Author Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘Count Dracula went out to dine’.
Author Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘Count Dracula went out to dine’.
“Will you join in death’s dance
And find romance
In Hades below?
Touch my skin
soft as snow.
My love will you go
Where the death lilies grow?”
The suffocating dark holds me tight,
Locked, in the arms of nightmare through the blackest of nights.
Sweating, unable to arise from my bed,
I lie, black imaginings running through my head.
A ghoul by the bookcase stands,
Intent on dragging me into death’s barren land.
What is that shadow on my bedroom door?
My dressing gown hanging or something more?
Thank you to Francis H. Powell for the below guest post. You can find links to Francis’s sites at the end of his article.
What is your vision of a horror writer? Perhaps a rather aged looking man, with large piercing eyes, bushy eyebrows, their mere presence is likely to frighten away any children? He sits near a crackling fire, with dark thoughts running through his mind, with the sound of Carmina Burana, blaring away from a decrepit ancient gramophone. Every so often, he lets out a loud raucous laugh, as he delights at his own cruel invention in his mind. He has never married, in truth has been a hardened misogynist, he prefers the cruelty men can do to women, rather than engaging women themselves. He dislikes children, their crying, their moaning, the complications they add to life. In fact he despises many things. He has hate running through him. His attitudes have not softened with age, they have hardened. Would you trust leaving your child with him, he writes about Satanism…Surely you would tell your child to keep away, if you were neighbors. Surely horror writers eat babies?
I am not a horror writer as such, however my stories have a very dark side to them. This a bit about me…
I had always wanted to have children. When I got over the age of forty, the idea of having a child seemed a forlorn hope. My friends had long since procreated. What made things difficult was the fact that I’d always had a really good connection with children and had for a long time worked with them. I got married for the first time aged fifty, and it seemed logical to try to have a child. I did not consider it inevitable that my wife would fall pregnant, you read or hear about so many couples who are unable to have children. When I arrived back from work to be informed by wife she was pregnant, it took time for the news to sink in, it seemed so unreal. Then followed nine fraught months of worry. Such worry I had never experienced before in my life. When my son was finally born, what a relief.
Now a big portion of my life revolves around my son…taking him for walks, going to the play park, taking him to crèche, helping to put him to bed…all the normal things parents do.
One of my short stories in my book Flight of Destiny, deals with a parent’s worst nightmare…a father taking his infant for a walk in the park, goes home only to find the pram empty and the baby gone. The story is called “Snatched”. Following the discovery of the empty pram, the man not only feels terrible guilt, but also the wrath of his wife. His wife’s behavior becomes more and more extreme. One day she announces the baby has been returned…but she denies her husband, any access. The husband gets more and more frustrated as well as intrigued about the return of their son, while his wife is more and more bizarre and eccentric in her behavior. Things come to a head when the man finally gets to see the snatched “baby”.
I have known the darkest of nights,
Lost myself in sensuous delights.
I have felt the vampire’s fear,
Held her close and thought her dear.
I have seen her blood red lips,
Fought against her fatal kiss.
I have endured her fangs sharp,
as shards of glass within my heart.
I have watched the dawn come,
Perceived the vampiress turn and run.
The clock ticks.
Upstairs an ogre sleeps.
Paralysed by fear, a child sits waiting for the monster to awake.
Hands of terror traverse the clock’s face.
A creak. The child glances fearfully upwards, praying for deliverance.
My collection of short stories, ‘The Suspect and other tales’ is free in the Kindle store from March 4th – March 8th 2015.
The book consists of: Tales of the unexpected, ranging from stories of crime and vengeance through to ghostly happenings in an ancient mansion.
One reviewer of ‘The Suspect’ writes as follows: ‘Eleven clever and entertaining short stories, ideal for dipping into and each with a nice twist in the tale.’
To download ‘The Suspect’ free in the UK please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/Suspect-other-tales-K-Morris-ebook/dp/B00PKPTQ0U/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8 or http://www.amazon.com/Suspect-other-tales-K-Morris-ebook/dp/B00PKPTQ0U/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8 for the US
“Disquiet”, an anthology by A P Bullard and other writers was well worth the £0.99 I paid for the book in the Amazon Kindle store. While not all of the stories produced in me a feeling of disquiet, the majority of the tales had me on the edge of my seat (or bed as I finished the book in my bedroom), wondering about the fate of the characters.
