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Fan Questions

The Deadman’s Tome podcast is growing and it’s important to reach out to our audience and open the door for fan questions. Listeners of the show might be aware of a certain Kentucky Bob, a dedicated redneck that tries and tries again to psychologically break Mr. Deadman with absurd questions. Now is your chance to join in on that.

Send us questions about the magazine, podcast, writing, horror, movies, current events, and whatever is on your mind.  Use the form below!

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Subscribe to Deadman’s Tome

Deadman’s Tome Krampus Christmas, Trumpocalypse, and the upcoming No Safe Word deliver different flavors of horror with dark and brutal being a consistent theme, but purchasing each issue individually can really eat up your wallet. There must be a better way to enjoy provocative and disturbing horror, and guess what? There is.

Subscribe to Deadman’s Tome by pledging one dollar on patreon, and you get access to the digital copy of the magazine for no additional charge. That’s a freakin’ steal. You could’ve read Deadman’s Tome Krampus Christmas and Trumpocalypse for two dollars versus the sell price for each one.

Subscribe to Deadman’s Tome

 

 

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Decide No Safe Word Cover

While Deadman’s Tome Trumpocalypse is still kicking ass and pissing off Donald Trump, Mr. Deadman is working on something with a bit more kink. February is a time for love and heart-break, but it is also a time for whips and chains. What it love without pain, right? And being that Deadman’s Tome has a routine of serving dark, demented, brutal horror it only makes sense that the gimps wouldn’t be given a safe word.

Help decide the cover for Deadman’s Tome No Safe Word.

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Cover A: Handful
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Cover B: Thighs
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Cover C: Wide Open

Leave a comment below on which cover you like best.

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DEADLIGHTS MAGAZINE SAYS PRINT ISN’T DEAD

 

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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Support Deadman’s Tome

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.

Become a patron today

Why? Why support the Tome?

  • Advertising isn’t cheap
  • Support the costs associated with running the zine
  • improve podcast
  • increase pay rates for the writers
  • because quality is rarely free

What do you get in return? Well, besides that warm feeling of knowing that you support an online magazine?

  • Support the awareness of the magazine
  • Support the authors and other contributors
  • Get access to exclusive content
  • Get FREE stuff such as a Deadman’s Tome T- Shirt and anthologies

If just a fraction of the followers contributed a dollar, the zine would be able to offer even MORE content than what it currently does. The site could use audio versions of the stories, more stories, artwork, and a larger presence on YouTube!

Become a patron today

 

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Deadman’s Tome LIVE Show 10PM (CST)

 

Technical Issues Hell: The show was pushed back due to technical issues. Ironic that when contacting with the authors they all seemed amazed that someone even uses Google Hangouts. Ironic that I was toying around with the idea of using OBS to live stream while screen  grabbing different Skype calls, but I didn’t. Good news is I know why it got fucked up and what to do in the future. So strange that it took the fourth live show for this sort of issue to come up. Damn it, Google. When I send an invite for a handout and they click it, it should work! In fairness, though, I had two different google logins going at the same time, but I’ve done that in the previous streams, but whatever. Thank you for those that watched and apology for no Rebecca Dempsey.

Meet horror authors Rebecca Dempsey, Clive Carpenter, and Cain Miller as they talk about their stories, reveal their inspiration, and share their other projects.

Rebecca Dempsey is the author of They Shall Rise, a spiritual odyssey of lost love and that blends the realm of the living with the dead…
https://deadmanstome.net/2016/06/02/they-shall-rise-by-rebecca-dempsey/

Clive Carpenter is the author of Confession, a dark and twisted story about the world’s evilest mother. A mother with a nasty passion of killing her children in various way, and the confrontation that is bound to ensue.
https://deadmanstome.net/2016/06/02/they-shall-rise-by-rebecca-dempsey/

Cain Miller is the author of Blithe Town, a dark reminder that there are some places, some towns, that no one should dare drive through.
https://deadmanstome.net/2016/06/01/blithe-town-by-cain-miller/

Become a patron today and support the online magazine!
https://www.patreon.com/user?u=3340730&alert=2&ty=h

Deadman’s Tome Book of Horrors Anthology
https://deadmanstome.net/2016/05/21/deadmans-tome-book-of-horrors-pre-order/

Deadman’s Tome is a growing horror zine that publishes short stories and flash fiction whether it’s ghost stories, zombie invasions, bigfoot sightings, slasher sprees, bizarre fiction, classic horror literature or erotica. 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 authors.
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Join the Live Show!

