Eric R. Lowther
Popular Posts
- Area 187 News and a Bunch of Other Shit
- Suburban Legend - Fiction
- "Area 187; Almost Hell" Official Release Announcement
- Area 187; Almost Hell - Audio Prolog
- Avery Nolan-Fiction(Guest Author)
- Revolution - Guest Author Fiction
- What is "Area 187"?
- The Dead Tell Tales
- Night Lambs - Fiction
- Alley Cat - Fiction
Monday, July 21, 2014
The Dead Tell Tales
Hello all. I know, I know... I've been neglecting you. Unfortunately, the needs of the real world have been taking up most of my life for quite some time now. Bills need paid, things need done, and there just doesn't seem to be enough time, money and energy to get to them all. However, I would like to let all of you know that I just released a new book, titled "The Dead Tell Tales". (Note; blogger is being quite difficult in allowing me to post the cover art by my son, Jordan Rhodes, here. You'll have to click on the link to see it. Apologies.) It's a collection of zombie short stories and novellas from different points in my writing career. For those of you that have read this blog since I started it, you may recognize one or two of the stories. Otherwise, most of the stories have not been published elsewhere. For you "Area 187; Almost Hell" fans, though, pay attention; "The Dead Tell Tales" includes the entire prologue to the forthcoming sequel, "Area 187; Almost Home" (yes, it is a real thing, and yes, I am still writing it) as well as a look back into the Area's past with a story that many people have told me they wanted to see starring everyone's favorite old, grizzled-yet-loveable grave robber, Jasper Connelly. My wife/editor, Anna M. Lowther, even weighs in with a tale of her own in the collection that classes up the pages as well.
No matter how you like your zombies; shambling, running, talking, or even magical, I've got you covered in "The Dead Tell Tales". Want alternate history? Done. Want to hear a zombie pontificate on the human condition? Got it. Want happy endings? Er... okay, maybe, like, one or so depending on your life outlook. But otherwise, you want the dead, I got the dead.
This is the first of, I hope, many new books and novels that will be coming out from Marime Press, a publishing house we have founded with the release of "The Dead Tell Tales". But, for this thing to get off the ground, I need your help. Please, check out "The Dead Tell Tales". And, if you haven't yet, take a look at the reviews for "Area 187; Almost Hell" and act accordingly. As I write this, I have yet to gain a single review for "The Dead Tell Tales", so for those of you that live to be first, here's your chance.
I am still working on "Area 187; Almost Home", and I promise you that it will see release within at least your children's lifetimes. It will likely be another large book, mostly because I don't seem to know when to shut up, and these things take time. So bear with me, and until then take a look at "The Dead Tell Tales". Your support now will allow Marime Press to grow, supporting not only me but eventually other small-press authors. As always, thanks for your readership, your support, and to whoever it is that keeps sending me mackerel, please stop. I have enough.
Just write, damn it
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Revolution - Guest Author Fiction
Welcome back, Constant Reader, and welcome as well to the Casual. Things are starting to move for me on the writing front with the continued great reviews and buzz going for “Area 187; Almost Hell”, and if you haven’t read it yet, well, you really should. I’ve also got more exciting news that is just now breaking about upcoming projects, but you’ll learn all about that on an upcoming post. This time, I’m here to welcome returning guest author Ken Harrelson of Angry Puppy Films. Most of you will remember Ken’s last guest spot, “Clownpocalypse”, right here on my little blog. If you don’t remember it, just click and enjoy. It’s a hoot. This time, Ken stretches his alternate history legs in one of my favorite ways. And, if you’re anything at all like me, not only does your mother weep herself to sleep each night but you’ll also enjoy “The Revolution”.
Note; this work of fiction is provided by and is displayed here with the express consent of the author and is shown here exactly as written by the author. All copyrights and ownership are with the author, Ken Harrelson, following standard copyright laws.
Standing in the arena, the gladiator was almost deafened by the roar of the crowd. Capua was not as large as the Coliseum in Rome, but it dwarfed anything in his home of Thrace far away. Hot and sweaty before the fighting had even started, the man wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his sword hand.
His opponents stood trembling before him in the sand near a large bloody patch where several others had met their end a short time earlier. Crixus had barely started to breathe hard dispatching that cluster of criminals. Now it was his turn. There were five of them, standing huddled like sheep come to slaughter before a wolf. This gladiator would slay them all. Taking no pleasure in his efforts, he would still give the crowd a show before ending them all.
Afterwards, as the last one fell to the ground with blood spraying from his neck where it barely remained attached to his torso, the gladiator turned his back on the sheep in man’s flesh. He raised his sword and shield triumphantly to the crowd and demanded their adoration. They did not disappoint.
“Spartacus! Spartacus!” they chanted.
