Thursday, May 29, 2014

Book Blast, Giveaway & Interview: Freakquency by Caddell Brown

Freakquency Banner 450 x 169_thumb[1]






Caddell Brown

Genre: Speculative, Supernatural, Horror, Erotica

Publisher: NomaBlack

Date of Publication: 02/14/2014


Number of pages: 187

Word Count: 47000

Cover Artist: NomaBlack

Purchase at Amazon

Book Description:

What southern-grown, rock star Rick Chamberland doesn’t know about his family’s dark past comes to light when he returns home to Louisiana at the request of his mother. Rick has spent the last fifteen years of his life dedicated to music, touring the world, completely oblivious to the secrets coded in his legacy.

Meanwhile, Song Peters, a dutiful daughter taking care of a dying mother, dreams of the day she can break free of small town life and pursue her one true passion, singing. Rick meets Song and instantly sparks ignite.

They make beautiful music together and soon find that they share similar upbringings. Rick comes to learn that their families are supernaturally intertwined and that the one denominator (a demon by the name Nova) connected to both families threatens to destroy them all if they do not obey.

Book Trailer:



Character Name: Rick Chamberland

Character Bio: Rick (Richard Jean-Louis) Chamberland is a southern boy turned international superstar, born in southern Louisiana in the fictitious town of DeCharles. Rick was born to two parents: Jonathan Edward Chamberland and Rose Marie (Adellaide) Chamberland. Rick's father died when Rick was four years old. As a result of his father's death, Rick was raised by his mother and watched over from time to time by his mother's maid and confidant, Lucretia Bouvier. Rick was home-schooled for most of his life by private tutors hired by his mother. He showed signs at an early age of talent in singing and playing musical instruments. His mother fostered his abilities and set her sights on creating a name and a career for her son.

Rick today is internationally known as a popstar singer/songwriter/musician. When he isn't in the recording studio, he is crisscrossing the globe touring constantly. He has a reputation as a ladies' man, a reputation he upholds. He never settles for one woman longer than a couple of weeks. He is something of a commitment-phobe. Early in his career he was called affectionately so, a mama's boy, because his mother managed the start of his singing career. But now that she hasn't been his manager for some time, the press has let up on that moniker. He is private where concerns his family and his mother. He visits her only on occasion so as to keep the paparazzi from pestering her, his past and his home. He is very protective of his mother and his life away from the spotlight.



clip_image002 Take this image, then imagine singer Justin Timberlake. He is my Rick Chamberland.


Describe yourself what is your worst and best quality?

Best quality – my looks and my talent. Worst quality – indecisiveness.

What is the one thing you wish other people knew about you?

Nothing. They already know too much.

What is your biggest secret something no one knows about?

I don’t have any secrets.

What are you most afraid of?

The ocean.

What do you want more than anything?

To be the first singer to broadcast a concert from space.

What is your relationship status?


How would you describe your sense of fashion?

International country-boy, if there is such a fashion style. You know I once wore a silver suit for a music video. It was terribly hot but I looked good while wearing it.

How much of a rebel are you?

On a scale from one to ten about a seven. My mom would kill me if I go too far.

What do you considered to be your greatest achievement?

Singing for the President and his wife. And, singing for the Queen of England. That was…that was nuts.

What is your idea of happiness?

The ocean. Okay, not the ocean but the beach, the sand, wind, tropical climates. No noise, no phones, no photographers just quiet. Gee, I think I need to schedule a vacation. [laughs]

What is your current state of mind?

My current state of mind…I need a vacation. [laughs again]

What is your most treasured possession?

My mother. I mean, like my family. She’s all the family I have. But you want something inanimate, like a material possession. Okay, let’s see, my army jeep. I bought one recently. It’s the kind that has no top; kinda like those guys drove on the television series M.A.S.H. I’m having it restored. I can’t wait to drive it around while on vacation on a beach somewhere.

What is your most marked characteristic?

My eyes. Most women like it. My nose. I get from my Dad, as well as my height. My talent. I can’t tell you where that came from.

What is it that you, most dislike?

Lots of personal, invasive questions. Kinda like this interview. [smile] Just kidding. I don’t do these type interviews a lot, so…you’re welcome.

Which living person do you, most despise?

Living? Um, no one. Dead? Well, there’s one that comes to mind, but I won’t say who.

What is your greatest regret?

