Jason Thompson's Comic Adaption of Lovecraft's STRANGE HIGH HOUSE IN THE MIST

The art is fantastic, the adaption clever.

Check it out.

HUMAN CENTIPEDE... oh My GOD!

I would like to thank and curse Horrorsnotdead.com for bringing this film to my attention.

What is the plot you may ask?

"Internationally respected Siamese twin surgeon Dr. Josef Heiter has a demented vision for mankind’s future existence. He wants to remove human beings’ kneecaps so they have to exist on all fours and then surgically graft them mouth-to-anus to form a centipede chain. When two stranded female Americans arrive at his luxury home-cum-hospital looking for help, his long-gestating plan swiftly moves into chilling action with a shocking force. Kidnapping a third Japanese male tourist he begins the tissue matches, teeth removal and buttock moulding to create his triplet creature."

The link above has a link to some NSFW pictures from the film.

Folks, I think this film is so far beyond screwed up it will take the light from screwed up 10,000 years to reach it.

I wonder if I can trick my wife into seeing it with me...

In The Shadow Of His Nemesis chapter nineteen

BY AL BRUNO III

Thursday November 14th 1996

The air was still crisp with the aftermath of the morning's frost. Galen had left the trail used by hikers an hour ago. He navigated his way down the slope of North Mountain, slipping like a shadow between the sycamores and pine trees. Dirty and grass gave way to jutting roots and exposed rock. He had taken his shoes off, tied the laces together and hung them around his neck. It felt good to feel the Earth under his bare feet, to breathe chilly air and feel the sun at his back.

And the silence! There were no growling engines, or chattering voices here; just the wind whispering through the trees and the calls of birds. To Galen it was like returning home after a long journey.

But he couldn't enjoy it, not when the home in question had been tainted by treachery, not when he felt more like an intruder with every footstep.

His route brought him to a break in the trees that gave him a view of the peak of Stoppel Point. This entire region of the Catskills had once been called the Great Wall of Mantiou and it had been teeming with mystery and wonder, now it was called an escarpment, an empty pointless name.

And ruins. Galen thought, So many ruins.

For a time this entire region of the Catskills had been home to dozens of resorts and campgrounds, whole economies built up around the ebb and flow of vacationers. Changing tastes and the affordability of travel to more exotic destinations brought an end to all that and by the 1980's the entire region became dotted with abandoned lodges and retreats that were slowly being consumed by the elements and decay.

Of course there were other remains as well, remains that hinted at a whole other world.

The sound of a patch of ice cracking cut the silence, Galen paused, listening. He told himself he was worrying over nothing. No one knew where they were and even if their pursuers suspected they could never find Laurel House, it was hidden and protected. Some said by love. He wasn’t so naive as too believe that of course, but it was a comforting sentiment.

Galen waited and listened for a minute more before he started moving again. His path took him further down slope, the trees closed back in over his view of the skyline.

Galen spotted the first marking that showed he was heading the right way. To the normal eye they seemed like nothing more than large stones scratched and worn away by the elements or wildlife. He veered left heading towards the place where the shadows of North Mountain and Stoppel Point met. The sloping, half frozen ground made his footing more and more precarious, he thought to himself that this would be a bad place for him to be cornered.

But cornered by whom?

The possibilities were endless. He’d been making enemies for as long as he'd been running.

Sometimes it left him so weary, the subterfuge, the never feeling safe and no matter where he ran, no matter what he did other lives were destroyed in the aftermath, conspirators and innocents alike. Isobel and her brother were just the latest victims.

Another marker, this one a trio of short blunt cuts across the top of an old boulder, he was getting closer now. Part of him wanted to give in to the callings of instinct and tradition but there was no point to it. Traditions didn't matter when your culture was in ashes and following your instincts, like following your heart, could only lead to disaster.

Galen didn't know what surprised him more, that he had become physical with Isobel so easily or that she had become so infatuated with him. In truth he hadn't come back to her apartment that night looking to play Romeo or rescuer but that was exactly what he had found himself doing. After she had fled he had felt obligated to search for her and protect her.

Then she had strong-armed him into that fool-headed rescue attempt. Galen had known that the Monarchs couldn't be bluffed or stared down. He had tried, and look what it had gotten them.

