Salem sat behind the desk and surveyed the men before her. Bits and Bytes sat with their laptops open, eyes on her and waiting for her command. Dr. Bloom sat over on the couch, holding a folder and displaying a smug grin.

“Dr. Bloom, you have news for me?”

“Indeed, and it’s good. The DNA tests have proven beyond any doubt that you are Spencer Thorn’s only child, and therefore rightful heir to all his assets.”

“The lawyers are drawing up the papers now, but it’s a mere formality. We expect you to be fully in charge next week, not that you haven’t been for the past month,” Bytes said, blushing furiously.

Salem nodded. “Good. Thank you, doctor, that is all I need from you today.” She watched as he left the office and closed the door before she continued.

“How goes the move?”

Bits pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and began to type. “As of now, half of the creatures have been transported back to their natural habitats. That includes most of the trickier species. It should all be smooth sailing from here, so no more than another couple of weeks before they are all gone.”

“Excellent. Good work. How about business, Bytes?”

“Business is booming. It’s almost as though you know exactly which moves to make and when to make them.” Bytes laughed.

“Funny how that works.” Salem regarded both men for a moment. “I’ve been thinking. I don’t believe we have been formally introduced. I’m Rebecca Grainger.”

The IT guys looked at one another and then at the hand reaching across the desk.

“I’m Ralph Butterweck,” Bits said, shaking Salem’s hand.

“Harold Higginbotham,” Bytes said doing the same.

Salem frowned. “Quite the mouthful. Perhaps we should stick with Bits and Bytes.”

Both men grinned and said, “Yes, please,” in unison.

They rose to leave, but Bytes paused. “Can I ask a personal question?”

“Of course,” Salem replied.

“Where is Raven?”

Salem spun her chair around and looked out the window to the city beyond. “She’s out there, taking care of business in the way she knows how. We’ll see her from time to time, I’m sure.”

***

Shutting out the sound of the barking sea lions, Raven turned her face to meet the sun, enjoying the warmth of the summer rays.

She sat in a wooden rocking chair outside her storefront, taking a moment to relax before the next wave of tourists arrived, desperate to know what their future held.

It was dull work, but work that served a purpose. With the death of Thorn, most of the anger and her hate fled with his soul. Still, Raven knew that the world was still a messy place. She had promised her daughter that there would be no mass killings, no revenge for a life on the run. Raven had lived up to that promise, but when the wrong person stepped into her shop and offered up their palms and their innermost secrets, she made sure that the breath they took inside her establishment would be their last.

Raven felt a shadow fall across her face and believing that the sun had gone behind a cloud, she opened her eyes. It was no cloud, but rather a massive man who totally blocked her view of the bay.

“Are you Madame Raven?” he asked in a voice that sounded as though he gargled with broken glass.

“At your service,” Raven replied adopting an Eastern European accent. “What may I do for you.”

The man looked a little embarrassed, hanging his head as he spoke. “I’d like to know what my future holds.

Raven probed inside his mind and saw a large circular clearing in the middle of the woods. She also saw creatures that she recognized as the Wenlutah feeding on innocent people strapped to a sacrificial altar while the man and his friends knelt in worship. “Of course, mister…?”

“Graves.”

“Welcome. Please step inside,” Raven said, opening the door for him.

“Thank you,” he grunted.

Following him inside, Raven closed and locked the door behind her and flipped the sign from open to closed. With a smile, she dropped the accent and said, “Let’s get started, shall we?”

**********************************************************************

Thank you to everyone that has taken the time to read even a small part of this story. I really appreciate your doing so. I don’t often drop tip style links, but I have added a couple at the bottom here. Zero need for you guys to do anything with them.

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It’s easy to forget what life was like when you were a kid, and how things seemed so much simpler. As I sit here now, in my current state, I can’t help but think back to my formative years, when TV ads would shape me.

I’m sure you all remember the months leading up to Christmas. How you would drop casual hints to your parents whenever the newest toy landed on the TV screen. You’d mention how cool it looked or how it would be the perfect addition to some meaningless collection. When you opened your gifts and the object of your desire was there, it felt like you’d performed some magical mind trick on your parents. More often than not, though, the thing you wanted ended up being a piece of junk or something you tossed aside after a few uses. I learned quickly that salespeople where the devil in disguise.

At some point in adulthood, I forgot that lesson.

I don’t remember exactly how the salesman got inside my house, or why the idea of a reverse osmosis filtration system sounded like something I needed. Maybe it was being reminded of how much money I wasted on bottled water, or how the stuff that I was bathing in was filled with chemicals that were almost certainly damaging my skin. My thinning hairline was almost certainly due to standing in a shower of tainted water every single day.

I found myself nodding when the salesman highlighted the benefits of reverse osmosis filtration. I may even have smacked my lips after sampling the bottle of water he handed to me as part of the sales pitch. I was sold before he finished with the presentation.

