by Anthology
Matt began to shake off the daze, trying feebly to rise, but I wouldn’t allow it. I leaned over him, pressing him back down against the desk. His eyes went wide as the realization of his new circumstances dawned on him, and I finally received what I had been waiting so patiently for. The room flooded with the smell of his fear, and I breathed in deeply, intoxicated by it.
And then the scent of something else hit my nose, cold, coppery and delicious. My throat started to burn with the deepest thirst I had ever known.
As Matt was scrambling towards the phone on his desk, I tore it away from his grasp with hardly a thought. The cords snapped in two as I tossed it across the room, but the movements were insignificant. I was fascinated by my new find.
On his temple, where I had slammed his head against the sharp edge of the desk, pulsed bright red blood. I watched it drip down his face, transfixed by the enticing red flow. It called to me. It sang to me.
Underneath me, Matt was trying to push up, kicking his feet against the floor trying to gain traction, but it was all in vain. I had him pinned. He tried to yell but one of my hands wrapped over his mouth to stifle his screams. All I cared about was the ruby red liquid that was mesmerizing me.
Slowly, I leaned forward, drawing closer to his face, closer to the blood. Matt stilled momentarily, probably wondering what I was going to do next, but I no longer cared about Matt or his torment. The thirst was pulling me down, controlling my actions. I slid my tongue over his temple, licking the blood from his skin. I tasted salt and copper, and it was everything I had ever wanted.
A thrill shot through me that was unmatched by anything I’d ever felt before, even greater than Nik’s passionate kisses. I had to have more.
Matt’s struggles renewed, but they meant nothing to me. They were as insignificant as a mouse trapped in a lions paw. Excitement thrummed through my core, and my belly rumbled again in anticipation. I closed my eyes, drinking it all in. Letting my jaw drop open, I ran my tongue against my teeth and flicked the tip against the sharp points of my elongated canines.
Opening my eyes, I saw the shadow of Nik standing back from the doorway. There was just enough light falling on him for me to see the expression on his face.
Wanton. Expectant. Evil.
I grinned.
I fell over Matt, my teeth eagerly sinking into the flesh of his neck. It was instinctual, but I still missed the vein at first. I ripped and tore until the blood flowed freely, and I drank it in, satiating the harrowing thirst inside me.
It was warm and sharply metallic as it flowed over my tongue, and it felt like I would never get enough. As I was finally able to satisfy my new, demanding thirst, I knew it was the most wonderful feeling I had ever felt. Nothing else compared. Even the struggles of the doomed man beneath me heightened the experience. It was exquisite.
But other desires began to seep back in as my thirst was fulfilled. Hatred again raced across the forefront of my mind for the man dying beneath me and I knew I wasn’t quite ready for his torment to end. Not this easily, at least.
It was excruciating, but I managed to pull away before Matt’s life force ebbed fully. He gurgled in the blood that had flooded his throat, and I released him finally. He slumped to the floor, his eyes staring at me in disbelief and horror.
I gazed down at him until I was satisfied that he would die here alone as he finished bleeding out, with no one to offer him help, and no one to offer him comfort.
Paralyzed by his fear, he croaked at me – perhaps even an attempt to scream, but I ignored it. Stepping over him, I left the discarded husk of a man behind me and didn’t look back.
As I approached Nik, I saw the approval glimmering in his eyes. He reached out his hand for mine and I grasped on to it gratefully. I was walking away from a life that I was happy to let go of. From this point on, Nik would be my guide... my savior. I finally understood what he had given me.
Life.
And I wanted nothing more than for him to lead me into the darkness.
Our anthology began with a quirky flash, so it is only fitting to end it in a similar fashion. Without further ado…
Prairie Zombies
Chip Putnam
“Now, sonny,” I said. “Everything I’m going to tell you really happened, and that’s God’s truth.”
“What happened, Gramps?” John whispered.
“You see, boy, I had stopped my plowing because it was so blame hot.”
