"Black Hole Son." A Poem About The Viral, Three-Headed Cerberus Dominating The 21st Century: Spirituality, Technology & Media.

Or something.  Includes nods to Alice In Wonderland, The Exorcist, and more signposts on the road to WTF?  Yeah, sometimes as a writer--often, as far as I care--one must simply let the words flow and decipher messages and meaning afterward.  Hence, "Black Hole Son"--yeah, that's your Soundgarden nod, too--a hodgepodge of madness that, ultimately, carves a path toward salvation or, at least, acknowledges there is none. 

What?

Look, Monday Blog time and I am mentally fried, exhausted.  I was scribbling one on my take on the second Hobbit Movie, The Desolation of Smaug, but I'm not going to fight the exhaustion, so as a failsafe, I was thinking, share poetry.  Yeah, share poetry, John Claude.  But, I don't write easy little verses meant to make one smile and warm the cockles of one's heart.  Though, actually, anybody who smiles at this might be getting some cockle-warming, um...er...warmth (and that smile might be quite devious).

Cockles.  I think that's the first time I've ever used that word. 

Anyway, here's the poem, crude around the edges--so skip it if that's not your bag--mostly written about three years ago, I believe, though tweaked and tampered with, fondled and flayed, over the last couple days, to make it, um...

Just read it and remember it's © 2014 by John Claude Smith.

:-)

Black Hole Son

 

 

Down the rabbit hole we tumble,

Alice with a cross jammed into her vagina,

“Fuck me, Jesus,” followed by a tip of the hat

to the Maddest Hatter of them all:

Religion, by any other name

still pricks with thorny abandon.

“Praise Allah!  Praise Technology!”

Infected impact of overbearing ideals,

illusions of faith falsely constructed

 

Black Hole Son, Won’t You Come,

And Take the Dreams Away…

 

But He‘s got a cross to bear,

so bear witness to his cross defense:

 

Ommmmm said the anchorman,

anchored to ideals based on the perfectly plastic hairstyle.

Ego and substance battle for the rights to

Spirituality. Humanity. Ratings!

Contagion sandblasted like blood off the cross.

“Praise Jesus! Praise Bill Gates!”

As technology tweaks the Shroud of Turin--

the appropriate Jurassic Park impetus--

cloning The Second Coming for Prime Time approval.

 

Black Hole Son, Won’t You Come,

And Take The Madness Away.

 

Enter stage left, the stars of this absurdity,

featureless foes fortified on faux features:

 

American Idol? How about Mythbusters?

Spreading like a rash, a disease,

mad cow disease for those who follow like sheep.

Alice still screaming, “Fuck me, Jesus!”

while live cams and duplicitous sponsors

await the true climactic moment--it’s cumming, it’s cumming!

At the hands of the intrusive (24/7) Sinister Technology,

a viral spirituality that has corrupted the world

to our own gleefully negligent approval.

 

Black Hole Son, Won’t You Come--

Come As You Are, Fercrissakes!

 

Patience a withered and weary March Hare, 

a disgruntled Red Queen in grim observance:

 

Down the rabbit hole humanity tumbles,

hands clenched in prayer to the Real Religion.

one basked not in blinding spiritual glow,

but blinding ignorance and social media seduction

tallied as How Many Friends one has on Facebook

or who we follow on twitter--such twitiotic times!

Oh, did you see the latest sound byte/snapshot/ego stroke blurb

from [fill in the blank space with the latest bland celebri-soul]?

Hence, Psalm 69 from the New Dark Age Bible:

 

“Sold my soul to the devil for a pack o’ cigarettes and some Taco Bell.

Felt I got the best part o’ the deal even with the gas. [cont.]

 

[cont.] You see, I wasn’t using it anyway, this so-called soul,

So what’s the use o’ carryin’ it around?  It didn’t fill the dead space…”

 

Black Hole Son, Won’t You--

Won’t You?  Please…?

