The Horror Tree Recent Markets, Articles, Interviews, and Fiction!

Zehlreg A. Grindstone’s Spectacular Western Oddity Emporium Kickstarter Saddlin’ Up with Suzanna Lundale & Mark Tizura

Zehlreg A. Grindstone’s Spectacular Western Oddity Emporium Kickstarter

Saddlin’ Up with Suzanna Lundale & Mark Tizura

By Angelique Fawns

Sometimes a project looks like so much fun, you can’t help but hop on the stagecoach. The title alone might be the one of the best I’ve ever heard. This anthology promises stories where “the Wild West meets the vast worlds of Fantasy.”

Hello. Right up my corral.

 Check out the Kickstarter here! 

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/grindstonesemporium/zehlreg-a-grindstones-spectacular-western-oddity-emporium

They were accepting stories from January till March of this year and I wanted to sub something, but didn’t have anything quite long enough, so I queried and got this response:

Thanks for your interest. I think one of the things we’ve learned on our adventures is that rules make for manageability and must be flexible when need be. Turn away a promising author from her favorite genre in the universe? Not us.” 

How can you not love editors like this? I sent in a strange piece about dragons who mountain race in a dwarf world in the throes of war, and it was accepted. I sat down with Suzanna Lundale to find out more about this “spectacular” project. 

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Peter Benchley’s Influence on the Horror Genre

Peter Benchley’s Influence on the Horror Genre

American writer Peter Benchley is notable for his novel Jaws. Released in 1974, the book which tells the story of a great white shark that preyed on a resort, aimed to play on the fundamental fears of what lies beneath the ocean’s surface. It became a best-seller for up to 44 weeks in the New York Times, and recorded immense success in other forms of entertainment. Here, we’ve explored Benchley’s influence on the horror genre.

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Epeolatry Book Review: The Dagon Collection, ed. Nate Pedersen

Disclosure:

Our reviews may contain affiliate links. If you purchase something through the links in this article we may receive a small commission or referral fee. This happens without any additional cost to you.

Title: The Dagon Collection
Author: Various, ed. Nate Pedersen
Genre: Horror Anthology, Literature
Publisher: PS Publishing
Publication Date: 1st January, 2024

Synopsis: The Dagon Collection is a companion book to “The Starry Wisdom Library. Once again, the new anthology is presented as a fake auction catalogue, however this time it is 1929, shortly after the events in “The Shadow Over Innsmouth.” The feds have just raided the Esoteric Order of Dagon Lodge. Now they’ve contracted with Pent & Serenade, Occult Auctioneers, to sell the items secured in the raid.

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Trembling With Fear 6-16-24

Greetings, children of the dark. We’ve hit the week of the Solstice, which means here in the UK the days are about as long as they’ll ever be. I’m celebrating by doing that very horror thing of heading to a cabin in the woods for a mini-creative recovery/retreat type of thing. I’d love to know what you’re up to: do you celebrate these moments in time? 

For that reason, and because I’m writing this the day before my next Writing the Occult event and so my brain is a bit too wired, I’ll keep it short this week. Just one note: remember that our short story submissions are only open in four windows now. We just couldn’t keep up with the submissions, and because we can only publish one story a week it was the sensible thing to do—noone wants to wait literal years to see their story on a website, right? Anything submitted to us outside of those windows will unfortunately be returned to you unread. 

That said, we have a window coming up… Make sure to check out our submissions guidelines for details of what and when we’re open. We can tell if you haven’t looked at them. And remember, we’re ALWAYS open for drabbles! Insatiably so. Feed the drabbles beast!

For this week’s darkly speculative offerings, our menu kicks off with despatches from a failing neighbourhood, direct from the mind of Benjamin Larned. That’s followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

  • Keith B. Walters’s failed sacrifice,
  • Gabrielle Bleu’s Ice Age revival, and
  • F.M. Scott’s mad science.

Over to you, Stuart.

Lauren McMenemy

Editor, Trembling With Fear

First things first, please support our latest sponsors!

