Thursday, May 18, 2017

MY NEW STORY MOTHER SAVE ME IS HERE!

Hi guys, my latest short horror story MOTHER SAVE ME is now available for purchase! Check it out!





Helena was the perfect little girl. Always polite. Always kind. Always hungry.

Susan uncovers a terrifying secret when she digs up an animated child's corpse.
Will Susan be able to take care of her? Or will Helena consume her, body and soul? 
Helena was perfectly preserved in a metal and glass Victorian coffin. She was a very good girl. It just so happened that she loved eating meat. The fresher, the warmer, the bloodier; the better. 
This horror 17 page story covers the tough topic of infertility and what some women would do, if they had a second chance to be a mother.

You can find on Amazon here:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071P33R86

You can find it on Smashwords here: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/724983

You can also find it on Kobo here: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/mother-save-me

Yes, that's right, I'm on ALL THREE MAJOR eBook outlets now. How cool is that? 

Monday, May 1, 2017

READ Walpurgisnacht, A FREE MAY DAY Witch story from my book WE ARE ALL MONSTERS!

Here is a free story from my book WE ARE ALL MONSTERS about Walpurgisnacht, or MAY DAY. Enjoy! 



“Enough! This superstitious nonsense must stop!”

“Or what? Do you know why we have the May Day Festival? Truly?”

“I won't hear another word of this. Get out of my office.”

“You say we're superstitious, and yet you let your lives be ruled by the fear of Hellfire and Brimstone.”

“Get. Out. Of. My. Office!”

“Fine,” she said and picked up her hand bag. “Cancel the festival. Deny our cultural heritage. See what happens when you do.”

“You know what will happen? Nothing, because none of that is real. The Baptists have money, you don't. They're using the fairgrounds today, because they can pay for it, and you can't. It's as simple as that.”

Mrs. Calvera tisked the councilman.

“We shall see Mr. Bundy.  We shall see. I'd wish you a good weekend, but...it's far too late for that.”
“Whatever you are planning, I suggest you stop.”

“Me? I will be doing nothing but praying for us all.” Mrs. Calvera left, shutting the door gently behind her.

“Superstitious old hag. There's nothing here.”

Mr. Bundy went back to work, answering e-mails about millage proposals and counting down the hours until his shift ended.

Mrs. Calvera stood at the edge of town, her heart dropping to her stomach as she stared at the big banner they had put up for the Tent Revival. They had canceled the May Day festival and let the Holy Rollers in to use the sacred land.

They had really gone and done it this time.

Their little town in the middle of nowhere in Michigan's Upper Peninsula wasn't known for much, just a little centuries old crumbling church and monastery that held the mummified body of a local saint.

 Festival attendance had waned over the years as jobs started to disappear and the younger generations moved on to greener pastures.

The remaining locals started to lose interest in their cultural heritage. It really was a pity.

Now the town council decided to not hold their May Day festival. The one they always had since the place had been settled by French Catholic missionaries.

Why?

Because a new fundamentalist Baptist church had moved in, and people loved to throw money at those con men.

Mrs. Calvera walked past the old mission grounds where the Baptists were raising their tents. One of them looked her way, smiled and waved, and starting walking towards her.

She pulled out her Saint medallion and kissed it, praying to God for strength, but it didn't come.

“Will you be joining us in celebrating the Good Word of God?”

“No.”

“Have you found Jesus Mrs…?”

“You are going to have to try harder than that.”

“Beg pardon?”

“I'm Catholic. We don't believe in proselytizing. We believe in doing good works.”

“Ah. I see. Well, you're more than welcome to join the service this evening.”

She gave the earnest fool a long, steady look.

“I don't think anyone here will be joining you. It's a holy night.”

“Well, all the more reason to—”

She waved a dismissing hand at him.

“Save your speech. I know your type. You'll whip your congregation up into a frenzy and set them loose, foaming at the mouth to 'save us.' But we're not the ones that need saving. It's you. You've already upset the natural order of things. Do us all a favor and stay out of the old mission chapel tonight. It's a sacred place.”

“Beg pardon?” the revivalist said, frowning.

“In the old days, May first was a sacred night, a night to celebrate and to ward off the evil spirits. Walpurgisnacht; the night of the witch. You won't find that in your Bible young man, so don't bother looking. There's a reason those festivals are still held in holy places you know.”

“It's a heathen practice. It should be stopped. It's an abomination to God.”

