by Grivante
Derek Ailes - The Undead Pool
Mark Cusco Ailes - The Zombie Park
Adrienne Lecter - Green Fields
EE Isherwood - Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse Series
Michael Peirce - Red Dirt Zombie Series
Justin Robinson - Undead On Arrival
Michael Whitehead - Legion of the Undead Series
Julien Saindon - Electronics of the Dead Series
Chris Mahood - The Festival
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Find the new anthology at www.reanimatedwriters.com/undeadworlds/
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and get The Zee Brothers: Revenge of the Zombie Yeti short story for free.
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Zee Brothers Prank Call Promo
Want to have some fun and win some cool prizes?
We want you to prank call The Zee Brothers!
Who are The Zee Brothers?
Jonah & Judas are two brothers in the Zombie Extermination business. Just like any other exterminators, they get phone calls from prospective clients and go out and do inspections to determine what needs to be done.
Unfortunately, due to the nature of the pests, this usually turns into a bloody mess in a hurry. Most often, where Jonah & Judas are concerned, it’s generally pretty funny as well.
While the brothers are serious about what they do, there is one night a year where they will not answer their phone. You see, Jonah & Judas get a lot of prank calls to their Zombie Exterminators phone #, but it’s the worst on Halloween night.
That’s the one night a year when people think it’s funniest to harass them. They don’t answer the phone and they don’t go out. All those costumes and people in zombie make-up are a recipe for disaster for guys ready to shoot anything that’s dead but still moving, so they just stay home and let the phone ring.
The messages range from people making fun of zombie extermination, people pretending they are being attacked, to people saying zombies aren’t real. The list goes on and on. The next morning they nurse their hangovers and listen to the Halloween madness.
That’s where you come in!
We want you to call and leave your craziest, zaniest message about zombies or zombie exterminators to Jonah & Judas. Pretend you’re a potential client or just be a funny prankster.
What’s in it for you?
Your call could be featured in The Zee Brothers Vol.3 both as text in the book and possibly even the audio from your call in the audiobook. We’ll also broadcast some of our favorites across our social media, bringing you untold fame... no fortune, but we promise as much fame as your humor creates.
PRIZES!
The top 3 prank callers will all win signed copies of The Zee Brothers Books 1-3! And the contents of your call will likely be featured in book 3.
Other prizes may include posters, prints, bookmarks, apparel and more.
Grand Prizes will be sent out after the release of book 3 mid-2018
Random prizes will be given out all year long.
How do you participate?
Call the Grivante Press offices at 208-352-2102 and at the beep, pretend you are leaving a message for Jonah & Judas. You are more likely to win if you make us laugh, good luck!
Contest Rules:
Must be 18 Years Old at the time of the phone call.
After you’ve left your message, make sure and pause a moment and then give your call back number, name and an email address so that we can get in touch with you if you win.
Winners will be chosen by 1/31/18.
CONTEST ENTRY PERIOD ENDS 1/1/18
About The Author
Grivante is a writer of weird and bizarre fiction. He hopes to write more tales, but alas, he was bitten and we are not certain if he’ll be able hold the pen straight any longer. Only time will tell.
Stay tuned.
Or visit www.grivantepress.com
To find more by this author.
Do you like weird sexy horror stories? Then you might like the new anthology from Grivante Press,
MASHED: The Culinary Delights of Twisted Erotic Horror
Now available for ORDER!
MASHED features stories from amazing authors from every corner of the planet! Including the following.
"A Woman's Corn" - By J. Donnait
"Charlie's Chunky Munching Meat" - By Stephen McQuiggan
"Halloween Nosh" - By Brandon Ketchum
"Biscuit: A Love Story" - By Grivante
"Burnt Scrambled Eggs" - By Devon Widmer
"The Disagreeable Dinner" - By Mark Daponte
"Sugar" - By Darla Dimmelle
"The Henry Problem" - By John Grey
"Nibble, Nibble, My Wolf" By - J.L. Boekestein
"The Wrath of the Buttery Bastard-Taters" - By Alex Colvin
"Sauce" - By Steven Carr
"The Care and Feeding of your Personal Demon" - By Maxine Kollar
"P.A.C.D. : The Kitchen of Tomorrow, Today!" - By R.A. Goli
"Arabica" - By Cobalt Jade
"Toilet Manners" - By Eddie Generous
"The Stray" - By Calypso Kane
"The Tall Man in the Hat" - By Nicholas Paschall
Bonus Sample Story from MASHED : The Culinary Delights of Twisted Erotic Horror
MASHED: The Wrath of the Buttery Bastard-Taters
I came home to find the apartment lights dimmed and old jazz standards playing over the wireless speakers. Before I’d even kicked my shoes off, my boyfriend came over with a glass of wine. “Happy six months, sweetheart,” He said.
My ‘thank you’ was wordless. I said it through a long, slow kiss that made sure he knew what was on my mind. The same thing must have been on his mind as well because the next thing I knew he had me pinned against a wall and was working my dress off while running his hands all over me. We didn’t stay there for long. Well, I stayed pressed against the wall. He spun me around and flattened me against it and then took me from behind while running his nails down my back and spanking me. That way is my absolute favorite. Neither of us lasts very long when he takes me like that.
