Dead: The Ugly Beginning.

Click To Expand

Click To Expand

Free Book Offer

Mark Tufo Interview

Q & A With Mark Tufo And Mike Talbot

J.C Michael Presents His Flash Fiction Piece. 

    Corruption 

We look down in unison at the pair of gleaming, crimson, gloves. Then raise our eyes to one another.

I have led the woman before me down that darkest of corridors which terminates in the sanctity of sin. A desolate and destructive course from which her return is no longer an option. As an angel, she had come to me, a wife, a mother, a carer. Unaware of what lay behind the glass until her eyes met her own, and let me in.

Yes, an angel, pure in thought, and in deed. Yet what I see before me now reeks of my corruption. Her wings torn from her shoulders, leaving naught but bloodied stumps and soiled feathers upon the ground. A carpet of crushed and blood-stained evidence of my unbridled fury at the purity she had dared bring to my dominion. An angel, now fallen from grace and condemned to Hell, as am I. I have turned my face from the glory of God, and now turn the faces of others in the palm of my wicked, twisted, hand.

As I hold her gaze she rubs her hands unthinkingly, like an automaton. Scrubbing at stains from which she can never be free. There is no spark within her iris, for I have extinguished that kind soul which burnt so brightly, dwelling there before coming into contact with me.

Only now does she look down, but I do not. I already know that the blood will have washed away, leaving only microscopic traces beneath manicured nails. Instead, I look over her shoulder. Her husband is obscured by the sheets of the bed. Uniformly hotel-white, with a dash of colour of my own design. He could be sleeping. He is not. Unless, that is, you wish to cavort with the poetic, and regard death as the eternal sleep which sees no dawn. The spray of blood across the headboard, the wall, the print of some unrecognisable city, announces that she has fulfilled her task.

It is a shame my confined view prevents me from bearing witness to the remainder of our handiwork. The other room where my desecrated angel created two angels of her very own. Releasing the souls of her children from a life ruined by a mothers crime. Soon, she will turn. Her eyes open to her actions for the very first time.

When she does I shall wallow in her screams. I shall be content.

©J.C.Michael 2013

Discoredia Book Cover 

Discoredia Excerpt 

The girls behind the bar were going mad, dancing like they were possessed. The black guy was on the bar, walking back and forth. What was he doing? Then Warren realized. He had a bottle in each hand and he was pouring it over the girls. Once the bottles were empty he took a lighter out of his pocket, lit it, and paused.
As Warren realized what was coming, it happened––he set fire to three girls: Jo, Stacey and Liz. Warren felt the need to look away but couldn’t. He had the morbid fascination of a driver passing a car accident. What’s more, the image became enlarged, magnified before his very eyes. He blinked and the scene was at the far side of the room, but then it switched once more, came closer. The effect was similar to the eye test he had the previous week, with the changes in lenses altering his perception of how close things appeared to be. Better with, Mr. Charlton? Or without? Better with…or without?
The girls kept dancing, their hands in the air, pumping their fists as they burned. The degree of combustion was unnatural in its intensity.
Jo seemed so close he could make out the patterns painted on her nails, patterns that began to bubble and peel as the varnish became heated by the flames licking her arms. He wanted to reach out to her, shake some sense into her, but how could he? She was at the other side of the room.
His vision shifted once more, outwards this time, and he could see all three of them––skin blistering, hair on fire, their clothes ablaze. Still they danced and smiled, as though unaware of the conflagrations they had become. Beside them, the black bloke danced on, still waving the empty bottles in his hands.
Warren could see everything so clearly. It was horrific, and in an effort to save his sanity he concentrated on the cause of the mayhem, forcing the visual trick to work for him. He read the label on the Vodka bottle in the man’s hand in an attempt to take his mind off what was happening. He was the other side of the room, but the bottle seemed clear: Hammer and Sickle 100% Proof.,
His eyes tired and his field of vision widened to an impossible level of magnification. He could see all three girls, once more. Girls he had known for years, whose problems he listened to, whom he shared a drink with at the end of a busy night. There would be no more of that. They were being cremated alive, their hair was gone, their skin was black and their teeth were exposed as their lips crisped and peeled away from the openings of their mouths.
He was looking at Stacey with a close up view only a lover should expect. It was neither examination nor adoration, but an intimate torture; he watched her fillings melt, the enamel of her teeth crack, and her tongue burn from the tip into her throat, like a fuse running down her gut.
He blinked. The scene pulled away and shifted to where it belonged. He seemed to be the only person aware of what was happening. His breathing was laboured and his heart was pounding, but for a second he almost felt normal. The music played and the crowd danced, with three figures that were as black as the preserved body of a three thousand year old mummy. How could they be standing? They were little more than corpses.

Discoredia Blurb & Cover

As the year draws to a close, the mysterious Hector Woodrose makes a proposition to club owner, Warren Charlton. It's a deal involving a new drug, Pandemonium, and with consequences far beyond those Charlton could ever imagine. The drug may be free, but it comes at a price. Promising much, yet delivering far more. Euphoria and ecstasy. Death and depravity. All come together, at Discoredia.