“Which field, Gramps?” he asked, keen to hear more.
“Why, the very field where you were playing this afternoon,” I answered. “We’ve been farming this Nebraska land for four generations. Now, where was I?”
“It was hot...” John answered.
“Don’t interrupt!” I snapped, settling into my chair. “Oh yes, I had been plowing all day. Your great-grandmother had just brought water out to the field, while your mama was dancing off to the side. She would have been about eight years old then.”
“What happened next, Gramps?” John whispered.
“Didn’t rightly know it at the time, but that silly girl was dancing a ritual dance of the Akirioix.”
“The who?”
“The Akirioix!” I said. “They were here first, before us, before the Cheyenne. Most of them was buried on this very farm.”
“Here!” he squeaked.
“Oh yes, here, and Sally was dancing their ritual for raising the dead,” I answered.
“Did they come back as ghosts?” John asked, horrified.
“Not ghosts, Sonny. Much worse. They were zom—”
“Zombies!” he cried.
“Not just zombies, these was prairie zombies,” I said. “They’re tough, like the people who settled this land. A prairie zombie will rip your arm off and smack your head off your shoulders with your own hand. The minute Sally stopped dancing, the ground started shaking. First one arm appeared, then two, and then a head. Soon, it looked like a whole army was rising up right in my wheat field. It made me down-right mad. I’d worked hard clearing that field.”
“What did you do?” John asked.
I answered, “Well, I’d heard of prairie zombies rising up near Omaha. While tough, they could be stopped. Thanks to a couple of traveling salesmen, I had just the thing to do it. I yelled at Helen and Sally to keep the monsters in the field while I ran back to the barn.”
“Gramps, did you have a flame-thrower in the barn?” John asked.
“Humph,” I snorted. “You see, it turns out that my new harvester was also great for destroying zombies. That’s how the farmers in Omaha had taken care of their problem. So, I hitched up my new machine to the horses. That machine did a mighty good job of mowing those zombies. Heads and arms all went into the thresher. It made one fine mess, but it sure cleared—”
“Gramps! What are you telling that boy now?” My granddaughter yelled. “It took us a week to get him to sleep through the night after the last story you told him.”
“Is it just a story, Gramps?” John asked.
“Let’s just say that zombies also make great fertilizer,” I replied with a wink. “That darn field still produces five times more wheat than all the other fields combined.”
Contributors
Sharon Sant was born in Dorset, but now lives in Stoke-on-Trent. She graduated from Staffordshire University in 2009 with a degree in English and creative writing. She currently works part time as a freelance editor and continues to write her own stories. An avid reader with eclectic tastes across many genres, when not busy trying in vain to be a domestic goddess, she can often be found lurking in local coffee shops with her head in a book. Sometimes she pretends to be clever, but really loves nothing more than watching geeky TV and eating Pringles. She is the author of a string of YA novels including The Memory Game, Runners and the Sky Song trilogy.
To find out more you can follow her on twitter: @sharonsant or find her on Facebook. You can also go to her website: www.sharonsant.com
Angela Roquet is the au
thor of the Indie Reader approved urban fantasy novel, Graveyard Shift, the first book in the Lana Harvey, Reapers Inc. series, as well as Pocket Full of Posies and For the Birds. Book four of the series, Psychopomp,
will be available February 2014.
Angela is also the author of Crazy Ex-Ghoulfriend, a YA zombie comedy, available October 2013.
Angela is a great big weirdo. She collects Danger Girl comic books, owls, skulls, and random craft supplies. Her favorite book/movie is The Wizard of Oz. She likes a little coffee in her cream, and her favorite food is sushi, even though it’s takes her FOREVER to make. Angela is a peace loving, tree hugging hippy who tries to buy organic and local as often as possible. She’s a fan of renewable energy sources, marriage equality, and religious tolerance. As long as whatever you’re doing isn’t hurting anyone, she’s a fan of you, too.