First: Order a copy of Backwaters on Amazon! “Like Flannery O’Connor, but with toxic mermaids and body horror.” — CARLTON MELLICK III, author of Full Metal Octopus and The Haunted Vagina

Second: Get 99 horror stories that range from quiet horror, hinting at the things buried there in your psyche – the thing that will come out to play after dark, and visceral horror that leaves no doubt what lies in a bloody heap in the middle of the floor. This UNHOLY TRINITY combines three of L. Marie Wood’s horror collections, Caliginy, Phantasma, and Anathema.

Order a copy today directly from Mocha Memoirs Press or Amazon!

 
***

Hi all! 

I’ve spent most of the last week communicating with all of you lovely souls who have reached out to offer aid to Horror Tree. Things are progressing, and it looks like we’ll have a few new faces to help with various aspects of the site soon! I’m hoping to have some big news on multiple fronts in the next week or two. 

Now, for the standards:

  • Thank you so much to everyone who has become a Patreon for Horror Tree. We honestly couldn’t make it without you all! 

Offhand, if you’ve ordered Trembling With Fear Volume 6, we’d appreciate a review! 🙂

 

Stuart Conover

Editor, Horror Tree

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Serial Saturday: All The Queens Men, Part Six by Robert Gabe

  1. Serial Saturday: All The Queens Men: Part One by Robert Gabe
  2. Serial Saturday: All The Queens Men: Part Two by Robert Gabe
  3. Serial Saturday: All The Queens Men: Part Two by Robert Gabe
  4. Serial Saturday: All The Queens Men: Part Three by Robert Gabe
  5. Serial Saturday: All The Queens Men, Part Four by Robert Gabe
  6. Serial Saturday: All The Queens Men, Part Five by Robert Gabe
  7. Serial Saturday: All The Queens Men, Part Six by Robert Gabe
  8. Serial Saturday: All The Queens Men, Part Seven: The Finale by Robert Gabe

 

 

Part Six 

I entered the Casino lobby at ten PM. I was met with the faint smell of smoke and the sound of coin machines echoing throughout the floor. There’s no cover charge. I ask a waitress if I can speak with Rich Boyd the owner of BoydCasinos. She laughs inmy face and walks away with her tray. I walk up to a table where they’re playing Black Jack. I join in on the game and am met with a subtle look of nonchalance by the host and the other two party members, one of which is wearing a gray suit and the other still in his pajamas who looks like he rolled right out of bed. Another big chested waitress approaches me and ask what I want to drink. I tell her I’ll have a Heineken. The game goes on for about thirty minutes and I hardly know what I’m doing. I look to my right and near the ceiling is a CCTV camera looking right over the table. I get an idea.

“Sir, do you want to draw or stay?” the card dealer asks monotonously.  

“Draw” he throws me a card. “I mean stay.”

“Sir you can not retract the draw you just made.”

“Oh can I not? I asked for a fucking stay and you threw me a card.”

“Sir?” his voice remaining calm. 

I throw the chips all over the table in frustration, upon which the two gentlemen I’m playing with grab me by my leather jacket and lift me into the air. Within seconds security rushes to the scene. I’m whisked away from the table and before I know it being escorted down the halls of the casino by two security guards towards the back street of the casino. The metallic door flies open and I’m thrown into the guttural street. I immediately spring into action and try to throw a swing at one of the guards and I hit him in the ear. He screams assault and the other guard runs to his aid and pins me down on the ground.

“You just assaulted a casino employee. We will hold you for that til the police can arrive.”

I’m brought to an office where I sit tied to a chair.  There’s a calendar of a nude model and on the desk a cactus plant.  The two guards laugh at me while I struggle with my nose bleeding all over my white shirt. 

“Don’t worry tiger…” The guard I hit says. “A swing like that will get you a nice criminal charge.” He starts ranting more about fines and whatnot until the words escape from my mouth “Tana Molnar.”

Silence.

“What?” one of the guards says “What did you say?

“I came here to talk to Rich Boyd about Tana Molnar.”

I’m uncuffed by the guard I punched and once again hauled into a hallway, which leads to a suite on the fourth floor. They put me in a chair where I’m sat across from a finely groomed man wearing a suit, his leg folded over the other and his hairline somewhat receded.