“No.” She wagged a finger for him to lean closer so she could whisper. “You ever wonder why the Catholic saint relics, the ones made from the saint's own body, never decayed?”

“Because they were mummified.”

“Yes, but why are they all mummies?”

“Because of how their bodies were kept?”

“Wrong. It's because the body of the saint was used to hold an evil witch's spirit. It's the ultimate prison for a witch. Being stuck for all eternity in holy man's body. Can you imagine?”

The revivalist stared at her, then grinned.

“You're pulling my leg.”

“The May Day festivals are held every year to erase all the evil power that the witch's soul accumulated over the dark, cold, winter months. The fires and burning effigies sends enough holy power out to stop it. But, that is not going to happen this year, now is it?”

“Maybe you should come to the revival tonight. You really seem to need Jesus in your life. All this talk of idolatry and devil worship, it's worse than I thought. The Minister was right. This place is possessed by Satan.”

“No. Not this land, just the saint's body that is interred in the bottom of the old monastery.”

The man looked back at the building, the shadows cast by its uneven roof made it seem all the more sinister in the dying sunlight.

“I'll be sure to pray for you,” he said, a little too loud.

“You have your ways young man, we have ours. It would serve you best to respect that.”

“There some trouble here?” the minister said loudly, wiping the dirt off his hands and pant legs as he started heading their way.

“No. No trouble. I wish you luck on your Revival.”

“Why, thank you, Mrs—”

Mrs. Calvera abruptly turned and walked away.

They should have started the festival an hour ago.

Mrs. Calvera could feel the witch stirring. The old evil woman’s spirit was waking up, and she was furious at being held captive in such a holy place.

It was only a matter of time before night fell and the moonlight gave the witch enough strength to crawl out of the tomb and out into the dark, where the people had gathered to worship.

She crossed herself and hurried home. She locked the door, pulled the drapes, grabbed her chihuahua, and hid in the closet. She began praying fervently for forgiveness, even though she knew it was too late.

By sunrise, they'd all be dead.

“Welcome to God's Great Assembly! Tonight, we're going to sing praises to Jesus, all the way up to heaven!”

The tent revival had pulled in a small group, many of them people from the next town over. Most came for the ice cream social that was to take place after they held worship.

They applauded and one of the drunks near the back of the crowd was hollering and cheering them on.

Typical Yoopers.* Always in it for the food.
(*Yoopers are people that live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, locally referred to as the U.P.)

The councilman stood in the back near the entrance to the old mission chapel, thumbing through the stack of hundreds the preacher man had given him.

Easy money. That old woman wouldn't stand a chance getting her May Day festival back after this turn out.

The revival was loud: they had speakers hooked up to an electric keyboard and a guitarist wailing away as they sang praises to a God that the councilman never believed in.

It was all superstitious nonsense.

Every last word of it.

He stood there, enjoying the feel of cash in his hands and, distracted by the loud revivalists singing off-key, he didn't notice the old wooden door shuddering.

The lock rusted and crumbled to dust.

Dried, desiccated, gnarled fingers pushed the door open.

The councilman laughed as someone spilled water on themselves. He didn't even see the mummified hand reach out and grab his throat, crushing his trachea in one clamping motion, like the death grip of an alligator's jaws.

The councilman fell to the ground gasping for air, thrashing about like a fish before he suffocated and died. The witch looked down at him through dead shriveled eyes.

She grabbed his soul as it started to float away and devoured it.

With a vile cackle, the mummy staggered out of the mission chapel and lurched towards the crowd, dragging a useless broken leg behind.

Screams echoed through the streets as the citizens fell one-by-one.

Before anyone even had a chance to call the police, they were dead.

All of them.

Their souls sucked right out of their bodies by the evil that lay in wait in the mummified saint's bones. With each kill, the witch grew stronger. With each kill, she drew closer to the Calvera residence, to the last remaining descendant of the French Missionary that forced her soul into the hideous desiccated body that burned her soul and kept her trapped within.

Mrs. Calvera cowered in her closet, trembling worse than her little chihuahua on a cold winter's night.

She heard the witch when she burst through the flimsy screen door and deteriorated the security door with a wave of a skeletal, leathery hand.

Her time was up.

The prophecy was being fulfilled. She was the last of their line, the remaining descendant of the priest that founded the town. With her death, the witch would have her 666th soul and be reborn.
Her chihuahua growled and quaked as the mummified remains shuffled towards the closet door.

