Peter said, waving her over. Henriette made her way over to him with a harumph, still clutching a broken bottle in each hand. Ryleigh turned her attention to her own husband and spotted him jogging toward her. He swooped her up into its arms, and she breathed in his familiar scent. Tears formed in her eyes, dripping onto his shirt. “I’m so happy to see you. I thought you were dead.” “I came close a few times, but we guys stuck together, and then we found this lot,” he answered, gesturing toward the army trucks bristling with soldiers. Gretchen grabbed Brandon’s arm. “Where’s Gideon? Is he here?” Brandon nodded. “He’s over there.” “Oh, thank God,” Gretchen cried, relief and happiness chasing away the dread from before. Without another word, she ran off to find him, followed by Lee-Anne. Brandon looked at Ryleigh. “Are you okay? Ready to go?” “Go where?” “The army has strict instructions to deliver all survivors to the safe zone. That includes us.” “Is it really safe, though?” Ryleigh asked as hope flared in her breast. “It is. I’ve been there, babes, and the commander is a good guy. I know him from my days in the service,” Brandon replied. Ryleigh looked at the pub that had been her home for the past eight days, at Cherise’s crumpled body, and shuddered. “I’m ready. Let’s go.” The End  South African writer and coffee addict, Baileigh Higgins, lives in the Free State with hubby and best friend Brendan and loves nothing more than lazing on the couch with pizza and a bad horror movie. Her unhealthy obsession with the end of the world has led to numerous books on the subject and a secret bunker only she knows the location of.
 From scream queens to femmes fatale, horror isn’t just for the boys.
Gothic media moguls Meg Hafdahl and Kelly Florence, authors of The Science of Monsters, and co-hosts of the Horror Rewind podcast called “the best horror film podcast out there” by Film Daddy, present a guide to the feminist horror movies, TV shows, and characters we all know and love. Through interviews, film analysis, and bone-chilling discoveries, The Science of Women in Horror uncovers the theories behind women’s most iconic roles of the genre. Explore age-old tropes such as “The Innocent” like Lydia in Beetlejuice, “The Gorgon” like Pamela Voorhees in Friday the 13th, and “The Mother” like Norma Bates in Pyscho and Bates Motel, and delve deeper into female-forward film and TV including:
 1) Why write horror?
I love horror, I am a fan of horror movies, but I am not a fan of gore. 2) Tell us about your writing style - is it gore, psychological etc? Psychological because I am squeamish, but it depends on what the story needs. 3) Who is your favorite woman in horror author? I like Laurell K Hamilton, Anne Rice and I really enjoyed The Haunting of Hill House. 4) Who is your favorite scream queen? That's a tough one. I love some of the older ones like Sigourney Weaver and Jamie Lee Curtis but I think Neve Campbell is great too. 5) What's next for you? I have a book called Halflings out, which is my first full length horror and I will be writing a sequel to it, probably late 2021.  1) Halloween
2) Alien 3) Final Girls 4) Scream 5) I Know What You Did Last Summer 6) Friday The 13th 7) Nightmare On Elm Street 8) Texas Chainsaw Massacre 9) Black Christmas 10) Psycho |
Monthly Newsletter
Categories
About the Author:S. K. Gregory is an author, editor and blogger. She currently resides in Northern Ireland. “Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.” 
Archives
December 2024
Categories |
||||||||||||||||||
RSS Feed
© 2024 S.K. Gregory
Proudly powered by Weebly