Gentlemen of Horror 2013

Gentlemen of Horror

2013

Presented By

LG Anthologies

Smashwords Edition

Gentlemen of Horror 2013

Copyright © 2013 by the individual authors, photographers and artists.

All rights reserved.

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This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. The authors are grateful for your appreciation of their work; however, as all proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to their cause, if you would like to gift or share this eBook, please do so by purchasing an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors, and supporting The American Cancer Society.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner what so ever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

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Acknowledgments

We would like to thank: Jennifer L. Miller, for her pure drive and honest devotion. Elyse Draper, for her unmatched formatting skills, her deep well of knowledge concerning digital books, and her consummate support of the LGOH Anthologies. Erich A. Johnson for taking on a little extra work. And lastly, all of the Gentlemen who have affectionately contributed their hard work, without which, there would be no Gentlemen of Horror Annual Anthology at all.

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Content Warning

Due to the graphic nature and explicit sexual nature of some of the work contained within, we would like to warn our readers. We also do not recommend the following reading for anyone under 16 years of age.

Table of Contents

Foreword by Jennifer L. Miller

Erich A. Johnson

About Author

Joseph DeRepentigny

About Author

Sean Patrick Little

About Author

Dylan J. Morgan

About Author

W. C. Morrow

About Author

C.T. Steel

About Author

M. P. Fitzgerald

About Author

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Gentlemen of Horror

2013

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Foreword

When I think of the word, horror, I think of names like, Poe, Shelly, Lovecraft, Rice and King; names of writers and poets, throughout history, who have brought a certain kind of elegance to the horror genre simply by sharing their incredible imaginations with the world using the written word.

H.P. Lovecraft said, The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. Horror fiction is meant to elicit a response. Whether that response is emotional, psychological or physical, it’s meant to make you feel fear. There are books, movies, and music the world over dedicated to being scary.

The only problem is, each individual has a different view as to what is scary to them. You may find something utterly terrifying that only slightly creeps me out. Your friend might insist the new horror flick is the scariest movie ever filmed, but you watch it, and it kind of makes you laugh. And I could write a much longer introduction if we delved into phobias. One person’s clown is my spider.

Horror writers write, generally, what is scary to them. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves, serial killers; we all have our own fears. These writers delve into the supernatural and the macabre, the terror of daily life, the sex and the gore, and come back up with tales meant to scare the living daylights out of you. Some stories will, and some won’t, it’s the nature of the beast.

When I began this anthology in 2008, my dream was to have a collection of horror that was visually stunning, full of beautifully written stories that stick with you for days or even weeks after you read them. We hit the mark then, and we hit it even closer this time.

I can’t thank the writers involved in this anthology enough (and I have, repeatedly, ask them). They have essentially donated not only their work, but their time and dedication to make this anthology simply amazing. Remember, all the proceeds will be donated to the American Cancer Society. All the work in this volume was lovingly written for that cause.

In your hands you hold some fantastic stories. There is poetry, flash fiction, short stories and long stories. There are ghosts, werewolves, vampires, zombies, and much, much more. Some will scare you, some will make you laugh, some will make you cry, but they are all, each and every one, remarkable.

I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I have.

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Crybaby Bridge

By

Erich A. Johnson

Only an hour had passed since sunset, yet the late August wind had swept away the summer heat, leaving a mild, breezy night in its wake. The sky had been filled with dark storm-clouds since early afternoon, but not a single drop of rain had fallen. The storm will hold until tomorrow, Anton thought, looking up at the sky. It was too dark to see the clouds, but the evidence remained of their lingering presence in the night sky by the complete lack of stars in an otherwise usually pristine view.

He stood on the front porch of a two-story farm house, a bit off the beaten path. It sometimes amazed him that Michael was still part of the same school district, so far away from the rest of their classmates, though he had to admit he enjoyed the ride to Michael’s house much more driving his truck than he did sitting in the back of his mother’s mini-van when they were kids.

Mike, he knocked again, growing a bit annoyed at how long he stood waiting at the door. Michael had made these plans three weeks ago, Anton sighed. You’d think he could at least remember what time I was picking him up.

He felt a rumbling in his pocket and took out his phone. A text from Michael: When you get here, just come right in. Door’s unlocked.

He checked the time on his phone and shook his head. Could’ve told me that five minutes ago. He opened the door, calling out as he did. Hey, you ready to go? We’re supposed to meet Chris in 10, and he ain’t exactly right around the—

Which is why I told you not to be late, Michael said, coming down the stairs. He tossed Anton a four-pack of Red Bull and walked past him to the truck. I’ve been waiting for you for at least ten minutes now.

Whatever, Anton told himself, following him outside. You seriously locked the truck? Michael asked, trying the handle of the passenger door again. There isn’t another house for like half a mile. Who the Hell’s gonna break in?

Force of habit, Anton said, unlocking the door with his key remote.

Surprised to see you still retain good habits, Michael smiled. He looked at the Red Bull in Anton’s hand as he got into the truck. They didn’t have the blue ones.

’’S fine, Anton said, tossing the Red Bull into the back seat before climbing into the front. He started the engine while Michael flipped through the iPod, searching for appropriate music.

So, Michael sat back in his chair after finally settling on an old Bad Religion album, any big plans for the fall? You gonna keep working at that gas station? You’ll be running the place before—

I enlisted, Anton cut him off.

Yeah. I heard, Michael nodded, turning up the music.

Word gets around fast these days.

Facebook gets around even faster.

Both men sat and listened to the music for a while. Michael stared at the crops as they went past, and Anton was once again trying to convince himself he was making the right decision. What other choice do you have? He asked himself at last, and sighed.

Chris is bringing Emily, Michael said, still staring out the window. Said she wanted to come.