In the beginning, the system worked as advertised. This was not the plastic spaceship that didn’t fly the way they showed in ads. Oh no, this was the real deal. I was routinely drinking delicious water from the tap, spending longer in the shower, and congratulating myself on a purchase that would deliver a lifetime of benefits.

And then things changed.

It began with an aching from within, the same feeling that we called growing pains when we were kids. While not pleasant, it wasn’t too painful, at least not right away. It wasn’t until the first bone broke though skin that the real pain began. On that day, the pain was reaching new levels, so I hobbled into the shower, letting the hot water wash over me. Instead of relieving the pain, it became worse, ending with bones piercing through both shins. Instead of blood, though, a milky white fluid escaped, swirling slowly down the drain in a way that became almost hypnotic.

The pain was such that driving to the ER was impossible, especially now that more bones were breaking free from every part of my body. I wished that I could black out and escape the torture, but I remained awake through the transformation. By the time it was done, I was a living exoskeleton, the bones acting as a cage of sorts.

I found then that I could move, but it was very much against my will. The exterior bones moved on their own, leading me over to the sink. I reached out and turned on the faucet, gagging as a bony proboscis emerged from my mouth. It moved into the water flow and drank, sending the cold, delicious liquid cascading down my throat.

Now, I sit and wait until the thirst comes again and I can drink. I can no longer see, but I can feel the transformation kicking into gear again.

I’m not sure what I will become.

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Useful Writer Gifts

I really want to say thank you for listening to Episode 1, as I was legitimately surprised at how many downloads it received. I’d love for this thing to grow. I will post the Spotify link via a note a little later today. I am also putting these on YouTube through the following channel: https://www.youtube.com/@HorrorBitesShorts

If you could subscribe there, I would be very grateful.

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“WAKE UP.”

Thorn tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “Is that you I hear yelling, Salem?” It’s faint, but I can hear something.”

Pressing back against the gurney, Salem reached out and grabbed her mother’s arm, sinking her nails in as deeply as they would go.

“I don’t want to fight you. I want to love you as a father should.”

“Fathers don’t have dreams of impregnating their daughters,” Salem spit back.

“Oh, I bet that Craig would disagree. I’m sure he looked at you and had some impure thoughts. What man wouldn’t? You are a ravishing creature.”

“Craig was more of a father to me than you will ever be. “Salem felt her mother’s muscles tense under her grip, so she loosened it and moved her hand down to Raven’s wrist, where she felt the pulse grow stronger.”

“What can I do as a show of good faith?” Thorn asked, taking a step closer to Salem.

“Let me talk to Terry.”

The billionaire turned to look at the torn body that used to be Drake and smiled, flashing a set of fanged teeth that glistened with poison at the tips.

“You did that to him? There is more of me in you than you think. I’m sure you already know that talking to Terry is out of the question.”

Raven’s pulse quickened some more.

“When is it all enough?” Salem asked.

“What do you mean, daughter?”

“You have money, power, everything that most people can only dream of, yet still you drain the blood and ask for more,” Salem said, nodding at the needles still stuck in Thorn’s arms.

With a glance at the glass container, which was about one-third full, he ripped the tubes out of his arms and let them fall, the blood dripping and pooling around his hooves. “If you join me, it will be enough.

Salem smiled demurely and walked towards her father, trying to keep his focus off of Raven, who was now beginning to sit up on the gurney. She needn’t have worried, as Thorn only had eyes for her.

“You see what we can be together, child. Come to me.”

Moving in close, Salem placed her hands on his bare chest and moved them slowly down to his abdomen. Thorn moaned and went to pull her in close, which was when Salem struck him in the belly with the palm of her hand, sending Thorn flying across the room, a look of surprise on his face.

Snatching up the dripping tubes, Salem pulled Raven’s gurney in close and said, “Drink.”

“What?” Raven asked, her voice slurred.

“Stronger together, remember?”

Without giving it another thought, Raven grabbed the tubes and shoved them into her open mouth, sucking down the contents of the glass container in a matter of seconds.

“What are you doing? “Thorn raged, picking up one of the passed-out guards and snapping his spine over his knee.” He threw the body across the room and roared in frustration as Salem swatted it away with little effort.

“You are going to need to do better than that,” Raven said as she hopped off the gurney. “It’s two against one now.”

Thorn scuffed his right hoof on the ground and leaned over, getting ready to charge. “You forget that I am many, all in one. I cannot be stopped.”

Salem made to step forward, every muscle in her body coiled tight like a spring. A hand on her arm stopped her.

“This one is mine. You should leave,” Raven said.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Thorn charged, tossing aside medical equipment with a wave of his hand, clearing a path to the witches.

“Together then. I’ll fight, you slice.”

Raven sprang forward and grabbed Thorn by the throat, covering the gills and leaving him fighting for breath.

He grabbed the witch by the arm and raked his claws along her skin, tearing open ragged wounds that healed as quickly as they opened.

As Raven continued to squeeze, Salem moved her hands as though performing karate moves, each movement through the air applying razor cuts to Thorn’s flesh.