 

Alice no longer curiouser and curiouser,

simply bleeding from self-imposed spiritual abuse:

 

While the water cooler zombies gossip about the celebri-soul’s every word,

God, the ultimate carrier/enabler, gleefully guns down rumors and ideals

in the latest version of Grand Theft Auto, 

with a Pazuzu possessed Regan MacNeil humping his leg BigTime

in the celestial wasteland, not heaven

but the vacant expanse where dead souls used to reside.

Now, dead souls and dwindling hope share the s p a c e,

feast on the empty airways where the corrosion of self

has reached code blue--critical mass.

 

Black Hole Son, You Have Come,

Deceptive and Divine!

 

Shaped by the technologically corrosive landscape the Viral Spirituality feeds on dreams and designs, a narcissistic future based on need and not necessity.

A black hole, son, a void within a void within a void.

 

Amen

…and pass the remote control.

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, that's the heart.  Here's some info on the cockles.
http://www.wisegeek.org/what-are-the-cockles-of-your-heart.htm 
Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2014: Waiting In The Wings--Stories, A New Book, The Need For Consistency, Etc.

Thinking about how to approach the blog again, been lean for awhile.  If I say there will be consistency, will there be?  A regular post at least on Mondays, perhaps; more posts when necessary, what with story publications, book stuff, random thoughts.  I'm good when it comes to writing fiction when it comes to consistency, usually finding time to "be with the words," as I like to say, even on the days when I'm less driven or I allow distractions to dictate.  For me, focus is the key.  The last couple weeks have been less than perfect, but with the holiday, I expected that.  So now I am circling and about to swoop down and pounce, take my Words back, and firmly entrench myself in the novel in progress.

And ramble on as I often do. 

So, let's get to what's upcoming in 2014 so far, as there's a lot in the pipeline.

My Heavy Metal Horror story, "Louder, Faster..." will appear in the Axes of Evil anthology put together by Alex Johnson, a fellow writer whose work I need to know better; he seems to have his head in the right place; a strange place, sure, but that's a good thing, hehe...  On the ultimate coolness side of things, Lucy Taylor will also be amongst the stellar TOC of this anthology.  Lucy Taylor!  Her Unnatural Acts and Other Stories was a landmark collection for me, influential and essential so, yeah, stoked about this whole deal.

The story that will squirm into your head, leave its mutant babies, and make you most uncomfortable, "Beautiful," will appear in the Fossil Lake anthology, edited by Christine Morgan.  Sometimes, something so out of left field seeps into my brain...and I run with it.  This story, the tone and voice, are utterly unique, alien in a way, yet a human foundation holds it up; but a human of--No!  Can't give it all away.  The guidelines mentioned wanting aberrant stories...well, this one, this one...[shivers]  Trust me, it will really mess with your head.

I entered a story into the SQ Mag short fiction contest because they publish Quality fiction and thought I'd give it a shot.  Didn't win, but was pleased to be in the top six, which means you'll get to read, "It's Only Going To End Badly," at some point soon.  Some things go bad; some things go sideways; some things, well...you'll see.

I have a reprint in the first Heartcore anthology, another one put together by Alex Johnson.  This was crazy as the page was put together on FB, mention of submissions posted, and about twenty minutes after I submitted my story, "My True Name," there was a notification on FB that I was mentioned in a comment.  The comment was the TOC so far for the anthology...and there I was.  Probably the fastest acceptance I've ever had. 

I should also mention I will have a poem, "The Dead Souls Work Song," published at some point in the middle of the year, though details are still being ironed out. 

Ah, but the Biggest News, not that any of what I've mentioned so far doesn't bring a smile to my face (as well as to my dark heart), but the Excellent, High Quality Dark Fiction publisher, Omnium Gatherum, will be publishing my second book, a kind of mini-collection centered on my 14,000 word novelette, Autumn In The Abyss.  Details still being worked out, even the actual title--though AITA will most probably be a part of the title--but this one, oh yes.  As a writer, I always want to push myself, never settle for the average or formuliac elements in my fiction.  Autumn In The Abyss does just this.  One of the two best pieces of fiction I have ever written, yes, according to moi, and something I hope you all enjoy, because it's quite a ride, indeed.   Poetry, history, the power of Words in ways most lethal.   

