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Interview with S. E. Casey


This Friday, fiction writer S. E. Casey, the author of Last Meal of Adonis, joins Mr. Deadman on the Deadman’s Tome podcast to discuss his inspiration behind his existential fiction, the process behind his prose, and his other projects.

Listen to Deadman’s Tome podcast on Friday at 10pm CST to participate in the chat and to ask you’re own questions.

use this link to catch the episode as soon as it goes live


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Some say that print is dead, but DeadLights Magazine says no. The young publication appreciates a challenge and has tapped into a niche market. Sure, it would be cheaper to be just another electronic magazine – electronic magazines spring up from the ground like weeds due to cheap production costs. But the digital screen does not compare to the actual print material in hand. If Deadman’s Tome could afford it, it would totally embrace the old school horror magazine feel of Tales From The Crypt and Creep.

DeadLights Magazine is a horror fiction magazine printing flash fiction, short stories, poetry, and art, with a focus on up-and-coming authors and artists! Of course, print is not cheap and Dead Lights is raising money via Kickstarter to.. well.. kick start the magazine. Dead Lights has already exceeded their initial goal, but the more they raise, the more they can do for the authors and readers.

As fans of horror, please check out DeadLights Magazine kickstarter and see if you can afford a dollar, just a simple dollar, to give them that extra push.



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The Old House in the Country – Ryan Reid



Jacob Hauser was on his way home after a twenty mile bike ride when he noticed dark clouds building on the horizon. It was a hot, humid July afternoon. Jacob enjoyed summer weather, but he had never cared for humidity. I’m going to get soaked, Jacob thought as he pedaled along the country road.

Bike riding was one of Jacob’s favorite hobbies. He had been working as a middle school science teacher for a year and didn’t have as much free time as he used to for exercise. During college he had put great emphasis on working out. Those days had been more carefree.

The dark clouds continued to spread across the sky as Jacob heard a distant rumble of thunder. Jacob couldn’t recall seeing any houses along the stretch of the road he was on; he was out in the middle of nowhere. Jacob pedaled as fast as he could, but he knew he would never make it home before the rain began; there were still about nine miles to go. Jacob was wearing a gray T-shirt and khaki shorts, so he wasn’t dressed for a storm.

A flash of lightning cut across the sky as it darkened. Jacob had been terrified of thunderstorms when he was a child. He remembered being unable to fall asleep at night as lightning lit up his bedroom and thunder shook his house. Thunderstorms had always seemed like the perfect backdrop for monsters to come crawling out from the closet and under the bed. As an adult, Jacob was no longer scared of thunderstorms, though they still created a sense of anxiety in him.

The wind began to pick up and shake the leaves of nearby trees as Jacob smelled the ozone scent of rain. I need to find some kind of shelter soon, Jacob thought.

The wind tore at Jacob’s face as he continued to pedal. His leg muscles were aching from the long bike ride. The first drops of rain began to fall when Jacob saw it: an old, dilapidated house. He remembered passing the house on his bike rides in the past. He had never thought much about the house, until now. The house was two stories and had rotting clapboard siding. The siding had once been painted white, but years of neglect had resulted in an ugly gray. Most of the windows were boarded up. The house’s weed-choked yard surrounded it like a moat. The building looked like it had been abandoned for a decade or longer.

Jacob hopped off his bike and ran with it to the front door of the house. He just made it onto the crumbling front porch when the rain began to pour down. The front door was boarded up, but there was a broken window next to it. A board covered the upper part of the window, but there was enough room to get in. Jacob leaned his bike against a wall and climbed through the window into the house.

Looking around, Jacob noticed he was in a foyer. There was a staircase leading up to the second floor against the right wall. The white plaster walls were cracked and peeling. Fragments of plaster covered the floor. The air smelled musty and stale. Jacob peered outside through the window he had come in through. The rain and thunderstorm showed no signs of stopping. Well, I might as well take a look around, Jacob thought as he watched the rainfall. I don’t think I’m going anywhere for the time being.

