By Ronald Kelly, Brad Smith, Crossroad Press
From the grasp of Southern-Fried Horror comes a suite of news which may in basic terms beat at midnight, diseased middle of Dixie...- An deserted furnace, packed with shadow and haunted via tormented ghosts, stands as a grim testomony to a time whilst cruelty and the abuse of human flesh used to be woefully commonplace...- A man's obsession with mysterious roadkill on a lonesome nation street awakens a scary starvation that cannot be satisfied...- boys enable interest get the higher of them and detect collector of monster motion picture memorabilia is whatever greater than a retired grasp of greasepaint and latex...- A dimwitted projectionist at a small-town drive-in theatre upsets a Saturday evening crowd whilst he unwilling releases a depressing mystery from a dusty and forgotten movie can...- A grandfather's Christmas Eve tale of a unfinished trip by means of a drunken peddler captivates a tender boy and brings concerning the supply of a yule reward as soon as considered endlessly lost...- It began as not anything greater than a shortcut home... a detour via a shadowy stretch of woodland referred to as Tanglewood. yet what awaited an unsuspecting driving force, amid the comb and bramble, made an easy flat tire appear like a frightening trip into madness... 22 terrifying stories of Southern darkness and depravity from Ronald Kelly, the acclaimed writer of worry, Blood relatives, Hell hole, and middle of the night Grinding & different Twilight Terrors.
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Additional resources for Cumberland Furnace & Other Fear-Forged Fables
Then, when she saw me approaching, they changed. They once again became the warm lights of Christian kindness that I was so accustomed to. ” she said. “Well, come on to the kitchen. I ‘ve got a fresh apple crumb cake cooling on the counter. ” As I sat in Grandma’s kitchen that afternoon, eating my second slice of cake, I couldn’t have imagined that Bob and Betty Mason would be dead within a week. The following Thursday, their car had veered unexpectedly across the grass median of the interstate and plowed, head-on, into a tractor-trailer truck.
I’m repaying his transgressions with an act of kindness. Turn the other cheek. ” I wasn’t so sure about that. I stood and watched the dog wolf down my last piece of birthday cake. “If you say so,” I mumbled, scratching my head. The next day, Buster was staggering around in the middle of Mulberry Street, snapping and snarling and foaming at the mouth. The neighborhood kids – me included – watched in horror as Sheriff Tom Stratford shot the dog down with his service revolver. hey strung yellow police tape around Buster’s stiffening body until a man from the county animal control could come out.
Paul,” he saw her mutter. Then he heard her, loud and shrill. ” Paul muttered beneath his breath. ” But it didn’t. It knew where it was going and it got there a moment later. The black-bristled thing leapt into the Escalade and, with a long tail as sleek and serpentine as a monkey’s, grabbed the door handle and slammed the door solidly behind it. ” Paul reached the door as the power locks engaged with a clack! The thing was smart… and it knew what it wanted. And what it wanted at that moment was to not be disturbed.