Thorn stopped scratching and instead grabbed Raven’s arms, bending them backwards with a sickening crack that sent bones out though her forearms.

With a scream of pain, Raven removed her hands from around Thorn’s neck and drove the jagged bones from her compound fractures into the open wounds that Salem created on his chest.

Panicked, Thorn concentrated on healing the wounds, but Salem simply moved faster, slicing at every part of his body. When she reached the Achilles on his right leg and tore it open, he went down on one knee with a howl of agony.

“Put your hands on me,” Raven yelled.

Salem moved towards her mother but was lifted from her feet and sent flying by Thorn, who pointed at the guards and brought them awake. He opened his mouth wide and sent his barbed tongue flying out and into Raven’s shoulder, holding her in place as she removed the bones from his chest and began to heal.

“Shoot this fucking bitch,” he demanded.

The guards opened fire. The bullets that reached Raven bounced off her as she smiled in Thorn’s face. A few that missed tore through his tongue, tearing it off, leaving a wriggling stump in Raven’s shoulder.

Gouts of black blood spurted from the wound as Thorn flailed and tried to make it stop. The man had all the power in the world, but he was at a loss on how to best use it. He tried to heal his wounds, but the blood loss made him weak. The scales on one side of his face began to flake off and the reptilian eye on that side turned milky white.

Salem ran to her mother, pausing only to disarm the guards with a flick of her wrist. She watched as the men bolted, the fight going out of them as they took full stock of their surroundings.

Feeling her daughter’s hands on her shoulder, Raven said, “Heat.”

The women closed their eyes and slowly began to raise their body temperature, warming the blood in their veins and that which ran through Thorn. As they did so, Salem continued to slice.

Blood flowed freely from Thorn and boiled his flesh as it streamed down his body. Blisters showed up on his skin, popping freely and sending little geysers of blood flying into the air, each drop bubbling and fizzing as it hit the ground.

“Enough,” Raven said, as she stood and pulled her daughter away. “Maybe one more cut.”

Holding out her arm, Salem slowly drew it across Thorn’s body, opening a wound across his abdomen, spilling entrails that flopped onto the floor.

Thorn grabbed at his innards, trying to push them back inside his body, but his talons tore them into smaller shreds. He looked up at his tormentors, tears brimming in his eyes, and as he went to speak, the blood of the witches boiled over and exploded, tearing him into a million tiny pieces.

Salem wiped the gore away from her face and looked around the room. “I wouldn’t want to be the one cleaning up this mess.”

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We have all, almost certainly, at some point in our life been told that we look like someone. Usually, it is a celebrity that you have some passing resemblance to, but what if it was an identical copy of yourself. Would you feel as comfortable as you do when compared to a famous actor, or would you feel a sense of discomfort, wondering what your doppelganger is up to, and why? What is it that makes the idea of an exact replica of you or someone you love to seem so off?

The Total Loss of Identity

For me, I think it all begins with the idea that we somehow lose our identity. Just think of how much time you would spend thinking about what your doppelganger is up to out in the world’ Would it come across you friends and act like you, going the Single White Female route and essentially trying to replace you. We are all unique in our own way, so the idea that there is an exact copy of you out there feels like a loss of identity. Worse yet is the prospect that your friends and loved ones might no longer believe that you are you, and that you are somehow the intruder.

The Lore of Doppelgangers

While doppelgangers are now more commonly used as plot devices in scary books and movies, there is also a mythology that dates back to the time before media became a thing. Back in the day, the belief was that if you saw your doppelganger, it was a sign of impending death. That is not necessarily a common piece of knowledge, but perhaps it is still somehow ingrained in our DNA. It may also explain how the whole uncanny valley thing makes us all so uncomfortable. You see something that looks real but isn’t, making you question your senses.

My Personal Experience With Doppelgangers

A few years ago, my wife and I were enjoying a drink at a local bar. A group of people at a neighboring table kept looking over at me and whispering among themselves. Not one to put up with that type of behavior, I was about to speak up. I think it was clear that I was getting annoyed, so one of the women from that table came over and explained what was going on. She showed me a picture of a friend who had recently passed, and how I looked just like him. While it was definitely not in doppelganger territory, the likeness was enough that I could see why they kept looking at me.

A Book and a Movie to Check Out

I always like to toss in a couple of options for you guys that fits the theme for the week. This time around, I would suggest The Outsider by Stephen King as my book pick, while I would go with Us as my movie pick.

Hope to see you all again for the next A-Z of Horror, which will be E is for Eldritch Horror.

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I have spoken before about how I find the ocean to be an absolutely terrifying place. Even in a beautiful location, when I look out at the ocean, I feel a certain level of dread. Some of it is the knowledge that so much of what lies below remains undiscovered. When you have an imagination as active as mine, it takes courage to step into the water, sure that something is about to pull you under.

Stories told by sailors down through the centuries add to the mystery, with massive sea creatures often blamed for sinkings. Let’s not forget that “Her Be Monsters” was an inscription often found on old maps. Besides the creatures lurking below the depths, there have also been ghost ships adding to the mystery Let’s take a look at some of the more famous vessels, some of which are real and some of which are nothing more than legends.