Jacob wandered through an open doorway into a kitchen. The room’s furnishings were simple: a wood table, several chairs, cabinets, a stove, a sink, and an old refrigerator. Some of the cabinet doors had fallen off. Pieces of broken ceramic plates littered the floor. The table was covered with mouse droppings. Jacob spotted a foot-long snake skin on the ground next to the table. That’s lovely, Jacob thought as he kicked at the snake skin with his right foot.

Jacob opened a door leading into what seemed to be a cellar. There weren’t any windows in the room, and the only light came from the open doorway. Jacob could hear the sounds of animals skittering around below, probably mice. Jacob could see the top of a staircase descending into the darkness, but he didn’t feel like going down there. Jacob shut the cellar door and returned to the foyer.   

Jacob climbed the staircase to the second floor. Every step he took on the stairs created a loud creak that shattered the dead silence of the house. Jacob thought it was odd how there weren’t any signs of recent human habitation of the house. He figured he would’ve come across empty food wrappers or beer cans left behind by a vagrant using the building as a shelter.

Jacob reached the top of the staircase and entered a room to his right. The room was devoid of furniture. There were two windows in one wall. Dim light from outside filtered in through the spaces between the boards covering the windows. Jacob could hear the rain pounding on the roof of the house. Jacob walked over to one of the windows and looked outside. The wind continued to whip the nearby trees, and rain pounded down. Jacob saw a flash of lightning. That’s when Jacob heard something strange. It sounded like people whispering. The noise seemed to be coming from behind a door in the room.  

Jacob went to the door and put his ear next to it, trying to hear what was being said. It definitely sounded like two or three people whispering. Jacob couldn’t tell what they were saying. Jacob put a hand on the doorknob and turned it. He flung the door open and looked in. As soon as Jacob had opened the door, the whispering had stopped. The room was a closet. There was nothing inside it. A horrible odor that smelled like a dead animal emanated from the closet. Jacob wasn’t sure what was creating the stench, but it was awful. That’s weird, Jacob thought as he shut the closet door.

Jacob left the room and walked to the top of the staircase. He heard a strange, raspy breathing sound coming from behind him. Jacob turned around to look behind him. There was nobody there, and the breathing had stopped. Jacob turned around and put his hand on the staircase banister. As Jacob was about to step onto the top stair, something shoved him from behind. Jacob grabbed for the banister as he began to fall. He was angled towards the right and barely managed to catch hold of the banister before he would’ve fallen down the staircase. “What the hell was that?” Jacob shouted as he gripped the banister.

I could’ve gotten killed, Jacob thought as he stared at the bottom of the staircase. I need to get out of here.

Jacob ran down the stairs and headed for the window he had come in through. The strange whispering started again. It seemed like it was surrounding Jacob. He couldn’t see any people; the sound seemed to come from thin air. Jacob began to climb through the window when his shirt snagged on a nail sticking out of a board. Come on, Jacob thought as he struggled to free his shirt from the nail.

The whispering was coming from right behind Jacob. He didn’t have much time left. With one final struggle, the nail tore through Jacob’s shirt, and he was free. Jacob grabbed his bike and ran for the country road. It was still raining, but the thunderstorm had ended. Jacob was soaked in seconds from the deluge. As soon as he reached the asphalt, Jacob jumped on his bike and began pedaling as fast as he could. Jacob had a feeling he was going to set a new record on his ride home.


The End


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Deadman’s Tome is a growing horror zine that publishes horror short stories and horror flash fiction. The online magazine publishes dark and gritty content from professional horror writers, Bram Stoker award nominated horror authors, along with talented newcomers of the horror writing craft. Deadman’s Tome features chilling, terrifying horror shorts ranging from ghost stories, zombie invasions, bigfoot sightings, monster horror, and even horror erotica. Deadman’s Tome is one of the best online horror zines to publish horror short stories, horror flash fiction, and dark flash fiction. The darker the tale the better. If you enjoyed the story, or even if you didn’t, leave a comment below as it helps the horror authors.

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Month of Horror Week 2 Winner Announced!

Month of Horror week 2 contestants Al Edwards, Gary Buller, and S. E. Casey compete for 1st place which consists of placement on the Tome with double earning rate! With four solid stories, this decision was not easy. Seriously, I’ve had an easier time deciding the title for my own story than coming down with a verdict.