“I am Rick Boyd” he says.

He gives me a tissue to stuff my nose.

“I came here to talk to you about Tana” I say, my voice muffled as I apply the knotted Kleenex into my nostril. “She used to work here.”

“Indeed she did.” Replies Boyd. “But that doesn’t give you the right to break the rules and trash the casino floor.”

“I’m sorry.” I’m exhausted. “It was very foolish of me.”

“Anyway you have it Tana is dead. The whole community is grieving over this. Why Would you come to our establishment and ask about her?”

Silence.

“Because I know you were one of her clients as a high end call girl.

“So what if I was?” He smirks. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“You could be implicated in sex trafficking if people suspected it… You could have saved her and instead you chose to use her as a sex object like everyone else. As far as I’m concerned, we all have blood on her hands.”

“But I didn’t kill Tana. Someone else did. And If I knew who had done it I would gladly join you in wrangling their neck. Now quit it with the school-boy heroics and go home. We will dismiss what you did to my employee if you promise to stay off the casino grounds.”

“Wait….” I say “Did you really have sex with Tana?”

Boyd smiles. “Many times.”

Boyd told me about all the degenerate acts Tana would perform. She was willingly to do everything and anything. Once again I felt a mixture of envy, resentment and passion. Passion that had and never will be mine for Tana. I was foolish for my school boy infatuation. Tana was no angel. If anything, she had the heart of seasoned harlot and the mind of a criminal.

“No, I didn’t kill Tana, my dear boy. Tana was a good employee. We all loved her,” he begins to cry profusely. “And I can’t imagine what her poor parents are feeling, or wondering if her double life will emerge in the public eye.”

“One last thing” I say defeated. “Do you know anything about Dream Rabbit.”

“Dream Rabbit?” says Boyd “No. But I did talked to Tana about a client who scared her….”

According to Rick, Tana had met a man named Otis Blackwood who was into more extreme forms of sex.

“He was a connoisseur of extreme porno films” The security guard says. “Have you ever seen a snuff film?”

“No.” I say.

“Otis Blackwood is a distributor of pornographic bondage films. He owns a sex shop in the city called ‘Sex Machines'”

I took out my Tanas black book. Otis is listed as a client.

“I’ll check it out.” I add.

I leave Rich a crying mess and start towards the nearest hospital for my potentially broken nose. It was in the early morning hours of night I approach Sex Machines, the rain coming down hard against a jet black sky. I hadn’t been in contact with my mother in over a week. I checked my text and had one from Rose Kay with only three words:

 

 HE’S WATCHING YOU!

 

I try to send her a message back but the service from my cell  phone is in a dead zone. I’d panic, but I know it’s no flub. Someone IS watching me. I can feel it. I go into Sex Machines. The store was across from a parking garage in the middle of a metropolis. The whole place smells of rubber and candles. It’s vacant. I ring a bell that sits on the glass countertop of the front desk. Inside the shelves are sex toys and poppers. Other sex stimulants and gas station viagra. A man in leather emerges from behind a red curtain in a backroom. He’s in his mid-forties and gaunt like a skeleton dressed in bondage gear with a handlebar mustache.

“Are you Otis Blackwood?” I ask.

“Yeah man.” He smiles with an unnerving presence. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m into Serfdom.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask who told you to tell me that?”

“A girl named Night Nocturne.”

“Step this way” He says as he pulls the curtain back which leads to another hallway, booths of televisions playing pornographic films. Another black man stands at the endof the hallway keeping watch. “I’ll take you to our special booth.” Otis says.

All I can hear is the barely audible sound of women orgasms coming from the televisions. The hallways are dank and dark. We approach the black man who stands in front of the final door.

“My new friend.” Otis tells the bald black man, his arms fold and his facial expression deadly serious. The black man steps aside and we go into the studio room which has a big seventy inch HD television equipped with surround sound and a DVD player. Otis goes to pop in a DVD. I sit on the couch.

“Wait til you see this shit man.” Otis remarks.

