Tagged: Marc Sorondo

Unholy Trinity: It’s a Long Way to the Top by Marc Sorondo

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.

Author’s Note: These stories were inspired by the music of AC/DC. I think music and horror pair so well together, and AC/DC in particular has so many songs that could work as inspiration for horror stories.


It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock ’n’ Roll)

The price of fame was high. 

At first it was a soul for a hit song, freed with a blade across the neck. When it was time for an album, we had to sacrifice an entire family, children first so the parents last image was their children dying. 

We paid for successful tours and glossy magazine covers with innocent blood…and it was worth every crimson drop.

When the dark man came and said it was time to pay again, that the price of being legends was the life and soul of our frontman…well, that was worth it too.

Back in Black

The price of resurrection is high, a price I’ll pay for eternity once I’ve had my revenge, but I will have it…and then some. Those bastards forgot…Ol’ Scratch will make a deal with anyone if they make a handsome offer, and the offer I’ve made is almost as handsome as me.

Those backstabbing assholes traded my life to be rock legends. Soon, they’ll be dead and I… risen like a phoenix, covered in the black ash of hellfire…I will take the stage. I will be a rock god. 

Even everlasting torment is a small price to pay. 

Highway to Hell

The time had come. With one final act it would all be over. I’d taken the reigns of my own destiny and become a legend. 

It was time to give the devil his due in a moment of violence and chaos, an ultimate blaze of glory. 

I floored the gas and lit a final cigarette. I turned up the volume on the radio and laughed. I’d die to my own song blasting.

I hit the curve going just over a hundred miles an hour, and smiled the ground rushed up at me, knowing I’d see my old bandmates in Hell. 

Marc Sorondo

Marc Sorondo lives with his wife and children in New York. He loves to read, and his interests range from fiction to comic books, physics to history, oceanography to cryptozoology, and just about everything in between. He’s a perpetual student and occasional teacher. For more information, go to MarcSorondo.com.

Unholy Trinity: Zombie Epistolary by Shawn M. Klimek

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.

Maturing in the Apocalypse

Dear Bill-Roy Champs, I’m sorry I was mean to you at the hoe-down last year. I was a bitchy, spoiled child then, obsessed with wealth, popularity, and making pretty babies. After watching the news yesterday about how the zombie pandemic keeps getting worse, I told Tyler Bose he should quit his stupid band to focus on survivalist skills and I’ve never seen him so angry. This morning, I gave him back his ring. If humanity is going to survive the apocalypse, we need sturdy babies who can hunt, steal, and forage. We need your babies, Bill-Roy. Want to get married?


Farewell Note

Hi babe. No good deed goes unpunished! I saw Mrs. Gottberg banging on her own front door earlier, and thinking she’d lost her keys or memories again, went to help her out of habit, forgetting for an instant to check first for signs of the zombie virus. Bitch bit me. Sorry, babe. I wish I could write a longer goodbye, but they say the new strain acts quickly, so I plan to be far away by the time you read this. At least I got everything on your grocery list first. I’ll just put away the perishables befo..put…shibles…p… 


Missing You

Dearest Bonnie. I miss you. I’m sorry I lost my temper when you told me to quit music to study survival. If I had listened, we’d be together, and I might still have a band. The sight of Maurice being eaten alive by groupies still haunts me. I wrote new lyrics about it, but they honestly sound lame without his guitar. He was the real talent. 

Don’t sweat any promises you made to that cheating pervert Bill-Roy. When I drove past your house yesterday, I witnessed him French kissing that toothless cougar, Mrs. Gottberg. Gag!

Please come back. Love, Tyler.



Shawn M. Klimek

Shawn M. Klimek is the author of Hungry Thing, an illustrated dark fantasy tale told in poems, plus more than 200 other poems and short stories, published in over 80 anthologies and e-zines, including previous issues of Horror Tree. He specializes in speculative fiction with a touch of humor. He lives with their affectionate Maltese wherever his globetrotting wife, Sara, leads them.
Find a complete index of Shawn’s published works on his creative writing blog, “A Jot in the Dark”: http://jotinthedark.blogspot.com; or follow his writing adventures on Facebook: www.facebook.com/shawnmklimekauthor/ and Twitter @shawnmklimek.