Listen to the episode via iTunes, too

or on Spreaker

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Church of Satan After School Program Upsets Some People!


Real Horror – Church of Satan, Bogus Halloween Abuse Story

Mr. Deadman explores the real horror that is in our news and culture. This episode looks at the Church of Satan after school program, assault at a Haunted House, and someone claims to have been a victim of satanic ritual abuse at a Mormon church that practices ritual murderous sacrifices.

You can also listen to the episode through iTunes or on Spreaker




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The Spider – Ron Thorne


There was a spider living in my shower. I had barely noticed it the other day, as I had to put my glasses on the sink, so obviously I had them off as I stepped into the bathtub. It was a tiny thing, struggling to hold on to the slickness of the porcelain lining of the tub. To me, it was like a black dot, scurrying as it did, bouncing almost like a little ball. It was odd, though, as soon as I blinked, it disappeared. I looked around for it, (it might have seemed odd to my wife, had she came in at this moment) but could not find it. I bent over, looked inside the faucet and under the stopper that lets the water flow down the pipes; but it was nowhere to be found. Well, it must have went down there and drowned, poor guy, I thought to myself, and that was that.

The next day, Toby, our golden retriever and I were playing fetch. I threw the ball across the hallway and it ended up in the bathroom. Toby darted through the living room and hallway so fast, I thought he would crash into the bathtub when he entered the bathroom. From my recliner in the living room, I can only see halfway into the bathroom and I could only see Toby’s tail, which was wagging violently with energy. Then his tail stopped moving and I could see his fur sticking up. He began to bark menacingly at something in the tub. I walked into the bathroom and asked him what was wrong. He looked at me with his curious eyes and then back at the faucet. I got a phone call just then, and had to go back in the living room to get my cell. While I talked to my wife, I paced back and forth, my usual habit when talking on the phone, and somehow ended up back in the bathroom. Toby was still in there, sitting quietly on the rug in front of the tub, with his eyes fixated on the faucet. At the time I didn’t think much about it. I should have though.

My wife is a traveling saleswoman. Her name is Karen and she is hardly at home, in fact, that’s an understatement. I believe this month alone I had only seen her twice. I, on the other hand, work online. Mostly freelance writing gigs. So most days it’s just me and Toby here. For the two of us, this house seems enormous, when in reality, it’s a typical two story colonial home. We live in the back country, the boonies as some might say, and this is our second time living together. We moved out of the humdrum of the city to a more solitude life. It’s just something about the smells and the colors that makes the country life seem so much more beautiful and alive. I had almost declined the offer when the real estate agent showed me this house. But something about it screamed silently in my head. Purchase me, you won’t regret it, the voice said. In my brain, I could picture Karen and Toby running in the field near the trees outside. Karen and I sitting on the front porch reading books while Toby sits at my feet his big floppy tongue panting away in the dead heat of a long summer day. So I said, yes. We will take it.

As I said before, Karen, being the traveler that she is, left about two weeks ago, and other then the phone call, I haven’t heard from her since. But it was no surprise. We were both used to it. It came with the marriage, I thought to myself. Today was cleaning day for me and I was in the bathroom approaching the tub and shower with my cleaning supplies. I had already mopped the floor and let it dry. The tub shouldn’t take no more than a few minutes, then I could go back in the kitchen and prepare some lunch for Toby and me. I had begun scrubbing the tiles on the wall on top of the tub when I could hear a scratching sound resonating within the pipes. I was standing in the bathtub as I was cleaning, so I knelt down and put my ear up to the faucet. It was an odd sound, almost like thin metal nails scraping their way up and down the vast system of pipes below. This may sound a little crazy, but what I heard next I didn’t really believe at the time. I thought I heard a voice, far off, like a person having a conversation. To listen more acutely, I put my ear right on top of the coldness of the faucet head. Then it stopped. I no longer heard the scraping or the voice. I laughed nervously, thinking how silly this is, then I felt something hairy touch the side of my earlobe. The bristling caress startled me so much, that I fell backward into the tub. I saw a black furry leg retreat into the faucet once more. I thought it was now a perfect time to call an exterminator.