The Flying Dutchman

The most famous ghost ship is one that very much falls under the urban legend category. Legend tells of a ship captain who defied God and nature while taking a trip around the Cape of Good Hope. The captain was then cursed to sail forever. In olden times, the story was believed to be real, with sailors who saw the Flying Dutchman believing that it was a sign of impending doom.

The Mary Celeste

I clearly remember learning about this ship when I was in school, which was around the same time when my love of ghosts and horror was beginning to grow. I was fascinated by the idea of a ship being found with no one on board, with all sorts of imaginary bad ends swirling through my mind. The Mary Celeste was found in the Atlantic at the tail end of 1872. There were plenty of supplies on board, the cargo was intact, and there were no signs of a struggle or any other reason to leave. One of the lifeboats was missing, so it was assumed the crew bolted from the ship, but the reason for doing so remains a mystery.

Lesser-Known Ghost Ships

In 1921, a 5-masted schooner named the Caroll A. Deering smashed into the Outer Banks in North Carolina. The crew and their belongings were missing, as were the lifeboats and navigation equipment. Piracy was considered a possibility, but it still remains a mystery.

If you have ever read The Terror by Dan Simmons, you might be aware of the story of ships frozen in ice. This is what happened to the SS Baychimo back in 1931. Frozen in place in the Arctic, the crew abandoned ship before it perished. Ever since, there have been reported sightings of the ghost ship.

One of the stranger stories is that of a ship called the Ourang Medan. This was a Dutch vessel from which distress calls were received. Upon discovery, the crew were found dead, each with an expression of terror etched on their dead faces. Legend has it that the ship exploded and sank before a full investigation took place. Historians now debate whether or not this story is real or legend, like the Flying Dutchman.

If you know of any other ghost ship stories, I’d love to hear them, so drop a comment.

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The boat drifted lazily into port, gliding across the water as though steered by skilled hands. It was not until it bumped against the wooden dock that people began to notice there was a problem.

Fishermen watched and waited, looking for someone to appear from within the vessel. When it became clear that no such person was going to show themself, one man took it upon himself to climb aboard.

What he found was an empty cabin, neat and tidy and with everything in its place. It was only the pale, disembodied hands on the helm that showed something off.

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As soon as the vibrations began rippling through the concrete floor, Drake thought about making his exit. Before he could leave, though, he felt a buzzing in his left ear that turned into a high-pitched whine. He looked over to Bits and Bytes, who sat in the far corner of the room recording the procedure, but he failed to catch their eye.

The whining intensified until it became unbearable. Reaching into his ear, he plucked out the blocking device and held it between his thumb and forefinger. It looked the same as it always did. The whining stopped but was immediately replaced by an invasion of a different sort.

Drake looked at the gurney and saw Salem’s eyes fluttering. “Fuck,’ he managed to say before she wormed inside his head.

***

Now that she knew there was a device in place to keep her out, Salem found it easy to bypass it. She wanted to scream for joy when Drake took it out, but she focused on the task at hand, which was to find an energy source that would bring her out of her fugue state. Hate was a great source of energy, and she figured that Drake had plenty to spare.

She wasn’t wrong.

Salem slipped inside his head and accessed a lifetime of memories. She saw wars and bloodshed, savagery and pain, all delivered by Drake’s hand. She flipped through his catalog of atrocities, sucking in the hate of the man and the fear of his victims, all of it fueling her and making her stronger.

She wormed in deeper, flipping the memories faster and faster, so much so that she almost passed the most important of all. Reaching back, she saw Drake step out of the car, saw him walk behind Terry and Craig and saw him put bullets in the back of their head.

All pretense of unconsciousness ended at that point.

Salem let loose a scream as she pulled the needles from her arms, her blood still leaking from the holes. She stayed inside Drake’s mind as she leaped off the gurney and went to stand before him.

She heard guns cocked and fingers falling on triggers. They became nothing more than a hollow echo as she slowed the world down and stood before Drake, whose face was carved in a rictus of fear.

“You should be afraid,” Salem whispered in his ear before making the mark of the cross on his body and turning back to take in the rest of the room, swatting away the bullets that moved slowly through the air.

It was then that she noticed Thorn standing on his bed, moving at normal speed as he tore the mask away from the ruined side of his face, which was now reptilian in appearance.

“Say hello to Daddy,” Thorn said, flicking out a barbed tongue that split down the middle and went off in different directions, as though possessing a mind of its own.

Salem looked beyond the billionaire, who was continuing to evolve before her eyes, to try and see what was going on with Raven. Her mother was still out cold, the excess gas she consumed keeping her under.

A scream echoed around the room as bone tore free of Thorns’ skull. On one side of his head, a horn, like that of a bull broke loose while a half rack of antlers burst free on the other side.