Angela lives in Sedalia, Missouri with her husband and son. When she’s not swearing at the keyboard, she enjoys painting, goofing off with her family and friends, and reading books that raise eyebrows. You can find Angela online at www.angelaroquet.com
Chip Putnam – After graduating from the University of North Carolina at Charlotte in 1993, I have taught high school science for twenty years. I have had the pleasure of meeting wonderful and fascinating people over the years that have provided inspiration for many characters in my writing.
While the field of science is not the area of expertise normally associated with an aspiring author, I’ve always been a dreamer and would often enter into a fantasy world of my own imagination at a moment’s notice. This love of dreaming, coupled with a passion for books and a tendency to weave storytelling into my lessons, created a desire to write. However, I never seemed to find the time. My life as a teacher, husband, and father seemed to interfere with this goal. Four years ago, however, I decided to follow the encouragements I had given to countless students and follow my own dreams.
On a personal note, I have been married for twenty years and have two daughters, ages nine and eleven. We live in Clemmons, North Carolina.
Kath Langdon is a writer, crafter, midnight chalk graffiti artist, and connoisseur of all things art and color. Kath keeps one foot in the Midwest and the other on the East Coast, and hopes to one day amass the world’s largest collection of easily lost small objects. They went to college at University of Connecticut where they learned not to party with sopranos, the intricacies of rune reading, and how to spot a Shakespeare reference at fifty yards. Currently living in Sedalia, Missouri, Kath hopes someday to conquer the world with their fiancée Ashley Mitchell. In their free time, Kath overanalyzes various media, sews and embroiders, and researches character tropes in girl-oriented fiction.
Monica La Porta is an Italian who landed in Seattle several years ago. Despite popular feelings about the Northwest weather, she finds the mist and the rain the perfect conditions to write. Being a strong advocate of universal acceptance and against violence in any form and shape, she is also glad to have landed precisely in Washington State.
She is the author of The Ginecean Chronicles, a dystopian/science fiction series set on the planet Ginecea where women rule over a race of enslaved men and heterosexual love is considered a sin. She has published the first three books in the series, The Priest, Pax in the Land of Women, and Prince at War. She also wrote and illustrated a children’s book about the power of imagination, The Prince’s Day Out. Her latest published short, Linda of the Night, is a fairytale love story celebrating inner beauty. In her free time, she likes to build miniatures, sculpting, and painting. She also likes to go walking with her beloved beagle, Nero.
Debra R. Johnson was born July 20th, 1976 in Oklahoma City. She lived the first 30 years of her life in Oklahoma before moving to the Dallas Metroplex. She currently resides in Grand Prairie, Texas. She is an avid reader and her favorite authors include Stephen King, R. A. Salvatore, Robert Jordan, and George R. R. Martin.
Debra writes supernatural and paranormal stories under the name D.R. Johnson. She is currently working on the next installment of The Phoenix Curse series while working her day job in procurement as an Inventory Investor.
You can find more information about Debra and all her upcoming projects at: http://drjpublishing.blogspot.com
Or follow her Facebook fanpage at:
http://www.facebook.com/DRJohnsonwriter
Jason T. Graves lives in North Carolina with his family and a menagerie of small, domestic animals. He takes his coffee black, and, when he is not conducting mysterious, mad-scientist experiments with his students, he writes mysterious and beautiful fiction.
He is the author of Blood Roses and Morning Stars, the first two books of The Noctivagas Chronicle. He also penned the paranormal fantasy novella On the Bridge: The Complete Gretchen Thyrd Novella, which is soon to be joined by a Gretchen Thyrd novel. As with most writers, there are also a bunch of other stories simmering on the back burner, soon to be released as Indie projects.
Find him online at: http://www.jasontgraves.com
Table of Contents
Home Wet Home
Dearly Departed
Threads
Soul Trading
Great Plains
The Reason Why Grandmothers Should Never Be Allowed to Read Vampire Stories
To Darkness I Fall
Prairie Zombies
Contributors
