July 14, 1962

by Jim Graves

Little Eva belted out her hit single, ‘The Locomotion’. Bill’s sister always had her portable record player on the front porch on those summer Saturdays, playing her records and dancing along.

Bill sat and watched from the porch swing. He liked the music and there was not much else to do that could keep a kid out of trouble during those lazy hot days. He could hear them arguing inside the house. Hard as he tried to block the sound—focusing on the music—he could still hear them. They always argued when they thought no one was listening. But Bill always listened.

He knew his stepfather was not a nice man. Even though everyone else thought he was a good man, Bill knew him for what he was. A user. A man who took advantage of everyone’s kindness. Someone who took advantage of situations. And in their case, a single mom with two kids? What better situation for one of his kind?

The record continued to play and Bill tried to keep his thoughts on the music as he waited for the argument to end. When he heard a door slam, he got up from the porch swing and went inside.

His stepfather sat in the dining room, eating a bowl of buttermilk and cornbread. Bill had always found that to be disgusting. But then again, he felt the same about his stepfather.

By the age of twelve, Bill had formed more than a few opinions of the world and those who filled it. These opinions were not all good. His stepfather fell into the not good category.

“Sounds like y’all are having a real party out there. Need to turn it down some. A man can’t think with all that damn noise.” His stepfather continued spooning the slop into his mouth.

Bill shrugged his shoulders and went into the kitchen. He had originally gone in for a drink of water, but during the fifteen seconds between the front door and the kitchen, his mind had taken on a whole new perspective as he heard the saxophone solo from the record. He found himself staring at the dish drainer. Turning on the tap, he filled a glass with cold water and drank.

Earlier in the day, he had noticed what looked like a bruise on his mother’s upper arm, partially hidden by the sleeve of her blouse. He had never seen his stepfather put his hands on her, but he had heard things. He had heard enough to know that sometimes their arguments became physical. The one time he had mentioned it to his mother, she had told him everything was fine and to not worry. But he did worry.

Bill finished his water, sat the empty glass down on the counter, and took a knife from the dish drainer. Walking back into the dining room from the kitchen, he grabbed his stepfather’s forehead from behind, and stabbed the knife into his neck, leaning into his ear, whispering, “You’re mean to my mother.” He shoved the knife deeper, pushed forward and twisted the blade as his stepfather struggled to stand, his feet sliding on the linoleum flooring. Bill tightened his grip on both the knife and his stepfather’s head until the man finally collapsed—lifeless—in the chair.

Bill smiled, in his blood stained T-shirt, returning to the front porch and his seat on the swing. He laughed and clapped his hands, trying to keep time with the music as blood puddled beneath a chair in the dining room.

The Snow by Flint Maxwell

“This is how the world ends: with a single snowflake.”-The Snow.

I love getting books for Christmas. If you’re looking for a nice Christmas tale, this isnt it. But, if you’re looking for a novel that will keep you guessing and wondering what’s coming next, “The Snow” is one you surely don’t want to miss.

Flint Maxwell has created characters that make you laugh and make you care, and he has put those characters right in the middle of one of the strangest snowstorms ever, in July!

“The Snow” is book #1 in the Whiteout series. A great book from a great writer.

Hold Your Breath

by Jim Graves

Some people are just born bad. Samuel Dryden (Sammy D to those who knew better than to call him Samuel) was one of those people. His biggest thrill in life was making sure everyone else was miserable. It was said that he once threw a bag full of puppies in the creek, laughing and yelling, ‘Hold your breath you mangy mutts’. No one doubted the validity of that story. At the age of sixteen, it was obvious that Sammy D’s future involved incarceration.

Chris Mueller was the latest in a long line who had found themselves on Sammy D’s people to fuck with list. It didn’t take much to make the list. Basically, all you had to do was wander into his line of sight. Sammy D had made it plain, earlier that day, that he would be seeing Chris after school.

“What are you gonna do?” Danny Jacobs whispered.

“I’m gonna run like hell, that’s what I’m gonna do,” Chris said, looking at the clock above the door. Ten minutes til the last bell. The second hand seemed to be spinning like a fan blade.