I missed out on the normal stuff growing up. You know, from going to school, to softball practices, summer camp. Stuff like that I didn’t get to do like other kids.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

In a man? Loyalty. Standing by your woman. Not running off…or dying and leaving her to fend for herself. That’s tough.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

You want me to answer honestly? [laughs] Um, I like humor. If she can make me laugh…that’s a start.

Who is your favorite hero in fiction?


Which living person do you most admire?

Obama. I mean, President Obama.

If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?

Nothing. I’m perfect. [grins]

What is your motto?

All or nothing.



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Caddell Brown, born and raised in East Texas, authors a range of speculative fiction. Among her early influences are artist Rene Magritte, film director Andrei Tarkovsky and author Dan Simmons.

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Wednesday, May 28, 2014

New Release!! Crane by @Rourkewrites


Presented by:

New release

Title: Crane
Series: Legends Saga Book 1
Author: Stacey Rourke
Genre: NA paranormal 
Audience: Older teens and up 
Formats: eBook and print 
Publisher: Anchor Group Publishing 
Cover By: Najla Qamber Designs 
Editor: There for You Editing 
Date Published: May 26, 2014


The Horseman is unending,
his presence shan’t lessen.
If you break the curse,
you become the legend.
Washington Irving and Rip Van Winkle had no choice but to cover up the deadly truth behind Ichabod Crane’s disappearance. Centuries later, a Crane returns to Sleepy Hollow awakening macabre secrets once believed to be buried deep.
What if the monster that spawned the legend lived within you?
Now, Ireland Crane, reeling from a break-up and seeking a fresh start, must rely on the newly awakened Rip Van Winkle to discover the key to channeling the darkness swirling within her. Bodies are piling high and Ireland is the only one that can save Sleepy Hollow by embracing her own damning curse.
But is anyone truly safe when the Horseman rides?

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authorgifThe Gryphon Series is written by Stacey Rourke. She lives in Michigan with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and two giant, drooly dogs. Stacey loves to travel, has an unhealthy shoe addiction and considers herself blessed to make a career out of talking to the imaginary people that live in her head. She is currently hard at work on the continuations of this series as well as other literary projects. The Gryphon Series is available wherever fine books are sold.

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Contact Info: Visit the author at
Twitter @Rourkewrites
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Three Day Release Blast Schedule - Crane, Legends Saga #1 by Stacey Rourke on May 26, 27 and 28, 2014.
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May 27
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Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Book Blast, Interview & Giveaway: Euphoria-Z by Luke Ahearn

Euphoria - Z Banner 450 x 169






Book 1

Luke Ahearn

Genre: Thriller/Zombie Apocalypse

Publisher: Luke Ahearn

Date of Publication: May 19, 2014

ISBN-13: 978-1497497382

ISBN-10: 1497497388

Number of pages: 409

Word Count: 118,099

Cover Artist: Steven J Catizone

Book Description:

Civilization shuts down as throngs of speechless hedonists fill the streets in deadly revelry. They feel only pleasure and never pain, even as they are injured, maimed, and mutilated. Few people remain in the world unaffected, left to witness the madness unaware that things are about to get unbelievably worse.

Cooper is among the few survivors of a conspiracy to depopulate the world. One week ago, college was his biggest concern. Now he is on a dangerous journey to find his sister as an ever-present threat of nightmarish proportions engulfs the world, throwing him in the path of some of the most malicious people that ever walked the earth.


The present, Monterey, California

“Fuck!” The wiry, gray-haired old man felt his eyes go wide with surprise, but he quickly got his shit together. Jasper scowled; now he was very pissed off. He might stoop and shuffle when he walked, but he didn’t take any shit.

Some big fat bastard was bear-hugging him from behind. He could see white mountains of wet flab before his eyes, and he smelled vomit. He felt a massive wet belly and man tits pressing against his back. Large folds of cold wet flesh engulfed him, and he shuddered at the sensation.

He hated hugs, especially from men, and hugs from big fat sweaty bastards were absolutely unacceptable. He carried his best spiked hammer, an old-school Craftsman from back in the day, before the gooks were making them. He was just itching to use it. The fat bastard was yelling something in his ear.

“I love you! I love you, man!”

“Ahhh, geez!” Jasper twisted out of the flabby cocoon and took a few steps back. What he saw disgusted him. It was a giant fat kid, a head taller than himself, who looked like a giant baby, all hairless and soft. The kid was smiling like an idiot, and that made Jasper even more pissed off. Food smeared the kid’s face and ran down his chins in greasy streams between his man tits and over his belly. All Jasper could think was that all that shit was all over his back. Now he would have to burn his shirt and take a long, hot shower.