Deciding that it was time to speed things up again, Salem rose her hands to set time straight but paused for a moment when she saw muzzle flashes appear on the guns held by the security guards. In low motion, it looked as though they were holding sparklers, and Salem thought it looked almost pretty.

She followed the slow track of the bullets and saw that they were all headed to the point where she previously stood, right in front of Drake.

With a wave, she returned things to normal speed, flinching as the sound of gunfire joined in with Thorn’s screams in a hellish chorus.

Salem turned in time to see Drake’s body slice apart down the middle and across the shoulders in the mark of the cross she had left. Each of the pieces were torn to shreds by the hail of bullets as they fell to the ground and piled up like dead meat in an abattoir.

The guards all looked confused for a split second, wondering where their target had gone and why their leader was now nothing more than torn flesh and bones. Their training kicked in quickly though, and they all turned their weapons on Salem as she covered the space between herself and Thorn in lightning speed.

“Lay down your weapons,” the billionaire yelled.

The men turned to face him and looked horrified at what they saw. Thorn was not a pretty sight at the best of times, but he was now something torn from the pages of a nightmare novel. Besides the lizard face and crown of horns, he also had gills on his neck and a torso that looked like that of a bodybuilder. His arms were sinewy and slender, ending in oversized hands tipped with razor sharp claws. Thorns legs were thick and muscular with cloven hooves for feet.

Salem hit the floor and slid under Thorn’s bed at the same time the guards all dropped their weapons. She came out the other side, close to Raven’s gurney and stood quickly, almost ripping her skin on the spikes that jutted out of Thorn’s back.

“Where are you going, little one?” Thorn asked as he jumped off the bed, his hooves raising sparks as they contacted the floor.

Never taking her eyes off the man, Salem pointed at the guards, the medical team, and Bits and Bytes, and said, “Sleep.” They all dropped to the ground as she made it to her mother’s side.

“You got what you wanted. All I ask is that you let me walk out of here with my mother. I won’t hurt you if you do that.”

Thorn looked at her for a moment, his yellow eyes flitting left and right, and then he threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh, child. Do you really believe you can hurt me now? You and I were meant to be. Don’t you see that? Think of the children we could bring into this world. An unbeatable army.” His tongue flicked out quickly and licked Salem’s neck, leaving a trail of sticky drool.

Swallowing down the rising bile, Salem wiped her neck and shook the thick mucus from her fingers. She needed time to think. “What about Raven?”

“What about her? She is obsolete.”

“Not true,” Salem said. “Your transformation only came with blood from us both. You still need her.”

“Look at me,” Thorn said, spreading his arms. “I am a finished work of art. I need nothing more from her. You, though, are the golden child. What wonders we will accomplish together.”

Mother, please wake up. I need you. I NEED YOU.”

The internal scream seemed to do the trick, as Raven’s eyes began to flutter open.

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The Cottage

Once thought of as inhospitable, impossible to navigate, land, hikers now came. Paths quickly formed, each one leading to a peak where a cozy cottage sat, a blue light always burning in the window.

Most felt compelled to leave, but when the weather moved in, other chose to stay. All were welcomed by the old couple making residence in the cottage. Hearty soup and a warm bed were always avaialble.

People left changed, although not in the way you would expect. They felt connected to the place, and to the ship, just out of sight, that dropped the elderly beings.

Secrets

Scientists speak of the ocean blue and of how the depths are an undiscovered country stranger than the cosmos. After all, it is easy to fear what we cannot see.

While the belief is that the mysterious lies in the darkest depths, the truth is that what can hurt us lurks beneath the sand and silt of the shallowest spaces.

The giants that live there are biding their time, waiting for the population of Earth to grow to a point when the harvest will be bountiful. That day is coming soon, and when they rise, we will all soon perish.

Skyfall

The sky didn’t so much fall as expand downward, painting the world in a permanent shade of darkest blue. The world was reduced to the shadows of almost night, but things remained mostly the same.

Humans adjusted to the new sense of normal, but when the surface cracks began to show, fear set in. Some believed that the beautiful blue was a warning, others thought it the first in a series of events.

The latter didn’t feel vindicated when things started emerging from the ground. There is no victory to be found on the eve of a fight for life.

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All Seeing Eye

For centuries, sailors have spoken of a lighthouse that doesn’t appear on any maps. It comes and goes with the tides, appearing only when the keeper is hungry.

While there are no names for the lighthouse itself, several have been given to the thing that lurks below the surface. Frightened men speak of the all-seeing eye, or names for elder gods, whose tentacles reach up in search of flesh.

It is an area of the ocean that is now routinely avoided, but the thing still feeds when vessels pass via sea or air in that part of the Bermuda Triangle.

Faceless

She wakes to the sound of siren song calling from the swamps. The voices meld together to create an irresistible harmony that calls her to a home she never knew existed.

Sitting up, she sees a nightgown resting at the end of the bed, the silky fabric covered in eyes that seem to follow her every move. She slips it on and shudders as the gossamer fabric tickles her skin.