When we’d finished, he kissed me. “We should start on dinner while it’s hot,” he said.
I agreed and fetched the glass of wine Daniel had hastily set down before I’d jumped him.
“I made all your favorites,” Daniel said, putting our plates on the table. “Peppercorn steaks in a whiskey sauce, beet salad, grilled asparagus and mashed potatoes.”
I went to the table where he’d laid out a perfect candlelit dinner. Everything he said was there, and it looked gorgeous. Oh, wait. No. Something was missing. “Lovely,” I gave his hand a squeeze. “Where are the mashed potatoes? I’ll bring them out.”
“I put them in the oven to keep them warm.”
So I opened the oven door and found the bowl. It had a lid on it and was perfectly warm to my touch. I set it on the counter and took the lid off, determined to sneak a finger full of mashed potatoes before setting them on the table. I set the lid down on the counter and peered at the taters.
Oh.
Oh god.
Please no.
I was too horrified to scream. I stood in frozen terror at what lay in the bowl before me. It looked like drywall filler. Could it be what I thought it was? I prayed that it wasn’t. I had to ask. “So you made mashed potatoes, sweetie?” I called, trying to sound casual.
“Well, instant mashed potatoes.”
I went numb with fear, unable to speak, while Daniel continued, “I only had so much time to prepare everything, and it was the easiest corner to cut. Plus they were on sale! I’d made them with tons of butter and milk, so we probably won’t even notice the difference!”<
br />
I doubted that.
My childhood revolved around this same prepackaged inedible muck and I hate it passionately. The batch Daniel made seemed no different. It simultaneously looked both chalky and gluey. Daniel must have thought they looked godforsaken too, because he added, “the color is a bit off, but it smells lovely.”
I said nothing, determined not to spoil the mood. I was touched at what he’d done and didn’t want to shut him down tonight. So I set the gloppy false-potatoes on the table and vowed to ignore them. Daniel and I sat down for dinner and I helped myself to the dinner options that were genuinely delicious, and not simply pretending to be real food.
But the taters were as easy to ignore as a rotting corpse draped over our dinner table. I ate everything on my plate that wasn’t touching them. I was almost done with my plate and thought victory was in my grasp, but Daniel was too proud of his efforts to let them die, however much they deserved to. “Here, have some potatoes, love,” Daniel said, dropping a scoopful onto my plate with a watery splat.
If you think instant mashed potatoes look disgusting in a bowl, when they share a plate with real food, they look like an abomination that could not be of human creation. Nuzzled between Daniel’s peppercorn steak and asparagus, it looked pathetic and undead. As the puke-worthy goo settled onto my plate, it seemed to be begging me to finish it and put it out of its miserable existence, one painful mouthful at a time. I found myself hating it for existing and considered avoiding it and everything they touched on my plate. I was just working up the courage to tell Daniel that I couldn’t withstand an encounter with mushy wannabe-potatoes when he put a massive forkful of the sludge in his mouth and smiled. “Mmm,” He said.
His smile vanished as he tried to chew the abominable substance and discovered its paradoxical texture that managed to be simultaneously dusty and moist. He gagged, valiantly fighting to chew and managed to swallow the mouthful. “Delicious,” he said, almost sounding sincere.
I love Daniel dearly and I decided he couldn’t go through this alone. We were partners to the end, and I had to at least try it for him. Out of love, I took a moderate forkful, made peace with God and put it in my mouth.
Oh. It’s so—my god…
WHY?
The flakes that had been resistant to the milk and butter lacerated the inside of my mouth while the gooey remainder tried to ooze out from between my lips. The gluey papier-mâché texture started wracking up paper-cuts on the insides of my cheeks and on my tongue. I tried to break down the concrete-like texture and consistency by chewing it, that was a huge mistake. Letting it between my teeth simply made it easier for the substance to glue my jaw shut and froze me in mid-chew. Daniel was watching me like a dog waiting for a biscuit, hoping for approval for all of his efforts. I tried to smile, but I didn’t dare move my lips for fear of throwing up. My mouth was frozen in place and my eyes went wide with fear.
Daniel noticed.
“Sweetie, if it’s crap, don’t eat it,” he said (to his credit).
“Nnnnnnnnm,” I protested, fighting like a demon to chew or swallow the oozy, flechette-ridden sludge.
Okay, so I have to tell you something about myself that’s quite personal: I have a gag reflex on a hair-trigger. I sometimes choke on my toothbrush and putting anything big or gross in my mouth on a full stomach can lead to disaster. I’d already eaten most of my dinner and I was trying to suppress my gag reflex as I choked on the potatoes, still trying to wrench my mouth open. And when I finally did manage to pry my jaws apart, I vomited all over the table and what remained of our dinners.
Daniel was really good about it.
I came back from brushing my teeth and found him heating up a tin of soup on the stove. I came up to him from behind and wrapped my arms around him. He didn’t acknowledge me and seemed unusually focused on stirring his soup.