The kid wore nothing but baggy white underwear soaked in sweat. Jasper shuddered at the clammy coldness on his back. His flannel shirt clung to him and felt like a cold, wet bathing suit.

“I love you, man!” The big fat kid smiled as he came at him for another hug.

“Ahhhh! Fuck you!” Despite his advanced age, Jasper moved with an efficiency and force that spoke of his many years as a carpenter. He brought the spiked hammer down on the kid’s skull, and it collapsed inward with little resistance. He liked the sensation of cracking a head but hated wasting the time to do it.

The kid dropped to the concrete like a wet sack. He was still smiling, which made cracking his skull less enjoyable. Jasper wished he could bash every asshole around with his trusty hammer. He looked around to make sure another shithead wasn’t looking for a hug.

A woman came at him, hooting so loud he could hear it over the crowd, waving her tits at him. He took her out too, with an easy smack between the eyes. He had enough of this shit. He cracked a few more skulls for fun, but he got bored. It was always the same: an easy tap to the skull and the moron dropped, still smiling.

The streets were crammed with people, and they were all acting crazy. Jasper just wanted to get home. It seemed everyone was congregating downtown, streaming in from the surrounding neighborhoods. People were walking in large groups, arm in arm, naked and clothed, dancing, running, and hugging. It all made Jasper sick, just god-awful sick.

He tried to go all the way downtown and almost got caught up in the crowd. People were pushing and jamming each other into doors until they cracked open. He heard the crash of large plate-glass windows, but no one reacted. In fact, he saw people just getting pushed through the windows in a wave. He could tell that people were getting seriously injured and killed, and he just wanted to get the hell out of there.

He left at the right time. The press of the massive crowd smashed and suffocated, ground and trampled, and killed many—and the party continued to grow. No one screamed in panic or pain. No one yelled for help or dialed 911. And no one stopped to offer assistance, an apology, or true human interaction of any kind. Everyone was bent on doing exactly what they wanted to do, and what anyone else wanted didn’t matter to them in the slightest.

In any place where people gathered for a good time, the crowds were thick. The mall was packed, but the hospital was empty. The wharf was so full that hundreds fell into the icy waters of the bay. The office parks and businesses were dark and silent. Some groups formed parties on random streets for one reason or another.

A large majority of the city was empty, devoid of people. Most left their homes and walked away, leaving doors unlocked and often wide open. They would join a group and wander away.

There were still a few souls hiding indoors who were anything but euphoric. They watched with fear and horror the goings-on outside their windows. Jasper had been one of these, but he needed his goddamned pills and had to drive through all this crazy shit to get them. Of course, when he got to the damn pharmacy it was closed. He had tried to call ahead, but no one answered the phone. He was pissed. He wanted nothing to do with this crazy shit. He didn’t want to see any of it and certainly didn’t want to walk through it. He saw quite a few people doing things he had only seen in his buddies’ dirty magazines. But there was one thing every single person was doing: smiling like a retard with a lollipop—every single one.

At first, he thought all the outlandish behavior was confined to idiots, kids, and queers. It had to be some new drug to get them this nuts, he thought. But too many people were acting bonkers, too many people who just didn’t fit the behavior.

He walked as quickly as he was able away from the crowd and back to his car. He’d seen some shit in his day, but in the last few the world had descended into pandemonium. There were reports that almost everyone around the world was walking away from their jobs, no matter how critical. Everything was grinding to a halt. Transportation, communication—private or military, trivial or critical—everything was just going belly up. Jasper had known this day was coming ever since the blacks were allowed to vote.

And the crooks in Washington didn’t know anything. They said it was an unknown virus and creatively named it Euphoria-Z. Z because they didn’t know what it was, only what it did. And their advice? Stay indoors and away from crowds, bunch of geniuses.

Jasper had never expected he would need to kill people, not since the war, but in the last few days he had been forced to. The streets were crazy, and he wouldn’t even be outside if he hadn’t needed his pills. He felt as if he were the only sane person for miles. He looked at his feet and wondered, only briefly, if something were wrong with him? No, couldn’t be, he thought. None of this was right. The world had gone crazy.



