a novella What if you weren’t looking for evidence of the supernatural, but found it all the same? A true research scientist can either hide that evidence or tell the world. Either way it’s going to haunt you. Either way your life is never going to be same. Find out what’s always on the other side of the door. It’s the Elvis Room. first word
a novella A moon explodes and a marriage dies. An impossible creature rises from the tall grass, watches a farmer’s circle system crawl across the field like a giant insect. That farmer watches back. His wife’s footprints are there in the dirt. The fire in the sky leaves his shadow crisp and deep. This is Texas without the cowboy hat. This is Texas with a soft rain of cosmic debris sifting down over it. This is a dark, dangerous thing hiding in the cellar, but this is also a girl threading her bangs out of her face and smiling with her eyes at a boy. This is that impossible creature, love. This is Sterling City. Amazon
saw this at BizarroCon this weekend. it’s one of one. the rest coming soon.
Update, Steve. Got to remember, got to remember: City of the Dead is easily the best haunted house I’ve ever been to. I learned both NOT to get lost in the backtunnels visitors aren’t supposed to stumble into, and also to NOT let my wallet chain get caught on the wall when Leatherface is chasing me hit two movie premieres recently: Monkey’s Paw in LA and Winter in the Blood in Austin I was on HuffPost Live, talking “Terrifying Television.” was fun. crazy to think there’s still Werthams out there, trying to bring the horror down: and, Mixer asked me to give my top five horror novels, stories, and movies. it’s in here, now, alongside Brian Evenson’s list, which I’m anxious to see: my story “Thirteen” from Paula Guran’s Halloween got a nice mention in AICN my story “Welcome to the Reptile” house is in the charity anthology Blood Type: my story “Old Meat” got the musical accompaniment treatment by Matthew Treon, at Gutfish Radio: and, just now I was on KMSU radio, talking slashers. Soon to be archived, I’m sure, at which point this image will become a link: I’ve got an interview spread across Jeff Vandermeer’s too-cool Wonderbook: I was lucky enough to make this excellent book: and, finally, this is what I looked like for class for Halloween:
I forget if I’ve properly updated or not, but: Demon Theory, the comic book. We’ve got pencils and temp-lettering in the can, are playing with cover stuff now (I’ve got a fake-o logo/title somewhere, but, it’s somewhere not on this particular computer), as you can see below. As for its eventual realness, as in buyableness: we’re just putting tentacles out to publishers now, and crossing what fingers we’ve got left. It’s a good time for a new horror comic, I think, with both Locke & Key and Hack/Slash sadly going/gone away. However, one thing I’ve found is that I don’t get to make those calls. I just write and write and write, and hope in-between, try to watch some Rockford Files when I can.
If only anybody were ever smart enough to call a lawyer and an English major before they made their three wishes, right? You’ve got to the get the wording just, just right, with all these exclusionary clauses, with all this over-specific verbiage to indicate exactly what you’re asking for. And bring an artist in as well, to go ahead and illustrate what you’re saying, to storyboard out the smallest most insignificant minutia of these wishes. Don’t worry about being too redundant or pedantic, either. You have to go that far. Because the wishgivers of the world, at least according to the stories, they will willfully misinterpret whatever you say. They’ll gleefully misinterpret it. It’s like—it’s like, sure, they’re bound by ‘laws’ to follow your instructions. But if you leave any wiggle room at all, then look out, you’re about to become a chalkboard on which they can carve a cute rhyming poem about how much it chafes being bound by these rules. Case in point: Another case in point: The Monkey’s Paw, a bloody retelling of that 1905 short story by WW Jacobs. Except, you probably remember it as happening over the course of a single day, yes? Not feature-length. Here it is in short: a couple acquires a magic talisman that grants three wishes, one of which kills their son, one of which brings him back, one of which sends him away. So, it’s built for three acts, but, in the story at least, those acts are bam bam bam fast, and then . . . → → →
A collection of three powerfully disturbing novellas by multiple award-winning author, Stephen Graham Jones. There are lines that probably shouldn’t be crossed, doors that should stay shut, thoughts that shouldn’t be considered. In these three novellas by Stephen Graham Jones, the dead talk, ancient evil opens its eyes, and that guy across the parking lot, he’s watching you, and has been for a while now. Lock the door, tell yourself it’s nothing, turn the radio up. It won’t matter. You’re already three miles past where you meant to stop. Amazon |
The Town is Stanton, Texas, population 3,000. Your name is Nicholas Bruiseman, and you’re a disgraced homicide detective so down on your luck you’ve been forced to take a job as the live-in security guard for the town’s lone storage facility. At last, you can finally get on with the business of drinking yourself to a better state of mind, except the ghosts of childhood keep rising all around you. You might have been done with Stanton once upon a time, but Stanton’s hardly done with you. This is your new life—starting over with nothing in the town you grew up in, and trying to survive a case where there’s one dead body and an old high school yearbook full of suspects. Let the class reunion begin, and if you can get paid this time, even better. After all, you’re not doing this for nothing… Amazon
written with Paul Tremblay “And now the boy’s lost in the brightness somehow. The whole tree shakes. He’s up in the thickest part of the tree. I step back, looking up, and I keep going until I back into the kiddie pool, which takes me out behind my knees. My soccer calves are no help and I splash down butt-first into the water. No one is watching me, so no one laughs or asks if I’m okay. I’m not okay. There, he’s at the top. Definitely. Am I the only one who can—? The light branches bend under his weight, and then he just leaps forward, into the air, into nothing. There are screams all around, but he doesn’t fall, doesn’t plummet, doesn’t make a body imprint on the lawn like some cartoon character. He just hangs in the air like he’s getting his grip. And then he rises. The sun is behind him so he’s a shadow. He moves his arms and legs, but I can’t tell if it’s gaining him any sort of direction. He drifts away, up and to the left, and somersaults in the air a few times. Everyone is out in the yard. The kids laugh and wave. The adults grab and claw at each other, terrified. They try to herd the children away. And the kids, they only start crying because they want to watch. They want to see that other boy, that older one, the one floating away like a lost balloon.”
Thanks to Jesse Lawrence for the heads-up on The Final Girls. Excited. ABC gave us HARPER’S ISLAND, yes? One of the best miniseries ever. And, this premise of a final girl support group is something I’ve been playing with for a while myself. So, this’ll either make it obsolete—which is great, I should have been faster—or it’ll show me what not to do (not hoping for this outcome at all). Anyway, looks like good people all around. Excited. Also, for those who missed it: The Last Final Girl (not my novel, but a write-up on Danielle Harris).