Have a story you really like? Have an author you would really like to meet? Better yet, would YOU like to be invited on to the live show?

Then let’s make it happen. Send me a message, email, or comment down below.

 

Become a patron today and support the online magazine!
https://www.patreon.com/user?u=3340730&alert=2&ty=h

Deadman’s Tome is a growing horror zine that publishes short stories and flash fiction whether it’s ghost stories, zombie invasions, bigfoot sightings, slasher sprees, bizarre fiction, classic horror literature or erotica. 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 authors.

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The Monster in the Closet by dDamian Foreman

It was as good a time as any to start smoking.  The acne ridden kid had never smoked in his life and had, until that point, never wanted to.  Next to losing his virginity and not dying at any moment looming over his head, a cigarette was the best sounding thing in the whole damn world.

From the dead girl’s jeans, he pulled out her cigarettes and lighter.  He stuck one of the cancer sticks into his mouth and lit it.  Naturally, his body rejected the smoke and he coughed it up in great whooping spasms (the sound no doubt catching its attention), but that didn’t stop him from trying again.  On his second attempt, he was awarded the same result, but on the third he was able to suck down a mouth full of smoke.

God, how it tasted terrible.  Tasted like…hell, there wasn’t even a comparison to how it tasted.  The kid couldn’t say it tasted like shit because he never had tasted shit before.  He was sure that he had compared many, many things to shit over the course of his life, but never once had he been able to truly say that because he didn’t know for sure what it tasted like.  He wasn’t about to say it again, because he didn’t want another lie on his plate when he got to the gates of Heaven–if, indeed, that was where he was going when he died.

Awww, crap.  Who was he kidding?  He wouldn’t get into Heaven if he blew the guy standing at the gates.  He pretty much broke every commandment other than “Thou shalt not kill” and “Thou shalt not commit adultery.”  Or maybe he was even more screwed than that; did masturbation count as adultery?  He didn’t know. 

Yeah, he was going to Hell, and he was going to burn with a stake stuck up his ass.  So, if he was doomed to eternity in the lake of fire, he might as well take advantage of the time he had left.  If that thing was going to kill him, then sure he could…

No, no, no.  He pushed that thought away before it could even surface any more than it had.  He didn’t want to hurt his chances any more than they already were. 

And it was just nasty.  Wrong.

He could hear it.  It was still out there, it was smelling him out.  Tracing the blood from the girl probably.  The girl, who he dragged in with him while she was still alive, might just be getting him killed now.  Thanks.

He took another drag from the cigarette (he thought he was getting pretty good at it now) when a queer thought came to him.  What if it smelled the smoke?  What if it smelled the smoke and thought the place was starting to catch ablaze and it ran away?  If that thing was anything like any other sane animal, it would fear the fire and run, right?  Then he would be alone with a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a dead girl and his thoughts.  Just him and the dead-

It turned something over.  It sounded like maybe one of the school desks hitting the ground, but it was far enough away for the kid to still feel safe-ish.  Probably was still on the far side of the room.  Probably was tracking him like a fat boy that smells cake.  And why not?  The door between him and it wasn’t a thick one, and there was a blood stream to the girl.  What was preventing it from getting to him?  It could no doubt bust through that door as easy as a lighter melts through a sheet of plastic wrap.

He didn’t have long left in this world; he could feel that deep down in his bones.  It shook him, put a nervous gloom over his closet sanctuary.  It was getting closer to him.  He could almost feel its teeth chomping down on his neck, ripping it out and letting him bleed as it ate the rest of him.  He’d seen what the thing did, and it wasn’t pretty.  It didn’t give you the courtesy of snapping your neck before it ate, taking your life painlessly before it snacked.  No, no, it liked to hear you scream and gurgle out blood from your gaping holes that it puts in you.  It likes it when you beg for it to stop.

He changed his mind.  He wasn’t going to hell.  He was already there.  That little closet he stuffed himself into was the only hell there could be.  Maybe–maybe–if his dick was bitten off first.  That could make it worse.