Get To Know J.C. Michael

Dead Trees 2 Contest 

Dead Trees 2 Chapter One Teaser 

The Birth

I turned over, my eyes still closed. Jason’s body felt warm and real next to mine. I needed that… after what I’d just dreamt.

I’d never forgotten him- the way he’d looked at me, knowing he was all male. How he’d stood in front of the others, clearly in command… how he’d escaped at the park, how he’d followed us to NORAD. He was truly a nightmare, but I’d never dreamt about him before, not until this night.

Pregnancy will do that to you- cause your dreams to go all wackadoodle. The past nine months of sleeping had been full of crazy images.

Tonight though, he’d been there and my face was wetted with salty tears.

On top of me, forcing me down, shrieking as… as… I hadn’t even known they had those. It had emerged from his body, between the now straightened legs, long and flexible as an overgrown eel. It was slick, coated in a brown salve that smelled like earth and sperm.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the dream from my brain. It didn’t work. So I got up; Jason rolled away from me onto his side. His breathing was heavy and even.

I knew exactly what made me dream about him. The chorus of shrieking, so close to our little home, that arose after the sound of the helicopters’ thrumming wings had receded into the distance had brought the past flying forward in full color. Jason had stayed up most of the night on watch- squinting into the dark for signs of bestial movement.

Not that the day kept them at bay any longer. For some reason though, they hadn’t chosen to attack us yesterday when the Colonel and his men had left. Maybe there was no challenge in falling upon us unexpectedly. Maybe… maybe, he enjoyed the fear floating to him on the wind.

I’d called him the General for so long, but now, I did not wish to say that name and give him more human attributes. Two years. It had been two years. Why now? I’d voiced my fears to Jason, but he’d brushed them off- saying that he could not have possibly found us and that so much time had passed. No, the shrieks were just a few stray undergrounders; nothing to worry about.

And then I’d ranted about the H2H and that these ‘stray undergrounders’ should be changed by now, fully affected and humanized. Jason had countered with a- they could have been underground all this time and thusly unexposed or maybe they were too far North. “Remember what Benson said, Elise. Our area is too remote to have been affected; the nanotech isn’t stable enough to survive the distance. They could have been roaming these parts all this time or stayed safe underground.”  

His answers and his logic had not satisfied me. And, true to form, I’d beaten the dead horse until it was a rotting, reeking mass of flesh. He’d teased me, but not too harshly; I was carrying his child and that gave me ‘get-away-with-sin’ liberties.

I held my back, pushing gently. It ached this morning, like I’d slept on the stone floor rather than the thick pad. Looking up, my face was bathed in dim light- sunshine peeking through a carved out section of the ceiling. It was deceptive, our cavern home. Journeying into the caves felt like traveling miles beneath the earth’s surface, but in truth, we were less than ten feet from the surface.

I leaned against the hard wall and slipped my feet, one after another, into the leather slippers I always wore. Megan made them for me. They weren’t perfect, the maker obviously a novice sewer, but my daughter made them so I loved them dearly.

Our rooms were interconnected, but many nights, Kara would wake up and travel across the ‘hall’ to sleep next to me on the bed. In the beginning, Megan would follow suit and we’d all be stuffed onto one sleeping pad- a big, happy family. That left Meg alone in the girls’ room, but she never seemed to mind.

Jason used to say that it was the newness of the caverns and the girls would soon sleep through the night in their own room. He’d been right, to an extent. Megan always slept soundly now; Kara, more often than not, would still move in the middle of the night and I’d wake up to the sound of her soft snoring. I never worried about Meg. She was so much more than she looked. I think that’s why Megan felt comfortable staying in their room now- she felt safe with her adopted sister there. Of course, young Abram also had something to do with Megan adapting to this life.

She’d bonded to the young Vuntuta boy almost immediately. I’d seen the way she lit up when he stood in front of the class teaching the history of his people. Abram was several years older than Megan, but, strangely, I approved of their friendship. If it turned into more than that down the line, I’d be happy in the knowledge that Megan had found someone to take care of her and love her. It’s a strange thing to think about when your daughter is not even thirteen years of age, but in this world, archaic social conventions seem of little importance.

I walked across the hall to my girls’ room. Both Kara and Megan were huddled beneath a thick fur, only shiny brown hair escaped their cocoon of warmth. Their room was slightly brighter, the manmade skylight angled better for rays of light. Meg was not in the room, but that wasn’t unusual. She liked to get up before everyone else- enjoy the quiet of the dawn. She knew how to be safe and silent; I rarely worried about her.

I left our cavern wing, working my way through the twisting maze of tunnels that angled slightly upward.

The sun was not very high in the sky; dawn had passed several hours earlier. Normally, we did not sleep so long. We were all tired it seemed. I had less excuse than Jason. I had not stayed up all night on vigil. Many of our friends were already out and about- working the fields, gathering water. I saw several of our men patrolling the outskirts of our encampment. They were armed. I prayed those weapons would not be necessary today.

A strangely high, too-perfect bird call sounded above my head. I looked up, squinting against the light.

“Meg?”