“I love you,” I said.
“Yep.”
Uncomfortable silence.
I glanced at the bowl of vomitable mashed potatoes and saw it was empty. Daniel had chucked out the rest of them, but the box they came in was still on the counter. I glanced at it. The box was a sludgy green color and read, “INSTANT MASHED POTATOES: A PRODUCT OF THE SIBERIAN EXPERIMENTAL FOOD SOCIETY.”
I read on: “Enjoy scientifically engineered mashed potatoes designed to be the hardiest crop on the planet and to be perfectly delicious! These potatoes are infused with the DNA of bull sharks, hyenas, wolverines and jellyfish to help them survive in the harshest conditions on the planet. Grab a taste of the future while the FDA approval is pending. Enjoy every delicious bite of scientific achievement!”
Experimental, huh? Well, it sure was a lousy experiment. Daniel must have bought them at that niche food store he likes so much. He was still stirring his almost certainly mixed soup, and I figured I had to try a new tactic to apologize. I turned him to me and kissed him. When we broke apart, I said, “Well, at least now I can deep throat you since I’ve got an empty stomach.”
“Love, you don’t have to-”.
“No, lets. This evening doesn’t have to be a total waste.”
I pulled Daniel into the bedroom and sat him down on the bed. I slipped onto my knees in a single motion and started kissing his chest, working my way down to his hips. I worked my usual magic and had him hard before he’d even managed to take his clothes off. He gasped, he clawed my back, he fell back and begged me not to stop, so I didn’t. I ran my nails over his thighs and he finished in my throat with a moan. There, I thought, not such a terrible evening after all.
At least, that’s what I thought until I heard the sound of breaking glass coming from the kitchen.
“Did I imagine that?” Daniel asked.
“No, I heard it too. Should we go have a look?”
“Let’s.”
We slipped from our bed and went to the hall. As soon as I stepped out of the bedroom, I heard something tinkling in the kitchen. I hoped it was just the tap dripping and that nothing weird was going on. And oh, how I was wrong.
You know how I said that instant mashed potatoes were an abomination? Well, I was right. More so than I ever could have guessed. I stopped dead when I saw what was going on in the kitchen. They had come to life and from their behavior, were also disposed towards violence and killing people.
I surmised this because the mashed potatoes had congealed into a humanoid being, perhaps two feet tall. It was gelatinous and stumpy and bits of potatoes would occasionally drip off of it. The buttery bastard-taters had crude mitts for hands and a gaping mouth for a face; it also was determined to make itself more dangerous. The mushy hell-spawn had smashed the beer bottles we’d had under the sink and was embedding the shards in its mouth and mitts so it could have both fangs and claws. Amber chunks of glass littered its jaw in rows, and the longer pieces had been pushed into its paws. It sat on the floor like a hideous doughy toddler and picked through the glass to see if it had missed any of the more especially sharp ones.
It stopped.
The sludgy starch-monster turned and looked at me, although it had no eyes to see with. The toothy mouth broke into a grin, and the buttery beast brought its teeth together with the sound of scraping glass. The gooey abomination stumbled to its feet and charged at Daniel and I, claws out and mouth open, a high-pitched howl escaping from its throat.
Daniel screamed. I didn’t even manage that, I just fled. Daniel followed, and we retreated to the bedroom and locked the door. I pulled him back from it and we waited, holding each other.
The overly processed living nightmare stopped at the door. There was silence for a moment. Then came the first scrape.
Then the second.
Then the third, louder this time.
The Satanic side dish was trying to claw and bite through the door.
I turned to Daniel. “Call the police!”
“And tell them what?”
“Anything! Just get us help!”
Daniel stumbled to the bed to grab his phone. I just
watched the door and listened to the scrapes against the wood. When all of a sudden, they stopped. Daniel and I looked at each other. Was it giving up? Had it died? Were we safe?
I turned back and looked at the door. It wasn’t budging, maybe the self-loathing faux-spuds just decided it couldn’t cut through—but then I noticed something. There wasn’t any light coming in from under the door anymore. The ungodly spud-sludge was blocking it. Then I saw it and realized why no light was getting through.
The sleazy-starch demon was mashing itself right under the door.
Of course. The monster was instant mashed potatoes. It didn’t have to be solid. It could get in cracks or gaps. So it was coming for us all the same. Daniel must have realized it too because he shrieked and pointed at the door. I scanned the room for a weapon. We didn’t have much in the bedroom, really. Just our dresser, the bed and a bookshelf.
On the dresser, though, was a can of hairspray. That might work, but only if…
I wheeled around to face Daniel, “Do you still smoke weed?”
“What?” His eyes went wide with my question.
“Daniel! Just tell me the truth! Are you still smoking weed behind my back?”
“Fine! Yes! Why are you asking now?”
“Where’s your lighter?”
“Bedside table.”
I found it. The gloppy sludge-spawn was almost past the door and was congealing back to its humanoid form only a few feet from Daniel and I. I grabbed the hairspray, preparing to strike. Would it die? Would it just keep charging? Could it even feel pain? I certainly hoped it could and that this would stop it.