As she steps into the swampy water, a portal appears, making her smile and weep tears of joy. Beyond the gate, she sees faces of the long dead, calling her.

Funhouse

When the police find Becky, she stares at them blankly, the faintest trace of a smile on her face. A snap of the fingers pulls her out of her trance and the smile disappears.

They asked her why she wandered off, to which she responded that she was called by the funhouse. She said that the black eyes of the clown scared her at first, but that he was kind.

The cops frowned, aware that no such structure existed in that area of town. They failed to notice Becky’s eye turn black, just for a moment, as her smile returned.

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The average home is made up of furniture and decorative pieces that create a comfortable living space. Each item is ordinary and an expected part of any homestead, but what happens when the ordinary becomes something other? What if a specific object comes with a curse that turns normal life into a nightmare? This is the space where cursed objects live, so let’s dig deeper into why they are such an effective horror tool.

The Object Acts as a Virus of Sorts

I’m sure many of you will look at cursed objects in a different way, but I see them as a virus or a cancer. This is almost certainly down to my own life experiences, but in books and movies, the introduction of a cursed object spreads fear and makes others behave in a way that is not right. The object is, for me, germ that is breathed in by the susceptible, leading to an infection and transformation that often leads to horror.

Cursed Objects are Difficult to Kill

In boogeyman movies, such as Halloween and Friday the 13th, the villain of the piece often ends up becoming this supernatural force of nature that is impossible to kill. Cursed objects play a similar role. Think of the books you’ve read or the movies you’ve seen have been destroyed, only to show up in the same spot on the table or mantel here they had been sitting before. Again, for me, this translates to a cancer that returns after being in remission.

My Personal Experience with Cursed Objects

The reality is that I do not have one, other than what is in my head. When my mum was alive, she collected cute dolls that became a frequent Christmas present. When she passed, the dolls were shared with members of the family. I have one of them, which is currently sitting to my left with the sweetest smile on her face. She is not cursed and no tragedy has befallen my home. Dolls, though, are one of the things that have gained cursed object notoriety, thanks in large part to Robert the Doll and Annabelle. It’s hard to look at my doll, think of what happened to my mum, and not feel a certain way about her.

Cursed Object Book and Movie Picks

In terms of movies, the first thing that instantly springs to mind when thinking of cursed objects is Hellraiser. Do you really want to have that damn box in your house. Sure, you could leave it be, but the desire to solve the puzzle will almost certainly become too much. For my book pick, I am going with How to Sell a Haunted House by Grady Hendrix. The house in question feels cursed, but it is the puppet, Pupkin, that is the cursed star of this show. I’d love to hear what books and movies you guys love within this category.

Please come on back again next week for the next in the A-Z of Horror series, which will be D is for Doppelgangers.

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Ask anyone who chooses to write stories about an author that inspires them, and I can guarantee they will all answer quickly without giving the question any real thought. Since I have been writing for over 45 years, my inspirations are both older and more modern. In this piece, I am going to talk about 4 that I love, while also pointing out a perceived weakness of each. Be aware, though, that the weaknesses will not be anything really negative, as these are all authors who can write rings around me.

James Herbert

Before there was King, there was, in my world. James Herbert. A librarian at my small local library turned me onto his work when it became clear that my tastes were shifting into darker territory. The Fog was my first read of his, and it remains one of my favorite horror books of all time. I am in the process of working my way through his entire library again, which is where I am finding a small weakness. The books are very much of their time and feel somehow out of place today, but that is a small grumble. The way Herbert tells a story is very much the same as mine, so it is easy to see that he is the biggest influence on my work.

Stephen King

It’s probably no real surprise to learn that King arrived on my radar shortly after starting to tear my way through all the Herbert books. He is definitely a pioneer in the genre, and I legitimately envy the depth of his characters. Even the lesser characters seem to jump off the page in a way that makes them feel ever so real. If we are going to get into a King weakness, it is that I find that some stories peter out into underwhelming or overly weird endings. Again, it is a small thing, as the path to that end is always supremely entertaining.

Clive Barker

I discover Barker after I moved to Canada in the late 80s. I got a job in a video store and was essentially given complete control of the horror section. After watching Hellraiser a million time, I found out it was based on a story by Barker. I started with the Books of Blood and made my way to Imajica, which is, in my mind, an absolute work of genius. I love the way Barker makes the grotesque sound somehow beautiful. Now, be aware than I am the furthest thing from a prude, but the overt sexuality in Barker’s work can sometimes go a little too far. Then again, he makes that sound amazing, too.

Nick Cutter

I wrote an entire piece on Cutter last week, so I will keep this portion on the shorter side. For me, there is no better horror author putting out work today than Cutter, but if there is one complaint, it is that the influence of King sometimes shines through a little too hard. That said, those moments feel like delightful little nods to a horror master that King fans will almost certainly enjoying reading.

That is it for this week, but if you have some aspect of horror or the supernatural that you would like to see me talk about in the coming weeks, please do let me know in the comments.