The exterminator, Jack, didn’t arrive until late the next evening. I didn’t notice anything strange when I took a shower that morning, but I was in a hurry. I had almost been late for a doctor’s appointment. When I pulled in the drive I went past his yellow van, the vehicle had a worn out decal on the side, “We kill all pests that crawl.” I walked around the house and saw the basement door open. I went down inside and could see big black boots sticking out of the crawlspace in the middle of the room. Jack slid his way out, and after seeing his large figure, I wondered how he could have fit in such a small space. His face was flushed and he was sweating. He offered his hand, then realizing that he had gloves on, took one off and shook my hand with a firm grip, “Nice to meet ya, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just a few rats. Took care of ‘em. All clear down here.”

I smiled at him and said, “Did you want to see the bathroom? That’s where that spider came from. I was wondering,” Jack interrupted me by holding up his ungloved hand, “No need. Checked the pipes. Sprayed some chems on parts of ‘em. Whatever you saw, I guarantee you, it’s dead now.” And that was it. I felt a sense of relief as I watched Jack pull out of my driveway.

The day after, I woke even later than before, and didn’t even have the energy for a quick shower. I was beginning to think I had a flu virus coming on. I made the effort to ensure that Toby had his food and water. After writing a few blogs for the companies I worked with, I decided to take a nap. When I woke up, it was already dark in the house. The only light in my room was the faint glow of the power off button on the monitor. I got up and made something to eat. As I stood near the kitchen table, I noticed Toby hadn’t touched his food or his water. And where was Toby, anyhow? Normally, Toby charges me when he sees me after a long nap. Dogs sure miss us, even if we’re gone for a few hours. But the house was very still. I decided that I would search for Toby after I had a shower. Taking an extremely hot shower at this moment, seemed to be the only thing to wake me up. I was still drowsy from the nap.

I went in the bathroom and stripped down, reaching for a clean towel to drape over the side of the shower rod. With everything in place, I turned the water on. I was looking down at the drain when I could hear clogged up water trying to burst through the pipes. As I looked up, sticky white balls shot out of the shower head, along with a little bit of water. The white clots stuck to my face as I panicked and fumbled for the lever to turn the shower off. I finally gripped it, and jerked the lever to shut it down. I grabbed the towel and wiped my face and neck, as some of the white balls splattered on my throat. Observing the towel in the tub was hard, as there was not enough light to study the strange material, I had to get out and look at the towel by the overhead light at the sink. Spreading the white balls apart, revealed tiny little spiders. Jack didn’t take care of the problem after all.

Karen called me that night and we talked for a few minutes. She mentioned Toby, and I immediately thought about how I was to search for him that evening and did not. I told her about the exterminator and how, after taking a nap, Toby disappeared. She thought it odd as well. I hung up the phone and explored the house. I searched the basement, thinking that maybe I left the door open when Jack the exterminator came, but then realized that had been the day before, and Toby couldn’t have went down there, and indeed, there was no sign of Toby. I went back up the steps and investigated the first floor. Nothing. As I approached the steps to the second floor I saw a shadow on the top of the staircase. It was Toby, alright. At least that’s what I thought. It was as large as a dog and it raced toward the bedroom up there. I smiled, thinking how Toby must have slept upstairs the entire time. He was getting older and had less energy than when he was a pup. So it seemed natural for him to rest often. I made my way up the stairs and went to where I had seen the shadow go. “Toby, boy. You must have needed more rest than me,” I laughed. But there was nothing in the hallway. The doors to all the rooms were shut tight. A wave of anxiety penetrated the back of my neck as the hairs stood up. My heart began to beat faster. I turned on the hallway light and at first I didn’t see a thing. But when I got to the end of the hallway, near the bedroom, the rug in front of the door was disarrayed. I walked to the edge of the rug, and carefully pulled it back to its rightful position. I stepped on the rug to open my bedroom door; then I let out an embarrassing yelp, as my foot fell through it and landed on a pipe under the floor. Knowing something was definitely wrong in my house, I panicked. I went into my bedroom and locked the door, thinking that whatever it was, it couldn’t get through a locked door. In my haste, I had completely forgotten about poor Toby, and what could have happened to him. I stayed on top of the bed the rest of the night, both the ceiling light and the light on the nightstand bathing me in their glow, carefully surveying the room with frightened eyes. At times, as I drifted off, I swear I could hear something walking, or rather, crawling, around in the hallway. And somehow, I knew it wasn’t Toby.