Spartacus looked to the place where his master Batiatus sat watching in a comfortable seat, fanned by topless slaves. Spartacus pulled his sword to his chest and then brought it straight out in a salute to Batiatus. Batiatus smiled broadly at the display of fealty from the slave that he had been told could never be broken. Batiatus understood that it was a matter of finding what the man had wanted above all other things and dangling it within reach. Spartacus wanted freedom above all other things, but he also had grown to love the adoration of the people. Batiatus played on these desires, and Spartacus had become his greatest gladiator, rivaling even the fearsome Crixus in his savagery.
Afterwards at the ludus, the men were naked and covered in oil as they wiped away the dirt and stench of the day. The men that had fought would have a night of wine and debauchery to enjoy. Crixus and Spartacus stood near each other and a bit apart from the others. In truth, the others were a little afraid of the pair. None wanted to face either of them in the arena since it would be certain bloody death.
“You fought well today,” Crixus said.
“As did you, brother,” Spartacus replied.
The other men all laughed and slapped each other on the shoulder and back but not the two champions. They were as concise in their speech as they were in the arena. Neither wore the smiles that the others had plastered on their faces.
Crixus finished and walked away, his skin glistening with a thin coat of oil in the torchlight. If Spartacus was a wolf, the Gaul Crixus was a lion. He moved with a powerful grace and confidence, naked through a crowd of men that parted without a word for his passage. All of the men were trained killers. Crixus and Spartacus were natural predators.
As the morning sun began to brighten the sand in the training are of the ludus, Spartacus walked away from the two naked women sleeping in his bed. As champions he and Crixus had the privilege of private bedrooms and their choice of women or men if either had been so inclined. The champion before them had been so inclined and had enjoyed many nights with young men. He had fallen to a pale giant with an axe that seemed unstoppable. The crowd in the arena had roared when the champion had fallen in honorable combat.
The hot sun was blazing down on the sand as the men trained throughout the day, under the watchful eye of their trainer. He was a tall stern man with a whip and harsh demeanor. All feared and respected him. Today he shouted words of encouragement and instruction to the men.
“Harder you bastards!” His whip cracked to punctuate his sentences;
“Do not show any weakness. Weakness is death. Death without fighting is dishonor. You will not dishonor this ludus or the men beside you! You will fight until the blood in your veins boils or you crush your opponents!” The whip sounded like thunder to the men nursing hangovers.
With wooden practice swords Spartacus and Crixus sparred with some of the newer gladiators. Sweat poured from their muscular bodies as they instructed the newcomers and prepared for the next games. Sometimes there would be a glimmer of promise in the new gladiators, and other times the champions would shake their heads and accept the fact that death would come for the new men. Some would try to cover their fear with rage and charge into the champions only to find themselves flat in the sand with a sword point at their throats.
“You must remain in control at all times. Rushing into an opponent only hastens your death,” Crixus told a fellow Gaul in the dirt.
“My name is Altus,” the man said.
“I do not care. If you do not learn better, you will not be here long enough for me to learn your name,” Crixus said as he turned away from the man.
Days passed and the next games approached. Spartacus would face another group of opponents that were said to be impossible to kill. Spartacus didn’t care. If it walked, he could kill it, and he would kill them.
They marched to the arena as usual in a column of twos with Crixus at the front of one line and Spartacus at the front of the other. Batiatus strutted ahead of them in his finest clothes. He loved the attention he received at the front of his gladiators. People lined the streets and cheered their favorites and tried to touch the men they admired. Women flashed their breasts to the men in lewd displays of passion. The gladiators marched a little straighter and appreciated some of the displays.
The fights went as expected. Altus somehow managed to survive his fight and won a lackluster victory over a soft looking man unfortunate enough to be trying to work off his gambling debts by fighting. Crixus fought a visiting gladiator from Pompeii that used the net and trident like they had been born in his hands. Crixus picked up a cut on his ribs and the visitor ended up a head shorter.
Spartacus walked past Crixus into the arena.
“Die well brother,” Crixus said.
“I shall try hard not to,” Spartacus replied.
Standing in the arena Spartacus watched as his opponents were brought into the arena. Silence fell across the crowd. The rumors had been true; each was at the end of a choke pole. Their handlers released them and ran from the arena, closely pursued by the men. Slamming the door behind them trapped the hissing slaves in with Spartacus. Spartacus faced his master and the crowd and saluted.
“We who are about to die, salute you!,” Spartacus said. The crowd exploded into cheers.
His opponents noticed him for the first time. They turned and hissed at Spartacus. Spartacus slapped his shield with his sword and nodded at them. At that instant, Spartacus could no longer hear the crowd. All he could see were the three men coming to try to kill him. The first staggered toward Spartacus and the stench hit before the thing arrived. Spartacus stabbed straight through the stomach as the fool rushed him. Sinking deep into the man’s stomach Spartacus quickly stepped away to allow room for the body to fall. As he did he noticed that his opponent had his sword lashed to his hand.