(This must be the most bloody amazing interview I have had yet with a character, just bloody amazing! I am so reading this book)


Character Name: “Banjo”

Character Bio:

Hey sweetie, you want to know all about old Banjo huh? I don’t blame you. My story is a fascinating one. I have no idea who my parents were, assholes no doubt on account I was taken from them by the state. They never came looking for me but my granddad hunted me down and took me in. He was a very mean old drunk, never mean to me mind you. He and I got along just fine. He gave me no shit and I gave him none. He’d sit around naked looking at his dirty magazines. I’d bring him his cigs and bourbon. Well, come sixteen the old fart stopped living. I was on my own. The state wanted to take me but I split. I killed a man my first night out. I needed some cash and he had some. I came alive that night as I was pounding that dude’s head flat with a chunk of concrete. That’s when I knew I was “the” badass. The rest is history.

Banjo (1)

Describe yourself what is your worst and best quality?

I ain’t got no bad qualities. But the good ones are like ass kicking, gun running, getting the ladies. I always get the ladies, whether they want it or not. And I’m me, what better quality could a man have?

What is the one thing you wish other people knew about you?

Oh they already know. You don’t fuck with me.

What is your biggest secret something no one knows about?

Why the fuck should I tell you? ‘Sides, I ain’t got no secrets.

Well, I guess I don’t like people knowing how happy Costco makes me. Damn, Costco’s a wonderland, man. I get all happy like a little shit when I’m in one, and I don’t like people seeing me that way.

What are you most afraid of?

The fuck you talking about? I ain’t afraid of shit. I outta kick you ass for asking me that.

What do you want more than anything?

What every normal male wants—titties, booze, and a good book. AH HA HA! Fuck, that’s funny. A book.

What is your relationship status?

I’m a free man. Some old lady wants to be mine, that’s great; I’ll just never be hers or anybody else’s.

How would you describe your sense of fashion?

I don’t. What kind of dumb ass question is that?

How much of a rebel are you?

You fucking kidding me? I’m an outlaw biker, the 1% that don’t give a shit about nothing.

What do you considered to be your greatest achievement?

Killing five rival gang members single handedly. Oh, and I ran down one of their old ladies on the way out of Dodge, too.

What is your idea of happiness?

Um, titties, booze, and the open road.

What is your current state of mind?

Fucked up, angry, the usual.

What is your most treasured possession?

My grandfather’s helmet from WW2. I wear it all the time as you can see. He used to tell me these stories about how much fun he had during the war. He was a guard at a concentration camp; just following orders, you know. He had some really great stories, I tell you.

What is your most marked characteristic?

I don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about.

What is it that you, most dislike?

People asking me a shitload of questions. I don’t know why I haven’t kicked the shit out of you yet.

Which living person do you, most despise?

Right now? That would be you.

What is your greatest regret?

That I agreed to this fucking interview.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

You saying I’m a fag or something? You’re just asking for me to kick the shit out of you.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Now you’re talking. I like big titties. Um, yeah, that’s it.

Who is your favorite hero in fiction?

Hero in what? You mean like stories. I don’t know any stories but the ones my granddad told me, so I guess my granddad’s my hero.

Which living person do you most admire?


If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?

I think I am too nice sometimes. I put up with too much crap…like this interview.

What is your motto?

Don’t fuck with me.




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Luke Ahearn has over 20 years of professional game development experience and has authored numerous nonfiction books on the topic. He ran his own computer game company for ten years and currently owns MasterWerxStudios, an animatronic prop shop in Monterey, CA.

New Release!! Marking Him by Elena M Reyes


Event Organized by ❤MaE Book Tours & Promo Stars Services

MH2 (1)Synopsis

The day Maya Owens walked into his tattoo shop, everything Talan knew changed.

After officially starting a relationship, he is now having trouble managing Maya—a woman who consumes every part of his being and owns his heart. His need to control her and everything around her drives Maya insane, but he has good reason. After all, Janice is still lurking around and she has a vendetta against his Bitty.
In no time Talan wants more, and it’s faster than Maya can handle; things begin to get complicated.

Months of frustration and want take them for a ride neither wanted, but now yearn for. Will they make it through the turbulence? And if so, at what cost?

Genre: Contemporary Romance/Erotica

Expected Publication Date: May 27, 2014






“What are we doing here?” Maya asked when we pulled up to my shop.

This date was about remembering our first meeting, for her to see how I truly felt.

Taking her face in my hands, I caressed her cheek with the tip of my fingers and leaned forward to ghost my lips over hers.

“Where did we meet, Maya?” I asked, then waited for her reaction. She didn’t disappoint.

A small smile overtook her face. “Here.”

“So where else would I want our first date to be?”

Maya giggled, confusing me. “This isn’t our first date, Talan.”