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Salem kept one eye on the door and another one on the overhead vents. Given the speech that Thorn had given on his earlier visit, she believed the chances of him popping in again were slim. The more likely scenario was that they would drop the gas without giving any prior notice.

She twirled the two pieces of fabric from her mother’s dress into balls, rolling them around between her thumb and forefinger as she waited, each second ticking by ever so slowly.

Raven lay on the cot, her breath shallow, her eyes glazed over as she kept her eye on the vents.

“Are you ready?” Salem asked. She almost posed the question again before noticing the very slightest of nods from her mother.

Without warning, the light above the door turned green while a hissing sound echoed around the cell from overhead.

“Do it,” Raven said.

Salem sucked in her breath and closed her eyes, feeling everything begin to slow down. Once she felt it go as slow as she could make it, she opened her eyes and pushed the pieces of fabric as far into her nose as they would go.

On the cot, Raven’s lips were pursed as she sucked in the air from within the cell. The wisps of gas formed little funnel clouds that drifted lazily down to her mouth and nose, disappearing as they got there.

Salem’s eyes watered and despite her best efforts, she could feel the gas beginning to do its thing. She slowed her breathing even further and fell to the floor as she returned the world to normal speed.

She felt as though she were on the brink of a deep sleep, the voices from outside the cell echoing and seeming to come from a great distance. She felt weak, but not completely out of it, which was exactly where she wanted to be.

Through narrowed eyes, she saw Drake standing with men in lab coats, all of them wearing gas masks.

“They are out. Cleanse the cell,” Drake called out in a voice that seemed impossibly deep and distorted.

The men moved around like shadow people seen during sleep paralysis, opening the door to the cell and loading Raven onto the gurney. For a moment, Salem felt as though she were floating, but she was still with it enough to know that she was being carried.

She willed her heat to remain slow and steady, her breathing shallow, as they wheeled her down the corridor to the operating room. It felt as though she were being pushed through water, and it became difficult to stay awake. Some gas had leeched into her system and was doing its best to put her under. She fought to stay as alert as possible, hopefully enough to do some damage.

***

Thorn sat up on the bed and watched as wheeled in the witch and his daughter. He was struck by how beautiful they both were and imagined what life might be like if they were a normal family unit. He was not a man prone to sentimentality, so he quickly cast the notion aside.

His thoughts turned to Drake and his resignation. Thorn knew that he should have the man killed, but what was the point? There were a hundred Drakes out there, ready to obey and kill for their share of the almighty. Graves had already accepted the position of head of security and would begin with the delivery of the Wenlutah. It was shaping up to be a very good day.

Thorn’s train of thought was broken by Bloom, who placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready, sir?” he asked, his voice muffled by a surgical mask.

Looking at the gurneys on either side of him, Thorn looked closely at the two women. “They are out?” he asked.

“Like a light, sir. We will continue to monitor their vital signs and administer anesthetic as needed.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Just lay back and relax,” Bloom said, lowering the bed to horizontal using a remote. “You are going to feel a little pressure on your arms. That’s just the needles being inserted. Can I offer you a light sedative?”

“Do I look like a child at his first dentist visit? No sedative, doc. I want to be awake for this.”

Closing his eyes, Thorn relaxed and listened to the sounds of his medical team at work. Try as he might, sleep came, and he drifted off.”

***

“Mother, can you hear me?”

Salem sent out the signal, but she knew it was weak, knew that Raven was not receiving. She could feel her strength ebbing away and for the first time since Thorn’s people arrived at her house, she felt real fear.

She could feel her heart rate begin to climb, and she fought to control it.

“Keep an eye on the young one. Hear rate is fluctuating,” Bloom said.

“Should I deliver the anesthetic?”

She heard people move around the gurney, checking the machines hooked to her arm. Slow, slow, slow.

“Looks like a blip. She’s out. Hold the anesthetic for now,” Bloom said.

Rolling her head slowly to the side, Salem opened her mouth and allowed a trail of drool to escape, trying to lend to the illusion that she was completely out for the count. She cracked her eyes open and took in as much as possible although it looked as though she were seeing her surroundings underwater.

A plastic tube led from her arm to a large glass container sitting above Thorn’s bed. A similar tube led from her mother’s arm while a pair of tubes were hooked up to Thorn.

“Are we ready?” she heard the doctor say.

“Whenever you are,” another voice responded.

“Then please begin.”

Salem felt a pinching sensation on her arm and then saw her blood begin to flow up the tube and into the glass container, mixing with that of her mother.

The mixed blood swirled inside the container, turning from red to a deathly shade of black. Salem felt the floor begin to vibrate as the doctor opened a valve that allowed the ichor to run free into the veins of Thorn, whose good eye shot open and began to turn black.

Salem breathed in and out slowly, turned her head to the other side of the bed, and focused on Drake.

“Let’s see what’s inside that head of yours.”

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Running Joke

When we bought the old place with plans on fixing it up, the realtor told us that the old homestead was haunted. We tried not to laugh as she gripped her clipboard, eyes darting around the home.