Next thing he noticed his opponent didn’t fall dying to the sand, even thought his guts began to fall out. That was definitely not normal. Spinning, he swung his sword in a horizontal swipe that removed the man’s head. Unburdened from his head, the body fell to the sand. Somehow, the smell got worse.
The other two slaves ignored their comrade and approached Spartacus apart. Spartacus attacked the one on his left while the one on his right attacked at the same time. Stabbing his target in the throat Spartacus spun to strike his attacker with his shield edge. Spartacus overestimated his foe’s speed and his shield passed in front of him and missed. The man grabbed Spartacus’ arm.
Spartacus tugged his sword free of the one man’s throat and tried to turn and fight the other man. The other man had latched onto Spartacus’ arm with a surprising strength. Again, Spartacus noticed the sword lashed to the man’s hand. It was ignored as the man endeavored to bite Spartacus on the arm. Spartacus stabbed into the man’s neck and wrenching his sword to the side severed the man’s spine. Releasing Spartacus, the man fell to the sand and lay still.
Spartacus lowered his sword and stood panting until he felt teeth sink into his ankle. The second man had survived the stabbing long enough to crawl over and bite Spartacus.
“Bastard!” Spartacus sliced the man’s head off and he finally lay still.
Spartacus stepped away from the bodies and watched them closely for a moment. As if a gate had been opened, Spartacus could hear the crowd screaming his name as one would invoke a god in a fit of religious fervor. He turned and saluted his master and then acknowledged the crowd. The bite on his ankle had stung but had barely broken the skin. Through the gate he could see the owner of the men he had just slain leave smiling.
“Fuck you, Capua,” the man muttered.
That night Spartacus was feeling particularly fit and selected three women to join him. Each was more eager than the other to please the champion, and he was pleased at their enthusiasm. They left the group and retired to his room and the night with a large bottle of wine.
Later, Spartacus was awakened by a burning in his ankle and a pounding in his head. Shaking his head he slid out of bed and looked at his companions. They had all shared repeatedly of themselves this night. Each woman shuddered in their sleep as if a specter caressed them softly. Spartacus left the room and walked naked into the training area.
His head pounding, Spartacus looked at the racks of training weapons and wooden practice posts. Sections of the post had been worn away by millions of blows over the decades. Sand crunched between his toes as he stood thinking. The villa was silent except for someone snoring in the common sleeping area. Spartacus shook his head and thought about the time before he became a slave. It seemed like a dream now of someone else’s life.
The next day everyone trained hard in the sun. Sweat stinking of stale wine, the men forced themselves to strike hard and often. Crixus sparred like a man possessed with one of the new men. Every blow was controlled but powerful. A flurry of strikes left his opponent on his knees as Crixus roared in fury. Crixus raised his sword to deliver a killing stroke when a hand grasped his arm.
“What?!,” Crixus screamed as he whirled to face the fool that interfered and found himself facing Spartacus.
“He is beaten,” Spartacus said.
Crixus yanked his hand away from the other champion and kicked sand at the man on the ground.
“Get out of my sight,” Crixus said.
Wisely the man crawled away. Crixus turned to face Spartacus and saw his friend looking pale and sweaty.
“You look like death has kissed you.”
“I have felt better,” Spartacus said.
Crixus patted his friend on the shoulder and the two went to get a drink of water. Spartacus drank from the ladle and handed it to Crixus. Crixus also drank from the same water before putting the ladle back. This communal ladle would be used by everyone that drank that day.
“Want to spar?” Crixus asked.
Spartacus nodded and the two walked back onto the sand. Soon the pair were hard at it fighting with each other. The other gladiators stopped and turned to watch their two champions displaying their fighting prowess. It was primal and thrilling to see the best fighters of the day cutting loose with each other. One would press only to have the other take it back. Spartacus finally seized advantage of having the sun at his back and began to wear down Crixus until the other man was hard pressed to deflect any of the blows raining on him.
Suddenly the blows stopped. Crixus looked into the sun and found his friend on one knee in the sand, breathing hard and paler than ever. Crixus walked to Spartacus as the man crumpled to the sand. Spartacus faintly heard someone call for the medicus when the roaring in his ears drowned out the world.
The ludus was in turmoil as everyone realized that their champion was out of commission. Batiatus himself came to check on Spartacus. The man lay on the cot and shivered in the heat. Sweat poured from his body and his flesh had taken on a greenish tint. The medicus was less than optimistic about the chances that he would ever arise again.
Crixus lay on his cot and had nightmares. He dreamed of falling in the arena to a group of weaklings unworthy to face him. Then a demon rose from the sand to devour his soul. Crixus awoke with a pounding head and a weakness in his limbs that left him unable to rise. Death had come to the house of Batiatus.
