Origin Part VI

Some things are better left undiscovered.

In no time they were wrapping themselves about Charlie, who screamed as he was enveloped. One brushed against her, the contact filling her mind with images of subterranean chambers buried deep beneath the earth, inhabited by slug-like creatures that had been waiting in a form of suspended animation for millennia. They had been left to guard the secrets these chambers contained by those who had built them.

Why she did it she wasn’t entirely sure. It might have been instinct, or her training as an archeologist. With Charlie’s screams echoing in her mind, she snatched the now-closed box from its place and raced across that vast chamber to escape. As she did she became aware of a multitude of slender appendages trailing her across the room, twisting and turning, slithering over around and under one another as they pursued her.

Reaching the passageway, she turned right and raced headlong down that narrow corridor, the beam of her flashlight bouncing crazily as she ran. Flashing to and fro, briefly illuminating those searching appendages that pursued her as they twisted over and around one another. They covered the floor, the walls, and the vaulted ceiling above her. Keeping pace with her fleeing figure. She became aware of a gentle wind pushing at her back as the corridor behind her filled with the creature these slender appendages were attached to. The air around her became stagnant, filled with a sickening stench that reminded her of primitive swamps rotting beneath a blazing sun.

She raced past the intersection, following the two sets of footprints that were clearly defined in the dust covered the floor. Pushing away the despair that threatened to make her stop in her tracks. Driven by a terror of the unknown and what lay behind her. Ahead she saw a faint light that indicated she was nearing the main chamber. Behind her she felt those searching tentacles as they whispered across her back.

She could have stopped then, sacrificing herself to save the others. No one would have known, she and Charlie would have just vanished into the antediluvian void that lay at the heart of the chamber. But it was a moot point, for the others would have come looking for them. In their turn awakening that which now pursued her.

She ran into the main room, screaming in an unintelligible voice. The others looked up from their assorted tasks as Sandra raced across the floor. From the narrow crevice, the first searching tentacles of an unimaginable beast emerged from the shadowy depths. Slender appendages slithered along the walls, the ceiling, and the floor as Sandra fled towards the distant opening and the safety that lay beyond.

Jenny and her assistant were the closest to the opening, working on several samples to the right of the corridor. A tentacle wrapped itself around her assistant’s ankle and she was yanked off her feet, screaming in terror as she was hoisted into the air, her cries cut short when she was dashed against the floor and her lifeless body was dragged back to the narrow opening, leaving a bloody trail on the floor. 

Jenny fared no better. Several of the tentacles wrapped themselves around her body as she cried out and struggled against them. Her cries became a gurgling moan as her body was torn in half; the two parts were then dragged back to the opening, leaving bloody swaths in their wake.

“Get out!” Sandra screamed as the tentacles washed over the larger chamber and the gathered scientists, each in turn, looked up to see what all the commotion was about.

One of the guards fired at the invading nightmare, the bullets passing harmlessly through the meaty substance of the tentacles. His shots were cut short when a tentacle slapped him with enough force to separate his head from his body, sending it bouncing across the floor as screams echoed through the chamber. There was a moment of confusion where no one was sure of where the threat was coming from. The sound of gunfire came from every direction as those tasked with protecting the scientists suddenly found themselves thrust into a life and death struggle against an unimaginable enemy.

Albert and a few others backed away from the radio table just as it was snatched away from them; without hesitation they turned and ran through the shattered opening. Sandra followed and the four of them huddled together for warmth against the leeward side of a massive stone.

From within the chamber, the sound of screaming and gunfire was replaced by the voice of the restless wind. A deep rumbling came from beneath their feet; the ground shook as another earthquake rocked the area. The wall of the structure, already weakened by a previous shockwave, surrendered to gravity and collapsed. Voluminous clouds of dust shot out of the narrow cracks around each massive stone to be whipped away by the relentless wind.

They were freezing. With a wind chill of minus sixty it wouldn’t be long before the cold claimed them. Having fled the relative warmth of the inner chamber, none of them had donned their parkas before fleeing.

Sandra realized she was still carrying the marble box that had started everything. With her mind’s eye she saw the mummified remains of those sub-human creatures.

It had to go back. Pushing herself to her feet, the wind slicing through the thin layer of clothes she wore, taking her breath away as she struggled to breathe through her nose to at least warm the air a bit before it reached the delicate tissue of her lungs. It didn’t matter if she died or not. She had to put the object back where it belonged. She had no idea what lay in the box, only that to open it would awaken  something from the distant past, something that should remain undisturbed. Something that threatened mankind’s very survival. 

“Sandra, what are you doing?” Albert yelled against the shrieking wind.

“It has to go back,” she said as she held up the small box for Albert to see. “We can’t keep it.” Her tongue felt thick in her mouth as she was overcome with a bout of confusion.

Her heart struggled to pump her thickening blood through her veins. The cold air froze the soft tissue of her nose and she was forced to slowly sip at the air with her mouth, the chilled air burning in her lungs, giving life, yet at the same time slowly taking it away as living cells were crystallized upon contact with the cold air. She didn’t have much longer, none of them did, the cold would soon take its toll and they would slip away to the lulling warmth of their core as the blood vessels in their extremities constricted and their bodies sacrificed arms and legs in a last-ditch effort to survive. She shivered uncontrollably as her body tried to warm itself.

“You can’t take it back.”

Sandra ignored him and turned back to the structure. There was still a narrow opening; if she could make it to that, get inside, she could give this thing back to what lay in the emptiness beyond. The wind pushed against her, freezing her flesh on contact as she leaned into it to cross that open space between the stone she had been hiding behind and that narrow opening.

Her perspective changed and she realized that she had dropped to her knees. She couldn’t feel her legs, her feet, nor could she feel her arms and hands. They had become useless clumps of frozen flesh. She willed herself to move forward, but it was no use. Her body had sacrificed her extremities in order to survive. Stuck now, away from the warmth of the small group, in the open, she knew it wouldn’t be long and her mind turned to happier times as the last of her life-giving warmth was slowly consumed by the relentless wind.

Maybe they wouldn’t find it. She tried to reassure herself in those last moments. But she knew better. Man’s insatiable curiosity would always seek out those things that were better left undiscovered.

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2016 HHAC E. Storm

No author photo available.

E. Storm is a screenwriter and horror author. Instead of pursuing a Hollywood dream, E. lives in his own dreams.

He'd love to connect with friends and readers:

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"Gloomy Sunday" caused more than two hundred suicides in 1931. Now, the serial-killer song is back in a small college town. You hear it, you die. Can the odd threesome—Jen, West, and Miranda —lift the curse and stop its rampaging murder?

2016 HHAC Pete Chown

When I was young, my passion was for technology. That became my job, and I ended up running a technology company during the first dot-com boom. I also helped start a charity, got an interesting and—I think—important change made to the Fraud Act 2006, and so on.

It was an exciting time, but sometimes I wished the world was different: more exciting, more meaningful. I've always had the gift or the curse of being able to daydream, and having it feel almost real to me. I wondered if other people would be interested in reading the stories I experienced, because they were stories, even though I didn't always write them down.

Telling the stories in a compelling way wasn't easy. It took a long time acquiring the skills needed to write them, but here they are. I'm proud of them and many people have enjoyed them. I hope you do too. 

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Abby’s last ever robbery seemed to go perfectly. She got a wallet full of cash, and she wasn’t followed by any have-a-go types who might let the police know where she was.

Someone, though, had seen the whole thing. He wasn’t likely to talk to the police, but he hadn’t fed for quite a while, and he was very hungry. He was also quite sweet for a monster, and ordinarily Abby would have enjoyed meeting him.

The murder squad want to know who is stealing people’s blood, then dumping the bodies around London. But there are other people hunting the monsters too, who know more about monsters than the monsters do themselves. A monster could start feeling unloved.

2016 HHAC Maison Crow

No author bio or photo available!

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Vampires, sea monsters, aliens, banshees, slashers and more. Ten horror-themed micro stories, each a spooky, bite-size treat at exactly two hundred and fifty words. Read one just before bed if you dare!

Origin Part V

Some things are better left undiscovered!
Part V
Charlie silently followed her as she stepped across the threshold, and as she did a faint blue glow illuminated the center of the room. She stopped and stepped back, suddenly unsure if she should continue, and the blue light faded to darkness. Stepping forward again, she was rewarded with the return of that blue glow that seemed to emanate from the center of the room.
Following the beam of her flashlight, they both ventured deeper into the chamber, coming to a stone bench on their right. She played the beam of the flashlight over the dust-covered surface of the bench, noting how it curved to the left as it vanished into the shadows. There was another bench thee feet in front of the first, it too curving into the emptiness that pressed in on all sides. With growing confidence she pushed on, coming to a third bench in front of the second one.
As they ventured deeper into the chamber, she slowly became aware that the blue glow was coming from an object to her immediate front. She stopped, took a deep breath, and switched off her flashlight.
“Turn off your light,” she said.
“Are you nuts?”
“Just do it.”
Charlie complied and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness the blue glow grew stronger until she could make out the shape of a large blue globe hanging suspended an unknown distance before her. More details came into focus and she began picking out tiny spots of light high above her head all around her. The image reminded her of a planetarium during a showing and she suddenly realized that what she was gazing upon was the home world of whatever had built this structure.
“Can you see it?”
“See what?”
“Close your eyes for a minute and let them adjust to the dark.” Sandra closed her own eyes and when she reopened them that alien solar system was once again laid out before her with that faint blue sun in the center.
“What the hell,” Charlie said.
“I think that’s why they came here.”
“Those who built this structure. Their sun was dying.”
“What is it?”
“A star system, their home.”
“Of course, who did you think I was talking about?”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’m not absolutely certain. Not one hundred percent. But the explanation fits.”
“Then where are they now?”
Sandra shrugged. “I don’t know.”
They had moved forward to a raised dais a foot higher than the rest of the floor. Stepping up together, they approached the blue sphere, beneath which rested a small white box. Charlie reached the item first, marveling at the craftsmanship that had gone into constructing this small object. It looked like fine marble cut into very thin sheets, somewhat transparent, its contents were a faint smudge against the white.
“What is it?” Charlie said.
“I don’t know.” Sandra touched the surface of the box and when she did her mind was suddenly filled with ancient images of an alien place that was all but a memory.
She saw a vast valley beneath a blue sun. From the floor of the valley rose an immense tower. The spires of Beizel in the valley of tears. The name came to her from the black depths of a consciousness that stretched into the antediluvian void of their past. She could feel them around her, the followers who had trekked to this desolate plain, and the faithful who had come to seek redemption. Their thoughts washed over and around her, a single voice in a seething populace whose movements were so perfectly timed they took on the appearance of the surface of the ocean as gentle swells raced from one end to the other in a continuous cycle.
They had come seeking salvation and found it in the singularity of one thought that washed through them with a solitary voice. The individual parts of the whole had come together to form a distinct thought, and that was survival of the species. Their sun was dying, the time for the planet, for their reign, had come to a close. But one chance remained, the survival of the species lay with the chosen who would reach out into the great beyond; to ensure the survival of the species they would venture into the farthest reaches of the cosmos in their search for a new planet to call their own.
Sandra stepped back from the box, her fingers numbed by the contact, struggling to catch her breath as the true meaning of what she had briefly seen began to sink in.
They did not belong here.
In the shadows around her their memories moved with a sinuous ease through the deeper night.
“Are you all right?” Charlie said, resting his hand on her shoulder as he stepped forward to look at the box resting on the raised dais.
“Don’t touch it,” she warned him. But he ignored her, reaching out to grasp the box in one hand as he softly whispered, “So beautiful.”
Before she could stop him, he had flipped open the delicate hasp and was raising the lid to gaze upon what the box contained. Sandra became aware of movement in the shadows all around her as that ozone aroma intensified. Her hair felt like it was standing on end in response to the suddenly charged atmosphere. Tentacles of darkness slithered across the dais towards them.
 To be continued
Check out Adversary, book one of the Shadows of the Past series.

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Also available from these fine online retailers.

Also available in print from Createspace

Receive a personally autographed copy of Adversary for only $11.99 with free shipping to the continental United States. Drop me a line at rschiver@gmail.com for details on how to order your copy today.


2016 HHAC Sarah Bredeman

Sarah calls Kansas City home and enjoys reaping the benefits of that by eating a lot of BBQ and watching Royals baseball as often as possible. She is a recovering wannabe cool kid, soon-to-be-mom, and general lover of literature. She has written for multiple pop culture sites including Culturess.com and HiddenRemote.com

"White Picket Fence" is the first published work by Sarah. More short stories and a full-length novel will be released in the next year. 

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Sylvie, Cara, and April are growing up in a blue collar family in a quiet neighborhood. An American family living the American Dream. But things aren't always as they seem. Horror can happen to anyone at anytime. All it takes is a spark to ignite the bomb that splatters blood across living room walls.


HHAC 2016 John Cummings

I was born in Bangor, Maine and much of my childhood was spent growing up in a trailer park in Hermon with my three other siblings. We were all Homeschooled, so I never experienced a “traditional” education – heck, I’ve never even stepped foot in a High School before! (ha) I’ve always sort of wanted to go walk around inside one just to see it all firsthand, but as I keep getting older while working on my Master’s Degree (Engineering Physics), the more I think it would be weird… But I digress.

On the topic of writing, I’ve always seen it to be the purest form of self-expression and or, in general, the ability to explore any idea possible. We can take a single idea, or maybe even a version of our personality, and use that as the proverbial spark to create an entirely new character or fictional world to work in. It all starts and ends with our imagination. For me, writing started during my teen years as a way to escape my less-than-ideal reality and explore the torrent of crazy emotions we feel inside at that age. As I got older my writing most certainly matured, but one aspect of it never changed, in that I always strive to express emotions of things I know personally. Kind of fits with the ol’ saying, “Write what you know.” 

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In the End is a fantasy novel told over three parts, each focusing around a different character's perspective in a world quickly going astray. History is set to repeat itself as a long-since-defeated evil has once again set events into motion which will bring the Mortal Realm to the brink of annihilation. In a race against time, an elite veteran from wars past, Erianthia, is tasked with stopping a mysterious cult that actively serves their dark master's return by opening a portal to the dreaded Rusted World.
An amalgamation of elemental magic and darkness, the Rusted World was brought into creation thousands of years ago as a means to harness lost, ancient powers. However, with its unnatural birth, the Mortal Realm was thrust into instability and the link between these realms was sealed away by the Chaos Mages – an order of beings which travel between all the realms to ensure the eternal balance of all creation remains undisturbed.
With the threat of the Rusted World looming and a sinister darkness growing among the ruins of the once-great Kingdom of Sealestra, the Chaos Mages have returned to the Mortal Realm to investigate. Though, their arrival may just be a little too late as the end is coming, and His champion shall rise...

HHAC 2016 D.P. Sumner

D.P. Sumner proudly hails from Worcester, Massachusetts (the same state author Edgar Allan Poe was born in), and draws upon his odd interests in the morbid and macabre as inspiration for his fiction.

Sumner grew up in a small town outside of Worcester, and as a child was very restricted in regards to what he was allowed to do for fun and how often he could go out. Thus, his love for books and literature was born. He developed a passion for reading, and after a long time of making up stories in his head to entertain himself when not reading, he decided to try and put his thoughts down on paper. He has not stopped writing since. 

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You should be careful with your actions, for you never know the effects they could have...

HHAC 2016 Kevin Mooseles

Kevin Mooseles grew up in South Florida, where he wrote reams of cringeworthy gothic poetry that will never see the light of day. He began writing for the Escapist Magazine in 2014 with an article explaining how Fight Club is based on the Downward Spiral by NIN. The Resistance is Dead is his first work of fiction, combining zombie survival with mystery and a dash of gonzo for good measure. 

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The Resistance is Dead is a unique take on the classic zombie tale. The story takes readers from the first bite straight into the apocalypse and is told from two, alternating perspectives. The first, that of President Adam Chambers, a president beloved by all who genuinely tries to always put the needs of the people first and his plight to manage what his cabinet promised him was a passing illness. The second, that of a group of hard core zombie preppers. They've played every video game. They've watched every movie. They've read every book, but how will they fare when they attempt to apply all they've learned to a real-life zombocalypse?

HHAC 2016 Angela L Lindseth

Angela L. Lindseth grew up in South Dakota on the family homestead. She has a geological engineering degree and a journeyman electrician license; however, thanks to her beautiful sister, Angela is writing full time.
She's completed her first book, Tower of Earth, a young adult fantasy adventure, the first in the Towers of Rejaque series. She writes a wide variety of flash fiction, including speculative, horror, and retrospective, some of which make her question her sanity. For a taste of her work visit Panopoly, Five 2 One, and her Facebook author page.
Angela has two handsome boys, a cat named Rex, and a beagle named River, who is the love of her life. 

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Sanity’s Threshold is not for the faint of heart. It tiptoes along the extreme and delves into the paranormal, the horror, the dark, and the weird. It harnesses your imagination and leaves you questioning the slivers of your twisted mind.
This short fiction/short story collection is for the lovers of dark realism, suspense, and the scary. Kids Come First details a woman's nurture for the alien creatures growing in her belly. Supernova speculates the demise of our planet. Mind Rot speaks of the disasters of chemical experimentation. Enjoy nearly thirty additional enthralling and stimulating pieces.
Flash fiction, dribbles, drabbles, and sudden fiction have been gaining popularity and requires concise story telling and extreme brevity.

HHAC 2016: R. K. Weir

With a penchant for dreaming, crafting realities and building worlds from nothing are what 19-year-old, indie author, R.K. Weir enjoys doing most. If he's not thinking of new stories or imagining new characters, then he's most likely watching Netflix or reading.

—Full-time journalist student by day, aspiring indie author by night—


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Stella Carlisle is a thousand miles from her destination, and she's willing to do whatever it takes to get there.

Whether that means manipulating fellow survivors, or killing them, nothing is going to stop her from getting what she wants.

While the infected lurk around every corner and bandits hide in every shadow, starvation and illness follow closely in their wake.

In a world of personal demons, void of connection, Stella truly is living in a world alone.

Origin Pt IV

Some things are better left undiscovered!

Part IV

She shined her flashlight down the hole and was disappointed when the beam failed to reveal anything. She activated a chemical light stick and dropped it down the opening. The glowing stick dwindled as it fell through the shadowy eons of the past. Becoming but a small pin-prick of light, an exclamation point in the crowding darkness.

Turning her attention back to the table, she inspected it as the first glimmer of an idea began to form in the back of her mind. The outer edge of the table was raised, creating a concave depression in the center that fluids could be contained within. Glancing at the bottom of the table, she noted that the raised lip was broken at that point, a means to drain the fluids she imagined as the image of a modern embalming table filled her mind. Inspecting the surface of the table, she discovered several long scars in the stone. As if a sharp object had been drawn across it surface with enough force to create a line. She thought of her uncle’s butcher shop, the massive wooden butcher’s block that dominated the center of the room. Every few years it had to be sanded down and refinished to remove the nicks and gashes from its daily use. That feeling of despair deepened as she realized that what she was looking at could very well have been an ancient meat packing operation similar to the modern meat packaging plants of today.

As she moved through the rows of tables, she came to a wall with another archway leading to a different room. What she saw inside made her heart skip several beats. Lying in stacks along the back wall were the mummified remains of an ape-like creature. Approaching the stack, she knelt down to examine the remains.

The cold and the salt they had been packed in perfectly preserved the bodies. They were no more than five feet tall with sloping shoulders and arms that seemed much too long for their height. Bipedal, they reminded her of large chimpanzees, but the face carried a more human look. A sloping forehead with a small face on the front of a tiny skull. From the size of the cranial cavity there appeared to be little room for more than a brain stem to control basic functions.

Gazing into the sunken eye sockets, she imagined the eyes that once inhabited the skull as being over large and dull, with the same expression one would find on a cow in the field. Troubled not by the future, the past, or the impending doom that was swiftly approaching. Concerned only with the basic needs of food, water, and propagation.

Nothing more than cattle in the field. The thought repeated itself and she shuddered. She saw that each one of them had been eviscerated, sliced open from throat to groin. That was when it all dropped neatly into place and her stomach performed several lazy somersaults as she struggled to come to terms with her discovery.

That was the reason for the tables in the next room. She had convinced herself when she first discovered them that they were nothing more sinister than a means to prepare the dead for their final journey. But after her most recent revelation their true purpose solidified in her mind as the realization dawned.

They were nothing more than meat.

They were not the builders of this structure. A creature far more advanced had built these rooms. Her earlier romantic notion of man’s ancestors being descendants of an alien race sickened her enough that she had to leave the room.

Charlie had kept out of her way as she explored the room. When she abruptly stepped back into the corridor he followed.

“Are you all right?”

Sandra shook her head silently as she struggled with her emotions.

“What’s wrong? What did you see?”

Sandra turned to face him and when she did he saw how drawn her face had become. Her eyes carried a haunted expression that chilled him to the bone.

“What is it?”

“This is not a good place,” she whispered, her words carried on the vaporous clouds of her breath.

“But you said this was...”

“I know what I said,” she cut him off in mid sentence, “but I was wrong.”

“What did you see in there?”

“The truth. When I first got into archeology I had all these romantic notions of discovering man’s true origins. I believed then, and I still believe it to this day, that man’s true past lies beyond the stars. That we are not of this planet.”

“What did you see?” Charlie said as he approached the opening.

“Please,” Sandra said, holding out her hand to stop him, “please, don’t go in there.”

Charlie pushed past her and vanished into that claustrophobic room. She waited for him, keeping the beam of her flashlight pointed at her feet. Her desire to explore the structure had been squashed by her discovery.

Charlie stepped out of the room. “What does it mean?” he said.

“It means we came from the stars, but not as masters of our own destiny. Our ancestors did not build this place. Something far more savage than man could ever hope to be built this structure.” She lifted her flashlight and gazed into the crowding darkness that swallowed the beam less than a hundred feet away. “What if they’re still waiting for us? What if they’re not dead like I thought.”

“Do you want to go back?”

“No. I can’t. I have to see this through.”

“Will you be all right?”

“I have to be,” she said, trying hard to convince herself that it was the right choice. She had to know for sure, she had to find absolute truth to back up the theory that was formulating in her mind.

With that she plunged into the unknown, the beam of her flashlight pushing back the emptiness as Charlie followed. In time they came to another doorway, this one much wider than the first. Sandra approached the threshold and stopped.

This room was different, much larger than the last one, and she sensed its immensity on an instinctive, primitive level. From somewhere a soft breeze stirred, ruffling the fur-lined collar of her hood, whisking away the vaporous clouds of exhaled breath that issued from her mouth. There was a faint ozone-like scent that tickled her nose with its familiarity. Though she was shielded from the restless winds, the cold still penetrated to her flesh deep beneath multiple layers. Her fingertips were becoming numb and she knew she would have to return to the group soon. But first she wanted to check out this new room. 

To be continued!

Check out Adversary, book one of the Shadows of the Past series.

Click on cover for more info or to order!

Also available from these fine online retailers.

Also available in print from Createspace

Receive a personally autographed copy of Adversary for only $11.99 with free shipping to the continental United States. Drop me a line at rschiver@gmail.com for details on how to order your copy today.

HHAC 2016 Patrick Kill

Patrick Kill specializes in writing the most absurd, iconoclastic humorous dark fiction around. At 6'1'', he is the tallest midget on earth. He is a competitive eater…of children. He prefers footie pajamas with someone else's feet in them. He fishes for dead bodies in drainage ditches during the day and traps for yeti at night. He is the most ridiculous man in the world. His favorite saying is: "I don't always eat humans, but when I do, it's dos Mexicanos. Stay evil, my friends." Until they invent the first anti-social network, you will be unable to connect with him in any manner except by leaving a nasty review where his work appears. Which he will, in turn, not even bother to read. 

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Patrick Kill's short fiction has garnered a cult following over the years. He continually writes within a world where there are no morals, but in a reality close to our own, but not quite. Not yet.

His stories combine dark (sometimes pitch-black) humor with horror elements and a brand of bizarre fiction that is uniquely his own.

There is nothing mainstream about these tales. At the surface, they may offend, repulse or even shock you, but if you look deeper, you'll find a strange sense of meaning, a bizarre written art form made of grotesque thoughts, demented characters and just plain weird situations.

In his fiction, you will find a shattered mirror which ultimately reflects back on the gritty soul of humanity.

HHAC 2016 Mouse Diver-Dudfield

Sci Fi, horror, and mystery author living in the deep dark south of New Zealand. Originally a non-fiction author of early New Zealand history specializing in Southland and Otago, behind it all, Mouse had a driving passion to write compelling and spooky NZ fiction. 

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1874 – In search of an Incan city, renowned British explorer Rupert Mendenhall unwittingly releases a long dormant zombie plague on the unsuspecting occupants of the Cotahuasi Valley, Peru.

HHAC 2016 David Tyne

David Tyne is a Scottish author of the thriller/horror genre, with a deep-seated passion for being spooked and making everyone close to him extremely uncomfortable. Have a look at some more of his ghastly works, if you dare! 

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Their place exists in the fiery lake of burning sulphur. This is their second death.

Caught in a blaze of city-wide terrorist attacks, young Daniel can only think of escaping the chaos and paving his way home. The further he flees from the armed soldiers and ravenous hunters that roam the streets, the more truth he uncovers of what happened to his fallen country.

It doesn’t take long to realise that the world he once knew has abandoned all of its laws, its nature and its dignity. Left with only his wit and two companions — a shell-shocked student and a lost child — he takes on more responsibility than his broken psyche can handle.

Will Daniel be able to protect those around him long enough to find his own family? Or will the homicidal hordes swallow every last one into their fold?

HHAC 2016 E. C. Hill

 No Author bio available at this time!

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Emma and her new husband Karl take their honeymoon at Karl's private lakeside cottage. But who is the pale wraith-like figure that stands across the lake in the moonlight? What bloody secret is hidden in the attic? And what dark entity is rising through the cold waters of ghost lake to seek its bitter vengeance?

HHAC 2016: E. Dulaney Burns

E. Dulaney Burns currently has a day job as a Paralegal for a multi-national technology company, specializing in the prosecution of trademarks, patents and corporate law.

By night, she dabbles in the realm of horror fiction. The fiction she writes is edgy, dark and comes with a warning label.

She attributes her writing ability to real-life experiences and her work as a catalog copy writer for an international toy company prior to studying law and psychology.

She enjoys cooking and baking and writes a blog when she's not too busy.

She also enjoys spoon collecting which she has been doing since she was six years old.

She lives with her family in Orange County, California and enjoys spending time with her husband, children and grandchildren. She enjoys her two pet turtles, and her fur babies, Princess and Patches.

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They say the place is haunted. The old man was driven mad, but nobody would say why. For years the house and the property that it sat on was devoid of life and sentenced to eternal winter. Jon was warned not to stay. But he’d lost everything and has no choice now, he must go back. But what was he going back to?