“No? Are you sure?” She nodded, still laughing at my confused state. “I don’t remember taking you—”

“Shush,” Maya placed her finger over my lips, “our first date happened right here a few months back. The same night we discussed your tattoos.”

“But you said . . .” I trailed off; this having a woman shit was confusing.

“I know what I said, Talan.” She sounded exasperated and all traces of humor left her features. “I asked to date, to make us official.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” I grumbled while rubbing my temples.

“I did; you just heard what you wanted.” Bitty raised an eyebrow at me. “Now, feed me.”

“You drive me insane.” If I didn’t care for this woman, I would strangle her.

My words were met with another raised brow and a saucy smirk. “Then I’m doing something right.”

I laughed at her reply. What could I say to argue that logic? She had every right to act cocky at the moment. Bitty had me by the balls and knew it.

“Stay.” Turning off the engine of my truck, I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out of the car. Maya stayed inside, waiting on me. “Ready?”

She nodded.

I unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbed her by the waist, and helped her down. Her small frame slithered down my body, rubbing against my hardened cock.

“For you? Since we met.”

“Behave.” My warning was met with defiance.

Maya’s hands grabbed onto the front of my pants. She pulled me forward; my erect shaft nestled between our bodies, pushing against her stomach. “Feed me.”

“Hungry?” I grunted when her right hand dipped inside my waistband.

“Commando?” She moaned, ignoring my question. Maya ran the tip of her fingers around the slit, rubbing the liquid there over my swollen head. I shivered while watching, mesmerized, as she brought the glistening digits toward her lips and sucked.

“Maya, please. Let’s go eat. You have to be starving.”

“I am,” she whimpered, as my flavor danced over her tongue. Maya winked at me then shimmied once more against me. The head of my cock—now purple and swollen—peeked out from the waistband, searching for her touch.

“Quit fucking around, Bitty.” Growling under my breath, I tucked my dick back into my pants, much to her disappointment. It’d been torture not taking her, but it was getting worse than before. We were both so close to that moment and we knew it. “I ordered in.”

“Warned you; I’m hungry.” She ignored my statement and instead pulled me down to her level. Her eyes shone with emotion, deep and as pure as she was. “Don’t care about food.” Maya bit my lip, hard. “Feed me.”

“Fuck.” She killed my will, my need to show her I wanted more from her than just the sweet pussy between her thighs.

“First, food, and then for dessert, I’ll give you my cock,” I whispered—more a plea than a bargain—against her lips. She bit down once more and backed away, leaving my lip bruised and tingling.

“Tempting.” Bitty stepped back. “Convince me.”

“Okay.” I took a step forward and backed her into my truck, my fingers tangling in her hair. She opened her mouth to speak, but my finger over those succulent lips silenced her. “Quiet.”

Maya whined against my hold. My hips kept her in place, taunting her, I ground my hardened length against her.

“We’re going to enter my shop and enjoy all the hard work I’ve put into this date. Nod if you understand.” She did. “I want to enjoy you.” Bitty moaned at this, and swiveled her hips into me. “Feed you. Don’t take that away from me.” At those last words, a soft expression overtook her face and she stilled in my arms.

She sighed. “You win.”

“What was that?” I asked needing to hear her say it again.

“You win.” Maya smiled and pushed me back with a gentle shove. “I want it all. You, me, and this date . . . the small talk and flirting. Maybe even another orgasm at the end of the night?” She was too cute when showing her neediness.

“No more harassing me?” I gave her a playful smile.

“For now.” She winked then pushed me toward the front doors of my shop.

“Stop.” I turned to face her. Maya’s look was confused, but her confusion turned into that burning need I loved when she realized what I’d pulled from my pockets. “Turn around,” I demanded and she complied.

She did. No questions, just obedience. I could get used to that.

“I’m going to cover your eyes.” My words were met with a needy whimper. Maya pressed her body closer to mine. The heat coming off her skin seared me.

“How do you expect me to behave if—”

“Quiet. Not a word,” I whispered into her ear and laid a small kiss on her neck. “Just enjoy.” The small blindfold I’d pulled from my pocket dangled from my finger. Her eyes followed its movement.

I wanted her to see the words etched onto the silk fabric, the ones I’d chosen just for her: Marked.