The slaves that had lain with Spartacus had since lain with others, both gladiator and guards. Others that fallen ill as well. Disease spread through the ludus like fire through straw. Soon nearly all of the slaves had fallen ill. Worse news reached Batiatus that both his champions had fallen and would never rise.
“The gods themselves have turned their backs and shit upon me,” Batiatus said.
Batiatus began gathering clothes, jewels, and gold to leave this house of death. His wife was ready to flee with him. They walked to the gate, realizing that when they left there was no one able to close and bar the gate behind them. Neither desired to remain locked inside with the growing number of dying people.
“Perhaps someone poisoned the well,” Lucretia said.
“Perhaps. It is good that we didn’t drink the water then, isn’t it?” Batiatus said.
The pair slipped away into the dark. Silence filled the villa behind them. Capua was asleep as they fled into the hills. Death stalked the streets behind them.
A day later Spartacus sat up on his cot. Hunger wracked his mighty frame. Insatiable, gut wrenching hunger. He sniffed and looked around the room. Bodies lay everywhere he looked. They were not moving so they weren’t food.
Rising to his feet, the mighty champion struggled to walk out of the room. His limbs were stiff and unresponsive, so his stride where once powerful and graceful became a lurching struggle. Outside in the training area of the ludus, he stood swaying in the moonlight. No breath filled his lungs. His great heart beat no more. Hunger filled the remnants of his mind.
Crixus sat up in his bed stiffly. He was starving. Flesh called to him. Rising to his feet he lurched from the room in the same fashion as Spartacus. Joining his friend in the open they stood swaying. Their eyes met and an unspoken message was shared. They must feed.
The other gladiators and household slaves rose to join their champions in death. En masse they shuffled from the villa into the street as the morning sun rose above Capua and the dead walked the Earth.
“Brains,” Spartacus wheezed. Other voices joined him.
The horde shambled through the streets toward the market. An unfortunate man was caught unaware by them and died screaming under the hands and teeth of his hero gladiators. Soon, he would rise and join them.
In Rome, Praetor Gaius Claudius Glaber was told to take his Legion and put down the problems in Capua. Glaber hated Capua but hated slave revolts even more. He and his Legion marched immediately. Glaber didn’t expect this to take any amount of time since gladiators were brutes and slaves. They couldn’t possibly present any difficulty to a force as sophisticated as his legion.
Soon he faced an army unlike any he had ever faced before. Wounds that would slay anyone were ignored as they fell on his men like beasts. Worse, the ones that were bitten would sicken and die, but then would rise and fall upon their fellows like animals. Weeks became months as they fought across the peninsula.
Glaber and his Legion had no choice but the flee in the face of the things in front of them. This rabble that had no fear and seemed only driven to eat the living. The stench from the slaves was enough to make the strongest man vomit. Numbering in the thousands this army was enough that they might even be able to bring mighty Rome itself down.
Rome sent another legion to support Glaber in the battle. In a valley the legions held the high ground while the horde shambled below. Only the moaning of the slaves reached the ears of the Romans. That and the stench.
Glaber had his men gather logs and bind them into a large round bundle. These they coated in oil for use against the undead army of slaves below. Glaber had suffered much at the hands of these slaves, but the most hurtful was the damage to his pride. (It was known throughout the empire that an army of slaves had managed to defeat his legion repeatedly.) Runaway slaves across the land ran to join the rebels in hopes of gaining their freedom. To their surprise they were quickly liberated from their lives. The rebellious slaves shambled in aimless circles and milled about below. After losing sight of the legion they had forgotten what they were chasing.
Now Glaber faced a horde of the undead that outnumbered his Legion two to one. Glaber understood now that these were no ordinary runaway slaves. They were an undead army of monsters that conventional weapons didn’t work against. Trapped on the side of a mountain they faced the choice of fight and win or die and join the undead things below. As silently as possible they built the weapons that they would use against the dead. Crassus was coming with a legion to support but had not arrived yet.
By early afternoon everything was ready. Fires were lit and battle armor tightened. The armor had been changed to cover most of the arms and hands to protect from the teeth below. Archers made ready their arrows. The legions formed their ranks and girded their courage. If they didn’t stop the things below, who could say they would ever be stopped?
On a signal from Glaber, the order was given and each soldier slapped his sword against his shield. The noise echoed through the valley. The archers notched their arrows.
The creature that had once been Spartacus in life was on the other side of the undead things from the army. They had forgotten about the men they were pursuing. Now something in their brains triggered that noise meant food. As one they turned toward the sound.
On the side of the mountain the centurions and legionnaires watched as the things began to shamble toward them. Some of the things had missing parts and most looked rotted. Some were only a few weeks old and looked more intact. Spartacus was trapped behind them and unable to get through as they shambled uphill.
