It’s a Holiday Hootenanny!

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It’s a Holiday Hootenanny! In this anthology, you will find Christmas stories and more. WPaD is proud to present our favorite fiction from holidays all year round, from Halloween to Arbor Day, ranging from sentimental to a bit on the dark side. An entertaining read for any season.

Now FREE or exceptionally low priced on Amazon.com

Get your copy today, read it, leave a review of any of our books and I’ll send you something nice (like a FREE poster) while supplies last.

Also NEW from WPAD: Weirder Tales.

Get the book. Be amazed at how good some of these stories are. Have fun. Get a free poster (offer applies on ALL WPaD Anthologies)

 

Weirder Tales

Weirder Tales – Now Available on Amazon and other fine online bookstores. Proceeds to to MS Research.

Happy Reading!

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

Creepies 2: Things That Go Bump in the Closet

Just in time for Halloween! I am proud to present:

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Creepies 2: Things That Go Bump in the Closet

From the masters of horror at Writers, Poets and Deviants:
Prepare for terror…

  • An exterminator meets his match in a family’s attic…
  • A cuddly toy with a disturbing origin is all the rage…
  • A boy’s survival of a deadly accident turns out to be more curse than miracle…
  • A man asks a vampire for a favor and gets more than he wished for…
  • A strange device collects and stores the rage from people bent on revenge…
  • An exquisite chess set in an old pawn shop sets the scene for terror…
  • A young man’s WW2 bayonet carries an evil history…
  • Something is alive in the outhouse…

Enjoy these chilling tales and more in volume 2 of WPaD’s popular Creepies series.
But leave the lights on…

Featuring works from: Mandy White, Nathan Tackett, Marla Todd, Diana Garcia, Jade M Phillips, David Hunter, Michael Haberfelner, Mike Cooley, David W Stone, A K Wallace

Original Cover Art by Jason Kemp

 

Bela by Jason Kemp

Bela by Jason Kemp

Image courtesy of Illustrator/Author, J. Harrison Kemp, Tenkara Studios. All Rights Reserved. Permission Required.

Remember, as always, a percentage of the proceeds of our paperback anthologies and kindle books is donated to MS charities.

The authors write for the love of writing and to help an important cause. Also, because we love some our fellow authors afflicted with this disease very much!

 

Special note and appreciation and with a huge shout out, goes to the very talented illustrator and author, J. Harrison Kemp for his outstanding cover art. His intent was to give the anthology cover a comic book vibe and, I must say, he achieved that goal! You can learn more about him by clicking J. Harrison Kemp’s Facebook page——> Tenkara Studios

CLICK HERE for download (paperback edition coming soon)

Special thanks go to Mandy White and Val Fox for their hard work and long hours editing and putting this scary good publication together. THANK YOU SO MUCH.

Thank you Diana Garcia at zoltanaofthedesert.wordpress.com for the additional information.

Other WPaD Publications:

creepies

FREE right now. Take advantage of this offer and get your CREEPIES.

Fantastic stories with cover art by Jason Kemp

A hot book for cold winter nights. The ultimate in romance!

A hot book for cold winter nights. The ultimate in romance!

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dragonsanddreams

 

Short Story Sunday: Sunsets and Ginger Ale

I’m delighted and honored today to feature a story from my friend and fellow WPaD author Jade M. Phillips. Enjoy! 

 

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Sunsets and Ginger Ale

“What do you miss most about life, June?”

I turned to look at Harold, his face an exact replica of how I’d always remembered him: kind, loyal, trusting. I played with the hem of my dress in thought.

“I’m not sure. That was so long ago. I hardly remember what it was like to be alive. But I guess I’d have to say the sunsets.”

Harold nodded.

“I remember sitting on the veranda and watching the sun sink below the mountains. How the clouds would turn into soft vermillion and rose-petal pink and the air would become still. I miss the calm and the purity of that moment. I guess I’d have to say sunsets is what I miss most about life.”

I turned again to my husband. He was perched on his favorite stuffed chair in our living room staring out into the darkness. His wrinkled hand laid lax on the arm rest.

“Why is it that we cannot see the sun anymore Harold? Like we only exist in perpetual darkness? It is as if we just cease to exist during the daylight hours. I find myself sitting in this same spot as though I’d always been here. But I know that cannot be. I know that day turns to night and night to day. Why do you think that is Harold?”

“I don’t know June. Probably because we are dead.”

“Mmm,” I mused.

I tried my hardest to think of how it used to be. I knew that there was more than the omnipresent blackness. I knew that we used to have a life, children, and friends. I knew that I used to cook and clean and do other common household duties. But the harder I strained to recall those details, the harder it was to remember. I sighed and looked to my love. “You?”

