HAPPY HALLOWEEN ALL YOU GHOSTS AND GOBLINS! It's one of my favorite times of year when you can dress up as anything you want, go to strangers' houses and they just GIVE you candy! But one of my most favorite parts of Halloween are the SCAAAAAAAAAAARY STORIES!
Author Wulf Francu Godgluck has written a fabulously Halloweenish story! He has already told me this will be published next year but you all get it HERE.... FREE! He's amazing like that! So, Happy Halloween!!! ENJOY!
BLURB
I want to tell you
my story, but… you’re not going to like it.
This hellish thing that
the world has become, will consume us.
When everything you
know is turned around, what will you do?
I ask you not to
judge me, but to listen to my story.
It’s not pretty, but
it is the only one I have to tell.
I… We… Us ... have lost so much.
And when you have
lost hope, what truly is there left worth fighting for?
For
it is not life, since I am already dead inside, buried away in this chaos that
has become the world.
"The fuck is happening in the
world?" Dale said, slamming the stack of beer on the bar’s countertop.
"Bitch almost ran me over!" His face was flushed red, breath coming
out in wheezing pants.
"Shit, you okay?" Randy’s
deep voice rumbled from under the bar. Dale could only see Randy’s freshly
shaven scalp shining from the overhead light. The fucker didn’t even look up.
"Asshole!"
“Dale!” Randy shot up. “I’m being a
dick, sorry." He reached across the bar, grabbed Dale by the shirt and
smashed his lips to his fiancé’s.
“You better be,” Dale grunted, his head
dancing a mile after that kiss. “You’re well on your way to being tied to a
Saint Andrew’s cross tonight.”
The fingers clasping Dale’s shirt,
tightened their grip.
“Ya think, Pappa Bear?” Randy growled.
“And earning you a whipping with the
bullwhip,” Dale growled right back.
The two studied each other for a long
moment. Their dynamic of both being dominants always gave rise for this banter.
Both knew they needed a submissive soon, or they’d be looking at becoming a
switch couple.
“You better go get them beers before
your ‘barboys’ come in and wiggle their butts,” Randy said, the first to break
eye contact. “I saw how you’ve been checking out their asses. You got an eye on
one of ‘em?”
“Yeah, looking right at the bastard.”
Dale couldn't help but chuckle as the colossal Randy blushed. Somehow, over the
past twenty-five years, he still had it in him to make the ex-army captain turn
blood red in the face.
“Get!” Randy thundered, smiling as he
ducked under the bar to take stock.
***
Randy had just heard the front door
close when the scream came from the back. It gave him such a jolt, he smacked
his head against the counter. “Fuck!” He rubbed the spot, feeling for blood.
Another scream, this one different, and this time more than one. It wasn’t just
a shout from the drunk beggar they allowed to sleep in the back alley of the
bar. This scream had Randy clenching his jaw, and his spine turning to liquid
ice.
Randy stepped out from behind the bar,
moving to the back doors; he could hear the commotion of a struggle.
Slowly he pushed open the door, only
accessible from inside. The first thing he saw was the spurt of blood flying
through the air from a man’s mouth. The man’s head smacking right into the concrete
brick wall with a loud crack.
Randy's eyes bulged in their sockets.
Black blood seeped from the man’s
temple, eyes deranged and milky in appearance, his skin pale like baby powder.
The charcoal gray suit was ripped and torn like someone had taken a razor blade
to him. A cascade of black blood oozed from the gushing wound in his throat
where his cricoid cartilage was exposed. Drunkenly the man stood, swaying, and pulled back his lips
to display bloodied and black sludge-covered teeth. A growl passed the man’s
mouth, causing more of the black slush to drip like thick sap from the neck
wound.
Randy turned, running to the bar and
leaving the back door to slam shut. He had barely reached the bar’s counter
when another yell came. Panicked, adrenaline pumping, he didn’t give a fuck for
military training right then. With shaky hands Randy grabbed the handgun
strapped to the underside of the counter. His body trembled as he made his way
outside, gun raised and ready.
