Thursday, 29 December 2016

2016...a year in review

2016 - the year death came to stay.

This year has not been the best if your a celebrity. With the sheer amount of deaths it must have set a new unprecedented record.
There have been some I've lamented and others I never even knew, but most have touched at least a few people in their own ways, and all shall be missed.
There are far too many to note down here but a few I shall mention are Angus scrimm, David bowie, carrie Fisher and herschell Gordon Lewis. Rest in peace to all.

Now onto the rest of the year.
Personally for me 2016 hasn't been too bad. It started as just another year, nowt extraordinary.
Work sucked as usual and life just plodded along.
Then February hit and my 5th wedding anniversary rolled around, spent a weekend in London with the wife. Just time alone without the kids or work and it was peaceful.

After that it was another work slog until June when download rolled around. None of my regular friends were going this year so I went camp loner.....and had one of the best downloads ever. Surrounded by drunk strangers who quickly became close friends in less than 24hours and not a week goes by that I don't think of or talk to at least one if them. Best decision ever.

Download came and went quite quickly and it was a brilliant weekend with much alcohol and metal consumed by all.

Once June skipped over to August it was time for the annual family camping trip....which lasted a grand total of 1 day. We set up the tent and got ready for a week of family frivolity and frantic fun.....aaaaand Harrison came down with chickenpox overnight. He was covered from head to toe. So we packed up the tent the following morning and headed home.
But not to be deterred we borrowed nannas caravan up Ingoldmells and spent the rest of the week there, where we could limit Harrisons exposure to other kids and still have a fun time at the beach and arcades. All in all it wasn't a total bust and fun was had,  even if it was a bit itchy for one family member.

Returning from the holiday Facebook greeted me with an odd gift.
In one of the horror groups I'm associated with, there was an open submission call for short horror stories for a book series called rejected for content. The theme was sanatariums.

 I had been toying with the idea of starting to write again all year, I had already Started several short stories about the zombie apocalypse but not finished them due to having no confidence at all in my work.
So I decided to have a crack at it, I figured the standard to be included must be high and if I didn't get chosen then I would have known for sure I was shit and to give it up.

So I wrote a short called 'mother is god' and with the grateful help of Adam Ward, who acted as my mentor and editor, I submitted it. Adam took a look at my work for me and said I could write tension but I was rough around the edges. And with his assistance I ironed out my kinks and bad habits before submitting.

And it is with great pride and humble honour that I can say my story was accepted and has now been printed in RFC5: sanatarium.

Since then things have snowballed at a steady pace. With encouragement from writers such as Jim goforth, toneye eyenot and kitty Kane I have now got the confidence to finish what I tried to start 12 months ago.

Jim, toneye, kitty and Adam have all been detrimental to me picking up the keyboard again and reignited a passion I thought had been extinguished 17 years ago.

And for that I say thank you for everything :)

November then rolled around and I had 2 concerts for my birthday :)
Gary numan playing classics from his first 3 albums and the anathema playing new an old songs. Both gigs rocked hard!! With anathema taking the edge as... Well...they haven't released a bad album for me :)

With that in mind I have a few projects lined up for 2017 that I would like to share with you.

I have a werewolf piece I am working on for vampz vs Wolvz 2, which is turning out to be sicker than I originally intended.

I have a couple of other shorts I'm working on for a few other anthologies due our next year. But titles have not been confirmed yet, apart from kitty kanes ABCs of murder, where I have the letter V.

Along with all the anthos I've got lined up I also intend to self publish a collection of my own short stories, once they've been polished and edited, and towards November I plan on releasing my own horror anthology with some close friends of mine as a thank you (they don't know about it yet haha).

So 2017 is shaping up to be a busy year writing wise.

Apart from writing, me and the wife will finally have a kind of honeymoon in August (6years after tieing the knot), I imagine there will be several trips to nannas caravan (excellent writing time) and who knows what else the year shall entail.

Just quickly I'm gunna do my favourite books and movies of the year...

I've read loads this year, not all of then were released this year but I read them this year so I'm counting them ;)

Undead fleshcrave: the zombie trigger by Jim goforth.
5 friends go to a death metal concert where everyone turns into the raving undead....don't wanna say too much as I'd ruin the myriad of gorey surprises in store but this is definitely one of my books of the year!

Blood moon big top by toneye eyenot
Marbles the Clown  gets bit by a feral child and undergoes a horrific transformation over 2 weeks.
BMBT is a novella of sorts that's filled with the icky disturbing transformation of a man from Clown to Wolf.
I finished it in a couple of hours and enjoyed every second, I could not put it down.