“What?” Harold asked.

“What do you miss about life?”

“Ginger ale,” he answered without hesitation.

I snorted. “Ginger ale?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I miss the first sip of a cold Ginger ale over ice. The way the bubbles would tingle my tongue and the fizz would make my eyes water.”

“Yes. That was lovely,” I agreed. “I miss that too.”

“Harold?”

“Yes, my love.”

“Would you mind turning on the light? I get so sick of the darkness sometimes.”

Harold weighed my request and stretched his neck. “You know I cannot always do it. But I can try.”

“Please?” I asked.

“Of course.”

I watched Harold’s face. I could tell he was concentrating very hard, his eyes burning straight into the brass lamp that sat on the side table. The light flickered but did not fully turn on. Harold dropped his head.

“I’m too tired tonight honey,” he said as he glanced my way. I knew he could see the disappointment in my face.

“Why don’t you give it a try, June?”

I flinched. Wow. I’d never thought of that. I just always assumed that I could not turn it on. I wondered why that was.

“Okay,” I agreed. “But… how?”

Harold crossed one leg over the other and adjusted himself in the seat next to mine. “I suppose it has something to do with energy,” he replied. “Just try to direct yourself into the light. Focus all of your thoughts, memories, everything straight into the lamp. That’s what I do.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I leaned forward a bit and locked my eyes on the lamp. I took everything that was in my mind and imagined all of my thoughts, dreams and memories combining into a white ball. It took all I had to keep them there together. I strained to focus, my body tense. Once I felt confident enough I gave one, hard, mental shove and sent that ball to the lamp. To my wonderment the light flickered on and stayed that way.

“Righto!” Harold exclaimed. “Great job! See. I knew you could do it my June bug.”

I giggled with excitement and gazed around the room, enjoying my accomplishment.

“Harold?” I asked, my nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Yes, my love.”

“Where did my mother’s chaise lounge go? I don’t see it anywhere.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“And that piano? It has moved places. It used to be against that wall over there.” I pointed across the room.

I could feel myself getting upset. I loved that chaise longue. My mother would turn in her grave if she knew it had gone missing. And the piano. It looked much better where it had originally been.

“Probably the living,” Harold guessed.

I leaned back in my chair and rested my head against the back. “I suppose.”

“Honey!”

Harold and I froze at the deep male voice that echoed down the hall.

“That darned lamp has turned itself on again.”

A tall man entered the room in a long grey robe. Harold and I exchanged glances as the man leaned over and clicked off the light.

“We’ve got to get rid of that thing,” he mumbled as he exited the room, leaving us in pitch black again.

Harold leaned over his chair and grabbed my hand, sensing my sadness.

“It’s okay. You can try again tomorrow night.”

“I suppose,” I sighed. “I suppose.”

***

“What do you miss most about living, June?”

Harold was sitting in his same favorite chair that he always sat. His eyes wide in thought.

“Gosh, I’m not sure, Harold. That was so long ago, I hardly remember a thing. But I guess I’d have to say sunsets. I miss the way the sky would turn to different shades of orange and golden yellow. The way the pastel clouds would dust the tops of the mountains. That’s what I miss most.”

Harold humphed in agreement.

“Harold, why is it that we cannot see those sunsets anymore? Why have we been in darkness for so long?”

“Probably because we are dead my June bug.”

“Yes,” I nodded. “I guess that would be it.”

I tried to recall anything other than the darkness and Harold and sunsets, but it was like a long forgotten memory that I could not grasp. I sighed and let it go.

“What do you miss most about being alive, Harold?”

“Ginger ale,” he replied.

“Ginger ale?”

“Yes. I miss how the bubbles burn my tongue with the first sip and the fizz that goes down my throat. Delicious.”

“Yes. Ginger ale was nice,” I agreed.

“Harold?”

“Yes?”

“Could you open the window? It gets so stuffy in here sometimes.”

Harold adjusted himself in his seat and uncrossed his legs. “I can try. But you know it does not always work.”

“Thank you, darling.”

I watched Harold concentrate his eyes across the room to the window. His face was strained and focused. The wooden window panes creaked but it did not budge. Harold collapsed against the back of his chair. “I’m sorry June. I’m too tired tonight. Why don’t you give it a try?”

“Really?” I looked at Harold in surprise. I’d never thought of doing it myself. I guess I’d always just assumed that I wouldn’t be able to. “But… how?” I queried.

Harold shrugged. “I just focus myself, everything that is in my mind and soul and I direct it at the window.”