He didn’t shoot, couldn't fucking move from
the scene playing out before him. Three of them had Johnny-man on the ground,
fingers clawing into his stomach. Another chewed on the man’s left shoulder.
Through it all the beggar kept yelling, blood spilling from his mouth, “Help
me, somebody, please help me!”
Randy just stood there. His mind numb
as the fuckers feasted and tore Johnny-man in half. Guts snapped like fragile
strings.
The snarl in his right ear made him
turn, mouth still open from disbelief. One of those things stood inches from
him. Randy just reacted, headbutting the sickly looking woman with half a face,
pretty sure he pissed himself too.
His mind was in panic mode, still
trying to rationalize that which shouldn't be fucking happening— human
cannibals. The woman-thing had stumbled backwards, grunting and growling.
Randy's head shot up seeing a pack of them—yeah, that’d be a whole
motherfucking pack— running towards him.
He’d seen the shows, read some books
but this shit was surreal. Zombies were not that fast. But these—
It was a lightning flash in his brain
and thank the universe it came.
Dale.
The pack of things were already closing
in, and the female one was on her feet, when Randy stepped back into the bar
and slammed the door shut. He had barely placed the bolt in place when the bang
came, rattling the door and causing him to jump back. His heart was a fucking
demon punching a hole in his chest.
The front door opened, bringing with it
a chaotic symphony of the world outside; screams, car crashes, gun fires and
God knew what else. All that ricocheted through Randy's mind was that one of
them had made it into the bar. He turned, the glare of sunlight blinding his
view, the black shape swaying drunkenly towards him.
Randy pulled the trigger.
***
The shot ripped through Dale’s chest.
He felt nothing, and then came a vicious pain. His legs gave out on him,
crippling him to the cold, hard floor of the club.
Hands were there to catch him. Warm
hands. Strong hands. Familiar hands. Hands that could inflict pain and make
love in the same touch.
Dale shook as Randy held him, something
wet dripping on his cheek. Darkness loomed around the corners of his eyes, his
breath thin. Weakly he reached up, blindly placing a palm against a scruffy
cheek, soaked with tears and mucus.
He had to say something, but what the
hell did you say to the man that had come to mean the world to him?
Dale smiled. Put every ounce of love in
that fucking smile.
“I will always love you, Randy
Blackheart.”
The world went black.
About Wulf Francu Godgluck
They
come to me in the night, creeping into my head. Their voices are all
different, their stories all dissimilar, but they keep saying the same
thing...
“Show us, tell us to the world. Bring us into yours, and make us known.”
Then
I sit and they take over. They tell their tales of love, loss and
sinister misfortune, not all of them get a happy ending, but they are
pleased when their part is written.
I
sometimes find myself lost in my own mind; a world very similar to our
own yet so different. Things don't go bump in the night—they squeal, and
crawl under your skin, making you grind your teeth, and your stomach
turn over and put your nerves on edge. Then there's the drama. Oh, the
drama!
I
write because I must! There is so much inside of me that needs to get
out. So many stories to tell, characters that want to be heard, and
hearts lost and won. Words and art are my way of bringing my world to
others. I enjoy telling tales of the human condition but working in
elements of the supernatural. Werewolves, Vampires, Zombies, Witches and
the unexplainable all set against the human world or worlds of their
own.
Wulf
Francú Godgluck hails from South Africa. His work is not for the
faint-hearted! In his books, you'll find... all the beasties with their
nasty claws and teeth, and some you didn't even know existed. But the
monsters aren't all real. Some live inside us. Who knows what he will
make you discover about yourself, lurking in your heart, behind the
closed walls of the deep, black recesses where no light penetrates? Wulf
will steal your heart and never give it back. More than likely, he'll
pin it to the wall with a bobby pin and sit there sipping his tea while
you writhe and squeal on the floor... STILL sure you want to read a Wulf
Godgluck book?
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