The video starts as incomprehensible pixelated images flash across the screen until it suddenly stops flickering and the camera focuses on a woman tied up in bondage against a table sitting on a wall. First she is whipped. She seems to enjoy it. Then a a man in a mask comes into frame. He has a large hunting knife. He puts it to her throat. Suddenly she becomes on edge, but she’s bound and can do nothing about it so she tries to relax. The man then socks her in the face, leaving a large bruise near her cheekbone. She starts to cry. The gimp makes his mark by cutting into one of her breast and making it bleed. I look at Otis who watches in a daze.

“We haven’t even gotten to the good part man.” He says. 

I immediately stand up as I can no longer watch what’s happening on screen. Otis shuts the film off.

“Hey I told you this was some extreme shit. Still, even though you didn’t watch til the end you still gotta pay.”

I throw him eighty dollars and tell him I want out of the shop. I feel my face start to redden. I’m sweating, unable to hide my anxiety. He can tell I’m on edge.

“What was the name of that girl that sent you here?”

“Night Nocturne” I gulp.

“Here you go, bro.” Otis hands me a business phone. A Verizon flip phone. He tells me to go to the contacts. I do and I see a number for Dream Rabbit. I take the card and run out the studio door and through the hallway past the black man who screams at me to slow my pace. I make it back to the parking garage and whip out my own phone. First I go to call Rose Kay but once again it says service is disabled. I try to call Tana’s Parents, but the service is a no go. I’ve searched and uncovered all their is to uncover. But none of the calls go through. I call the number for Dream Rabbit from the flip phone. It goes through. A man with one of the deepest sounding, almost inhumanly so, voices I’ve ever encountered answers. I recognize his voice from a dream I had about Tana.

“Hello, Vincent.” He says. 

“You know my name.” I reply, my voice stoic and without trembling.

“I’ve been watching you.”

Pause.

He continues “My name is Mr. Henry.

“I know who I’m speaking with. Your reputation precedes itself.”

“I’m in a high rise building on Samson street, the fiftieth floor. The top floor. I wish to speak with you as soon as possible.” He continues “I wanna talk about Tana.”

“I’ll be there.” I say. 

It’s two AM when I make my way past an intersection and I am surprised by how desolate the streets are, almost apocalyptically so.  I arrive at Samson street and come to realize it’s a construction zone and there likely isn’t a police unit for five blocks. I look up at the building, a brooding monolith, it stands erect like a fierce dragon. I’m surprised to find the glass front door open and when I enter I close it quietly behind me and head past the marble lobby and towards the elevator. The place is seemingly empty, or is it? I go in and push the fiftieth floor. The elevator doors close and it goes up weightlessly and without any real effort.


I stand in the elevator soaking wet, my hair dripping. As it rises I can see all of the city below me sparklingly vibrant and without a sound. The doors open and that’s when I notice the big scar on his face, the overwhelming whiteness of his eyes. I approach him cautiously. Mr. Henry. His sky rise is posh and free from any blemishes. Mr. Henry himself is rather fit and proper. I notice there’s a fireplace and beside it a bar with every kind of liquor known to man. I feel out of place and on the defense. I imagine there’s spooks hiding in some corner of the room ready to guard him, but after further inspection it looks as if it’s only the two of us. He eventually turns from staring out the window at the rainy dark and we lock eyes for the first time. 

“Mr. Henry?”

“You are, Mr. Black, I presume?”

“Yes.” I say shivering. 

“I want to explain to you my philosophy of pleasure.”

Silence.

“You see, the only real thing worth pursuing in life is carnal euphoria. Nothing else really matters. Everything you hold sentimental to you is but a distraction. Your family, your work your artistic pursuits. “ He continues, “ All of it pales in comparison to the sexual limits one can reach. Not even the greatest sunset or the most breathtaking view can compare. And I think you know this to be true.

“I’m listening” I reply.

“You want to talk about Tana Molnar, don’t you.”

“That’s why I’m here.” I say, “Do you care if I smoke?”

“Go right ahead.” He laughs.

“Tana was one of my dearest girls. I was watching her when she was just sixteen. I knew of all her troubles. Her depression, her suicidal thoughts, Her forced institutionalization.”

He pours himself a drink, “Tana, initially showed interest in ‘crossing over’ but her heart was too pure for it and that was her undoing.”