A lithe form descended, branch by slender branch.

“Morning.” Meg smiled, her silvery-blonde hair a long waterfall behind her back.

“You should tie your hair up when you’re climbing.” I’d told her this before, worried the long strands would tangle in the twigs and greenery.

“I don’t like the way it feels tied up.” Meg said, her voice decisive, yet respectful.

I knew this, but it never stopped me from reminding her. She stood in front of me now and I rested both of my hands on her shoulders. I wondered when she’d stop growing. She was nearly five feet tall, signs of womanhood already sprouting. My left hand left her shoulder and I ran my fingers through her pale angel-hair.

“Is he moving today?” She asked, leaning forward and resting her check against my stomach.

“A little.” I continued to stroke her hair. “Why do you always say ‘he’?”

“A boy should be called he, not her.” Meg smiled, knowing she was being coy.

“You know what I mean, Meg.” I used a mother’s tone, but not too harshly.

“He’s,” she pointed at my stomach, “a boy. I’d start thinking up baby names.” With that, my beautiful hybrid daughter turned and sprinted off- her body moving gracefully.

I looked down at my swollen belly; I felt gigantic today, but so very happy. “If you are a boy,” I whispered, “your name is David. He always wanted a son and I only gave him daughters.” My hands were caressing now. When another pair of hands, this pair larger and calloused, covered mine, I was not startled. I knew these hands.

“David?” He asked.

“Yes. David. If Meg’s right and he’s a he and not a her.”

“I wouldn’t place bets against Meg.” He hugged me from behind and I could feel him smiling. I wiggled in his embrace, struggling to turn myself- large belly included- and face him.

“Morning.” A brief, soft kiss followed the word.

“Morning.” He returned my kiss- his less soft and a little longer.

“Girls still asleep?”

“Cuddled down like hibernating bears.”

“Good. I’m surprised Kara didn’t come and sleep with us last night after the…” I didn’t finish the sentence; he knew I was thinking about the screeching. I shuddered in his arms. He held me tighter.

“Elise, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“So you keep telling me.” I pointed to the men walking the perimeter. “They obviously think there’s something worth worrying about.”

“They’re just being cautious.”

A small voice sounded behind us. “Mommy?”

I looked around Jason at the mouth of our caverns. Kara was rubbing her eyes sleepily with one hand, Mr. Grubbykins gripped tightly in the other. It was amazing how long that corduroy bunny was lasting. I washed him weekly, sewing when necessary, glad that the pink material was thick and strong.

Pulling from Jason, I walked to Kara and picked her up with some effort. She was a heavy four year-old. Jostling her to my hip, I felt a sudden, building pain like my stomach was clenching and releasing in scream-inducing cramps. I gasped, quickly setting Kara down. Jason was at my side almost instantly. Kara pouted, upset that I hadn’t held her longer. The cramping lasted a moment longer and then, as quickly as it had come, it left.

“Are you alright?” His hand was on my belly.

“I’m fine. Really. It doesn’t hurt now.”  But I’d been in labor before; I knew what it felt like. Contractions. I wasn’t ready for this… not with the uncertainty in the forest. I could protect my baby… my son… better this way, with him inside of me- layers of skin, flesh and amniotic fluid between his fragile body and the world.

I doubled over as another contraction hit. Jason understood this time; he did not ask me if I was okay.

“Kara, go back to your room and stay with Megan. Wake her up if she’s still asleep.”

The contraction was over. They were short, sharp- like a filet knife cutting through monkfish.

“Jason, that’s too much for her to understand. She’s only four.”

God. It hurt. I should be used to this by now, but it had been so many years. I’d forgotten childbirth, the agony that bonded mother with child.  

“Okay, okay.”

I could see Jason was trying to keep a clear head.

At that moment, a wide-awake Megan walked out of the caverns. Jason sighed in relief, grateful that her appearance had saved him from further thought of Kara.

“Megan, take Kara back into your room. We’ll send Meg in with some breakfast.” His voice was fully calm again; his instance of near-panic completely banished.

I did not double over this time, but my face betrayed the contraction. Jason began to lead me down into the valley- our cavern mouth located at the top of a hill. The pain was strong enough that I stumbled this time. Strong arms caught me.

“I don’t think I can make it that far.”

Delia lived near the edge of the woods; she’d never been comfortable sleeping in the caves- said the hard walls kept her from feeling the earth. She’d been such a comfort to me, coming daily to check on the baby. Her knowledge of childbirth had ensured a safe pregnancy so far; I needed her now.

Jason paused debating and then helped me turn around. We began to walk back toward the mouth of the tunnels. He led me slowly through the passageways. When we were back in our room, he helped me gently down, rolling up our bed coverings and tucking them beneath my head.

“I’ll be back with Delia.” He kissed my forehead. “Megan, Kara?” He called. It took the girls only a moment to tumble over each other into our room, their hurry to arrive making them clumsy.

“We’re here.” They chorused; Kara’s voice so much shriller than her sister’s.

“Stay with your mom. I’ll be right back.” On his way out, Jason kissed both of their foreheads, just as he’d kissed mine moments before.