After I saw the sun come up through my bedroom window, I left the safety of the bed and walked around the house. With the light casting its glow in the house, I felt a surge of bravery. Around noon, I stopped my search in order to use the bathroom. As I was washing my hands, I heard a distant sound of a dog barking. It was Toby’s bark, I was sure of it. But where was it coming from? I spent about half an hour looking until I ended up in the bathroom once more; discovering the sound was coming from the drain in the tub. I had a kitchen knife with me now, although it wasn’t much of a weapon; it was all we had in our home. We were democrats and owned no guns. I could hear a voice down in the drain screaming at the dog, whom I believed to be Toby, and then silence. When I thought it was all over, I felt the bathtub begin to vibrate until it was shaking so hard, you’d thought an earthquake was happening. But the tub was the only object shaking in the entire house. I could hear a scraping sound rising up through the shower head. I braced myself, although I didn’t know what was going to happen. Thin black woolly legs began popping out of the shower head, from the tiny holes that sprayed the once satisfying water on my body. In moments, the shower head collapsed under the enormous pressure of the monster tearing through. It was a spider, and I believe it was more than that; this ancient abomination could not have survived on the surface, indeed, it came from the depths of the earth, and it wanted me. I didn’t know the reason, nor had a chance to ponder it; as the spider enveloped me in its eight clutches smashing my limp body through the bathtub, into the basement, past the pipes and dirt; until we fell no more. We had fallen into a cave. The behemoth was nowhere in sight. The fall must have injured it and it left to recover its wounds.

I, on the other hand, was badly hurt and couldn’t walk. I believed both my legs and my right arm was broken. My ribs ached terribly; probably broken as well. But what I saw in the next couple of minutes made me try to endure the grueling pain and force myself to find an escape. Only a few feet in front of where I landed, was Toby’s collar. And beside it was even more horrifying. There were hundreds of rings in a pile. They all appeared to be some type of wedding bands, both men and women’s. And I recognized the one that was at the very top. It was my wife’s.

The creature came out of the darkness now, and as it approached me, its fangs dripped with poison. I could see through the blurriness of my vision that it had a red hour glass on top of its back. I looked down at my chest, apparently during the descent into the cave, the spider bit me. I knew then that I was poisoned by a black widow. She opened her mouth, but before she ate me, she recited a poem:   

“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;
“’Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlor is down a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “to ask me is in vain,
For who goes down your winding stair can ne’er come up again.”

Karen laughed to herself as she walked away from the corpse. She believed that her husband’s life insurance policy was going to be very substantial; it would fix up the bathroom rather nicely. She smiled and a bit of poison dripped from her lips.


Adapted Excerpt of The Spider and The Fly fable Original written by Mary Howitt, 1829


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Deadman’s Tome is a growing horror zine that publishes horror short stories and horror flash fiction. The online magazine publishes dark and gritty content from professional horror writers, Bram Stoker award nominated horror authors, along with talented newcomers of the horror writing craft. Deadman’s Tome features chilling, terrifying horror shorts ranging from ghost stories, zombie invasions, bigfoot sightings, monster horror, and even horror erotica. Deadman’s Tome is one of the best online horror zines to publish horror short stories, horror flash fiction, and dark flash fiction. The darker the tale the better. If you enjoyed the story, or even if you didn’t, leave a comment below as it helps the horror authors.

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Month of Horror Winners Announcement and Drunk Reading!

On Friday at 10PM, Mr. Deadman will announce the winners of the 2nd week of the Month of Horror flash fiction writing contest. Three contenders enter the ring, but only one will come out victorious as a featured story on Deadman’s Tome AND earn .20 cents per view, like, and comment for a year’s time!