“Crossing over?”

“The Outer Rim, yes.” Mr. Henry Continues “You see, there exist another world outside of this one. Few people can reach it. I possess the power to do so. It’s a place of never ending sexual pleasures with young nymphets who are eager and willing. The violence and the brutality of this world ceases to exist there.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“It is.”

“Then why did Tana reject it?”

He ignores my questions and goes back to his sermon.

“You’re whole life has been a lie, Vincent. Pleasure will always triumph over justice. Deep down you are like me. And soon you’ll have realized what a waste of time this whole silly adventure has been trying to get to the bottom of Tana’s death. Tana takes the appearance of a lamb, but deep down she is a dog who will always surrender to her evolutionary biology. Hedonism is the only real..”

I cut him off.

“Why did you murder Tana?”

“Because of the ‘goodness of her heart…’ he mocks her “…won over paradise.” Tana disagreed with my interpretation of the world. I may have had corrupted her, but I couldn’t corrupt her unselfish spirit. She still wanted to stay here to help the needy, the downtrodden and lesser beings.The commonwealth I wish to make my slaves. 

“That doesn’t explain why you killed her.” I shout.

“She knew too much about The Outer Rim. I feared she would expose me. She became a liability.” He continues “Which is why I brought you here today Mr. Black… To relay to you the same message. If you continue on this path, you will be killed.”

Paused.

“Mr. Henry continues. “ Dream Rabbit is a large organization. We’ve been handling girls for many years, all of which respect or at least fear us. Some are happy to leave this world and go to The Outer Rim.”

“I know all about it.” I say “You’re a cult leader.”

“If you don’t back down, I’m afraid your life will be also treated as a liability for our organization.”

I think for a moment. I think of something profound to say but the only thing I can muster is “What about Rose? Will she be okay? Will she be safe from harm?”

“She’s safe as long as the two of you give up your inquiries and turn the other cheek.”
He stares at me for an uncomfortably long time and then walks towards me, almost as if he’s gliding and goes to shake my hand. Reluctantly, I see no other choice but to meet his gesture. “What about Mr. and Mrs. Molnar. What will I tell them?” I say weakly. 

“You are never to talk to them again. In time, they will understand and hopefully see you in a favorable light for trying.”
Pause. 

He continues “Now go out and enjoy life. You have a great new girlfriend. It would be a shame to throw that all away.” 

I took the elevator downstairs. My phone was still out of service so I hit up a nearby dive bar and grabbed a drink, defeated. A woman my age tried  to chat me up but I was too distracted by Tana and what Mr. Henry had told me I barely registered her talking to me. I walked the cobbled streets of the city and saw an entrance way for a subway. I sat at the wooden bench waiting for the train. Thirty minutes later it arrived and I sat in the back booth by myself. When my stop came I noticed a group of Frat boys smiling at me from a distance. I was in no mood to fight. They probably thought I had cash. I didn’t. I had no more than forty bucks left in my wallet. When the first one jumps on me he strikes me across the face with a weight that nearly knocks me off my feet. The second one kicks me in the gut and the third one rolls me over and takes out my wallet from my rear back pocket.

“Forty bucks!” the leader exclaims “You broke faggot.”

They take turns wailing on me and I’m honestly too tired other then to just roll up in a ball and try to protect my face. They eventually get tired and run off once another a woman spots them wailing on me. I spit up blood then puke in a nearby trash can. In the guttural street, the dawn rising, blood and bruised I remember Tana and proclaim my eternal love for her.

Horror – A Sort of History

Horror – A Sort of History

By James L Hill

 

People have been afraid of the dark since time began. For good reasons, we don’t have the night vision of a cat, the hearing acuity of a bat, or the sense of smell of a dog. We compensate for our lack of physical abilities with our superior mental prowess. But that opened its own can of worms.

By the way, worms terrify people, usually not on a one-on-one basis, but n mass, they cause nightmares. It is our higher intellect that is the source of most of our fears. Some of those fears are ingrained in our DNA, part of our fight or flight survival response, like a bump in the night that raises the hairs on the back of our necks.  Others come from millennia of stories meant to shape our morality and make us better people, like bad things happen to bad people. Or shame on you if you do this, tell your children the monster under the bed will get them if they get out of bed one more time, even if you need peace and quiet. By the way, which will only cause more nightmares making you get out of bed to quieten the children again.