Not long after Jason left, Meg arrived, her face bright and shining with excitement.

I was struggling against the weight of another contraction when I heard the shrieking; the piercing, blood-curdling cries that could only mean one thing.

The beasties were back.

© 2013, Eli Constant 

Dead Trees 2 Cover

Mastic Promo Art

Mastic Excerpt

4 PM

Moving again. In a car.

Is it a car? Am I moving?

My eyes felt heavy again.

I turned my head, straining to focus.

Mikolas was beside me; my body rested against his. When our eyes met, I could see sadness. His hand lifted to my face and he drew his fingers softly across my eyes. I closed them, unable to resist the gentle touch and my body’s urging to sleep once again.

------------------

I was in the garden, but it felt changed- the flowers were different colors, the air felt heavier. No grandfather, but Mikolas strode out from between the fragrant clusters of flora. I looked at him thoughtfully, far removed from fear and fate in this dream world.

“We’re in a car.” I said simply.

“Yes.” He said, matching my simple speech.

“Where are we going? Are you taking me to die?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be the one to kill me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad it will be you.” I turned away from him, walking toward a strange rose– its petals neon yellow with a deep fuchsia border.

“Why are you glad?” He sounded surprised.

“You love me?” I matched his question with a question.

“Yes.”

“I’d rather die at the hands of someone that loves me. Even if the love is cruel, it’s better that way.” I bent over, grabbing the stem of the rose and snapping it. Standing back up, I held the strange flower.

Mikolas was beside me now. He took my hand, the hand that held the rose, and lifted it to his mouth. He took the flower from me and kissed my fingers; his lips came away tinged red.  I looked at his mouth, then at my hand. I had not felt the thorn cutting me.

“Your death will be painless.” He said, lowering my hand from view.

“Like a thorn prick in a dream.” I murmured.

-------------------

When my eyes fluttered open, I was still cradled against Mikolas’ body, but not in the car. I was swaying, feeling the rhythm of his walking. The silver of my dress was brilliant against the bright blue of his robe. I glanced away from him and saw a dark entrance in the ground illuminated only by the dying rays of the setting sun. A circular stair twisted downward into the darkness. Around us were trees, hundreds of trees.

Again I slept.

11:30 PM

It was many hours before I stirred, the sedative tea having lulled me finally into a deep, lasting sleep. My body was cushioned by a thin mat and covered by a soft blanket. I couldn’t see anything. It was so very dark.

I shifted my body, the fabric of the dress rubbing against my thighs uncomfortably. I couldn’t see the silver material, but I knew it was the same dress by the texture. My hair was loose; the long strands tickled my back as I sat up. I touched it and it felt like it was curled into long romantic tendrils.

Tentatively, I let my hands explore the floor area around me.

Hard. Rock-solid. Slightly damp. It was chilly also. When I stood, I lifted the blanket with me, wrapping it around my body against the cool. My eyes were just beginning to adjust and I could now tell that there was an obvious lightening of the dark ahead. I began to walk very slowly, pointing my toes toward the floor and feeling around before planting my foot solidly.

Waking up in the dark had momentarily revived my sense of self-preservation. I’d never liked the dark, not really. Who really likes the dark? We grow away from fear, we leave behind monsters under our bed, but the dark never becomes familiar or comfortable. Evil doings are done in the night and it’s perfectly natural to shy away from shadows. I continued walking, the slow progression of movement no match for the thudding heart in my chest.

I could see a light now- a lantern hanging from a rusted hook in the wall. When I arrived at the lamp, I reached for it, wanting the security of illumination to help me roam the dark passageways. A plink of rock on rock made me freeze and I quickly turned my head to search. A curve in the tunnel lay a few feet ahead; behind me was the dark room that I’d journeyed from.

My fingers were gripping the lamp handle now, holding it out in front of me like a shield. Then they rounded the corner ahead. Three of them.

Fight or flee or give-up? My mind worked quickly.  I turned swiftly and began to run full-speed back the way I had come.

I should have figured it was a dead end. 

Mastic Book Cover

Dead Trees Excerpt

As my eyes adjusted, the details became clearer.

The form seemed to be a human child, well past the normal gestation period. It was roughly the size of an 18 month old toddler, maybe a tad smaller… or bigger. It was hard to tell through the distortion of water and curved tank walls.

There was a feeding tube connected to the lower abdominal area that stretched to the side of the tank where an external device pumped nutrients. The hair was under grown for the age and floated away from the scalp- about two inches in length.

Something in the appearance of the child wasn’t quite normal. The face was a tad too elongated and the fingers a bit too bony.

The reality of what was before me hit me like a freight train. I staggered back in horror and fell over my own feet. My ass hit the ground hard and my tailbone ached from the impact. The jolt gave me a reminder of my not-so-healed ribs and bruised side.

“No… no way. No way did they do… what I think they did.”

I got up from the ground and stumbled to the monitor. The lines of code and command had stopped. In its stead was an analysis report on subject: Sheila-2.