The story which especially horrified me concerned a man who chooses to gouge out his eyes. The author describes with clinical precision, down to the instruments employed, how the unnamed man goes about accomplishing this gruesome task. As someone who lost the majority of my sight as a very small child due to a blood clot I find it hard to grasp why anyone would, voluntarily gouge out their own eyes. However there are psychologically disturbed people out there and the story held me spellbound (that probably is a bad choice of words but I can not, at this juncture think of a better one) with a sense of horrified fascination.
The other tale which particularly intrigued me concerns a group of 3 disreputable characters in an inn. It is the well established story of those perpetually doomed by a demonic presence to repeat an action (in this case the opening of a box) with no possibility of redemption.
For anyone who enjoys uncomfortable reads I recommend “Disquiet” which can be downloaded here (http://www.amazon.com/Disquiet-anthology-A-P-Bullard-ebook/dp/B00OQJGU0K) or here (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Disquiet-anthology-P-Bullard-ebook/dp/B00OQJGU0K/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1423812600&sr=1-2&keywords=Disquiet%3A+an+anthology).
On checking the reviews of my book, “The Suspect And Other Tales” I noticed that a new review was posted on 4 February, (http://www.amazon.com/review/RM3GJSO629L91/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00PKPTQ0U).
Many of the stories in “The Suspect And Other Tales are in the crime genre and have an unexpected twist in the tale. Other stories concern ghostly happenings. In “Something Wicked” a young boy is subjected to a haunting in an ancient mansion. Are his terrifying experiences the product of an overactive imagination or does something truly wicked lurk in the dark shadows of his chamber?
For “The Suspect And Other Tales” please visit http://www.amazon.com/The-Suspect-other-tales-Morris-ebook/dp/B00PKPTQ0U/ref=cm_rdp_product or http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Suspect-other-tales-Morris-ebook/dp/B00PKPTQ0U
The whispering moved closer. Mark’s instinct was to flee but where could he go? The cellar was black as pitch. If he ran Mark would, in all probability run straight into the arms of the loathsome creatures. Even if, by some miracle he evaded them he would in all likelihood run slap bang into a brick wall. However, remaining where he was was not an option as, sooner rather than later the vile things would be on him.
Mark shuddered at the thought of the Dracs, They didn’t kill their prey immediately. Captives where confined in cages, their blood being taken as and when the creatures became hungry. They where the size of an average domestic cat. In a one to one situation a man could (assuming he was able to get hold of a Drac) choke the life out of the detestable creature. However the cellar was crawling with Dracs. Even if he killed a dozen of them their brethren would capture him eventually.
Mark felt the gentlest of touches, rather like being tickled by the whiskers of a domestic cat. He screamed and kicked out in the direction of the contact. The Drac shrieked as it was propelled through the air. There was a splat followed by a shrieking from the Drac’s enraged companions.
Where was the entrance. He had got into this infernal place, surely he could, somehow find the way out?
Mark was conscious of needle-like fangs puncturing his leg. His fist connected with something warm and soft. The creature groaned in agony attempting to escape. Mark brought his foot crashing down on the skull of the Drac.
The death of another Drac brought a veritable horde of the creatures on him. Desperately Mark clicked on the “close game” icon.
“The programme is not responding”.
Mark reached for the computer’s off switch. His hand was caught in the sharp fangs of a ravenous drac. Mark screamed. With all his strength he attempted to hook his foot around the computer’s cable. If he could get a grip on the wire then Mark could end the nightmare by pulling it out of the socket. The Dracs, as though comprehending his intention, locked both his legs in a vice-like grip. The things piled on top of him forcing Mark off his chair and on to the ground. A sound rather like that of a cat lapping milk could be heard.
Becky found her boyfriend lying on the carpet without a mark on him. He lay entangled in the virtual reality suit. It covered him from head to toe. The garment allowed the user to interact with computer generated worlds and, in effect to become an integral part of whatever game he was playing.
Mark’s face wwore a look of utter detestation and fear. Something about the way in which Mark lay and his expression told Becky that he was beyond help.
Becky reached for the telephone which stood next to the computer monitor. She froze at the sight which greeted her. Cat-like creatures glared at her from the monitor, their sharp fangs seeming to reach out to Becky. Instinctively Becky stepped back to avoid those razor-sharp teeth. Averting her eyes from the screen Becky bent, turned off the power and unplugged the machine. As the power died Becky fancied she heard an angry howling coming from the headset which remained strapped to Mark’s head.