Yes, two mentions of Quality. This matters to me. 

But...there's even more percolating underneath.  I am deep into the second draft of a novel that has a strong William S. Burroughs element...as well as the man himself, though not in the form of a man, not exactly, as well as three perspectives, with one being, perhaps, unreliable.  Which means it is really working my brain in ways I have never stretched the imagination.  I don't believe in comfort zones when it comes to my art.  This one is anything but.

Or something, but that's a start.  You ready for all of this?  Deeper details and samples will be featured when the stories and book are released, as well as I will touch the writing of others who inspire, movies, art, music, this and that.  Yeah, shaking it all up and getting back to that one thing that needs to be addressed: consistency.  For me, more happens when I am locked in and writing regularly.  More happens when a lot of things in life are dealt with regularly, y'know?  (My workouts, reading, etc.)  Just part of the deal.  So, I ask again...

Are you ready?

Strap in, let's get to it! 

Here's a picture of the giant bird "purported to come from an antimatter galaxy" from the movie, The Giant Claw.  Why?  Well, I titled this, Waiting in the Wings, had no picture in mind to add to it, so thought, Pterodactyl wings, for whatever reason--that's my mind for ya--and then shifted that to this movie, one from my youth that I stole the idea from when I was a wee lad for a class and...sure, some day ask me about that whole mess.  Anyway, here's the handsome fella...

Black Friday-->Cyber Monday DARKness!

Okay, about time I started blogging again, what with A LOT happening in 2014, so what better way to kick things into gear than with a 99 cents sale on the ebook version of my collection, The Dark Is Light Enough For Me.

Yes, for all of you have have thought, hmmmm, maybe; for all of you wondering what the hell John Claude is jabbering on about?; for all of you looking for some "not your average horror" dark fiction, welllllllllllllll...

99 cents!

99 bloody cents--that's all!


Read the reviews, but here's a couple of prime snippets to inspire you to either
a) buy the ebook, it's damned cheap
or
b) think even more so, what the hell is this John Clause Smith up to as a writer.

Or something.

"It is a rarity that a short story collection can speak to me with each of its tales, rarer still that the voice be so articulate. While I can definitely appreciate elements of "splatterpunk," too many modern horror author don't even go that bloody route, instead remaining in a safe "horror lit" style. Smith goes elsewhere, a bleak universe that one gets glimpses of in works by Harlan Ellison, H.P. Lovecraft, and occasionally Clive Barker. The intellect powering these nightmares is a staggering, transcendental monster in itself. ..."--Brian Fatah Steele, Horror Writer.

"In a market that is pretty much saturated with the tiredest of horror tropes (vampires, zombies, werewolves), along comes this refreshing debut collection by John Claude Smith. And when I say refreshing, I certainly don't mean "lightweight". The darkness itself, in fact, is very much a constant character in these stories of guilt, hubris, paranoia, abuse, vanity, addiction, desire and depravity. ..."--David Antrobus, Writer (dark stuff and otherwise)

Okay, you get the gist.  Read em all if you need convincing.  Or buy the book and decide for yourself.

Enjoy the DARKness!

:-)

http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Light-Enough-Me-ebook/dp/B0065M28L6/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1320955068&sr=8-1


Up next: news about my New Book, out early in 2014, as well as info on some short story sales, as well as me going on about other writer's books I like, music and movies and who knows what else, too?  Stick around. 
:-)

Current, Worthy Horror Books That Have Caught My Eye...