Chris had a plan. He wasn’t sure if it was a good one, but it was a plan. He would avoid going to his locker and use the exit at the south end of the building. That would lead around back, past the practice field and into the woods down by the creek. From there, he could follow the creek for about a half mile and come out behind the Super Save. With any luck, he would make it home with his head still attached to his shoulders. His ego would suffer some bruises, but hey, he could live with embarrassment and shame.

Chris’s friend, Danny, turned around as the bell rang. “Good luck.”

Without answering, Chris got up and headed for the classroom door, hoping to blend in with the rest of the students crowding the hallway. He kept a careful lookout through the crowd as he made his way toward the south exit. His heart was pounding as he reached the door and put his weight against the push bar, giving way to a brisk October chill.

He ran around the end of the building and could see the practice field and the woods that lay beyond. Looking back over his shoulder, he tried to keep a natural pace, not wanting to draw attention. It was about thirty yards to the edge of the woods. As he got closer, he began to relax. Things were looking pretty good after all. And then he heard Sammy D yelling. He looked back to see Sammy D closing in on him and that was all he needed to spur him on. He began to run. Fast.

He made it to the edge of the woods, never slowing as he reached the creek bank and leaped to the other side. His right foot sank in mud at the water’s edge but he quickly regained his footing and scrambled up the hill, leaving one shoe behind. He could hear Sammy D laughing, but he didn’t dare look back. He could imagine what would happen if he were to slow down. And then the laughter stopped.


It was Sammy D yelling but Chris wasn’t going to be fooled. He did however take a quick look back over his shoulder.

“Hey,” Sammy D yelled again, “something’s got hold of me.” He was digging his fingers into the creek bank as he fought against whatever had hold of him. Something was pulling him back into the water. “No fooling, shithead, something’s got me,” he said. His fingers dug deeper into the muddy edges of the creek as he tried, with little success, to pull himself out of the water. “Help me!”

Chris stopped, bending over and putting his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He looked at Sammy D, there on the creek bank, his hands covered in mud, and waist deep in the water. There was genuine fear in his eyes.

“Help me,” he said.

It was then that Chris saw what was trying to pull Sammy D back into the murky brown water. It was the skeleton of a dog. Or almost a skeleton. There were pieces of flesh and burlap hanging from bone. Gray, oozing masses filled the eye sockets. Two more of the creatures emerged from the creek, joining the other, biting and pulling at Sammy D. Chris watched in horror as the creatures pulled furiously.

“Oh, shit! What the hell is it?” Sammy D yelled, looking down at the creatures that had hold of him. “Get me outta here!”

Chris watched in silence, too shocked to speak. He couldn’t believe what was happening. They were pulling Sammy D deeper into the creek and all Chris could do was watch. He was more afraid of these things than anything Sammy D could have done to him, but he was still unable to turn away from the hellish scene taking place before him.

Sammy D began to scream. Surely someone from the school would hear him. Someone would come to help. But as the screams continued and Sammy D was dragged deeper into the brown, muddy water, Chris knew no one would come. He also knew he would not help. He watched as Sammy D failed to free himself, his fingers searching for any hold they could get, but the ground was too soft here on the shaded creek bank. Chris heard one last plea for help before Sammy D went completely under, the water bringing a choking end to his cries. His tears mixing with the muddy creek water.

As Chris watched, only three words came to mind; hold your breath.

All For The Horror

I have been a horror fan since the age of 5. I remember laying on the living room floor, glued to the television. While my mom was doing her housework, I was getting lost in Dark Shadows. For that half hour every weekday, I lived in Collinwood. At the age of 5, Barnabas Collins was my babysitter.

I graduated to the classics; Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Lon Chaney,Jr.. They were all great, and still are. Yes, I have loved horror for as long as I can remember. That feeling of being on the edge of your seat, not knowing what’s coming next, and even the jump scare. It all comes together to create one of the most memorable experiences you can ever have. Be it in a book or on the screen, horror stories are incredible.