I moved the cursor around the screen. When it hit the subject name, an underline appeared. I clicked and the screen shifted. Now I could see a conception date, vitals history, and a link to a genetic profile. That link confirmed my fears.

The human genome had been crossed with undergrounder and not by splicing or cloning. It was achieved through basic fertilization of Sheila-1 eggs with Anonymous-XY sperm. I had a feeling I knew who that XY might be. One of two candidates…

Like a bad accident on the highway, I couldn’t stop looking at the data.

Sheila-2 was growing at a fast rate, but not nearly as fast as a pure beastie. Obviously, the human factor had tempered that growth. The vitals were stable. The heart beat a little faster than the average human heart, but not so much that Sheila-2 could be identified as nonhuman during a normal physical.

I was pouring over the makeup of the synthetic amniotic fluids (which had been modified to accommodate new needs), when I heard a door open in the distance and lights spring to life in Lab-3. I quickly flipped the screen back to the analysis report and ran. Then I realized that this lab only had one exit- and that exit involved strolling right through Lab-3.

“Shit.” I exhaled the word softly and scanned the room desperately. Another door in the back. Thank goodness. This door had no window. Inside was dark and small… a closet.

I worked my body between obstructions on the left and right and ended up contorted and restricted, but able to pull the door closed behind me.

I heard voices in the laboratory. Funny. Outside these walls, I hid from undergrounders, but inside these walls, I hid from very different monsters.

I wished I could make out the words, but the voices were just a continuous string of mumbles punctuated by sporadic pausing.

I was stuck in the damn closet for well over an hour. I waited quite a while after the talking died down. Better to be cautious.  

It took forever to wiggle out of the closet. I knocked something over as I extracted my body from the cramped space. Whatever it was hit the ground with a resounding crash.

Opening the door lightened the shadowed closet a bit. I could see the outline of shelving. When I was officially un-stuck, I found the light switch and flipped it upward. I stared at the shelves. They were lined with gigantic mason jars, each containing a malformed foetus. At my feet lay the broken remains of one of those jars.

I was standing on a tiny arm… a tiny arm with tiny fingers.

If I was hoping to leave no trace of my presence behind, I failed. Not only did I leave glass, fluid, and flesh; I left a pleasant smelling and steaming pile of vomit.

Funny how much I vomited nowadays.

Dead Trees Cover

Eli Constant Giveaway

Eli Constants Flash Fiction Piece: My Body

MY BODY

The three tentacles, large as the thickest of forearms, pushed into my stomach. I thought it would be painful, but it wasn’t. I felt nothing… nothing, but numbness. I wondered if that was its way of neutralizing prey- a passing, unimportant thought.

Those long appendages pumped in and out of me, pulling my skin upward and away from the blood and organs it contained and then shoving the looseness back inward. It pressed against the inner cavities of my body. I knew, as a rush of liquid wetted the numbness, that my intestinal excrements and stomach acids were pouring out, caressing the space between myself and the foreign flesh of my penetrator. I felt a lightest kiss of sensation as the wetness ran down the sides of my body to spread across the brittle, yellowed linoleum of my kitchen floor.

In and out. In and out.

I didn’t scream; I should have screamed. Women always scream at times like this, but I did not. I was quiet, deathly quiet. The creature did not seem to mind the quiet.

Another tentacle came from around its back- its armored, obsidian back that protected its innards even from the sharpest of kitchen shears. An array of spiny fingers emerged from the end of the appendage, looking like a sea urchin, but infinitely more fear-inducing.

Still, I was silent.

My hair, my long, golden hair- a genetic gift from my maternal grandmother- was splayed out behind me in a bloodied curtain of yellow. Those thorny fingers connected to that fourth tentacle grabbed my hair and pulled. And I felt nothing. I felt nothing, but a tingling as my head slowly released the scalp. I heard though… I heard the sound of flesh pulling from flesh; it sounded like a dozen damp suction cups releasing their hold or a wet-vac sucking up chunky, day-old vomit.

I felt another moisture now, the shimmer of a touch against my unfeeling skin. It ran red tracks down my face, made watery by the tears I had not known I shed. It coated my eyes in warmth. I wanted to die, but I could not die. The diluted blood from my severed scalp joined the bodily juices, mixing like an oil slick on the hard floor.

My penetrator left me there in all my continued quietness. It left me immobile on the floor. The night passed in shadows.

I started to feel different, so very different. My thoughts turned wild and bestial. My body, so long numb, began to experience sensations, exponentially stronger than I’d felt in my… human life? I was human… was I human?

I changed. I changed.

And then in the true morning, the light shone through the window above my kitchen sink, illuminating the unwashed dishes- the remnants of my human life. I felt the eight, long, thick tentacles resting beneath my body. They pushed, of their own accord, and lifted me erect. I stood now, looking around me. I felt detached. The embroidered bit of white cloth framed in a pale wood that hung on the wall meant nothing. “Home is where the heart is” meant absolutely nothing.

The thin, barbed fingers of my left third tentacle reached upward and lightly brushed my face. It was hard, angled. I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the window glass. Dark, shiny, obsidian… like… like it.

It? No… like me.