“Okay…” I wriggled my toes and leaned forward, directing my eyes to the window. I pulled every thought and memory from my mind, all of my emotions and dreams and pushed them together. I mentally shoved them towards the window, hard. To my astonishment, the panes creaked and the glass slid open just a few inches.

“Good one, June! I knew you could do it!” Harold smiled.

I leaned back, pleased, and watched the curtains ruffle in the breeze coming through the now opened window.

I sighed. “That’s better.”

“Yes,” Harold agreed. “Very nice.”

“Honey?”

Harold and I froze at the male voice that rang down the hall. “Did you open the window?”

“No!” A female voice replied from what sounded to be upstairs.

A tall man in a robe trudged through the room and closed the window. “If I wasn’t mistaken, I’d think we weren’t alone in this house,” he muttered and then left the room in haste.

I huffed my annoyance, but Harold reached over and squeezed my hand.

“It’s okay, my love,” he soothed. “We’ll try again tomorrow night.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “We will.”

***

“Harold?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What do you miss most about life?” I asked my lovely husband.

“Ginger ale,” he replied without missing a beat.

“Ginger ale?” I asked.

Harold was staring out into space, a concerned look upon his face.

“What is it Harold? Are you alright?”

“Yes, my love. It’s just… I heard the living talking the other night.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. They want us to leave.”

“Now why would they want to do that?” I scoffed. “This is our house!”

“Probably because we are dead.”

“Oh yes. I must’ve forgotten.”

“They said they will be sending in a priest.”

“A priest?”

“To exorcise us.”

“Now what in the world does that mean?”

“From my understanding it means that the priest will set us free.”

“Oh,” I mused. “But where will we go Harold? This is our home. The only place I’ve ever known.”

Harold sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know, June. I don’t know.”

“What will they do with all of our things? Our furniture?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Don’t you think we should’ve been acknowledged in this decision? They can’t just kick us out. Why wouldn’t they ask us first?”

“Probably because we are dead,” Harold replied dryly.

“Yes. I suppose.”

“When do you think it will happen?”

Harold shrugged again.

Just then the tall man entered the room and Harold and I froze. But he was not wearing his grey robe as usual. He was dressed in a sweater and slacks. A man in a black robe followed closely behind him.

“The priest,” I whispered in horror. Harold nodded.

“This is the room,” the tall man said, gesturing around to all four walls.

“Yes, I can sense it,” the priest said. “Now if you and the misses will please leave me with the house, I will make sure everything is right before the time you get back.”

“Thank you.” The tall man left.

“Harold, what is going on?”

“I believe this would be our exorcism,” Harold said.

The priest opened a fat book that he had been holding in his hand. The bible, I assumed.

He withdrew a folded piece of paper, cleared his throat, and began speaking.

“In the name of Jesus Christ by His blood, I declare His dominion over all base entities. I humbly request that you appoint sacred angels to keep me from any tactics of the adversary created to oppose this petition for release.”

At the priest’s words, I began to feel numb, my transparent body tingling and buzzing.

“Harold,” I rasped. “I don’t like this.”

I watched the holy man pace the floor. He now held a small vial and sprinkled the wet contents about the room.

I looked to my love for reassurance. The place where my heart would’ve been thumped wildly with panic. “Harold. Where will we go? Will we be together always? I don’t know what I would do without you.”

But Harold could not reply before the priest began again.

“I ask you to order all those demons and diabolical angels appointed in opposition to me to vacate the premise.”

“But Harold. We are not demons, nor diabolical.”

Harold locked eyes with mine.

“No June. No we are not.”

I studied my husband’s kind face. He looked tired. So very tired. But he smiled at me reassuringly. Just like Harold. He was always calm and soothing in the face of the unknown.

I gasped as the priest raised his voice to a higher pitch, his words ringing out through the room loudly. “Dear God, I request that you erect a prohibition to all loitering spirits to end their duties and be banished.”

I looked down at my hand on the arm rest of my chair. And where it used to be pure white, I could see the quilting of the chair through it. I was fading. And Harold was fading.

“Harold. I cannot lose you,” I moaned, feeling my words drawl more slowly than usual from my mouth.

The priest was preaching and flinging his hands up in the air excitedly. It made me all the more nervous.

“Harold. Hold my hand. Please. I’m scared.”

Harold reached over and grasped my hand in his cold one. It was not like holding hands with the living, but more of a dim sensation, an unseen connection between the two of us. We sat there, holding each other, watching the priest pace and shout as though being at a movie theatre unable to control the actors on the film. I whimpered helplessly.