Armed with a basic idea of fear, we can talk about the history of horror. Horror can be broken down into three forms, natural, supernatural, and technological. Natural horror stories are understandable. We are not the most physically fit of the creatures on Earth. These stories build on primal fears, being hunted by some beasts, lions, tigers, and bears. Oh My!

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Unholy Trinity: The Calling by Jack Reigns

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

 

I.

 

The woods call to me like a helpless lover, begging for my embrace. My eyes are drawn to something I cannot focus on. I’ve taken several steps forward before I realize it. Butterflies flutter across my chest as I reach forward to push a branch aside. The trees are so beautiful; I am overwhelmed by the ocean of green. A deep, droning hum breaks through to my consciousness. It floods the air but not unpleasantly, like monks chanting. Sheena tugs on my sleeve. “Daddy, where are you going?” I pause and look down, one foot poised over the cliff’s edge.

 

II.

 

The forest service ranger pulled up alongside the empty truck. The driver’s side door had been left open to the elements. She parked, got out and looked inside. A child’s backpack sat slumped over on the floor. At the edge of the road, a sharp drop off revealed an empty expanse of crumbled rock and forest debris below. A streak of dried blood smeared across the rocks, trailing off into the trees. Backtracking, she wrote down the license plate on her notepad. A glint on the trees caught her eye. She paused, suddenly lost in the beauty of the forest. 

 

III.

 

Sheena picked her way through the woods, looking for a way down to where she’d seen her father fall. She heard a car approach on the road and ducked down under some ferns to hide. Daddy told her if anyone saw her, they’d be in BIG TROUBLE. Then they’d take her back to mommy; and she couldn’t go to the big water park. A rustling sound made her turn around. Nothing was there. A feeling overwhelmed her body, a feeling that if she kept walking into the woods, everything would be wonderful. A deep, quiet droning noise filled her mind.  

 

Jack Reigns

Jack Reigns was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest and finds the area a constant source of inspiration. A lifelong horror fan, as a child Jack would get in trouble for scaring family with stories and is thankful to now share them with willing participants. Jack is the author of The Reigns of Terror series of short horror collections, and a proud member of the Seattle Chapter of The Horror Writers Association. Available works can be found at jackreigns.com.

Epeolatry Book Review: Serial Encounters, ed. Jane Nightshade

Disclosure:

Our reviews may contain affiliate links. If you purchase something through the links in this article we may receive a small commission or referral fee. This happens without any additional cost to you.

Title: Serial Encounters
Author: Various, ed. Jane Nightshade
Genre: Horror Anthology
Publisher: Hellbound Books
Publication Date: 5th March, 2024

Synopsis: Have you ever wondered what may happen if you were ever to happen upon a notorious serial killer while going about your daily life – before they earned their notoriety? 
Jane Nightshade’s Serial Encounters brings you 18 chilling tales of mayhem and murder that tackle that very question from some of the edgiest indie horror authors in the business. Consider the following:
Killer clown John Wayne Gacy drops off his famous clown suits at a dry-cleaners, and the teenage girl who works there finds something extremely disturbing about them.
Another unwitting teenage girl unwisely dates David Berkowitz, The Son of Sam killer, and finds herself possessed by David’s very unusual dog.
An auto mechanic working late in Seattle encounters a tall, handsome law student who is in one hell of a hurry to get his Volkswagen Beetle repaired. The polite, well-spoken law student gives his name as Ted…
These and a bundle of other spine-chilling forays into the murderous world of real-life serial killers await you in tales of terror from: Jane Nightshade, N.J.Gallegos, Bret McCormick, Jayna Locke, Damon Nomad, Trev Hill, Tom Howard, Mord McGhee, Charles Reis, James Musgrave, Dave Davis, Ethan K. Lee, Kevin Hopson, G.N. Anderson, Ann O’Mara Heyward, Carson Demmans, and D.W. Milton.

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