Getting the old girl in liveable shape became a labor of love. With each paint stroke and electrical upgrade, the home began to shine. It was then that my wife took to scaring me, draped in a white sheet, moaning like the undead.

I miss her so but take solace in seeing her on the stairs in her sheet while the walls weep.

Monuments

The makers put us here to do good; to take care of the world they had so carefully crafted for us. They built monuments as reminders of their generosity, but we defaced them.

The large marble heads placed in prominent places around the world looked to us like silent judgment, so we broke them, defaced them, and spit in the face of Mother.

They did not take kindly to the affront, flooding our world with the snap of a finger. Those of us who survived now care for the monuments, hoping to be blessed with a new Garden of Eden.

Hidey Hole

We never really found out what the little closet under the stairs was originally used for. It felt like a design flaw, but our Nate saw it as the perfect place to hide out with Teddy, his best buddy.

We made it cozy for him, understanding that he needed a place of his own to hide away with his thoughts while the cancer treatments took a toll.

The space lies empty again, although not quite. Sometimes, when we pass by the door is open and we see Teddy. In a certain light, it looks like his marbled eyes are wet.

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Jonah

From within the belly of the beast he crawled, his hands digging into wet sand that threatened to suck him under. The smell of rotting flesh combined with briny air made Jonah gag, despite being free.

For weeks, he had been trapped inside the hulking creature, nibbling away at its internal organs for sustenance.

As Jonah stood on the beach, staring at the dying prison blubber, he felt no sympathy. He viewed it as a battle of man versus beast, and he had emerged victorious. The creature stared at him with a black eye, which blinked slowly out of existence.

Soulless Superhero

He landed on Earth with the best of intentions, sent by a superior race of beings. They saw the imminent destruction of a planet and hoped to avert it.

The human race eyed him with distrust, saw him as an unwelcome intruder. He was faster stronger, and better in every way that the people of the civilization he hoped to save. They saw a foreigner.

Cast out and ignored, he sent word back to his own. There was no saving a planet divided and hell bent on destruction. The decision was made to bring about the end ahead of schedule.

From Below

For years, we searched the skies, sending out radio signals in hopes of discovering that we are not alone. All this time, we were looking in the wrong direction.

When the first cracks appeared in the earth, creating sinkholes from which light appeared, we wrote it off as nothing more than a fault line we never knew existed.

When the machines crawled out, it became clear that we were surplus to their requirements. The only thing louder than their killing instruments were the screams of our dead and dying. Our time is ticking down, and all hope is now gone.

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For those on the outside looking in, there is likely a feeling that all horror fans are desensitized and free from fright. For some, this is the case, but if you were to poll horror fans as a whole, you would probably find that there is something in particular the freaks them out. You might also discover that body horror is on the list for many of those horror fans, as I certainly know that it is for me. I’ll get into why it bothers me toward the end of this piece, but let’s take a closer look at body horror and why it is so effective.

All Pain and No Gain

To a certain extent, we are in full control of our body. If you gain a little weight, you know exactly what you need to do to get back into beach body shape. What if the transformation is something outside of your control. What if a virus, or even an animal bite, sets forth a chain of events that makes it so that you lose that feeling of control. It is no longer your body your choice. Instead, you are at the whim of whatever invading parasite sees fit. In short, you become the host to an unwanted guest.

Body horror in the movies is rarely shown as a subtle shift toward something awful. Instead, it is a painful transformation into something grotesque, something wholly unrecognizable from the human form. Besides the pain, there is also the loss of self, of your identity.

At its roots, body horror taps into our biggest fears, which are illness, injury, or a loss of control of basic human functions. Some wounds heal in time, but in body horror transformations, it is often a permanent state of being, which is an absolutely horrible thought. Think of Seth Brundle in The Fly and how his whole character changes as he becomes closer to insect than man. It is an unraveling that is more than a little uncomfortable to watch.

Good body horror isn’t simply about grossing the audience out. No, it is about playing into the fears that we all have, with aging another one that haunts us all. I think that is why The Substance connected with so many people. In an age of GLP-1 shots and weird diet fads, the idea of a quick fix seems great, at least until the side effects kick in.

My Personal Connection to Body Horror

I have dabbled, albeit mildly, in body horror in a couple of my books. In both, it is cancer that served as the basis for writing those stories. I lost my mum to cancer and very nearly lost my brother-in-law, too. When he was at the height of his illness, I wrote a novella called Rotten, which was as close as I came to outright body horror. In the book, it was a flesh-eating disease caused by deadly bacteria in the water that led to the downfall of the main character, but in my head, it was cancer that was the villain.

Overall, I am not a huge fan of this particular sub-genre, but there are a couple of exceptions. The Thing and The Fly are the standouts for me, while The Queen by Nick Cutter is a book I would recommend for those of you who love this type of horror.

I’d love to know how you guys feel about body horror and what it means to you. I also hope you will join me again for the next round of my A-Z series, which will be C is for Cursed Objects

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