I walked, my gait feeling so very strange, toward the back door that led to the porch. I opened that door and moved out into the sunshine. A peeling, white board creaked beneath my foot. That seemed familiar or it should seem familiar. I wasn’t sure which was true. I wasn’t even sure I was an I anymore. Thousands of voices filled my head, an incessant low humming.

I stepped off the porch, my eyes trained on the ground- still thinking about the loose porch plank. I stilled as my gaze met sun-scorched grass, only a patch of it to punctuate the living green.

The sun on my cheeks felt nice; I was made of lava rock. Looking up, I felt nothing.

I felt nothing for the large man that was no longer a man.

I felt nothing for the small child that was no longer a child.

Yet they looked at me, as if in recognition.

My body was mother and I needed to father more children.

In the far distance, I saw a home. I knew who lived there once, but now…

I strode forward, allowing the tentacles on my back to support my body when my legs tired.

When I reached the house, I did not knock. It seemed like I should have knocked, but I did not.

Inside, a family sat eating breakfast- the smell of the food was strong and unpleasant. I did not wonder why they were unchanged. 

I simply changed them.

© 2013 Eli Constant  

Predator Blurb

With one young girl dead and three more missing, Fort Worth detectives Greg Matthews and Caleb Simmons are fighting against the clock to catch a predator. One of the missing girls is a pawn in a nasty custody case assigned to family court investigator, Tori Matthews. Could the cases be related? Teaming up with her brother and his partner, they’ll stop at nothing to find the missing girls before another child is lost forever

Predator Excerpt

Excerpt from PREDATOR

A Courting Justice Novella

Chapter One

Detective Greg Matthews looked over the scene. Looked anywhere but at the girl’s body lying at the bottom of the small hill. He noted the yellow tape, the officers guarding the perimeter, the onlookers, and his partner, Caleb Simmons, talking with the medical examiner. The grass moved slightly in the light breeze. It was just enough to move the hot air around, but not enough to offer any relief from the Texas summer heat. It was sweltering and barely 11am.

Greg walked over to the crime scene photographer. “Make sure you get some close up pictures of the crowd behind the tape.”

“Will do, Detective.” The man continued snapping photos.

Unable to put it off any longer, Greg forced down the bile that threatened to erupt and moved toward the lifeless child. He’d never get use to seeing dead children.

Dr. Marc Chennault looked up at his approach and nodded. “I was telling Detective Simmons that this is just a dump site. The girl didn’t fall as originally reported. She’s been placed here. There are scrapes on her arms and legs. She probably did fall, but inside somewhere. There’s no dirt in the wounds and her clothes aren’t covered in it. Plus as you can see, the body’s been staged.”

Greg nodded.

The girl’s clothing had been straightened, her hair brushed and one hand rested on top of the other on her small chest.

“Christ. Do you know how she died?” She looked no older than ten or eleven; her eyes closed as if sleeping.

“Probably a broken neck. And, I’d say she’s been dead since between 5 and 10pm. I’ll know more once I do the autopsy.” Chennault wiped sweat from his brow and motioned for his techs to start getting the girl ready for transport.

The detectives watched until her hands were bagged and she was carefully placed in a black body bag. The scene was silent except for the noise from people moving about collecting evidence and traffic in the background. No one spoke except in hushed whispers when they had to. A murdered child had that effect.

Caleb rubbed his face. “God I hate kid cases.” He started walking back up the hill and Greg followed. “I got a call from Johnson on the way here. He heard about the body and said he’s working three missing child cases, all blonde and blue-eyed females.” He flipped a few pages back in his small notebook. “Tonya Jeffries, a ten-year-old. Missing since yesterday after school. She usually walks home since it’s just two blocks, but she never made it. Amanda Clark, age twelve. She was reported as a runaway last night around 6:30pm after an argument with her father. And ten-year-old Bethany Brooks who has been missing just over three weeks.”

“One family is about to be devastated.” Greg paused at the door to the sedan and looked back at the child being loaded into the white coroner’s van.

Illusion Of Safety Blurb 

Desperate times call for desperate measures…
After witnessing an ex-cop brutally murder his estranged wife, Tori Matthews, a family court investigator, escapes the couples’ home with their seven-year-old daughter. In fear for the child’s life, as well as her own, she struggles to keep them both safe.
A killer on the hunt…
James Baxter blames Tori for the break-up of his marriage and the loss of his child. He vows that nothing will stop him from getting his daughter back and exacting his revenge.
A race against time…
Both detectives with the Forth Worth P.D., Tori’s brother and his best friend, Caleb Simmons, want to find Baxter before it’s too late.  While the search mounts, Tori and Caleb realize they have more than just friendship between them.
Can they and their new relationship survive the roller coaster race to save an innocent child and stop a determined killer?

Illusion Of Safety Excerpt

Excerpt from ILLUSION OF SAFETY

Courting Justice, Book One

Dead eyes stared accusingly through the glass. But, Susan Baxter would never be able to utter those accusations aloud. She lay on the hardwood floor, crimson blood spreading beneath her head. Tori couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Horror flooded through her as she gazed through the window. She couldn’t take her eyes from the woman she had failed to help. A tug at her hand brought her attention back to the little girl. “I’m cold. Can we go in now?”