Next to the archers young soldiers touched the arrows with torches and set them on fire. The archers were given the order and they unleashed a cleansing volley of arrows deep into the ranks below. Early on they had discovered that the dead flesh could be stopped in two ways, fire and decapitation. Fire from a distance was safer than close up decapitation.
Onward the horde came towards the waiting ranks of Romans. More arrows flew into the undead. Each struck one of the things and set it alight. It took several long minutes of burning for the things to fall to the ground and move no more.
A trumpet blast gave the order for the ranks to part. On the ground behind them were the logs soaked in oil. A lit torch was stuck into each of the logs handle-first then pushed down the hill towards the undead. In seconds the logs burst into intense flames and struck the front ranks. Decaying bodies all but exploded when the flames hit them. The effect of the fire on the undead was astonishing. Though they were being wiped out, they continued to attack the Romans above.
Some caught fire below the waist and continued onward until their legs were destroyed and then drug themselves by their hands with their lower bodies burning below. Eventually the flames destroyed enough of them that they stopped crawling. The stench of burning flesh was almost overpowering.
“I thought they smelled bad before,” one Centurion muttered.
Massive numbers of the undead perished in the first minutes of the battle. The archers continued to fire volleys of flaming arrows into the horde. Now the numbers were diminished to the point where many arrows fell on empty ground.
A centurion ordered the legion to lock shields and they immediately formed the nearly impenetrable wall of metal and blades that had built the empire and crushed the world beneath Rome’s heel. Soon enough the undead arrived and the most dangerous part of the battle commenced.
Swords struck undead necks and teeth gnashed at living flesh. Fear lent desperate strength to the soldiers and many heads left the undead shoulders. No blood sprayed. If a soldier was bitten his fellow Romans would slice off his head as soon as someone noticed the bite. Fear of becoming one of those things outweighed their sense of camaraderie.
Soon enough the shields separated and the battle became one of desperation. Even though the fire had wiped out massive numbers of the things there was still a lot of them left to fight. The undead only knew there was food ahead. Some of the things had decayed to the point where they no longer had stomachs but they still tried to eat.
When it seemed that even with their cunning weapons and strategy the Romans were about to be devoured, Crassus and his legions arrived behind the undead. They attacked from behind and began hacking their way through the undead slaves. Heads littered the ground like pine cones in winter.
Finally, there were only a hundred or so of the undead left. The Romans were nearly spent from their efforts to wipe these things out. Crassus himself gave the order for choke poles to be used to capture the remaining things. Spartacus found himself captured by the Romans again.
Across from Spartacus, Crixus snapped his teeth at the man he could see but somehow couldn’t reach. Wagons arrived and the things were forced inside giant cages. The choke poles were kept in place and the things were trapped inside. When they ran out of room they simply decapitated the things.
Glaber rode his horse to speak with Crassus.
“These things must be destroyed,” Glaber insisted.
Crassus looked at Glaber as one would look at a child.
“They will be, but this must happen where the people can see what happened to them. This revolt cannot be allowed to continue.”
Glaber looked shocked. Crassus was going to try to use this for political purposes.
“What do you mean to do with them?”
“I am going to nail every damned one of them up between Capua and Rome and let every slave that even thinks about revolting see what happens when they do!”
From the first wagon of things Spartacus managed to remember a word.
“Spartacus,” he wheezed.
Other undead voices joined in saying “Spartacus”.
That was exactly what he did. In most cases he had to have them tied to the crosses because the nails pulled through their rotted flesh. For every four that he had nailed up, one of his men was bit and had to be put down. Glaber spotted Spartacus and was happy to see that he was crucified last. Glaber had food brought out and pitched a tent and stayed until Spartacus was no longer moving and the weight of his body caused the wire holding his head in place to pull through his neck, finally ending the slave revolt. He returned to his home a much more sober and thoughtful man than when he left to squash a bunch of foolish slaves.
The undead things hanging from crosses from Capua to Rome didn’t stop moving for weeks. More chilling was the moaning of “Spartacus” from them until their bodies fell apart. For the rest of his life, Glaber was tormented with the nightmare of one of those things escaping and spreading across the empire.
Thanks for reading and, just write, damn it. - ERL
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Suburban Legend - Fiction
Hello again, Constant Reader, and welcome to New Friends. I know I keep promising new, free fiction for you, and I'm sorry I haven't been able to keep everything moving at a better speed. Life has been a bit of a challenge of late, and my novel, "Area 187;Almost Hell" still continues to take up my time but is proving to be quite popular. If you haven't checked it out yet, well, why the hell not? Anyway, I did give you some great offerings from good friends in the form of guest author posts by Ken Harrelson and his "Clownpocalypse" and the first chapter of Mr. Tony Faville's great noire offering, "Avery Nolan; Private Dick of the Dead" so at least I didn't leave you adrift in a sea of mediocrity.
