The Fledgling

I closed the door behind me a heartbeat before the storm broke. The proprietor of the pet shop glanced up from his book and gave me a half-smile. Leaning over the ebony counter he looked for all the world like some Dickensian character out of his rightful time. Truth to tell, the shop itself seemed anachronistic and unreal: a musty, cluttered labyrinth of cages and tanks, smells and noises, most of it enshrouded by oblique shadows that the shop's undependable light did not penetrate. Attempting to ignore the slight unease I felt at not being able to discover the light source, I returned the proprietor's half-smile with a  half-smile of my own.

Get Out the Vote

Blood Scream Comics is the macabre-oriented imprint of Sparkle Comics and it has published three tryout titles simultaneously, namely "Scars," "The Sadness" and "Farmer Joe." With the eerie editing of Matthew Brassfield and Jeremy Hoyt, the weird writing of Stephen Alexander, Jr., Jason Gilmore and Juliet Fromholt and the alarming art of Jason Gilmore, Theresa Lopez and me, you know you're in for an entertaining and spine-tingling read. What's particularly interesting is that you can vote for which title you'd like to see become a continuing series! You can register by following the instructions on the inside front cover of each title. So go to your local comic book shop in your precinct (or shop at Sparkle Comics at sparklecomics.com), buy all three books and after enjoying their creepy campaign pamphlets, vote for the crazed candidate of your choice. Make America gasp again!

Yet Another One

Just to be nice, because I certainly didn't want to, I accompanied Odysseus that night to the old cemetery (you know the one I mean). He had poured the blood into the bowl and seemed to be mumbling some incantation over it when he suddenly cried out, "Oops! I just remembered I'm supposed to go with Penelope tonight to a PTA meeting! Be a pal and take over, will ya?" And with that he ran pell-mell into the darkness. Cursing myself for allowing him to trick me again, I sat on a damp clump of earth and watched the specters rise from their graves. Sniffing the air, they formed a thick haze around the blood and me. I must admit that even though I was greatly annoyed by Odysseus' prank, I was nevertheless even more greatly charmed by the way the ghosts' shambling and gossamer forms intermingled with the moonlight, giving the illusion that both the pale lunar light and the thirsting dead were locked in some sad and slow and stately dance.  I couldn't help but smile.