“Mother Mary, please, forgive me. I tried. They wouldn't listen. Please, forgive me.”

The door hissed and sizzled, bubbled and popped, and finally fell to the floor in plops of paint and wet wood pulp.

Mrs. Calvera held her breath. She was staring at the mummy's feet, terrified but yet unable to stop herself from raising her gaze up, inch-by-inch, until she met the mummy's dried eyes. They looked like raisins that glowed with star points of silver hellfire. The image seared into her mind, the way the sun burns into the retinas if one stares at it too long.

She heard whispers of the hungry dead, the victims of the evil witch, as the mummy's hand reached out and clamped down on her neck.

With her dying breath, she understood why they had struggled for so long to keep it asleep. Inside that body of a saint, was the soul of pure, unadulterated evil, and it had won.

There was nothing anyone could do to stop it now that the witch was finally awake after so many long, cold centuries.

The fury of the witch was nothing that mortal man could handle, and with Mrs. Calvera's death, all knowledge about how the missionaries trapped her inside a holy man's corpse was destroyed.

The witch was finally free to roam the earth and do her Dark Master's bidding.

They say that during May Day, right after dusk, you can hear in the wind the cries of the dead that she killed; their souls doomed to wander the forests and rocky shores of Lake Superior until the end of time.




Get your copy of WE ARE ALL MONSTERS HERE:
Only 99c/ 99p
Read it Free with Kindle Unlimited


US bit.ly/waam11 
UK bit.ly/wamm11UK


Saturday, April 29, 2017

Listen to the Free Audiobook of Cancer's Requiem Now!



This is my short story Cancer's Requiem  narrated by @mzkatmac, from my book WE ARE ALL MONSTERS!




Did you know that my book WE ARE ALL MONSTERS is Free on Kindle Unlimited?
Get it here:
bit.ly/waam11 

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

SIGNED COPIES OF WE ARE ALL MONSTERS NOW AVAILABLE


As a big thank you to my fans, I will be signing and shipping out print copies of my book WE ARE ALL MONSTERS.

Anyone interested, please email me at cassie@bloodywhisper.com, or you can contact me on Twitter @cchouseofhorror  or on my FaceBook page here: https://www.facebook.com/cassie.carnage/


Print copies of WE ARE ALL MONSTERS are $7.99+shipping. 


Invoices will be sent via PAYPAL to expedite the process.  Personalized message requests will be honored. 



Saturday, April 15, 2017

Here's a Sneak Peek at Addicted to the Abyss Volume 2 Mallory's Thirst!

I've been super busy working on editing and expanding volume one of Addicted to the Abyss- the start of which is on here as a 12-part serial story. Since Jonah's story runs parallel to Mallory's, and Mal has a better sense of time and place because his brain isn't Swiss cheese, I've also been writing the first draft of volume two. 

In essence, I've been multi-tasking. BIG TIME. (Sleep? Who needs sleep? HA!)

Here's a small peek at what I've been working on!



Addicted to the Abyss Volume 2 Mallory's Thirst Chapter 4

Jonah visited me last night.

I don’t know how he found me. It’s been over a year.

I moved to Montana, tried to get back to my career but…all I could think about was him. Worried. Not sleeping or eating well. I felt lost. Empty. But I knew I had to go. I couldn’t break my contract with my employers. They would be…consequences. I wasn’t mentally strong enough to deal with that yet.

They knew I was grieving. No one said it, but I could see it on their faces. They felt bad, an awkward sympathy towards an emotionally wrecked man. I could feel my life fray at the edges, slowly continuing to unravel, as though someone found the main thread holding me together and was yanking it, the very fabric of my being was pulling apart, stitch by stitch.

My underlings respected me, and I know that they covered for my mistakes constantly, but even with my screwing up the data entries, we were seeing positive results. My bosses were pleased. I was…barely satisfied.

I used stimulants to stay awake. I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to dream, to see him running just out of reach, covered in blood, screaming at me to let him die.

If I had known then, what I know now, I would’ve paid more attention to my nightmares. I would’ve slept more fully, would’ve kept a dream journal. Maybe then I…

It doesn’t matter.

Jonah.

Jonah is all that matters.

And he visited me last night.

