The Jack Wallen Interview

Among You Excerpt 

The second the car crossed into Tyler's End, the world – my world – changed. What I thought was going to be a visit to a first-class haunted house, turned out to be a journey into a magical world that would fold my definition of life inside out.

“Scott...” Sally whispered, “look at them...everywhere.”

“The costumes, the makeup...”

I couldn't find the words to describe what my eyes beheld. Walking about on the streets were horrific characters, all taken from the same page of the same book. As if time had no point or place in Tyler's End, every person was dressed in a variation of the same theme – Victorian England. Waist coats, bustles, stockings, ruffles...every piece a precise turn of fashion with a twist of the macabre.

It wasn't actually the clothing that brought about my bug-eyed awe. The makeup was astonishing. Every character's skin was a shade of grayish-green and looked cracked and aged by too much sun. Some had what looked like over-sized boils, threatening to pop, on their cheeks and lips. Some, mostly the males, had horns budding from the tops of their foreheads.

Sally pulled the car off into a cordoned-off field for parking. “They all look so, real.”

“And happy,” I added.

That was quite possibly the strangest thing of all – each and every one of the characters glowed with a joy that seemed to emanate from within. They talked, laughed...sang.

“This is...Sally, I don't know what to say.”

We got out of the car and spun on our heels to take it all in. There was so much. Even beyond the idea that the haunt of haunts awaited me, I couldn't get over the fact that the entire city seemed to be transformed into a horror-themed delight.

“It's Monsterville,” Sally said.

“What,” I asked.

Sally looked at me and smiled. “This place is like a town filled with monsters...Monsterville.”

“God ye good eve'n,” said one of the towns folk as he passed by. The tails of his coat swept up into the wind as if to wave 'hello'.

“What did he just say,” Sally asked.

“He said 'Good evening' in a Victorian England colloquialism. At least I think that's what that was. Or maybe he thought one of us sneezed. I don't really know for sure.”

“It doesn't matter, Scott; it's all so stinking charming.”

Sally reached out her hand to me. “Come on, let's go find the house.”

It wasn't hard. It seemed every member of the town criers assembly was headed in the same, general direction. That kind of deduction could be handled by a chimp.

“Scott,” Sally nearly squealed. She pointed ahead. “Look at it.”

It, the Gaultier House, was glorious beyond words. The building was a multi-story Victorian mansion that looked as if it had been plucked from some member of the English nobility and magically transported to the states. It was very out of place, but glorious in its oddity. Though it was certainly true to form in its architecture, there was a certain Tim Burton-esque element to the design. The manse stood three stories high with turrets on each corner that pointed and curled like elf or witch shoes. The whole of the design stood as a reminder that those who dwelled within were a nobility that no longer existed. The solid rock walls mocked anything modern builders could construct.

After spying the Gaultier House, I finally managed to see the town without my usual filters. Every element of the town seemed to work its way into the fabric of Halloween. The houses and buildings all seemed, on the surface, to be normal; but when you looked closer, you spotted fragments of strangeness littering the design. One three story house looked perfectly standard from one angle. The second you shifted your view, you spotted the slant and pitch of the walls – just enough to obscure normalcy.

There wasn't a straight line in sight. Every edge of every structure seemed to include some tick and trick in its shape and design.

I was in heaven.

Sally gave my shoulder a slap. “I think I see the ticket booth.”

She took off running. I couldn't help myself but to fall into perfect lock-step with Sally. I wasn't taking any chance in losing her here. It was Halloween night – a lot of crazy would happen within the next twelve hours. It always did.

We arrived at the ticket booth and dropped our cold, hard cash in front of the vendor who smiled and said, “Two tickets to the most unholy and frightening site you will ever witness. Please, make sure to pick up a brochure that explains everything you will need to know, before entering the double door entryway.”

Both Sally and I had our faces buried in the pamphlets, so we hardly noticed the two, be-costumed girls rush past us.

“Are we the only people here not dressed up,” asked Sally. “I feel so out of place.”

She was right. We were in an overwhelming minority. In the midst of the velvet and lace, we stood in denim and fake leather. I wasn't sure why every eyeball wasn't trained on us to ask if we failed to receive the memo about dressing the part.

“OMG,” proclaimed Sally. “There it is.”

My eyes followed her point and beheld what had to be the most wondrous spectacle I'd ever seen in my short lifetime. Seeing the house from even the slightest distance was one thing. Up close and personal brought everything into perspective. The house was tremendous in size and design. A perfect replica of a period long since forgotten. And yet...this wasn't a rebuild of a collapsed manse from days gone by – this was very real, very complete, and very...

“Amazing,” squealed Sally. “Scott, you must be peeing your pants. Scott? Earth to Scott.”

I hadn't heard her. I was too lost from taking in everything from every direction.

“I'm sorry, Sally. I just...”

“I know. Take your time; drink it all in.”

I felt like I was a little kid again, stepping foot on Disneyland soil for the first time. My world, always so small, had officially grown to magnificent proportions. Someone had reached their taloned fingers into my dreams and ripped the fantastical out, only to make it real in Tyler's End.

Discussion Time: The Old Slow Vs Fast Zombie Argument 

Finally...

Blurb

The end of the world will be rocked.

In this spinoff of the popular I Zombie series, it's ghouls versus guitars in a post-apocalyptic dive bar, as psychobilly band Kitty in a Casket discover zombies, cannibalism and the Mengele Virus have crashed their latest gig.

When face-melting rock faces off against the undead horde, who will be left standing?