Wood to burn by Cameron Grace
A collection of sometimes funny but often. Moving poetry by Cameron Grace.
I usually hate poetry of any kind but this one really hit me in the feels every now and again.

Vs: US VS UK and Seasons Bleeding.
I didn't want to put the antho I was in down for my ego is non existent (haha), but I was torn between these two.

Vs is a collection of American horror authors vs authors from the UK and Australia. The tales in here verge from the creepy to the sick to the downright insane, and I loved every goddamn second of it.

Seasons bleedings is a horror authors version of secret santa. Each author was given a random author and told to kill them in the most disturbing or festive way possible. And Oh boy do they hit the nail on the head. From a drug and revenge fuelled santa through to a staff Xmas party that verges on the deranged...every story is a killer.

2016 has been a bit shit for horror films. To many regurgitations of the same theme, do me a favour and get fucked Hollywood. I want to see original or at least fucked up.

My movie of the year has to be...
The Rezort!
To describe it as jurassic Park with zombies just doesn't do it justice enough. This film is hands down my favourite film of the year.
Featuring a wicked turn from dougray Scott as an ex army hunter, it's worth checking out.

A close second is The Shallows.
A woman goes surfing and getc attacked by a great white and ends up stranded on a rock whilst the tide inexorably draws up on her.
This is one hell of a tension fest. I genuinely felt myself tensing up at parts, plus I have a massive soft spot for shark movies ;)
But this is another awesome horror movie!

My let downs of the year were 31 and The Boy....both massively overhyped and both sucked major testicle!!!!

As always I would like to thank everyone who helped me throughout the year, there have been too many too mention so I'm sure I missed some :)
I'd also like to thank my wife, diane, for sticking up with me and putting up with my dumbass questions throughout the weeks and months.

Well that's about it for 2016
See you in 2017.
Happy hunting

Thursday, 17 November 2016

Male Incubation Period

This is the start of something new. Just an idea I've had floating around my diseased head for a couple of weeks. Feel free to give it a read and let me know what you think.
This is unedited and unchanged.
From brain to page.
The Plague Pirate

The Unholy Birth

A thin sheen of morning dew stuck to the group that stood around the bed. Although none were sweating, no one noticed the humidity. They were all too focused on their purpose to feel the uncomforting atmosphere in the room. They were too determined upon their soul purpose to hear the pounding rain on the ground above. Time had ceased its march leaving only this moment. All eventualities had been accounted for and nothing would disturb the ritual and sanctity of this place. Tonight's failure or success would determine their fate in the coming war.

In the fornicating candlelight, three shrouded figures stood motionless, their eyes fixed upon the figure strapped to the bed. Each was adorned in heavy, ceremonial robes around their bodies, which hung close to the mud floor. The robed figure at the head of the bed held a leather-bound book in their hands and read from it in a monotonous yet musical tone. Speaking in a language the world had long since forgotten, they recited the lines over and over. The old words continued to spill out of the figure long into the hour, without the slightest hint of doubt. The other robed figures adjusted the tightness of the straps then joined in with the chant, their hands waved in near linking circles above the abdomen of the chosen one. This man on the bed had been chosen to be the bearer of their lord, his stomach swollen with child.

After the continuous chanting reached a thrashing and cavorting crescendo, the figures froze. For a few moments, only the sound of the man's ragged gasps could be heard under the thrum of the rain. Then, one of the figures stepped briefly into an alcove at the side of the room and reappeared with a tool tray that held a variety of cruel, stained surgical utensils. On the tray there was also a bronze bowl filled with a dark liquid. The figure at the head of the bed placed the book upon a shelf behind them and pulled down its hood to reveal a youngish woman with short cropped red hair. The woman took a deep breath and stretched her arms out in front of her, cracking her knuckles. She then dipped her hand into the dark, warm blood of a stillborn being. A rush of excitement came over her youthful features as she lifted her hand from the bowl, being careful to cup the blood in her palm, and turned to the bed. The other figures removed all their vestments and stood by the side of bed, naked but for symbols drew in blood upon their torsos and faces.

"Hear us oh unholy father," the woman said, "I am your deliverer, the bringer of death. I have come to call forth your resurrection."

As she spoke, she used the blood in her palm to draw a triangle on the man's stomach. Inside the triangle she began to inscribe dark and demonic symbols.

"Lucifer, I open the pathway to your resurrection. The unborn is your vessel to command and absorb, become one with the child and enter the doorway to your return," she finished the blood-drawn pattern with three small inverted crosses placed upon the outer points of the triangle. "Enter and absolve, unholy father.”