I went home to clean up and sleep. I was so tired, I nodded off in the shower. Woke up before I smacked my head into the tiled wall. I shook my head, rubbed my face, felt how scruffy I was, and grimaced. Jonah was one of those guys that liked beards. I never cared for them, but I let myself go. I was in sore need of a haircut and a shave.

I got out, wrapped a towel around my waist and noticed just how skinny I had gotten. I’d lost too much weight. My ribs were showing. No doubt I was malnourished by this point.

Grief can do that to you.

I trimmed my hair, shaved off the beard, and cut myself shaving. Shaking hands and a new razor blade are a bad combination.

I barely recognized myself in the mirror. Sunken cheeks, black circles under my eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time I smiled. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t planning on dating and charming the pants off of anyone anytime soon. That is what caused all this mess to begin with.

I didn’t want to be with anyone ever again. I didn’t think that my heart could take it. No. No way I was going to date again. I had no appetite for hooking up with strange men for one night stands anymore. It was my fault. It was all my fault.

I finished off a bottle of whiskey and drunkenly collapsed on my bed, face down. I didn’t even bother crawling under the covers, or taking the towel off.

I didn’t care.

I left the bedroom window open. The cold breeze felt nice. It was winter, and I didn’t care if I got frostbite or froze to death. Maybe I wanted to die. I was having passive suicidal thoughts. And I didn’t care. Maybe that was why I didn’t wake up when the window was opened all the way from the outside. My apartment is on the third floor.

I just stayed there. Face down on my bed, waiting as the screen was ripped open and someone crawled inside.

They smelled rank, like rotting flesh and old blood.

My heart skipped a beat, I was excited.

This was it. The end.

I didn’t even have to do anything. I imagined that whatever killed Jonah had come to kill me, to end it all. It made me sad and happy to know that I would be with him soon. I could apologize. Beg him to forgive me for being so selfish, so full of myself. Maybe he’d even take me back.

The person who crawled through my window was filthy. I turned my head to look out of the corner of my eye. Light from the bathroom filtered down the hall into the bedroom,illuminating the figure. Dark dried blood spattered down a white torn shirt. It had soaked in the collar, spread in a circle from a bite on the neck. Filthy bare feet. Khaki shorts. A broken wristwatch.

I gave him that watch for a birthday present. I thought it was dumb, no one wore a watch anymore, everyone used their phone to tell the time. But, I got him one anyway. Something expensive- a leather band, diamonds on the face. Something he would love. And he did. That was a good night. The last date we went on before I started…

And then I messed everything up.

I could see his face. It was him.

Jonah came back to me.

I didn’t move. I didn’t want to startle him. I didn’t want him to run off. I wanted him to stay. So I lay there, heart pounding, skin crawling, every fiber of my being screaming at me to run as he stepped up to the bed.

He licked his lips, drool plopped on my bare legs. It was thick, slimy and cold. I shivered. Goosebumps raised on my arms, raced down my legs. He breath was erratic. He sounded excited.
He slowly crawled on the bed, ran freezing hands up my back.

I shivered, slowly turned over to face him.

My God. His eyes. The whites of his eyes were black, the irises were red and glowing. Bio-luminescence. I had read about that. Couldn’t believe it could occur in human eyes, but there it was.

“Jonah,” I whispered. “Where have you been?”

“I know your smell,” he said breathing in my hair. “I know this smell.”

“Who did this to you?” I asked, sorrow lumped in my throat.

He cocked his head to the side and smiled, showing off vicious fangs. There was no denying it now. He had changed. Turned into the very thing I was hired to study and killed— a vampire.

“SHE did it.” He rubbed his neck, a scar, a patch of flesh healed over to silver flesh, where the vamp tore a huge chunk out of his neck.

He chuckled eerily. It turned into a crazed laugh. “SHE did it!”

I backed away, fell off the side of the bed. He pounced on me. Ripped off my towel.

“Unwrap you like a snack,” he said and swallowed the drool that pooled in his mouth.

My stomach sank. I froze. Terrified.

He rubbed his face on my stomach, licked up my chest and neck. His tongue was freezing cold.

“I remember your eyes. Brown. So pretty. Want to pluck them out and eat them.” He ran a finger around my left eye.

I grimaced, pulled my head back. I was so sad, and so scared. I couldn’t help it, I started to cry.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What for? You’ll taste good.”