There was a darkening in the treeline up ahead, he could see the outlines of the Culann manse. It was made from wood the color of smoke, the gambrel roof was a shamble of scattered shingles. Dormer windows marked the first and second floor of the building, were all gaping and glassless. Galen stood there for a time, imagining with the last moments for the Culann family must have been like, wondering what face their doom had worn.

Galen drew closer, his hair standing on edge, his nerves jittery with anticipation. The door had been splintered long ago and dirt had slowly worked its way into the house, tiny pawprints made their way this way and that. They were cat-prints, Galen was sure of it.

The elegant furniture of the antechamber was rotted and stained; the walls were scarred and dented with bullet fire. He absentmindedly ran a hand along the dents and pits.

Down the hallway past the receiving room led to the great hall. The great hall was wide and windowless, taking up and entire wing of the house. The bare wood floor creaked with his passing, there was more furniture here but it had been reduced to scraps and kindling.

There had once been grand gatherings here- marriages, funerals and rites of passage. These walls had contained the echoes of small talk and religious ecstasies, the hardwood floor had known the stains from full course banquets and rutting orgies.

A mural stretched across the far wall of the chamber, that was what Galen had come to see. Neglect and time had done nothing to weaken the strange power the painting held. An ordinary man seeing the gruesome chaos of Bosch-like imagery would take it to be a work of surrealism or fantasy but Galen knew better. There was one of these in each of the Great Houses.

The leftmost side of the mural depicted shapes spilling out of the shadows, most bestial, some man-like and a small handful were spindly with flesh the color of moonlight. All these creatures that had been born from this primal darkness shared single trait- silver eyes.

The shapes moved together as one for a time but then began to split into packs. The pale pearlescent figures made their way to the upper regions of the mural, the man-like creatures headed down towards the floor but their numbers dwindled by the inch. The beast-like forms roared across the center of the landscape, their eyes soulless, their teeth flashing.

And such a landscape! From mud huts to cities, from standing stones to swamps, beneath the stars, beneath the sun, the creatures ran riot over whatever they found; the beasts devouring, the moon-skinned taking slaves and the man-like creatures assuming postures of capitulation and defeat.

There was a map hidden among the allegories and legends but the trick of finding it was not for mundane sensibilities. Hidden symbols and subtle shadings marked a trail no less obscured than the one that had brought Galen here.

And there it was, a Torweg and not too far away at all. Relatively speaking.

He wondered to himself how many more were left in the world now, how many had been corrupted.

There was no way to know but this one was undiscovered, Galen was certain of that. With it he might have a way to escape the Monarchs or bargain with them. It pained him to realize that the legacy of his kind had been reduced to something that could be possessed, something that could be squabbled over.

It pained him even more to know he was responsible for it.

Click here to continue

'A Study In Emerald' By Neil Gaiman

If you haven't read this story you should. Great stuff and it would be a fantastic RPG setting.

You can get the PDF here. They did a really neat job on the layout.

5 Second Fiction Eighty Two

And once again Captain Hero had to explain to his sidekick it was their duty to capture villians not strip search them.

5 Second Fiction Eighty One

Joe vowed to get a new agent when he landed a role in a groin punching fetish video. If only he had read the script first...

5 Second Fiction Eighty

Renovations on the old house were going smoothly; walls knocked out, flooring pulled up. That night the shadmocks escaped...

Fourth of July fireworks are like sex-

There's a lot of anticipation but even if you've got the right match it all seems to be over too soon.

5 Second Fiction Seventy Nine

By the time he was close enough for her to see he was covered with tics it was already too late.

5 Second Fiction Seventy Eight

It wasn't that he had an eating disorder, it was just that the sight of half-digested food fascinated him.

5 Second Fiction Seventy Seven

"My faith gives me strength." Fuego explained to Captain Hero, "The sweet baby Jesus, he has a headlock on my soul."

5 Second Fiction Seventy Six

Zeth slipped and fell to the pavement. He thought to himself that if the mobsters didn't kill him these new shoes would.

5 Second Fiction Seventy Five

There were too many superheroes and too few supervillains. Most evil madmen kept to themselves now, or worked in marketing.

5 Second Fiction Seventy Four

The damn vampires are everywhere!" Lorelei said, "It's like an orgy of bad posture and crushed velvet."

5 Second Fiction Seventy Three

...but it was all just a dream. He wasn't an accountant- he was the Pendaroth gold eyed messiah of the Verge. How he wept.