The man screamed in agony as lightning crashed outside the lone window and illuminated the room. The other women started to fidget and fondle themselves as they watched the man snap violently up and down against his bonds. He grabbed at the tabled edge and screamed again. His eyes bugged out from his head as the veins on his forehead writhed around under the skin. The ungodly pattern on his stomach began to smoke. The blood was burning through his skin. The man’s screams became howls as he was being eaten alive by the pain coursing through his nerves. As the blood ate through his stomach it left a smoking hole, the man's head started to shake from side to side as a white froth erupted from deep in his throat.

"Yes!" the woman screamed and laughed hysterically. "Oh unholy father, come in me!"

Then he began to moan, the sound of a woman about to go into labour.

The red cropped woman turned to the others, her face flushed with excitement, "Midwife, prepare yourself."

"I am ready," said one of the women, slipping her hands into a pair of latex gloves. Her dark, purple hair shimmered in the fading candlelight as she positioned herself at the end of the bed. Wiping the sweat from her eyes she tied her hair back with some rope. After she was sure that her hair was securely tightened away from her important work, she glanced toward the tray.

"Esther," she said, "scalpel."

The red cropped woman selected the blade off the tray. When the midwife tried to take the scalpel, Esther held tight and locked the midwife's eyes on her own. "Careful Lisa," she warned, "that is your saviour."

Lisa met her eyes and nodded. Taking the scalpel she got ready. The man groaned as she moved the mechanical stirrups to the sides of the bed and removed the sheet covering his lower half.  

“Shush Karl, it’ll all be over soon,” she whispered.

“Go to hell you fuck,” Karl growled as he writhed around against his straps.

"Come, my lord!" Esther watched the man pass out from the pain.

"Starting the first incision," Lisa slid the knife into the man’s skin.

As she slid the knife through the skin fluids poured out of the cut. The man's belly was soon covered in thick mucus of blood and fat. After a few more slices the baby’s head was out in the open; a screaming baby boy. Lisa grabbed a clean cloth from off of the tray and wiped clean its mouth and nose. Lisa selected the rusty forceps and applied them to the sides of the baby’s head. Twisting and pulling on the child’s head as if it was a bothersome wine cork. With a final heave Lisa pulled the shoulders clear, then the rest slid out leaving a trail of blood and fluid dribbling down Lisa’s body as she cradled the new-born boy in her arms.

The third woman spoke up. "It looks like an ordinary boy, how is that possible?"

"Shut up," Esther hissed from the other side of the bed. "What were you expecting Samantha, a baby with horns and a tail?"

Samantha was about to respond but decided against it when she caught Esther’s venomous eyes. Lisa called out for a pair of scissors to cut the umbilical cord and she swiftly severed the last vestige of humanity this child would ever experience. The boy was now a figurehead and icon of the last war the world would ever see.

Karl's eyes glazed over as his breathing became shallow and harsh. Esther gave the final command, "Quick, finish him before he dies."

Picking up the scalpel from the tray Samantha also selected a small kidney bowl and worked her way towards the top of the bed. She rested the bowl underneath Karl’s neck and with a grin slits his throat. 

The baby’s cries filled the room. Its cries turned to screams as Esther lifts him into the air and carries him over to the brazier burning in the corner. Sticking out of the fire was an iron handle; the triangular symbol was etched deep into it. The floor next to the brazier was covered by a piece of blood stained cloth. Esther lowered the boy onto the cloth and commenced to speak again in the weird language. Her words were firm and melodious, yet full of a possessed passion.

“Quick now, fetch me the bowl Samantha,” Esther ordered.

She then retrieved the iron from the brazier, ignoring the blisters that sprang up on her palm. Samantha placed the bowl of blood on the floor next to the baby. Dipping the red hot branding iron into the bowl Esther winced as it hissed and spat at her. She moved the iron over the baby and let the blood drip over its body, at which the baby stopped crying. The boy’s hands and feet twitched before becoming still as his eyes met Esther’s.

"Now is the time of your resurrection, our unholy lord and torturer," she said, "Be one with the child and grow, grow to reclaim what is rightfully yours."

Lisa and Samantha watched from behind. Kneeling close to the Esther each had one hand on the bloody triangle on their chest and the other buried deep between their legs.

"Arise unholy one, Arise," the others gasped as the stroked themselves and their symbols, prostrating themselves before their lord as Esther pushed the branding iron onto the baby’s scalp. The boy smiled as his flesh was seared with the occult symbol.

Esther smiled, her pale skin stretched tight over her bony features. "So it is written, so it shall be." She paused for a moment and looked at the others, "Do not fear, my sisters. That which has been promised shall be fulfilled."

"What about the child?"

"Leave that to me. He will lead us to victory and I shall lead him until then..."