Yes, I know.  Been awhile.  Been busy, but am here and want some kind of consistency again, so let's get rolling with some current horror books that look quite worthy.  Before I go on, I must admit, I've still yet to really utilize my Kindle Fire.  Books collect there, but I've yet to really dive in, though with some of these current releases fitting my budget better in that form, well...I must make it a goal to dig in and make it work for me. 

That said...

The Grimscribe Puppets, edited by Joe S. Pulver, a writer of worth if ever there was one, collects 22 stories inspired by the work of Thomas Ligotti.  This one goes to the top of my Amazon Wish List.  I mean, look at the TOC. 

Livia Llewellyn “Furnace”
Daniel Mills “The Lord Came at Twilight”
Michael Cisco “The Secrets of the Universe”
Kaaron Warren “The Human Moth”
Joel Lane “Basement Angels”
Darrell Schweitzer “No Signal”
Robin Spriggs “THE XENAMBULIST: A Fable in Four Acts”
Nicole Cushing “The Company Town”
Cody Goodfellow “The Man Who Escaped This Story”
Michael Kelly “Pieces of Blackness”
Eddie M. Angerhuber “The Blue Star”
Jon Padgett “20 SIMPLE STEPS TO VENTRILOQUISM”
Robert M. Price “The Holiness of Desolation”
Michael Griffin “Diamond Dust”
Richard Gavin “After the Final”
Scott Nicolay “Eyes Exchange Bank”
Simon Strantzas “BY INVISIBLE HANDS”
Paul Tremblay “Where We Will All Be”
Allyson Bird “Gailestis”
Jeffrey Thomas “The Prosthesis”
John Langan “Into the Darkness, Fearlessly”
Gemma Files “OUBLIETTE”

Yeah, worthy writers all.  I need this one.  I've always enjoyed Ligotti's unique work and mindset in the horror realm.  Heck, the title story of my first collection, The Dark Is Light Enough For Me, actually utilizes a main character somewhat based on this Ligotti mindset, so this anthology has my interest, no doubt.


Kate Jonez, who runs the excellent publishing house, Omnium Gatherum, with worthy releases by, among others, Ennis Drake and S.P. Miskowski, has just released her debut novel via Evil Jester Press, Candy House.  Here's the blurb: "In Kate Jonez's debut novel, CANDY HOUSE, a brilliant young scientist moves back home with his parents because his explosive temper has ruined his career. His neighbors, a family of witches, imps and demons, are charged with keeping science under control. They must, by using their debauched and twisted magic, stop Roland before he fulfills his destiny and makes a deadly discovery that will change the nature of humanity forever."  Sounds like fun, eh?  The Look Inside sample is most tasty, so I will be picking this up for the Kindle this week. 


I picked up Nicole Cushing's  Children of No One recently for my Kindle--further inspiration to use the damn thing--and it looks more than worthy, right up my dark literary alley, actually.  Here's the blurb: "Sadism, nihilism, poverty, wealth, screams, whimpers, sanity and madness collide in Nowhere, Indiana.  For Thomas Krieg, Nowhere is a miles-long, pitch-black underground maze in which he's imprisoned dozens of boys for the past ten years—all in the name of art.  For two brothers, Nowhere is the only place they clearly remember living. A world unto itself, in which they must stay alert to stay alive. A world from which the only escape is death.  But for an English occultist known only as Mr. No One, Nowhere is much more...and much less: the perfect place in which to perform a ritual to unleash the grandest of eldritch deities, the God of Nothingness, the Great Dark Mouth."
Sounds like total warped fun to me. 


What?  You want instant gratification?  Well, you can get the latter two titles for your Kindle in the blink of an eye...or read this, Laird Barron's first professional short story sale, reprinted at Nightmare Magazine: "Shiva, Open Your Eye."  Kind of a wicked piece from one of our best, most worthy writers of the Dark Stuff.

Don't forget, one of my most recent published stories, "This Darkness," appears in the recently released anthology, For The Night Is Dark.  A worthy endeavor, indeed, I'm in good company.  As I check the page, there's also a couple of cool reviews--excellent! 