It said everything I felt. Every one of my pores, every cell in my body wore her stamp—her mark. Now, she would wear mine.


dream cast





About the Author

1503539_601803483236538_370633924_nElena M. Reyes was born and raised in Miami Florida. She is the epitome of a Floridian and if she could live in her beloved flip-flops, she would. As a small child, she was always intrigued with all forms of art—whether it was dancing to island rhythms, or painting with any medium she could get her hands on. Her first taste of writing came to her during her fifth grade year when her class was prompted to participate in the D. A. R. E. Program and write an essay on what they’d learned. Her passion for reading over the years has amassed her with hours of pleasure. It wasn't until she stumbled upon fanfiction that her thirst to write overtook her world. She now resides in Central Florida with her husband and son, spending all her down time letting her creativity flow and letting her characters grow.

Connect with Elena M. Reyes!

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Monday, May 26, 2014

Book Blast, Interview & Giveaway: The Gentleman by @na_pow

The Gentleman Banner 450 x 169_thumb[1]





clip_image002_thumb[1]The Gentleman

Natasha Powell

Genre: Horror, Paranormal (bromance), Fantasy

Date of Publication: April 14th 2014

ISBN: 0615990371

ISBN: 978-0615990378


Number of pages: 266

Word Count: 81,247

Cover Artist: Natasha Powell

Book Description:

James Greene would do anything to keep his soul. But his year on the run from the demon known as The Gentleman, has left him with two choices: kill himself, or pay the piper. While in a dumpy hotel in Florida, wrestling with the thoughts of suicide, a letter sent from a stranger gives James a third choice: get rid of him once and for all.

The letter leads him to his family’s plantation home in Athens, Georgia. There, he discovers not only his family's secrets, but also The Gentleman’s true intentions. The Gentleman offers James a deal he can’t resist, play the last game, and if he wins, he gets to keep his soul.

Available at Amazon and Smashwords


Storm of the Century

It was 1981, and a year since James Greene’s deal with The Gentleman. Days ago, he’d fled from the terrors in South Carolina for the Florida Keys. He intended to reach the Keys before the sun rose, but the storm that put cannon-sized dents into his truck in the wee hours of the morning spoiled his plan. Worst of all, the feeling of someone watching and following him had heightened after he’d entered Florida.

When the droplets of rain became tiny atom bombs exploding on the windshield, he’d swerved around potholes and driven slower than the speed limit to avoid driving his 1959 pickup into a muddy quicksand. The condensation on the windshield formed faster than his wipers could clear it off. As the rain fell harder, gallons of it flooded the inside of his truck by way of the rolled down window on the passenger’s side.

“Damn it! I had only one hundred miles left.” He slammed his fist into the steering wheel. The impact left knuckle marks in the plastic and bent the frame. After taking a deep breath and a swig of rum, he looked on either side of the road for a place to hole-up until the storm died.

Only dreary trees lined the sides of the road. Then, finally, a sign for The Hotel Love Nest blinked on and off beside the road as he drove past. James mashed the brakes to the floor, turned his truck around, and drove back in the direction of the hotel. His bag splashed onto his floorboard, into the swimming pool that grew with each passing minute. As his tires screeched, they pushed slushy mud up and sprayed rocks in every direction.

He parked his truck, more crooked than usual, in front of a rundown hotel. It had all the makings of a bad-side-of-town look. As the rain increased its frenzy and cascaded harder from sky, he rolled the passenger window up to prevent more from pouring inside.

“Okay, one, two, three!”

On three, he opened his door and battered through the storm, until his boots landed in a large puddle outside the main office. He ignored it and continued toward the door. The rain confused his sense of perception, and he overshot the distance to the handle, causing him to open the door with his shoulder, shoving his way inside where he collapsed onto the floor.

Once the door shut, reducing the sounds of the raging thunderstorm, he stood and wiped the rain from his face. With clearer vision, he saw a man with stringy hair, coke-bottle glasses, and greasy clothes sitting dangerously close to a black and white TV behind the desk.

“Hey,” James said and waved his hand to the guy.

The man paid him no mind and watched a woman on the tube scream as a monster slashed her throat.

James moved his hand to his side with stealth and unsheathed his knife.

“No,” he whispered, squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and snapped closed the button to the knife’s casing. “Hey buddy, I need a fuckin’ room.” James smashed his hand on the bell that sat on the desk.

The man moved around to face him. “Ten dollars.” He turned back to the TV.

James ripped out his wallet and put the soggy bills on the counter.

After the man had removed the key from the wall, he slid it over to James. “Room four,” he said while gawking at the TV where a townsman was dragging the monster from its hole. He stuffed more donuts into his cavity-corroded mouth.

“Thanks,” James said and ran back to his truck for his soaked bag.