Top of Form

Original text

Contribute a better translation

Thursday, 27 October 2016

Ideas for stories from sleepless nights

I had a few ideas for stories I'm currently developing, these are not the final stories, just the rough outline to give you an idea of the weird and wonderful shite my brain spews out in the middle of the night when I'm trying to sleep.

Zombie apocalypse

Hiding in church confessional, zombie starts to confess it's sins before ripping then apart.

Possession? Elves?

Boy gets possessed/taken, parents try to find real boy, elves/possessed being held against will in an Orchard by old man siphoning their eternal life, parent shoots old man, they give back boy saying thank you for releasing us

Survivor of war, goes crazy, imagine himself in a town full of people he knows, plagued by monsters, most folks are dead, monsters are a family he mowed down during the war in a bloodrage, personal daemons?!

Date night, back to woman's place, she has siamese twin in place of one of her breasts, hungry twin

Wednesday, 5 October 2016

Unfinished idea

Whispers spread like fire,so many curious eyes watching over her as he tests the new limits of her false reality.

Her willpower has astounded even the most hardened, more disturbed among their kind.

She is their entertainment, a piece of meat to be carved before them, turned into something horrifically beautiful.

No turns taken, no line to be queued. She is a special case, one that has escaped them too many times before. Only one has earned the right to carve this naked being into something more deserving their surroundings.

He carves her flesh, moulding it, stretching and folding, piercing it, as minutes stretch to hours.

The hooks pierce her flesh, blood spilling from palid skin, holding her in place.

Needles thread like a surgeons. In and out of her flesh, flickering faster, the blood pours faster, leaving trails like a motorway of blood lanes, crisscrossing all over her pain wracked flesh.

She feels the pain. She knows the torture is eternal. Yet she showed no sign, gave the teacher no pleasure at seeing her pain.

Only her tears betrayed her. Tiny silver rivers, streaming from her eyes, the only proof she felt the tortures he was forcing upon her.

The gathering masses sighed as the stone Tablet turned red. The blood running through rivulets entrained into the table over eternity.

She arcs her back as his wicked knife plunges through her musculature. Severing tendons and splitting bone. She bites back a scream as the cruel blade pierces through the other side of her arm.

Closing her eyes to the horror being inflicted upon her, she searches her mind for a happier place, a safer place to hide from the pain.

Content in the knowledge that she was hurting, the teacher smiles a grim grin. Adjusting his grip on the blade, he sets to work sawing through the rest of the arm.

Saturday, 1 October 2016

Odd dream

Last night I had a dream.
Strangely odd.
It was about zombies, of course, but jot your standard.
They were active during the day and in a kind of hibernation at night. But slightest noise would wake them.

So I've pondered on it today and have put alot into the infections origin.
I came up with something I think hasn't been done before (correct me if I'm wrong).

What if the virus was man-made. But not the standard way.
What if the virus was actually supposed to help the world.

A group of bio-genetists create a strain of fast photosynthesising corn that can grow in any climate anywhere. A cure for world hunger.
On day zero, one of the geneticists bakes some bread out of the new corn and they taste test it.
The coding of the corn starts to combine with human dna and creates a plant infused zombie, that is highly active during the day, but dormant at night.

That's as far as I've got so far, but I reckon with a little research I could flesh it out, so to speak.

Random thought for the day

What if spiderman, when bitten by the spider, had gone through a transformation more akin to the fly?

Would people still respect and love a hideously mutated man-spider?  Or would they run no matter what good he is trying to do in the world.

Would social conventions allow someone who has the outward appearance of a spider monster to become a hero, or would they force them to end up a villain?

If cows were gods

Something flickered at the edge of Phils vision, a shadow whipping past. He snapped around to stare at the machinery behind him, but beyond the wire grille there was only black.
Sliding off his stool, he worked around the mammoth metal to look behind.
The cow at the trough hadn't moved. It stood in a languid state, it's head resting in the bales of hay, not aware of where it was.
It's tongue lolled gently from one corner of its mouth.
Phil reached out to stroke the cow, his hand gliding down its soft, cold skin.
Looking past its head he could see its stomach had been split from throat to sternum. The sack of organs and guts still hung from the inside of the poor creature, awaiting removal.
Breathing shallow through his nose, Phil tried to mask the rotten stench of offal, blood and shit that permeated the stall, but to no avail. His nose was filled with the scent of death.
Guiding his hand down the cows neck, Phil felt an unexpected wave of sympathy wash over him. It may have been his job and someone had to do it, but it didn't help him sleep at night.
Putting his forehead on the side of the cows head he whispered "gods speed".