This doesn't mean my sleeves are empty, though, Constant Reader. Two other projects are marching along to completion as we speak, so don't think I've just been sitting on my ass over here. But until those are deemed ready to be unleashed on an unsuspecting world, I'll give you this little tale known as "Suburban Legend". This story was originally published in the anthology "Bump in the Night" by Drollerie Press. Unfortunately, Drollerie was recently forced to close its operations but I believe you can still get a copy of the anthology. It's filled with dozens of stories by names great and small, and I highly recommend you pick up a copy. I hope you enjoy this little collection of words, and I certainly hope you have read or will be reading "Area 187;Almost Hell". It's the right thing to do, and the undead way to do it. - Author
"Oh… sorry…" he called out over the rain.
"Scare? Oh, no… just not expecting is all."
"What's your name?" he called out as he hefted the spare.
"Guess my side was unlocked," she said.
"Mr. Morgan? Is something wrong?" she asked.
"Sure, Josh. What brings you out this way? This road's been closed for years."
"Just a few miles outside the city."
"I guess you're right there," Josh said.
"I'm sorry," he said and turned on the heater. "Better?"
"No, sorry. I really should be better prepared, huh?"
"It's okay, really…" Josh managed to say, his voice threatening to crack like a teenager's.
"No, it was very rude of me, and after you've been so nice and all. Nothing like that creepy John."
"Well, I'm sure he's just young and hasn't learned any better."
"Brrr! You are soaked!" she commented as she finally undid the knot.
"Let me guess; you brought her home?" the man asked.
"I… yes, I mean, no… I found this sweater and I…"
"Sir, it wasn't like that! It was raining and…"
"I, really don't think…" Josh stammered.
"Now hold on a minute…" Josh started.
"Mr. Witherow! With all due respect, this is
your daughter we're talking about!" Josh said.
"Things? What do you mean?" Josh asked.
"I find that hard to believe," Josh interrupted.
"So what did you do then?" Josh asked.
"What the hell?" Josh whispered.
"Isn't it possible she just tripped? I mean…" Josh started.
"What's your name?" Jensen asked suddenly.
"So why didn't you get out then?"
"Uh… then what?" Josh asked quietly as the flames died, leaving the chair without a mark.
"You can't be serious," Josh said.
"So then what happened?" Josh asked.
"I'm sorry, what…?"Josh stammered.
"Are you gonna' give me the damn thing or not?" Jensen asked.
"Same as it ever was!" he growled at her.
"Yeah, call him. Tell him Sally's found her way home again."
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Avery Nolan-Fiction(Guest Author)
Hello again, Constant Reader, and a fresh hello to new friends. Things are still going well with my novel, "Area 187; Almost Hell", and the promotion and continuing projects have just been kicking the ass of your favorite biguglyhairyscary. But, that's no excuse for neglecting all of you out there by slacking on giving you something to read here in my little corner of the web. I was talking to another author, Tony Faville, and he's been kind enough to fill in for my blogging shortcomings by giving all of you Chapter 1 of his new novella, "Avery Nolan; Private Dick of the Dead" free of charge and right here on my little ole blog. The good news is, if you like it you can get an electronic or paper copy (after you pick up "Area 187; Almost Hell", of course…) of your very own for a steal over at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords. I've read this one, folks, and it carries my personal seal of approval. So sit back, relax, and enjoy a little taste of old-fashioned noire with a twist from Tony Faville.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Area 187 News and a Bunch of Other Shit
Hello again, Constant Reader. I know, I know… I've been neglecting you and for that you have a thousand apologies. Things have been a bit busy for the old biguglyhairyscary and I promise there's more good stuff to come. The biggest news, and the biggest drain on my time, is that my novel, "Area 187; Almost Hell" is doing very well over at that Amazon thing. Just about 1000 copies have already shambled their way onto Kindles and into mailboxes around the world, and as I write this the book has stayed on the top 100 paid Kindle Horror genre (print and electronic) lists for the 4th straight week without falling off. I know this may not seem like much to some, but it certainly makes me feel pretty damn good to have a book so large (600+ pages print, 230,000+ words) and from a "1st time" novelist reach this level with virtually no real (read "paid") promotion and carrying a Kindle price of $4.99 and paperback $18.00. Even though there are many, many, many much cheaper and smaller works in the horror genre (remember, I'm up against literally thousands of $0.99 books, here) not to mention in any genre, sales have been steadily climbing since its release in June and it's been getting great reviews on Amazon as well as from other genre reviewers. If you haven't checked it out yet, maybe it's time you did. Here are some links to check out a free preview, read the reviews and buy the book. It's primarily available through Amazon, and I haven't forgotten my more worldly friends. Canada, Germany, Japan, the UK and probably a few other Amazon markets and 3rd party book clubs I haven't stumbled upon yet carry it, too.