“I’m here, my love,” Harold cooed. “It’s going to be alright.”

My mind became foggy and I could hardly remember my own name as the priest continued his ritual.

“Jesus Christ, I beg you to banish them where they cannot vex me. I submit to all of the plans you have in this spiritual warfare I am surrounded by.”

“Harold!” I cried out. I could feel my husband fading from my side, my heart breaking to pieces and floating away with him. If I had been alive enough to form tears, they would’ve been pouring down my face.

Harold’s voice echoed out from far away. It was as if he was at the end of a long dark tunnel. “It’s alright June bug. I love you. Always.”

“Through Jesus Christ I pray, who was crucified for us so that we may have an opportunity to live. Amen.”

Darkness again. Always darkness.

I closed my eyes and was blinded by the bright lights behind my lids. My body felt soft and light and calm. Nonexistent. I was floating. I drifted into the pastel clouds dusting the mountain. I became golden yellow and rose-petal pink. I became vermillion. I became the sunset.

And I supposed, just for a moment, that Harold was out there somewhere sipping happily at his cold, fizzy Ginger ale, the bubbles tickling his tongue.

 

___________________________

For more of Jade’s work visit her blog at jademphillips.com

Jade is the author of the wonderful Mer series. Check it out (CLICK HERE.)

 

q9er

 ~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

In your wildest dreams and nightmares: exceptional books for your spring/summer reading lists

Books from my friends (I have talented friends and it ROCKS).

For all ages:

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MER: The Captain’s Secret

By Jade M. Phillips

In a land where the sea grows restless, the summer breeze turns to ice and sleet, and Mother Nature has plans of another sort, dark and supernatural forces begin to unfold, fighting to unite the broken prophecy. In the midst of a tangled web lie the Castlecrays, a family with deep tragedy and mysterious secrets, who are torn apart and forced on a treacherous journey.

Coming from a time when kings rule the realm, knights fight for honor, and eminence is power, the children of Castlecray are thrown into an unknown magical ambiance where nothing is as it seems, and bedtime stories come alive right before their eyes. Sweeping from a land of severe and savage seas to the sparkling underwater spires of a magical unknown world, this is a tale of lords and ladies, knights and nobility, traitors and trolls, who are all intertwined in a weaving maze of conspiracy and deception.

Amidst gallantry and guilt, love and loss, the Castlecrays find their fate to be in the hands of their enemies, of each other, and of their new mysterious allies, the Wavekeepers—all vying to keep the balance between good and evil, land and sea, in a fight for the ultimate desire; the power of MER.MER: The Captain’s Secret (is the 1st book in the MER series. Next one is MER: Falling Kingdom, due to come out this fall.)

Amazon link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00AVKVPY4
Book trailer link: http://youtu.be/-qUquvld1Vk
MER’s fb fan page: www.facebook.com/merbook1
Jade’s author fan page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jade-M-Phillips/227166404087086?ref=hl
Jade’s blog. http://www.jademphillips.com

About the Author

Jade M. Phillips, aside from being an author, can play guitar, do a frighteningly accurate portrayal of a spider monkey, and has the unique and magical ability to vanquish entire armies of snarling trolls with a flick of her pen. When she is not writing about mystical creatures and lovable characters, she’s having nightly dance parties with her kids, blogging about whatever tickles her fancy at the moment, and testing new recipes on the stove (which coincidentally, usually ends up testing her smoke detectors as well.) Jade M. Phillips resides in Arizona with her husband, two children, and her crazy cat, William Wallace Braveheart Fuzzy McFarland the Third.

For Grown Ups Only

The Feeder

by Mandy White

51U433+6b5L._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA278_PIkin4,BottomRight,-52,22_AA300_SH20_OU01_The Feeder gives brutality a new meaning…

Victims horribly mutilated, with parts missing and inserted in their mouths…

An aspiring actress-turned-prostitute falls victim to the killer, leaving behind a grieving twin obsessed with revenge.

Warning:
Graphic violence and scenes of mutilation. Some readers may find the content of this book offensive. Read at your own discretion.

This book is DRM free – can be read on non-Kindle devices.

Follow this link: http://www.amazon.com/The-Feeder-ebook/dp/B00BTJYY4Y/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1366146386&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Feeder+White

Biography

Mandy White is a Canadian author who resides on Vancouver Island, British Columbia where she is living her dream of being one of those weird, reclusive writer types. She primarily writes fiction in the horror genre, often featuring Canadian characters and locations. She is founder of the WPaD group (Writers, Poets and Deviants), best known for their charity anthologies.