“Shhh…Rebecca. We have to be very quiet.” She drew the child to her, both of them flat against the brick of the house. Tori looked inside, hopeful one of the police officers would let her know things were under control. Under control? Who was she kidding? A small chunk of her client‘s forehead had been blown away. How could things be under control? She gagged. Nausea filled her; threatened to erupt. Shit, shit shit. There’s no time for this. Pull yourself together Tori. She took several shuddering breaths until she thought she could keep down her morning coffee. She scanned the interior again and gasped when her vision focused on the entryway. One officer lay on his back just inside the front hallway, his head near the door. She hadn’t even gotten his name when they responded to the home. The other was a friend. Officer Paul Ramos sagged against the wall like a limp rag doll, his legs in front of him and his chin slumped against his chest. Blue uniform shirts were covered in blood. Neither moved. Tori looked for a sign. Any sign that would let her know they were still alive, but saw none. 

“Rebecca!” a voice bellowed from inside the home.

The child gasped and clung even tighter to Tori’s hand, “Daddy?” Tori heard the fear laced in that one whispered word. She placed her fingers gently over the girl’s mouth and shook her head, just long enough to remind her not to say anything.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. This was her best, maybe only, chance to get them out of the backyard and away from the house. She fought the panic swirling inside her; crouched beside the little girl, taking her face lightly in her trembling hands. “Rebecca, we have to go now. I want you to do exactly what I tell you and don’t make any noise, okay?”

“We can’t go without mommy. Daddy’ll hurt her again.” Rebecca pulled away from Tori and ran for the sliding patio door.

Tori raced for the child. God, please help me. She can’t see her mother like that. She’s already seen so much horror in her seven short years. Seizing her around the waist, Tori turned Rebecca around to face her as she knelt.

Bending close to the girl‘s ear, she spoke softly. “Becca. I know you’re scared. I am too. But, we have to go now. It’s the only way we can get help for your mommy. And, we have to be really quiet. Okay?”

The girl nodded, her blue eyes filled with confusion. But, she held on to Tori’s hand and followed her. They slipped alongside the brick of the house to the fence. Tori wanted to run, to flee from the gruesomeness of the scene she had witnessed and from the madman still inside. She forced herself to move with caution. She unlatched the gate and opened it just wide enough for the two of them to slip through. The wind whipped the wooden panel from her hand. Dammit! Tori grabbed for it, catching hold before it could bang against the home. She took the precious seconds to secure the gate even though the fear clutched at her throat and threatened to take every breath from her. She wanted to snatch Rebecca in her arms and make a wild run for safety.

Upstairs, James Baxter called out repeatedly for Rebecca; the noise of furniture being upended in his search for her carried in the passageway between the Baxters’ and the neighbors. The child whimpered beside her.

“Matthews, you bitch! I know you’re here somewhere. You left your fucking file on the table. Where’s my daughter?” Glass shattered against a wall.

Rebecca and Tori cut through the two neighboring yards, rounded the corner and ran to the midnight blue Explorer. The keys were already out of her pocket by the time they reached it. Tori started to hit the remote to unlock the doors, but was afraid even the slightest noise would draw the monster’s attention. Somehow the key managed to find the lock on the first try even though her hands were shaking like an addict in need of a fix. Tori practically threw Rebecca into the SUV and jumped in after her, easing the door closed. As soon as the engine roared to life, she turned the vehicle around and headed away from the nightmare at the Baxter home. Her trembling hands grasped the cell phone, almost dropping it before she finished punching in the three numbers. 

“911. What’s your emergency?” The voice was clipped, efficient.

“Officers down! Send someone to 914 Willow Lane. Hurry!” Tori fought for control as she spoke the words she knew would get help the quickest. She heard the woman give the address to someone in the background.

“Ma’am. We have someone on the way now. “I need your name and the number you’re calling from.”

“Tor…Victoria Matthews. I’m an investigator with Tarrant County Family Courts”. She provided her cell number.

“Are you still at the location?”

”No. I’m in my car. James Baxter. He…he shot two police officers and his wife. I have their daught…” Tori broke off remembering Rebecca too late. She looked over the child. She had gone still for a moment and then let out a small choking sound. There was nothing Tori could do to comfort her now. She didn’t even have a hand to spare, with one on the steering wheel and the other on the phone. Think. The immediate concern needed to be getting help to the officers in case they were still alive. Oh God. Paul, please be alive. 

“Where’s James Baxter?” The disembodied voice asked.

“He was upstairs when we left. I don’t… I don’t know if he’s st…still at the house.”

Tori gave her all the information she had including the description of Baxter’s black Chevy Silverado.

After the call to the police, everything was a blur. Tori kept picturing the blood and bodies back at the house. The imagery made it difficult to think about what she should do. Tori turned to Rebecca and found her huddled on the floor, crying silently. Definitely not safe. Great Tori. Save the kid from being shot and then endanger her in your own car. Get it together. She focused on her surroundings in time to pull into a crowded Wal-Mart, parking in a space between another SUV and a minivan. Struggling to keep her own emotions tamped down, she checked on Rebecca and pulled her into the passenger seat. She wiped the child’s face with a tissue from her console.

“Is Mommy dead?" The words were the first Rebecca had uttered since she’d been thrown in the vehicle.

Tori studied the small face as she considered what to tell her. There was no doubt Susan Baxter was dead. But, Rebecca already showed signs of shock. She shook so badly, her teeth chattered and she curled up into a little ball clutching her stomach. There’s no way I’m telling her that her mother is dead. Not now. There would be time for that later. “I don’t know, sweetie. The police are checking on her. They’ll call back soon.”

Tori opened the door and had one foot outside when the girl whimpered. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m just getting a blanket. I’ll be right back.” Tori’s knees nearly buckled as she stepped out of the Ford. Shock was catching up to her as well. The unusually cool October wind whipped her hair around and she brushed it out of her eyes. A ruby red blanket was kept in the back for emergencies and she snatched it up. Once back in the front seat, she wrapped Rebecca in the soft material, buckled the seatbelt around the bundled seven-year-old and tried not to think about how close the cloth’s color was to blood. 

Tales From The Mist Blurb

TALES FROM THE MIST will take you on a journey into the dark world of the paranormal. These twelve stories vary in their degree of horror, yet all reach across the boundaries of their genres into the chilling realms of the macabre. Witches, ghosts, shape-shifters and vampire rats are some of the creatures that reign within these pages. Authors included are: Scott Nicholson, Rhonda Hopkins, Marty Young, Cate Dean, Tamara Ward, Meredith Bond, Catie Rhodes, Greg Carrico, Mitzi Flyte, Natalie G. Owens, *lizzie starr and Stacey Joy Netzel.

Get To Know Rhonda Hopkins

The Consuming Book Cover

The Consuming By Rhonda Hopkins

A Excerpt From The Consuming

The next few days passed in a blur of activity. I sanded and painted. I stocked the pantry with food. I showed off my culinary skills which Devon seemed to appreciate. I’d catch him watching me several times a day with a goofy grin on his face. I probably had a matching one when he caught me watching him. We took advantage of every opportunity to touch one another, however briefly.

I finally moved my few belongings to the house and checked out of the hotel. Relieved at not having to go back and forth, I unpacked, made the bed and spread out all my items on the now immaculate bathroom vanity. I’d stopped checking every time I thought I saw movement in the mirror. There was never anything there. It had to be the way the light moved on the surface at different angles.

I was happy but tired and thankful Devon had suggested a movie and late dinner, so I didn’t need to cook.

After he left, I showered, washed my hair and shaved my legs. I stood in front of the sink, one white towel wrapped around my body and another on my head. I fluffed my hair with the towel and then used it to wipe the steam from the mirror.

A woman with sunken cheeks and sallow, rotting skin stood behind me. I screamed as I spun around. There was no one there. The towel slipped from my hand and into the pool of blood on the floor, the white fabric soaking up the red. I screamed again and ran to the door. As I reached it, I turned back to see if ‘she’ was following me.

My stark white towel lay on the floor undisturbed. There was no blood. I blinked and stopped screaming. I moved cautiously back toward the counter with all my familiar items. No crimson stains marred the towel. I picked it up. Turned it over. Looked at the floor. Nothing. I straightened and turned slightly to the left and from the corner of my eye could see no one but me in the mirror. I faced it head on. Again there was nothing but my reflection.

I thought about getting in my rented Navigator and leaving. But the vision of me dressed in a towel and driving from North Carolina to Miami, almost made me giggle. Almost, but the adrenaline from the frightening encounter still coursed through my veins.

As I searched for clothing, I thought about all the reasons, I couldn’t have seen what I saw. I reached for every possible explanation. The lighting was bad. I’d been doing more physical labor on a daily basis. I was too tired. Too hurried. Too emotional. Too … ‘fill in the blank.’

I dressed as quickly as possible, applied mascara and lipstick with a shaky hand and combed out my wet hair. Foregoing the blow dryer and curling iron, I walked outside to let my hair dry in the sultry breeze and waited for Devon.

“Eager to see me, are you?” He brushed my lips with his, then stood back and really looked at me. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just got cold in the house.” And that was true. After hallucinating the decaying woman, my teeth chattered and I couldn’t get warm. It seemed the cold spots were getting worse in the house. “We really need to figure out what’s wrong with the A/C.”

“I’ve looked at it, but I’ll see if I can get someone who knows them better than I do to come out to check it in the next couple of days.”

“We both know you’re not likely to find anyone local, so let’s just skip that step and call someone in from Asheville. I’ll pay their fee.” It was a good thing I made good money as an architect and lived simply. The money I’d saved was helping to cover the restoration and my living expenses.

He nodded and opened the car door for me.

When we returned to the house, I was a little apprehensive. Okay. A lot apprehensive. But, I refused to be scared by an over–active imagination brought on by the inescapable rumors of the townspeople.

Get To Know Rhonda Hopkins