Reviews;
There are 12 total reviews on Amazon for the book; 10 5-star, 1 4-star and 1 2-star (and that one was from a reader that admits he only read the prolog). Check them out here.
You can also get the limey (1 5-star and 1 4-star) reviews at Amazon UK.
Living Dead Media also has a review up for the book.
While not a review (though he does give his $0.02 in an Amazon review), you can find an interview with me conducted by Author / Blogger / Podcaster Keith Latch over at his site. The good folks over at Wicked Channel, a Fearshop.com site, also did an interview with me some time ago. You can check that one out here as well.
Free preview;
I've set up a youtube channel where you can hear a full-production audio drama of the entire prolog. A free preview and you don't even have to turn a page or read or nuthin. Check it out. You can also read a synopsis at Amazon, where you can also use the "Look Inside" feature for a random selection.
The book is listed on BookDaily.com where you can also read a long sample and try before you buy.
Where to get it;
Amazon, of course (UK too). As I said, it's also listed on BookDaily as well as Goodreads, Twisted Press (publisher's website, aka "The Library of the Living Dead"), GetGlue, Zombiefun and many other places. It's a really real book with pages and a cover and its own ISBN number and everything, so you can also get it through the Ingram catalog from most brick-and-mortar stores as well. Hurry before they all shut down. My publisher, Twisted Press, is also developing a version for Smashwords that will support e-reader and Nook. I will announce availability as soon as I get confirmation.
Swag and other stuff;
I've opened a storefront on Café Press where you can get t-shirts, mugs, shot glasses, totes, bags and a bunch of other "Area 187" stuff. If you liked the book, show the world. It'll be like having coffee with me every morning and a tankard of your favorite beverage with me every night…
If you have read the book, you have my thanks and I hope it was everything you wanted in a zombie survival novel. If you haven't read the book and you like what you see on my blog, you really should check it out. I firmly believe it's my best work to date and there are more than a few others who agree. Also, if you've read the book in either Kindle or paper and would like it signed but don't think you'll get the chance (or don't want me writing all over your Kindle), I have special postcards suitable for display that I will gladly sign and mail to you if you like. Drop me a line at ericrlowther (at) yahoo, and don't worry, I'll delete the address as soon as I mail it unless I find you really stalkable.
Other stuff;
Even I get tired of pimping "Area 187; Almost Hell" (available in paper and Kindle at Amazon), so let's talk about some other stuff.
I'm in the final stages of getting the cover together for my first foray into self-publishing with my forthcoming 1-author anthology "The Dead Tell Tales". This will contain eight zombie short stories (with one possibly hitting novella length) and will be available on Smashwords. I hope to have this one out in time for Halloween buying, and while it won't be free it'll still be a steal.
I am still working on a free audio anthology of 7-8 short stories of the not-zombie variety that will help launch my new website (yes, I'm finally doing something with the damn domain name I bought years ago). I hope to have the fully-produced audio dramas available by Halloween as well. Did I mention they'll be completely free? It will also be a bit of a concept piece in that I'm recruiting podcasters/authors to record various characters. I already have a few confirmed but if you're a podcaster or a podcaster/author and want to get in on this project drop me a line at the e-mail address above. I will be attaching promos for the shows to all who participate, so you get in on a fun project that will surely attract podcast listeners to hear their favorites play character roles and introduce listeners to different podcasts and hosts.
Of course, you can still read and hear my genre movie reviews over at The Witch's Hat blog and blogcasts operated by the venerable pod-father, Root Rot. I'm also producing stand-alone segments on an infrequent basis for Joanie Loves The Witch's Hat where I conduct audio interviews with directors, authors and other artists from the various horror-related genres. It's a great blog and a fun set of shows, so I hope you check them out.
I'll be producing more short fiction free for the reading here on the blog in the coming months, as well as starting another book from the world of Area 187, so make sure you stay tuned for more. I'm also looking for other un-published or under-published authors to sit in right here on my blog with some free short fiction. If you're so inclined, drop me a line and show me what you've got. I should also tell you to check out the great line of books from my publisher, Twisted Library Press, with separate imprints for all your horror and fantasy needs as well as the blog and forums you'll find there. So, until next time Constant Reader, just write, damn it.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Area 187; Almost Hell - Audio Prolog
The book has gotten a few great reviews and some really great buzz, but I'm not ashamed to say I need your help. So please, spread the word. You can check out the synopsis in the previous post as well as at the Amazon site. Now, the paperback version may seem a little pricey at $25.00 (with the Kindle at $4.99). However, please remember you're getting over 230,000 words of zombie goodness and government conspiracy for your money. That translates to over 600 pages and 2 pounds of, and I'm not afraid to say it, some pretty damn good fiction. It's also one of the few zombie books that, in a pinch, you could actually use to crack open a zombie's skull should the need arise. It also qualifies for free shipping all on its own without having to seek out another cheap item you don't really want to make the cut-off for the shipping dollar amount.