Published by: Autumnal Press

Purchase Links For The Last Casket

Jack Wallen's 
THE LAST CASKET COVER REVEAL

And To Whet Your Appetite, Below Is An Excerpt From The Upcoming Book

Last Casket Excerpt

                ACT 1                 one | a hell of a show Everything has changed





Standing here alone again

It's time for my revenge

You put me in this casket

But this won't stop me

You need to burn in hell

No need to run away

I will find you anyway


                       ...Bride of the Monster

Wham! The crunch of the heavy Ibanez ARZ-Series guitar against the back of the zombie's skull sent a screeching feedback through the Blackstar Club 50s amplifier speaker. The sound momentarily stopped the undead bar fight.

“Kitty,” Todd Flash shouted. “Run.”

Kitty Casket was at the lip of the stage, surrounded by zombies, mic in hand and ready to crush any skull to get within striking range.

“Come on, baby,” Kitty squealed, “it's open mic night.”

With a quick windup, Kitty drove the back side of the mic through an eyeball of the nearest undead groupie. The pop of the optical membrane sent chills down her arm and bile up her throat.

“Oh hell,” Kitty protested. “I think I'm going to barf!”

Kitty withdrew the blackish-brown goo covered mic and the zombie dropped with a hollow, wet thud.

“Incoming.”

The shout came from behind.

“Kitty, duck.”

The raging voice belonged to Mike Machine. Kitty knew better than to not comply. The second she dropped to a crouch, a golden cymbal flew over her head and embedded itself into the neck of a monster. The beast didn't drop.

“Fuck,” Tom screamed as he continued forward.

“Tom, don't,” Kitty pled.

Tom was never one to listen. He jumped and landed the sole of his creeper into the symbol to finish the job.

The head and the symbol crashed to the floor.

“Come on, ya ugly bastard.” Billy the Bat was still cranking out power chords as he shouted threats to the undead audience. With each chord the zombies stuttered – almost as if the sound was painful.

“Billy, the zombies say you suck,” teased Kitty.

“Oh yeah,” Billy replied. “They can suck on this.”

Instead of battling back the approaching undead duo, Billy began playing a rockabilly take on Ozzy Osbourne's Crazy Train.

The zombies weren't impressed and marched onward.

It was Tom Mooner to the rescue. He hefted his Fender Squire above his head and dropped it down to cave in the skull of one of the zombies.

“That's how it goes,” laughed Tom.

One moaner remained. The entire band gathered together, encircling the monster.

“Here zombie, zombie, zombie. Kitty wanna play. Rowr.” Kitty teased the zombie. When it turned to face her, Billy the Bat ran a switchblade into the base of its skull. As the zombie dropped, lifeless again, to its knees, the band booed and hissed.

“What? I killed it.” Billy protested.

“Yah, but we were feeling kinda playful. Ya know, give the fucker a show and then, blamo, cave in its frontal lobes.”

“Hey, they're all dead. We did it.” Kitty was glowing with pride. “That was a hell of a show.”

Billy the Bat cleaned off his knife as he spoke. “Our best yet...if you take into consideration our entire audience was comprised of the undead. Actually, this kind of sucked. We need real, living people to play for.”

“And to pay us.”

Tom's interjection sucked the wind out of the band.

“This damned apocalypse,” Kitty started, “it's impossible to find gigs. Before, our only competition was the likes of Nekromantix and Horror Pops. Now we're facing down the living dead and empty venues. I thought the apocalypse would bring a sort of perfect storm for us. I mean, come on, this is our schtick. We own this theme, right?”

The band nodded their heads in unison.

“So why in the hell can't we find gigs?”

Billy raised his hand.

Kitty hissed. “Oh for God's sake, Billy, this isn't a classroom. Put your hand down.”

“Did you ever stop to think no one wants live music now because of the noise? I mean, it is noise that attracts the undead, right?” Billy challenged the group.

Kitty stepped in close to the guitarist. “What are you saying, Mr. Bat?”

Billy's eyes darted to the left and the right, his lip quivered slightly, and his forehead broke out into a sweat. “I'm saying...I don't really know what I'm saying, actually.”

Mike Machine stepped in to save the day. “He's saying we need to find some isolated club where our ear-splitting decibels won't attract the attention of the less-than living.”

“You mean the Mengelites?” Tom Flash interrupted.

 The band booed.

“Oh come on, it's a catchy name.” Tom defended himself. “Seriously, it makes sense. The Mengele Virus is what did them in...hence Mengelites.”

“It's offensive,” Kitty spat. “It's almost as if you're glorifying one of the sickest Germans to ever exist.”

The idea that the virus which brought about the apocalypse was an extension of Josef Mengele's work didn't rest easy on the hearts of Germans. Most survivors on the planet were quick to forget that point. To many of German descent, it was a painful reminder of yet another very dark time of their people

“Come on,” Tom chimed in. “Let's pack up so we can try to locate this Nirvana that Mike mentioned.”

After a round of groans, the band began the slow process of packing up their gear and loading it into the Kitty Mobile. The van was a take on the Scooby Doo Van, only with a predominantly feline theme. Splashed on the side of the van was the band's logo and Kitty's coiffed and lipstick'd visage. The van had already been attacked by numerous zombies as well as a few groups of living humans who simply had enough of walking. Unfortunately, there was little extra room once the gear and the band were on board.

Before leaving the club, Kitty made one last walk-through in search of food and booze. As she stood in the exit, she turned back and purrred before hitting the lights and strutting out to the van.

Meow, sexy kitty, meow.

Eli Constant: DEAD TREES 2 Reveal

Eli Constant
Horror, Science Fiction & Fantasy Author
***COVER REVEAL***
Dead Trees 2

Two years of peace in a primitive setting can make anyone forget a past full of science, beasties, and blood. But when that past comes flooding back- with razor-sharp talons and speed- to pillage the present, who will survive?