The kid’s hands were shaking as he pulled that cigarette up to his lips and puffed away.  It was almost gone, about a fourth of the tobacco was left in the roll of paper.  He swore to himself then that if that cigarette was finished before he died, he would (by sweet Jesus) light up another one and suck himself to death.  Yeah, so maybe you’re not supposed to kill yourself, but to hell with that.  God could make one exception, couldn’t He?  Under these circumstances?

Well, not that it mattered in the long run, but…

Something else fell down, but it sounded more like a dry THUMP than the banging of a table.  This new sound might have been a book falling and planting itself on the ground.  He guessed that it pushed it off of the counter or the teacher’s desk; maybe it was balanced just wrong somewhere and fell, but that was a silly dream that, deep down in his heart, he knew wasn’t the truth.  It was just looking for him in every possible place.

Tears filled his eyes.  He let them fall.  It’s not like anyone was there to see him cry, to call him pussy or queer fagget as the bigger guys liked to call him.  There was no one to make him feel bad about who he was.  He let those tears flow, but he kept a tight mouth about it.  He didn’t want to attract its attention.

He briefly recalled a play he saw once.  There was something about squealing pigs and quiet men in it.  The pigs were squealing because they didn’t know they were dying, but the men knew to shut up about it because they didn’t want to face death.

Maybe there was some truth to that statement.

Or maybe it was total shit. 

Who knows?

The facts were that he was crying quietly, death waited outside the door for the right time to knock, his cigarette was almost gone, and he was alone with a beautiful dead girl, who kept on getting prettier by the damn sec-

No!  He was not going to think that way.  She’s dead, God damn it.

Using the palm of his hand without the cigarette, he wiped away the tears that he let loose, then sucked up the last of the smoke.  He lifted his left leg up to his chest and used the bottom of his shoe to put out the smoldering cherry.  In the dark it was hard to find the pack and lighter again, but he managed.  Without realizing it, he had put them between the legs of the dead girl when he got his first cigarette, and when he got his second, he did the same.  She was still warm, and he liked having his hand there.  It felt good, felt natural.  Oh, he could have her.  All he had to do was ask and…

He let his thoughts linger in his head as his hand on her thigh.  It didn’t matter at all.  Nothing mattered when you’re on your ass, waiting for death to take you into its modest embrace.

The only time the kid with acne took his hand away from his girlfriend was to light the new cigarette.  It returned to her thigh quickly thereafter.

He could hear it out there; it was right in front of the door now.  The pads on its paws made a soft sound on the linoleum tiles, its claws making low clicks.  It was right outside, it found him.  The thing was ready to pounce, ready eat.  It didn’t want to play anymore more games, no, it was done fucking around.  It was hungry.  Time to die, kid.  Your goose is cooked.

He put the cigarette into his mouth and held it with his lips.  He took up his girlfriend’s hand in his own, then put his other over her fingers and squeezed.  It made him feel like she was still alive, like she was still there with him.

Quickly, he took his smoke out of his mouth and kissed his lover on the lips for a long moment, then went back to his death pose.  The kid closed his eyes and waited.

He heard it break through the door and heard himself scream for it to quit, heard himself fighting back and trying to save himself and crying for his mother.  He fought and yelled and-

-and it wasn’t him.  He opened his eyes again and listened to someone else getting eaten alive in another closet nearby.  Probably the one right next to him in the same damn classroom.

The screaming died out, and he listened to it eat more.  He sat there for a long, limitless period of time, waiting to see what would happen next.  Eventually, the sounds of ripping flesh and snapping bones quit died out.  He heard it strut by his closet again, and then he couldn’t hear it at all.  Had it gone?  Was it never there?

Did it matter?

The acne ridden teenage kid laughed (quietly, of course–it might still be there).  He was alive, and so was his soul mate–he could still feel her warmth and (if he concentrated hard) her pulse beating in unison with his, almost as if he was powering her with his own…but that was a silly thought.

He put out the cigarette.  He kissed her.  They were happy together, but somehow he didn’t feel happy enough, didn’t feel complete.  But she knew how to make him happy.  She knew very well, and the kid accepted her and then they went to sleep together in their happy place, the smell of her drying blood masked by burnt tobacco and new found love.