Published works include:

The Jealousy Game
Non-fiction – A guide to dysfunctional relationships where excessive jealousy is present.

Avenging Annabelle
Fiction – A thriller about a distraught father who seeks revenge on his daughter’s abductor.

Dysfictional: Short Stories for Twisted Minds
Fiction – A collection of Mandy White’s short stories, including the novelettes, A Feast Not So Fancy and The Immigrant.

The Feeder (April, 2013 release)
Fiction – A thriller told from the point of view of an individual whose twin sister is brutally murdered, sparking a gruesome and bloody vendetta.

Creepies: Twisted Tales from Beneath the Bed by WPaD
Fiction – A horror anthology featuring two of Mandy White’s stories along with a collection of chilling tales from the talented writers of WPaD.

Passion’s Prisms: Tales of Love and Romance by WPaD
Fiction – A romance anthology featuring two of Mandy White’s stories along with a collection of romantic tales from the talented writers of WPaD

The Immigrant
Fiction – A Sci-fi/comedy novelette about an alien with extremely poor hygiene who comes to Earth to genetically engineer a new food source. (Featured in Dysfictional)

A Feast Not So Fancy
Fiction – A horror novelette about a loner who finds himself paralyzed and at the mercy of his hungry house cats. (Featured in Dysfictional)

Zombie Cuisine
Fiction – A short story told from the point of view of a zombie who encounters a lost love in her search for sustenance. (Featured in Dysfictional and Creepies)

The Creators by M.W. Sharpe and Mandy White
Fiction – An alternative origin of the species story based on various metaphysical theories.

Discovery (Chronicles of Man – The First Age)

By Robert Betz

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It’s the year 2174…
A stunning discovery in the outer reaches of the solar system promises to change the course of human history and usher in a new era.

The task of unlocking its secrets falls on Dr. David Moravian, a brilliant but arrogant scientist mired in the trappings of his own success.

But before Moravian can help mankind, he must first come to terms with his own humanity.

Follow this link: http://www.amazon.com/Discovery-Chronicles-Man-First-ebook/dp/B00B76JRIM/ref=sr_1_fkmr1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366147264&sr=8-1-fkmr1&keywords=Discovery+Rob+Betz

From the Author

I hope you enjoy “Discovery”! It is the first of over forty stories in the “Chronicles of Man” series, which will be broken into three “Ages”. With this story, I’ve created a universe which will hopefully enthrall you and keep you coming back for more of the stories I’ll be writing.

Please take a moment to write a review. It doesn’t matter if you loved or hated the story, your feedback as a reader is invaluable to me!

THE

By Nathan Tackett

51trCXLoqkL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA278_PIkin4,BottomRight,-49,22_AA300_SH20_OU01_JOHN SCHMIDT is a loser.
He’s an overweight mall cop plagued with nightmares. His only joy in life comes from singing karaoke at the local dive bar.
Feeling adventurous, John goes out to a trendy Goth club to see an old friend perform – an old friend that died five years ago.
A few days later John wakes up to find the naked dead body of a missing co-worker on his kitchen floor.
Then things gets really weird…
John soon discovers that he comes from a long line of losers cursed to save the world from an unknown evil-an evil so absolutely terrible that it threatens to destroy the universe with its own nightmares.
Armed with absolutely nothing other than his father’s notebook and a beat up Buick, John must ultimately decide if this world is even worth saving-saving from the evil that is only known by one word…THE.

Follow this link: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00BACVPHE/ref=pd_lpo_k2_dp_sr_2?pf_rd_p=1532201582&pf_rd_s=lpo-top-stripe-1&pf_rd_t=201&pf_rd_i=B004W84DLI&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_r=07DG5557F3PFA5C703RF

About the Author

Nathan Tackett wrote some words once. He then wrote some more words. Wash, rinse,repeat, until the day he can make a living off this or he dies -whichever comes first. He is most comfortable in the realms of dark humor, science fiction, and booze soaked literature. You could call him a genre-hopper. He’s been called worse. He is best known for his collections of short stories and poetry. Tackett’s writing has been called “…the bastard child of Charles Bukowski and Chuck Palahniuk.” It has also been called pure crap. Currently, he lives somewhere he doesn’t really want to. He would personally like to thank you for stopping by.

A note from Juliette: I love this group of authors as fellow members of the WPaD group. But I have to tell you up front that I would not be recommending these books if I didn’t know they were good. I’ve read big chunks of most of these books before they were published and I am impressed and inspired. Without Mandy and Nathan I doubt if I’d even be writing this blog.

More spring/summer reading to come on Vampire Maman!

xoxoxo

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman