Monday, October 31, 2016

HAPPY HALLOWEEN: Black Honey by Wulf Francu Godgluck~ A FREE Story for you!

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!


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.


“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.


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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