Shivering out of fear and anticipation of the pain, I froze. I did not push him off. Not sure if I’d be strong enough to do it even if I had tried. I had gone too long without eating or sleeping, not caring if I lived or died.

“Your fear. So yummy,” he said and licked my neck. Tongue like ice. I shuddered. I was afraid. I felt the urge to piss and barely held it in. “So squirmy. Mmmm…” he grabbed me by the shoulders, tossed me back onto the bed. He jumped on me, slid up my body, like he used to, when we were getting frisky and about to fuck.

He was cold. So very cold to the touch. He was undead now. My Jonah wasn’t alive. He was a monster.

“Stop,” I cried as he went to bite my neck.

“Hmmm? Why no fight? The others scream and kick you…don’t. Why?”

“Because, I’m your…”

“You’re mine?” He perked up. “Mine?”

“Yes. I’m yours, you’re mine. We were going to get married.”

“We were?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t remember that.”

“Jonah, it’s me. It’s Mal. Please try to remember.”

I leaned forward, mouth dry, heart pounding, shivering. Pressed my forehead against his. He was so dirty and covered in dried gritty blood, excrement and who knows what else.

“Please, remember me.”

He smiled, lunged forward and kissed me. His razor sharp incisors bit into my tongue. I thought he was going to bite it off, but he let go. I pulled back. He licked his lips and shuddered.

“You taste so good.”

Blood welled in my mouth. I felt sick to my stomach.

“Here, you taste me too,” he said. He bit his own tongue and kissed me. Thick, noxious cold sludge filled my mouth, burned in my nose. I choked as  he kept kissing me, shoving his tongue in deep, wrapping it around my own. I was disgusted, thrilled, and terrified, more scared than I had ever been in my life.

I struggled, and he held my nose, made me swallow his thick, blacker than death blood. It burned its way down to sear a pit in my stomach. It was so cold and yet it burned.

He pulled away. “There. Now you’ll always be mine. And I will always be yours.”

I lay there, shivering. In total shock. The burning was spreading quickly through my body. It hurt. I felt like I was dying.

“You wet the bed. Clean it up.”

I was laying in a pool of my own hot piss. He scared me so much, I peed myself. I grew lightheaded.
He said something but I didn’t quite understand it. I shook my head yes anyways. I think he wanted me to say yes. I wasn’t quite sure though.

He smiled, flashed his fangs at me, and then dashed out the window.

My heart pounded in my ears. My vision dimmed. My body weak, cold and naked.

I shivered, curled up into a ball on the bed, gasping in pain.

The last thing I remember thinking was that I was going into shock and I needed to get help.

Everything went black and red. Insects crawled in my ears and scuttled around in my head. Scratching, scratching, scratching.

Jonah’s voice echoed in my head,“You’ll always be mine. And I will always be yours.”

Everything burned, my body was on fire. It hurt so much, I passed out.

I sat up, screaming.

Daylight filtered into the room. I was laying on the bed, naked. Black blood dried up and flaked on my chest and chin. Disoriented, I panicked and ran to the bathroom and tried to throw up, but nothing came up. I had the dry heaves.

I stuck my toothbrush handle down my throat to induce vomiting. I had to do it several times before anything came up.

Black clotted gel plopped into the toilet. Vampire blood. I made myself puke until green bile came up. Then I rinsed out my mouth and washed off the dried blood. My tongue was sore, it had punctured holes on either side. The wounds hurt, bad. He damn near sliced my tongue off.

I rinsed my mouth out with hydrogen peroxide solution and examined my body thoroughly.
There were no other bite marks on me.

I closed the window, pulled the sheets off the bed. Cleaned the piss out of the mattress, did laundry.
All the while, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still there, watching me.

I searched the whole damn place. He wasn’t hiding anywhere. I…wasn’t sure what he meant when he said that I was his now. I was afraid to find out.

I drew some of my blood and examined it in the portable electron microscope—courtesy of my employers— there was no discernible change. Not yet at any rate.

I knew what markers to look for. It sometimes takes up to 72 hours for them to develop.

I called in to work, gave orders, said I was taking a few days off to rest, and I waited.

I had horrible dreams. Nightmares. Scenes of death and carnage, like war zones. People dying horribly. Body parts everywhere. Blood. So much blood.

I decided to keep looking for the markers in my red blood cells. He did something to me. I could feel it. A nagging, unsettled feeling of fear, a pit of ice in my stomach.

What did you do to me Jonah?

What did you do?