• Writing

    Do Not Disturb

    by So, I don’t consider myself a Horror writer. Science Fiction and Fantasy usually fall into my keyboard. My heart belongs to them, reading and writing. It’s not that I have anything against Horror, because I don’t, and not solely because it’s not my way to piss on other people’s art. Although that’s a nice rule to add to your personal book. But I don’t enjoy being disturbed by my entertainment. I get enough of that from my reality, thanks. No, I should correct that. I’m not interested in being disturbed by my entertainment when that’s its sole or primary purpose. There’s nothing wrong with having disturbing situations in a…

  • Fiction

    Mummy Powder, Part 7

    by The renewed hollow grinding sound startled me.  I didn’t know how long I’d lain there, but I must have been asleep.  Falling asleep in a sarcophagus, wrapped up like a mummy.  No point in struggling.  They’d wrapped me too tight.  Nightmare faces jumped out of my memory.  Mummies, the old Pharaoh and the young one, Bruce. Ah hell.  Bruce.  No tears, but I felt his death again. Grinding.  I knew the sound.  Someone had started to move the sarcophagus’ lid.  Was it opening?  Had Pharaoh changed his mind?  A chill ran through me.  I’d be fodder for his restored youth after all.  Or could I be so lucky that…

  • Fiction

    Mummy Powder, Part 6

    by We stopped five or six feet from the sarcophagus, my feet still dangling above the floor.  A slightly more mobile mummy stepped into view, bits of its exposed flesh a little lighter, a little less like leather, and the rags covering its chest stained red.  The red of fresh blood.  I closed my eyes for a moment.  Fresh blood could only have come from one place. They flew open again when something grabbed my foot.  I kicked and squirmed even before I looked down to see the stained mummy grasping for the other.  It straightened its arm, locking my knee while taught fingers snatched at air.  The mummies were…

  • Fiction

    Mummy Powder, Part 5

    by Looking up into the puckered eye socket of my guardian mummy, I watched as its hand came down in slow motion to smash against the side of my face, flipping me over to lie in a still-spreading pool of my own vomit.  A deep chuckle, filled with amusement and contempt, pulled me back to what I’d given up hope of being reality.  How could it be?  Ancient mummies walking around and Bruce dead, being sawed open and having his heart ripped out? Bruce.  Tears burned from the corners of my eyes, just missing my ears as they ran to my jaw.  More harsh words in ancient Egyptian.  I closed…

  • Fiction

    Mummy Powder, Part 4

    by He smiled, one side of his mouth tipped higher and crinkles deepening next to his eyes, and there was knowledge in that smile.  Either I’d somehow broadcast my thoughts or he’d just pulled them out of my head.  I shivered, my heart back under control but the beat echoing in my ears.  Fear seemed like a permanent friend now. He spoke, not to me but still looking at me, complicated words rolling off a tongue that had obviously seen recent use.  I didn’t catch any of them, couldn’t even decide what language they’d been in, though it seemed obvious.  My own tongue felt like lead or a dried stick,…

  • Fiction

    Mummy Powder, Part 3

    by It felt like a long time before Bruce found whoever it was.  After several soft blows, a crate fell over someplace, hopefully not damaging whatever was inside, and then the silence returned.  For the length of time the struggle took, I decided there had to be more than one.  I started to stand up, ducking back down when I heard the thud of something heavy on the wooden floor.  Not like Bruce to be careless and I thought it might be better for me to hide a little longer, maybe even until he got back, so I stayed down and kept watching the door. I heard a footstep, heavy…

  • Fiction

    Mummy Powder, Part 2

    by We found the secondary security system next to a thin door hidden behind an upright wooden sarcophagus.  Not exactly high tech for the modern era, but I’m sure the early 80s keypad seemed pretty impressive in this neighbourhood.  Whoever had been through the Doc’s stuff hadn’t been too thorough, I guessed.  Or the keypad didn’t look tampered with at least.  For our purposes, Bruce’s fist took care of all the tampering necessary.  His foot dealt with the door in a similar manner, and just as effectively. “Very nicely done, Bruce.”  Always give compliments where and when they’re due.  In Bruce’s case, I also enjoyed the bashful ‘aw shucks’ look…

  • Fiction

    Mummy Powder, Part 1

    by Mummy Powder, Part 1 What if? Through the ages, so many horrible things have sprung from those two small words. The darkest imaginings and depravities of mankind all began with that simple question.  A multitude of sins and evil events.  This is one of them. When I began my quest, so many years ago, I had in mind certain experiments to test the validity of legends of and relating to “That’s it?” Bruce nodded twice, his shaggy hair bouncing between.  “Except for the blood smear.  Did you want to see?”  He held out the journal, open to the last entry, the only entry.  I waved him off. Geez, who…