The rain pelted his skin; the gusts slapping his face and slowing him to a fast walk. Because of the hurricane force winds, the truck’s door weighed a thousand pounds, and he had to dig his feet into the mud to yank it open. After removing his bag and shotgun, he hustled to the sidewalk, but not before grabbing the two sets of dog tags that hung around the rearview mirror. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, the hotel roof finally provided relief from the storm.

He reached into his pocket for the key and accidently snagged a drenched flyer with a fisherman on the front along with it. The wind tossed the paper in the air, and he captured it before it disappeared into the downpour. He held it to the moonlight, scanning it before returning it to his soaked pants.

“Soon, I’ll be James, the fisherman. Just one night and that’s it.” He strolled to room number four and paused before entering. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

The wind swirled, pulling him back toward the rain. He forced his feet forward and focused on the lock. The sounds of the hotel building settling resembled the hair-raising screams from a serial killer’s basement. Something, he was sure of it, called his name.

“It’s not real.” He stabbed the key into the lock. A swift jerk and shake of the door caused the room number to fling free of the bent nails that held it up as the door swung open. Without looking back, he darted into the dark room and closing the door, leaned his back against the door as it closed out the howls of Hurricane Nightmare. Rain dripped off his wet body and streaked down the doorframe.

“Okay, I made it. It’ll take him a while to catch me now.” After standing up from the ground, he turned on the lights and marveled at the disaster of a room. The walls resembled the pocked surface of the dark side of the moon. The bathroom, covered in mildew and mold, had no door. Cracks similar to the ones in the Sahara desert appeared on the ceiling, and cancerous black spots filled the corner. The only positives were a bed, a desk and chair, and a TV.

“This is the worst of the worst. No wonder it was ten dollars.”

Not wasting a minute, he dropped his duffle bag on the floor and unzipped it. After pulling out a velvet pouch, he spread soot at the inside of the door. The smell of burnt leather drifted up to his nose, and a small haze rose from the material. He burned sage in the window seals and set fire to a hard material that he laid in the middle of the room. As the hard substance burned, a smell worse than the room lingered. But once it evaporated, the muggy smell of a dead man’s anus withered away.

Now to get out of these. He wiped away some of the water from his face as he reached down, unlaced his boots, removed his wet socks, peeled off his shirt and pants, and tossed them onto the ground. From his bag, he retrieved a dry pair of socks and pants and put them on.

After unsheathing his knife, he felt the groves and tic marks engraved along the handle and placed it on the table. There were thirty-four marks etched in the wooden handle.

When he’d finished, he rested his short-barreled shotgun against the table where he relaxed and pulled out his Florida State game-winning baseball from college. He tossed the ball into the air, launching it higher and higher. It hit the ceiling and pieces of plaster fell on his head.


Once he stood, he brushed the fragments from his matted hair and shoulders onto the stained carpet and stopped the baseball from rolling under the bed with his foot. The ball still had pieces of plaster on it, and he brushed them off then tossed it into his bag. His bag contained another treasure of his—rum. He removed a new bottle and uncapped it, sucking down the spicy juice through his dehydrated lips.

“Huh.” He wiped what spilled off his face and recapped the bottle.

Sitting at the table, he flattened the torn flyer and spread it across the broken and splintered top. While shutting his eyes, he pictured the sea, the way it smelled, and the way it felt against his skin. The whales collided with the boat, and he heaved and hoed with the dozen or so other men that worked along with him on the large vessel. The ropes burned his hands and blood mixed with the salty water. No one knew if they’d die by the whale’s hand or the storm. Nevertheless, that was all right by him. There was no one around hounding and harassing him, taking away his sleep and ability to think. No one threatening his life, family, or conscience. It was him and the sea. James and his thoughts.

“I can’t wait.” He smiled and interlaced his fingers behind his head.

A violent bang at the door erased the peaceful vision. James fell from his seat onto the floor, whacking his head along the way. When he rose, he dashed to the light switch and flicked it off.

The thing outside beat and hammered on the door. With his back pressed against the wall and breathing as little as possible, he shook each time the door thumped. Sweat raced down his chest and forehead. His nostrils flared as lilac seeped into the room, and he resisted the urge to gag.

“No,” he whispered.

The thing scratched and chattered on the other side of the door, and multiple voices talked simultaneously. It raged and laughed, and the windows vibrated; little cracks spread across the glass.

James squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to God, any God that happened to hear him. He prayed until his mouth was too dry to open. Then he prayed in his head.