Mr. Deadman has material lined up for a segment of Real Horror and possibly a drunk reading? That depends on how well this post is shared via twitter!

The Deadman’s Tome podcast starts Friday at 10pm and ends at 12am CST and can be listened to by using this link:

Austin Malone, writer of All The Time, The Screaming and last week’s Month of Horror winner, joined Mr. Deadman to discuss the inspiration behind his work, the various interpretations, and then reveal a secret about writing advice. The interview can be accessed using:

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Deadman’s Tome, an online horror magazine that publishes horror and dark fiction practically daily, is steadily growing. I thank all the readers and writers that make the growth of this dark corner of the net possible, but there is a reality. Deadman’s Tome, in order to thrive, needs your support in another way. I ask of you to become a patron. All it takes is ONE DOLLAR and you’re a patron.

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Plimpton – Matt Scott

“You know,” Plimpton said walking around the large rectangular wooden table, “I once knew a guy who kept his wife’s heart in the freezer next to two pieces of cake that they saved from their wedding. It was white with almond frosting- the cake, not his wife’s heart. Nope, he kept that in a small black index card box, lined in yellow velvet. Really made that heart stand out when you opened it. I mean, the frozen purple of the thing set against the bright yellow felt. It was really an attention grabber, let me tell you.” Plimpton turned and faced the double sinks. They were stainless steel, old and worn. Rust stains had begun to form around the base of the faucet that straddled both basins, and the two knobs were turning green beneath their edges. A smear like melted chocolate ran down the steel divider on both sides, like an ugly reminder that the kitchen was too hot this time of year. The kitchen was always hot. Nothing lasted in there.

Plimpton stood and ran his hands, rough and fat, under the hot water and he looked out of the kitchen window above the sink at his back yard. It was quiet this time of night and the moon hid behind the clouds in anticipation of what was to come. The moon knew his intentions, and so did she.

He turned off the water and dried his hands on a dish towel that was hanging from a hook beside the sink on the lower cabinet door to his right. He shook the towel and flung it across his shoulder and reached up to his bulbous bald head and pulled the goggles down over his eyes. He was all forehead and very little face. He wasn’t deformed nor was he what he considered to be an ugly man. On the contrary. In fact he found himself to be quite dashing and well proportioned, if only that meant that the majority of his head was above his two rather small, beady, black eyes. His hair had fallen out long ago and this, in his own estimation, just added a sophisticated look to his appearance that, up until that point, he had been lacking. Indeed, at five foot six inches tall and one hundred and ninety pounds, Plimpton looked like a small blue balloon, caught in a fan, as he wobbled this way and that, adjusting his goggles that of course immediately fogged up once he had put them on. The heat in the kitchen was almost unbearable.

He took the goggles, which were not like a chemist’s goggles but more like goggles you buy at the dollar store to swim in your back yard plastic kiddie pool, away from his eyes. He wiped the insides of them with the tip of his white butcher’s apron, though he never had the patience to properly learn a trade as skilled as that. No, Plimpton was a simple man who enjoyed the simple things in life. He liked a good cold beer in his hand, a good tune, perhaps something from the Doors playing on his record player in the living room next to his favorite chair, a lime green recliner that was moth eaten but, oh so comfortable. Plimpton also enjoyed watching his Bearded Dragon, Petunia, chase big, fat, black crickets across the kitchen floor, as she was doing now. The cricket’s chirps stopping abruptly as the chase began. She ran in an ancient manner, one that evolution had perfected, her short little legs flying out in front of her as she kept her body close to the floor. She flattened out like a sole when she was frightened, a natural but superfluous defense mechanism. Bearded Dragons have no teeth and are not aggressive. He liked that about Petunia. There was too much aggression in the world already.

He let the goggles hang below his scruffy, double chin, sparsely inhabited by long, scraggly, gray hairs that made him look like a cancerous old troll, and walked into the darkened living room from the open kitchen doorway. He lifted the soapy plastic lid to his Delco Electrolux record player and put the needle gently down onto a forty five of L.A Woman and, just as gently as he had opened it, shut the lid, turned the volume up just enough to where he thought he could hear it from the kitchen, and walked back in to continue his evening.