5 Second Fiction Seventy Two

He roared,"I am the chosen of Kressor, the blade that cleaves worlds!" Mario Krump frowned, "That's not what your blog says."

5 Second Fiction Seventy One

Crime fighting luchador Fuego knew no fear because his secret identity was a substitute teacher.

5 Second Fiction Seventy

"The world could be unmade by Angels or Devils," Magwier explained, "But at least the Devils won't say 'I told you so'"

Recommendation: A jog in the park

My blogger pal J. Dane Tyler aka "Darcknyt" (although apparently the ladies call him "Tripod")has posted a new story that I found to be a very well done bit of horror/darkness. I think it fits very well in with the kind of story being published in CEMETERY DANCE these days.


A Jog In The Park

5 Second Fiction Sixty Nine

Special Agent Krump never read Edgar Allen Poe so when the trained orangutan attacked he had no frame of reference.

The Vault of Horror: Orphan: The Return of Killer Kids!

The Vault of Horror: Orphan: The Return of Killer Kids!

B-Sol shared with us the following trailer for a movie I had not yet heard of called ORPHAN.




WOW.

Another movie I gotta see.

5 Second Fiction Sixty Eight

Her kisses were cold and wet, like a bus station toilet seat in wintertime.

5 Second Fiction Sixty Seven

His name was Bazooka Jim and he was the least subtle hitman ever. He was also wanted for copyright infringement.

5 Second Fiction Sixty Six

A tragic error during the parade left the authorities searching through the remains of floats and band instruments.

5 Second Fiction Sixty Five

Agent Krump compiled the statistics; the number of serial killers working in the tech support field was staggering.

5 Second Fiction Sixty Four

"Great power," Captain Hero said, "is great responsibility." Psychotic Kid replied, "We can be completely irresponsible!"

5 Second Fiction Sixty Three

He hated being a jester but loved the curly shoes.

5 Second Fiction Sixty Two

Lorelei was in an existential funk, so naturally she dyed her hair a shade of burgundy.

5 Second Fiction Sixty One

Bloodthirsty dachshunds surrounded Captain Hero and his sidekick. He shouted "Only submissive urination can save us now!"

5 Second Fiction Sixty

"There is this guy I met. He the most clueless, helpless person I ever met." Audra looked down at her shoes, "I miss him."

5 Second Fiction Fifty Nine

Magwier was not clairvoyant, he just remembered things that might happen. It made him terrible at chess but good at poker.

The trailer for TERROR AT BLOOD FART LAKE has destroyed my mind...

The blog Horror's Not Dead has cost me every single Sanity Point I have left with the trailer for TERROR AT BLOOD FART LAKE.

I want to see this movie but I know if I do I will never be able to UNSEE it...

Price Breaks and Heartaches: part thirteen

The story you are looking for has been relocated and retooled.

PRICE BREAKS AND HEARTACHES can now be found here.

If you can't find one of your favorite chapters don't worry, it'll be back!

Having a blast

I haven't been working on my blog much this week, I've mostly been spending time with my daughter. Summer vacation and all that, we've been having a good time with going swimming, video games and setting off fireworks in pre-July the 4th celebrations.

After living in New York for most of my life I have to admit that being in a place where you can buy fireworks at your local Wal Mart is quite a bit of culture shock. Not that we didn't have access to fireworks when I was growing up but they were traded like contraband.

I actually remember one fine summer getting into a firecracker war with my best friend, my best fiend and my best friend's hot hot sister. We were literally lighting entire clusters of firecrackers and hurling them at each other. When I think about it I'm amazed that I still have a full set of fingers to type to you with.

Of course with the way I spell and drop words you might think I'm missing fingers anyway.

The fireworks we used last night were fun, they didn't send fire hazards shooting into the air like a good old fashioned roman candle and didn't create deafening explosions like an M-80. These were just little boxes of gunpowder that sent released a little shower of sparks sensible, family friendly bangs.

They had amusing names like Sparkling Rose, Fiery Dragon, Patriotic Storm and Golden Shower.

Yes dear reader I actually held a box of minor explosives in my hand called Golden Shower. I can only assume that someone in the firework's factory was fired before he could finish designing the box logo for the dreaded Cleavland Steamer.

Anyway I hope to have some new material to share with you soon, and don't forget that the book two on my serial novel begins July 8th.

Will I be able to finish book three before book two ends?

The suspense- and the actual writing- is killing me.