The commotion ended, and the ominous presence left. He lifted his trembling hand to the newly cracked window, pushed the curtain away, and saw nothing. After turning on the lights, he sat at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

“Only one more day. I’ve had one hundred fucking miles, and now this.” He drove his fist into the wall beside the bed. The pain caused him to wave his hand.

“It’s one of the hallucinations. You haven’t slept in what, three days? It’s like the time in Macon.” He rubbed his head.

A letter swished into his room from under the door and floated beside him onto the tattered covers. James leapt from it. His eyes widened at the sight of the handwriting.

“It’s just paper,” he muttered. Mustering the courage, he seized the letter. It shook in his unsteady hands as he read the words.



James’ thoughts spun. He looked around the room for something, anything, to help him stand upright, but instead landed on the bed. The words raced through his mind, smashing the good memories aside.

“I can’t leave?” He tugged at his hair and wiped the sweat from his face. What he’d spent the last several months planning was all for nothing. A deep emptiness filled his soul. Not even the burning of the rum could fill it. He curled into a ball and wept himself to sleep.


Character Name: James Greene aka Jimi, but don't call him that. 

Bio: James Greene was born in a Podunk town outside of Gainesville, FL 1947. After his mother left him in 1965 to join a band of hippies, he and his father soon looked out for one another. James developed the love for baseball through his father and perfected his pitch during the summers between school. After a fight with Jeff McNeal, over who was the best player in the league, James and Jeff became best friends. They went to college together, they even went to war together. When the enemy shot down James plane on a refueling missing back to Fire Base Evans in 1971, their plane crash landed into howitzers, killing Jeff and a few other passengers. James survived, taking the scars of war with him.

If all this tragedy wasn't enough, something more incredulous happened to James in those same jungles in 1974. After the enemy shot down his plane, he soon loss conscientiousness while searching for solace. This is when he meet the demon known as The Gentleman. Wanting to see his little girl Jenni again, he made the pack to play games, but didn't really understand the extent of the demon's egregious nature. 

Soon, James became The Gentleman's lap dog, killing for no reason and collecting the debt on other souls The Gentleman tormented, and playing games so vial, so banal, that anything was at stake. Until one day, he'd had enough. Then the Gentleman used James' daughter, Jenni, as way to cajole James into abiding by his rules. Even though he agreed to continue to play along, it was too late for James because unbeknownst to him, the contract indicated, "The day you don't want to pay the games is the day I own your soul." In 1980, James went on the run, until The Gentleman finally caught him a year later and forced him to play the last game. In this game he could not only win his soul back, but also his freedom. 

Describe yourself what is your worst and best quality?

There’s nothing bad about this piece of work that came out of my mother, but for the sake of the interview I guess I could answer.

The best, this amazing face. The worst part, I’d do anything for the ones I love. I guess some see that as a good quality but not when that quality results in you making a deal that cost you your soul.

What is the one thing you wish other people knew about you?

I got a badass change up. That’s a baseball pitch.

What is your biggest secret something no one knows about?

Next question.

What are you most afraid of?

Never being able to watch my little girl, Jenni, grow-up.

What do you want more than anything?

To be able to go fishing with my dad and Jeff.

What is your relationship status?


How would you describe your sense of fashion?

If it smells clean, I’m wearing it.

How much of a rebel are you?

There’s the line, and I just jumped over it.

What do you considered to be your greatest achievement?

My game wining pitch for UF when I was 22.

What is your idea of happiness?

Rum, a boat, the river, and a radio.

What is your current state of mind?


What is your most treasured possession?

The picture of my and my ole man out hunting dear when I was 13.

What is your most marked characteristic?

Now, my missing finger on my throwing arm.

What is it that you, most dislike?

The Gentleman, with every fiber of my body.

Which living person do you, most despise?

Same as the pervious question.

What is your greatest regret?

Making the deal with that god-forsaken demon. I should’ve died in the jungles of Vietnam.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

Next question…

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Just for sex, does she look good? For something more, we have to have a great conversation and she has to be able to tell me when I’ve mess up.

Who is your favorite hero in fiction?


Which living person do you most admire?

Was my father, now no one.

If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?

I’d make it where I could survive off rum alone.

What is your motto?

Don’t blink; just let life burn your eyes.



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Natasha Powell is an avid gamer, anime and manga junky, comic artist, sci/fi nut, in other words, a well-rounded nerd. When she isn’t busy fighting pirates for booty on the high seas, Natasha resides in her home in Tampa, Florida, where she continues to write horror, thriller, and sci/fi novels and short stories.


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