He approached the table and pulled two vinyl surgical gloves from out of a small cardboard box on the counter by the sink. He blew into the end of each powdered one and gingerly slipped them on his thick, stubby hands. He looked down at her, “How we doing?” He started to slowly sway with the music as it began to play.  He loved Jim Morrison and the Doors.  He loved everything about them, their music, their poetry, their youthful defiance of authority and most of all, their willingness to break on through. She mumbled something he couldn’t quite understand. “Oh goodness. I’m sorry,” he said bending over her thin, trembling naked body. “Let me get this for you.” He pulled the gauze from her mouth in a long, quick jerk. He had shoved several wadded up pieces down her throat when he had started in order to keep her from biting her tongue off, though he was very careful to make sure she could still breathe. That’s why he had put a tube in there as well. An ounce of prevention and all that, you know. He removed the tube as well.

“Why are you doing this?” She managed to whimper out. Her throat was sore and her lips were dry and cracked. Her green eyes could not focus on the details of the room. She must have been drugged and was still feeling the effects. There was no way for her to know how long she had been on his table, but it felt like hours. Her legs, though long and lean, were numb and her chest was on fire. She hoped that she was having a heart attack and all of this would be over soon. But she knew she wasn’t that lucky. If she was a lucky girl, she would never had gotten into his truck as she was walking. She would have called triple A and waited for the tow truck, but it had been a long hot day and she had just wanted to get home. She could always come back with her husband the next morning and change the flat. He would have had it done in no time, and none of this would have happened, but, she wasn’t that lucky. He looked down at her staring up at him. She was in fact quite beautiful by modern standards. She was young, not thirty years old yet. Her stomach was flat and her breasts were large. She obviously hadn’t had children yet, or at least if she had, she kept herself in good shape. Her manicured nails and styled short hair depicted a professional attitude. Perhaps she worked in an office. Maybe she was the boss. No matter. In this moment, he was God. She had the same scared, sad puppy dog look in her eyes that they all did. This is what sickened him the most. They were all beginning to be the same inside and out. One of these days he would find one that was different, but for now, he had to find out. He had to look. He just had too.

He loomed over her on the table and drew a small mark just above her eft breast with a black magic marker. He put the cap n with an assertive smack. “Why? Why? Why? Everyone asks why. Everyone wants to know why, but no one ever asks how. Nobody ever wonders how. Do you think this shit is easy? Hell no. It takes focus. It takes study. Not everybody can do a thing like this, I just make it look easy ‘cause I’ve done it so much. Why? Fuck Why. Ask me how. Go ahead, ask.” He stood back, chest heaving. That was a rant he didn’t expect to have, but it was smoldering inside the kitchen and it was late. He was getting tired and just wanted to finish up so he could go and lay down on the coolness of his bed in the darkness of his room.  He calmed briefly and continued. “You know, I ended up putting dad’s heart into the freezer right next to mom’s. I knew those two would be together forever.  They really loved each other. They were such a fun couple.

“You’re insane,” she croaked out through parched lips and a tongue covered in sawdust.

Plimpton put his goggles back on and grabbed the cleaver from the corner of the table at her feet. He smiled and winked, “Well, it’s all relative don’t ya know.”


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Month of Horror Writing Contest 

It’s October 1st, the first day of the month of horror, and Deadman’s Tome has some great things in store.

First, Deadman’s Tome Book of Horrors II is out and with it ten relentless, terrifying, scary tales of absolute horror for those brave enough. Order a copy on Amazon or ask me how you can get a free copy! Tweet me at @MrdeadmanDT

Second, a writing contest that’ll run for the whole month! Flash fiction horror writing contest 350 to 500 words with some spill over excepted. What is Deadman’s Tome looking for? Stories of monsters, stories that scare, and stories that test limits.

Deadman’s Tome will judge stories on a weekly basis and once a week one will be featured on Deadman’s Tome friday night podcast and published on the site where it will earn money – .20 cents per like, view, and comment!

Submit submissions with subject Month of Horror to