Okay, Anton said.

You cool with that? he asked, after a pause.

Sure.

I just thought, maybe, this was gonna be a guys’ night thing? Michael looked at Anton, trying to gauge an expression from his face—his voice was dead-pan. I mean, we been talking about this for years, just the three of us.

You think too much, Anton said, turning up the radio.

Michael shrugged, sitting back in his seat for a moment. He then sat up, turning down the stereo. You don’t think Chris is moving kind of fast on this one?

It’s been six months, Anton answered. Always thought late-night ghost stories came pretty damn early in a relationship.

I meant… Michael trailed off. Never mind.

What? Anton asked, looking at Michael.

Nothing. I was just over-thinking it. He turned the music back up, louder than before, and sat back in his seat, staring out the window.

Anton pushed the volume dial in, turning off the stereo. Tell me.

He’s talking marriage, Michael said finally.

Chris has been talking about marriage since he was eight, Anton replied. Ain’t like he bought a damn ring, right?

Michael paused and checked the time on his phone. We’re gonna be late meeting them.

I don’t think Chris will complain.

Think we’ll see anything? Michael asked after another long pause.

You believe in ghosts, Mike? Anton asked, smiling.

Ask me that question again tomorrow, Michael said. He was about to turn the music back on when he stopped, looking at Anton. What about you?

I don’t know, Anton said. He stared intently at the road, completely silent, his eyes vacant, and Michael began to think he was day dreaming. He was about to stir him when Anton continued. I mean, I can’t explain them. Nothing about it makes sense, really. It defies everything I… he trailed off, sighed, and turned the stereo back on. But we’ve all seen things, heard things, felt things. Things we just can’t quite explain.

The road to Chris’s house seemed shorter than usual, but they both knew it was a simple combination of no traffic and Anton’s heavy pedal foot. Neither was surprised to see Chris and Emily waiting for them in the front drive. They were sitting on a blanket on the hood of Chris’s father’s Challenger. The old car hadn’t run in eight years—Chris had spent four of those years trying to fix it—and it was now little more than a glorified yard decoration.

Chris was smiling his usual bright smile when the truck pulled up, jumping to his feet and moving around to the driver’s side, barely waiting for the truck to stop before he opened the door. What the Hell took you so long? he smiled, clasping Anton’s hand.

Mike didn’t wanna answer his door, Anton smiled, stepping down from the truck and embracing Chris.

So what’s your excuse for the rest of the summer, Chris asked, acting wounded. Waiting until the last weekend of break to call me back? You know I go back to Tennessee on Wednesday!

Chris was just finishing up his freshman year at Vanderbilt University in Nashville. Unlike Michael, who had just wrapped up his first year at University of Maryland, Chris had talked about getting far away from Maryland since they were in middle school—Anton was surprised Tennessee was far enough—and Chris had fallen in love with Vanderbilt from day one. It was there he met Emily.

I’ve been busy, Anton said dismissively, walking around the front of the truck. Work and stuff, you know.

You mean ‘working out and stuff’, right? Chris smiled, throwing him a playful jab to the gut. You look good, man. What’s her name?

I didn’t think the Navy had female recruiters, Michael smiled, calling out from the passenger seat. But she must have been damn cute.

Woah, Chris circled around in front of Anton, stopping him. You enlisted?

Six weeks ago, Anton replied. I leave for boot next week.

Damn, man, Chris shook his head, clasping his hand again. Good luck.

Not that he’ll need it, Emily smiled. How are you feeling, Anton? You look tired.

Michael brought Red Bull, Anton replied, grabbing the blanket off the hood of the Challenger.

Chris thinks he’ll have it running by the end of the year, Emily said proudly.

Yeah, Chris jumped in, patting the hood. Just a few small things left. Might need to replace the ignition, sure, but other than that, she’ll be up and running. Just cosmetic left after that.

Still thinking dark blue? Michael asked as Anton got back into the truck, tossing the blanket into the back seat.

No, Chris smiled again, putting an arm around Emily’s waist. We were thinking black and yellow, like the good ol’ Commodore.

Damn, Michael said, getting into the truck. Hear that, Anton? Clearly I went to the wrong damn school.

Chris and Emily got into the back seat, and Anton pulled the truck onto the road. The clouds above seemed to be getting thicker, the night air just a bit darker. Anton could almost swear his headlights were a bit dimmer now than when he’d left the house, but he knew that wasn’t the case. The night likes to play tricks on the mind, he reminded himself as the truck turned onto Governor’s Bridge Road.

But what qualifies it as a horror movie? Michael demanded, turning down the car stereo. It lacks the fundamental aspect of a horror movie—it’s not scary.

That’s your prerequisite?

Yes! It’s in the name! ‘Horror Movie’! How can it be a horror movie unless it’s horrifying?

Wow, way to hamstring an entire genre, Anton replied, smirking. When was the last time you were genuinely scared by any horror movie? He paused to hear Michael’s answer, but when none came, he continued. That’s like saying a comedy movie isn’t a comedy movie unless you laugh at it!

Technically, it’s not! That would make every guy who gets on stage on Open Mic Night a comedian.

So you would agree, then, that the entire Romantic Comedy genre is a paradox? Anton smiled

Really? This again? It’s a great movie!

It’s a terrible movie, Chris interjected from the back, but Michael pretended not to hear.

It’s a classic piece of American cinema. It’s—

Stop. Just stop, Anton cut him off. "First of all, I’m pretty damn sure it was a British movie—though I might be wrong. The entire cast was British, and it did take place in London. Not really a strong argument for an American classic. Second—"

It was still fantastically written, and –

Second! Anton yelled, cutting him off again. Chris gave Michael a quick smack on the back of the head, as