So, there's a few things, check em out, as I expect to do. 

:-)

Here's an, ahem, eye-catching image from O__u_R_sick.  Not exactly what I had in mind when I titled this blog post, but...um...

O.o 

Quirky Short Fiction: "He's Got The Whole World In His Hands."

Sometimes, in the process of writing, I like to emphasize something in a story, kind of experiment with seeing if I can do this or that.  One of the things we as writers must do to really bring a story to life is to touch the senses.  About ten or eleven years ago, I got my brain re-wired for fiction writing again, after many years of music journalism.  The music journalism taught me a lot about description; most of what I wrote was reviews, but I approached review writing in a different manner.  Not simply writing about this or that instrument and how it works within the whole, though that was part of many reviews, but because a lot of what I reviewed was experimental music, music of sound and no lyrics, I created worlds out of these sounds.  Alien lands and lands within the unexplored pockets of our own world, along with the strange creatures that roamed there, all inspired by what I heard.  I actually expect to take some of these reviews and strip them to the core, use some of these descriptions in stories, perhaps.  I've done a couple of poems constructed from these reviews, it's a lot of fun.  Reshaping the words, my original words, into something new. 

Anyway, where was I?

With that mindset, I wrote a story called, "He's Got The Whole World In His Hands," a light fantastical piece that put me to the test of touching the senses.  I wanted smells, touch, sight. sound, and even a suggestion of taste, to pop with real resonance.  Not sure if I succeeded, but at least it worked my brain in a good way, got me to think more about this kind of thing.  Recently, I took that story, and, knowing it needed something more, just a wee bit of something to really drive it through the finale, I tweaked it, added a little bit, just enough, to give it what I think is the edge to put it over the top in the proper way. 

Because of my Italian connections--my girlfriend, Alessandra, is Italian, and I know many of the poets/writers as an extension of that--I found a home for the story on the Italian website, Etemenanki/Terranullius, run by Marco Lupo, an excellent poet and now, from what Alessandra has witnessed, a playwright of real potency; I hope to see one of his plays at some point, preferably when I know the language better, of course. 

;-)

Here's the link to the story, just under 2000 words of me working the words in a quirky way, something different from my usual but, then again, what is my usual?  Hmmm...

 http://www.terranullius.it/home/index.php/rubriche/75-etemenanki-no-subtitles/524-hes-got-the-whole-world-in-his-hands-john-claude-smith.html

 

 Enjoy!

And here's a photo of a globe of sorts splitting open, which works well with some of the imagery in the story.

 

A Poem For National Poetry Month: Technology Overload: "Ctrl/Alt/Delete"

No, not just 'a poem,' this is a riff, a mind-bender, words pounding to the rhythm, strap in, not kidding, Do It, let's go for a ride that transcends time or at least deals with losing our humanity amidst technological overload or...well...

Breathe...
(2...  3...  4...)

National Poetry Month.  I don't profess to being a poet, though I dabble and on occasion think, sure, that one works.  My 19 year-old son has taken up writing in the last year, fiction and poetry, he didn't even know it was National Poetry Month and they were pouring out of his brain.  He's sent me something like 80--yes, 80!--this month.  Short, sometimes philosophical, always clever insights, he was locked in.  My girlfriend, Alessandra, she's a poet as well.  When she writes them, my breath is often taken away at her mastery.  I'm not kidding.  GREAT poetry can do that to me.  How about you? 

Anyway...

Anyway, here's one that deals with what I wrote up there in the first paragraph and probably should be read out loud, especially once you latch on to the rhythm, even if the rhythm shifts, stumbles...  It's there, don't be afraid.