Since I'm asking you to shell out your hard-earned money, I thought it only fair that I give you the chance to try it out before you buy. Along with the free preview pages and "Look Inside" feature on Amazon, I have produced a complete audio dramatization of the novel's prolog as a sneak peak free-of-charge over at youtube. I encourage you to give it a listen.
So, to those of you that have purchased the book, you have my heartfelt thanks. If you have read it, please take a minute and leave a review on Amazon. You can also find me at my Goodreads profile or over at the Library of the Living Dead. All comments, even negative ones, will be appreciated. My work may not be for everyone, but I sincerely hope it will be for you. I'm still hard at work on both a new self-published anthology set for release this summer as well as an audio drama anthology coming in the Fall so keep watching here for more information on future projects and more about Area 187. So until next time,
Just write, damn it. - Author
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
"Area 187; Almost Hell" Official Release Announcement
So, what's it all about, you ask? Well.....
In the year 2007 an accident at a clandestine U.S. government facility in rural West Virginia releases several test subjects infected with a necrotic virus. Within weeks the U.S. military and the Department of Homeland Security are forced to declare the bulk of the state under quarantine. Defensive lines are fortified and nothing is allowed in or out, damning those missed in the short period of evacuations to a living hell and locking away the real truth of the virus’ creation.
The government transfers the responsibility of maintaining the quarantine from the military to the Department of Homeland Security, which christens it “Area 187”. Suits and claims are dismissed under anti-terror legislation as the rest of government scrambles to cover their involvement in the original project, distancing themselves and their reelections.
Seven years pass.
Homeland Security enforces a total news blackout on all things Area 187, and as with other disasters before it the bulk of America is more than willing to move on. Conspiracies continue to thrive outside the now-immense defensive wall and fortifications, and mercenaries known as “grave robbers” regularly slip in and out of the Area, stealing valuables and taking contracts to bring back specific items for well-paying customers. Our story follows Josephine Terrell, a television reporter and John Heath, once an Air Force search-and-rescue team leader that escaped the Area after five years of fruitless searching for his wife, as they risk their lives from both the dead and the living inside Area 187 to rescue a group of survivors.
Josephine is looking for the story of the century, one that will prove living, breathing Americans still await rescue inside the Area and that Homeland has been covering up their existence. Heath joins her mission after he sees what may be his wife, Eileen, in a video message from the survivors. Personal rivalries, government conspiracies and a simple man’s simple promise weave together with death incarnate to follow their every step as they make their way through a blasted, nightmarish landscape full of the hungering dead. But the peril offered by the mindless corpses behind the wall becomes second to the danger presented by the living beyond it…
Unlike most zombie stories that show you either the beginning of the death of the world or throw you into a world already dead, "Area 187; Almost Hell" shows you what could happen if the apocalypse was contained before destroying all as we know it. What lengths would government and the military-industrial complex go to absolve themselves of blame and responsibility in the aftermath? How would those outside the territory now given over to the dead go on and how would their old world adapt to the presence of this new one? How do those left behind to be ruled by the dead survive, and how do they affect their loved ones forced to leave them behind? It's one thing to be a survivor in a whole world gone mad, to accept that everyone you've ever known and loved is either dead or worse. It's quite another to live among the dead knowing there's another world just beyond the quarantine wall, a world filled with your family and friends, a world you can never again inhabit due to factors and politics beyond your control. The biggest difference between my story and many others is that in most zombie tales, no one can ever go home again. In this one, you can't go home again.
The book is available now at Amazon.com and through the Ingram catalog for those that still like to buy their books from the brick and mortar stores, and the Kindle version should be live shortly after this post goes up. You can also "look inside" the book and get a preview of the world of Area 187 there as well. Now, I know the $25.00 cover price is a bit high. However, at that price it automatically qualifies for free shipping (no more searching for another cheap item you don't want so you can get free shipping on the $24.99 item you do want). You're also getting 620 pages in a 6x9 print format. That's just about 230,000 words of fiction, and if I do say so myself, it's some pretty damn high-quality fiction.
Keep watching here for more about the book as well as my upcoming projects. I'll soon be releasing a zombie-themed anthology through Smashwords tentatively titled "The Dead Tell Tales" (my first foray into the self-publishing world) and will have an audio anthology free for the download coming out near the end of summer as well. In the meantime, please take a minute to check out "Area 187; Almost Hell" at Amazon. It makes a great gift, and at 620 pages it also makes a great doorstop. You can also hear me most every week on The Witch's Hat podcast and read genre movie reviews on the blog of the same name. In fact, you never know just where I may pop up, perhaps even under your bed. Who knows?
So until next time, Constant Reader, I'll simply say; just write, damn it.