"you looking for God in the wrong place fleshbag"

Phil jumped at the voice, glancing around there was no-one there. Turning back to the cow Phil watched as one of the stomachs escaped the organ sack and slapped wetly onto the ground underneath.

"trying to figure out how I work boy?"

Phil took a step back and looked past the cow. There was nothing there.

"I'm here fleshbag, look at me, look at what you've done"

Phils face paled as he watched the cows jaw move to create the words he was hearing.

"what did I ever do to you meatball? Why would you hurt me like this?"

"this can't be real, it can't be true" Phil whispered as he stepped back into the machinery behind him.

"it's true bloodsack, it's real."

"but how? Why?"

"you killed me! Ripped me open and left me hanging here to die. I was still breathing when you walked away you fucker"

"but you're dead, and you're a cow!"

"and you killed me. It's time for you to reap what you sow. I have a gift for you Phil"

"a gift?  From a dead cow? What the fuck is going on here?"

"the gift of killing Phil. All day long you blow our brains out and get us with your cruel curved knives. For you it's a job, but for us it's the end. We see its coming, we try to avoid it where we can but in the end we must all go the diamond pasture in the sky. But before I leave I want you to know what we know and feel what we feel"

"what do you mean?" Phil stepped towards the cow.

"we want you to be the killer you are. We can't control out future but we can yours. This isn't a gift of flesh or leather. This is a gift of bovine anger, our internal turmoil you were unaware of."

"but I don't want it" Phil stammered

"Killing is an act of self-realization Phil, it shows a man his true nature, and when you know this, fleshbag, the petty world they tie you to flakes away, and your true self is revealed"

"but-but I..."

"you do not get a choice in this Phil. Your path has been chosen. Accept it"

"no" Phil screamed as he turned to run, slipping on a pool of blood he fell and cracked his head off the trough.

"now is your time meatball, and out time for retribution"
The cows head lowered until it was over Phils shallow breathing mouth. It's neck started to convulse and throb. If the cow was alive it would have been hacking and coughing, but instead it's throat heaved in a hypnotic rhythm. A deep red clot rolled over the cows lolling tongue, slurping and slapping it's way down its length. Reaching the end it made the small drop into Phils mouth with a dull thud. Slipping past his teeth it worked it's way deep into Phils throat.

Phils body twitched and spasmed as the clot worked it's way deep into his system.
Sitting bolt upright Phil gagged and choked as it wormed into his nerves.
His eyes glazed as his face went from pale white to a dark purple.
A blank expression crossed his face. Phil stood slowly, as if his legs weren't his own. Standing, he turned to face the cow.

"good meatball." the cow slurred "now go! Kill our murderers. Be my hand of vengeance"

Picking a curved, serrated gutting knife off the magnetic block on the wall, Phil walked out the door and off into the slaughterhouse. The screams followed soon after.

"delicious" the cow whispered as it's head lolled back to its chest.

Friday, 30 September 2016

The turn

Sheets covered in gore
The blood flowed free
Walking with the dead
Through the misted trees

Nervous as I walk
They moan and groan
Limbs drop as leaves
My chances are blown

Legs stumble and fall
I scream in shock
The creatures they come
Starting to flock

My body is stone
I lay frozen in fear
The dead draw closer
My eyes shed a tear

They grasp and grab
Fingers tear deep inside
Internal blood flows free
My life is denied

The tear and they eat
Flesh ripped from bone
My screams sound so weak
I can never go home

My life is over
My body is empty
The dead lust is sated
Nothing left but a testi

An undead March
My moan joins their tone
We walk on in the night
I want flesh on the bone

Work musings

So yesterday at work three words popped into my head....
Flesh to plastic.

I wrote them in my ideas pad, not knowing  what or where they sprung from.
Then throughout the rest of the day I pondered them.
Underneath those 3 words I then preceded to write...
In that order.
And so my idea evolved.

What if a serial killer had kidnapped someone, then Stockholm syndrome sets in and they end up taking them on as a student.
Bringing home victims to his/her protégé and teaching them torture.

But then I thought what if the killer was actually a teacher? What if it wasn't one person he was teaching, but a class of prospective killers?
A school for serial killers?

What would happen if the exams were so harsh that whoever got the lowest grade was used in the next test? Survival of the fittest in a school that's killer.

This is an idea I shall be working upon after I've finished my recent submission.


Avast ye scallywags.....
Naa won't keep that up.
This here is a personal blog of random musings.
Probably be filled with movie reviews, book reviews....whatever I want to review.
But it shall also contain random thoughts on things.
as well as several short stories and story ideas.
I'll just be throwing out whatevers running through my head.
Happy hunting