So, without further adieu, strap in, really, please--and keep your hands inside the ride but your mind open to my madness--here we go...and Enjoy:


***

Ctrl/Alt/Delete

By

John Claude Smith

 

 

 

born of dust and spit

of gist and folly

molded in His image

                                             (man)

swimming to the surface of the

 primordial

o     o     z     e

gymnastic gene pool pyrotechnics

burning urge and bristling dreams

before dreams even had intent

àFOCUS ß

intelligent design…

sublime?--no--

Spectacular

ride the ocean’s fury

hot oil slick surfing sandman

sun-blasted shiny glass heart--

beat

(2...     3...     4...)   

conch shell ears, seaweed souls

limbic system retrograde

push it to the here--hear and

NOW

listen to the electricity

(la)           (la)

s i n g

(la)           (la)

the body not just electric

blue sparkplug crackle

pistons pumping plasma

via

plugged in pummeling persistence

retinal scans, tympanic membrane mambo

hot-wired   

steel plate cybergasmic carapace

smooth as sin before sin snaked in

~~~~~(slither)~~~~~

polished red, an Apple to the blind

fondled freely upon the legs, the laptop

mouth sucking, teeth and clacking nails

shredding

the pain of reality shuffles crab-like

                       sideways                          perceptions

evolution in overdrive

                                                driven by ego--s

             h     

   i

             f       

   t

                                                --gears

buzzing like mating insects

shimmering metallic antenna 

tuning fork timbres

serenade the heavens

reminding them of times before

The Machines

when flesh burned and kisses aroused

 

NOW--

 

arousal is artificial

;-( emotionless           emoticons )-;

the clank and grind of gears, the years, eons

monkeys climbing the evolutionary ladder

up to the cerebral cortex via the

s

p

i

n

e

of god

singed by soldering irons

and over-stimulated objectives

obsolescence at the edge

 of the sound byte tomorrow

“I    am    iron    man”

the soulless epiphany confirmed and

fueled by what substitutes for dreams nowadays

                                                  d

                                                     o

                                                       w

                                                          n

loads, zip files

computer chips and chipped perspectives

ultra-distracted, overDRIVEN

IPOD, iPAD, iPRAY,

me myself and i

am the center of this avaricious universe

so

Beware: The Future

our current path polluted

blackened, brackish 

greasepaint flood waters 

gone viral

seesaw strategies, teetering

choose to remain human

please

(no masks, no grim facades)

(no avatars)

otherwise

all body shops will include:

                                                 1.) soul tune-ups

2.) mecha-heart replacement

                                                 3.) IV integrity transfusions                                               

SPECIAL BONUS:

essence and       e       t       h       e       r

injections into the illusion of humanity

tie it off and tap the vein

promoting pacifying brain puddle pleasure

 

because

 

WE are the ‘what if ’ gone cataclysmically

Wrong!

 

Ctrl/Alt/Delete

***

Whatever, haha, it was fun to write, I'll say that much.  Rollicking, pseudo stream-of-conscious Fun! 

Back to fiction with the next post, I'm sure. 

;-)

 

For The Night Is Dark Anthology: "This Darkness..."

For The Night Is Dark is the first anthology from Crystal Lake Publishing.  It's a stellar collection, at least what I've read so far.  (Carole Johnstone's "21 Brooklands: Next To Old Western, Opposite The Burnt Out Red Lion" even seems a cousin to my story, "This Darkness," as channeled through a Rob Zombie mindset or...something like that, haha...)  I am waiting for my print copy to show up to continue reading it, because hey, yeah, that's right: print books still remain my fave way to read. 

Here's a lil' guest post I did at Armand Rosamilia's blog, dealing with my story.  He is in the anthology and has been featuring guest blogs by other contributors on his blog.  Really good, amusing, informative stuff.  Check them all out.  http://armandrosamilia.com/2013/04/11/guest-blog-john-claude-smith/

Here's the Amazon link which has an abundance of "Look Inside" samples to whet your horror loving appetite:  http://www.amazon.com/For-Night-Dark-ebook/dp/B00C3OGT06/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1366385015&sr=8-1


But...a bit more of a teaser to sink you into the true darkness that envelops "This Darkness."  Here's Sue Chambers, fed up and had it with her guy, Andy, up on the mountain, their friend, Mitch, in the back seat (as noted in the guest blog above; read that, put it together with this, and away we go), just before all Hell breaks loose; or all dread, more so, dread... No wait, Hell does follow up...

***

     Before Andy spoke, Susie sensed his anxiety bristling in the air.  He sucked in deeply and the inside of the car seemed to contract ever so slightly.

     “Look.  I’m sorry, baby.   I really…”  But he fell silent, his thoughts clustered as one, and, as usual, he was speaking before he’d sorted them out.

     Susie remained silent, ignoring him. 

     “I don’t mean no harm, y’know?  I just…I don’t really know what to do with it all sometimes.  Us and everything, y’know?”

     She turned her head to the window, gazing deep into the black nothing outside.

     “Hey, I’m tryin’ to say somethin’ here.”

     She just wanted it all to stop.  Please, just stop.

     “Goddamnit!” Andy said, jamming his foot on the brakes, cutting off the lights, the engine, everything.

     “Hey,” Mitch said, that Chihuahua yelp again using his throat for expression.

     Susie kicked at the door, hand scrambling for the handle, saying “Fuck you!  Fuck you!  Fuck all of this!” as she did.  Frustration poured over her like an angry waterfall.  She finally got the door open, shoving with force as she did.  The dome light splashed meager luminosity across the interior, which she was hastily exiting.  As the metal joints stretched to the breaking point, the door creaked and popped with firecracker intensity.  She stepped out and the door started its path back to being shut in a hurry.  But just as suddenly, she regretted being outside of the car and in this darkness, though she also did not want to lose any more brain cells by being within hooting distance of Heckle and Jeckle; her exasperation only magnified the situation.  As she twirled back toward the door, everything shifted down a notch, slowing as seconds stretched.  She heard Andy say, “What the hell is that?” while the light weaved ugly, perplexing patterns into the crinkled folds of Mitch’s face, forming a landscape for an undiscovered planet in the process, both of them staring out the windshield, not even caring about her annoyance.  The look in their eyes caused her to shift her gaze from them to whatever might be in front of the car, a seemingly impossible quest because of this darkness--              

     --when she felt its presence…

     Reaching for the swiftly closing door, she was too late.  It clicked shut and the feeble dome light was eaten by the voracious darkness and a scream climbed the broken rungs of her throat, yet as if sound was in cahoots with this darkness, she heard nothing.

     A vacuum of terror pressed against her as she ached for the aural confirmation she knew she had expressed, yet where was it?  More so, she sensed the silence was so very internal, though distinguishing blood currents and heart beats was beyond her capabilities.  She felt adrift, yet she also felt compressed, as if this darkness wasn’t only pressing into her, it was invading pores, seeking organs, essence.  

     She reached for the door handle, anxious to fling herself back into the car and just deal with them, to yell at Andy to get them the hell out of there, not caring about being made fun of or anything but being away.  Real decisions would happen soon enough, but right now she just needed the safety of noise and lights and being so far from this darkness. 

     Her efforts fell flat: there was no door handle.

     She let out a brittle, “Fuck,” that landed on black cotton stuffed ears.  She couldn’t see the handle, only knew the approximate direction, yet her fingers remained unfilled.  Both hands now, her lithe body stepping forward, her hip should be banging into metal, but nothing impeded her movement.

     There was nothing there.  No car.  No Andy and Mitch joking away.  No light, no sound, only this darkness.

***

What the...?   What in the world is going on?   You gotta pick up the anthology to find out.  You will find out the Truth...as well as get more fantastic fiction from a plethora of writers (Gary McMahon, Jeremy Shipp, Tonia Brown, William Meikle, Scott Nicholson, and many more) who really know and understand...the Dark.

;-) 

Here's the eye-catching artwork from Ben Baldwin.