Zombie Kong - Anthology (29 page)

TONIA BROWN - is the author of
Lucky Stiff
and lives in NC with her husband of many years. She shares her home with a brood of moody cats, and her likeness with an identical twin sister. She likes coffee and fudgesicles, though not always together. Her next novel,
Badass Zombie Road Trip
will be released by in early 2012 by
Books of the Dead Press
.

MICHAEL O’NEAL works as an actor out of Los Angeles and Las Vegas in film, commercial, and live theatre and also writes horror, fantasy, and speculative fiction for various publications. He is the fiction editor of
Dark Moon Digest
and a freelance editor for all formats of writing from novels, flash fiction, short stories, memoirs, scripts, obituaries, and any other obvious lies that are too good not to write down on paper. Dozens of his own stories have been published in magazines and anthologies abroad, mainly because he’s good at tricking people into believing his fibs by scaring them into submission, if you’ll pardon the pun. For inquiries, he can be contacted at [email protected] By reading this excerpt, you are now under the curse of Pharaoh Tut’is’Own-horn. You must tell ten people you know and ten perfect strangers about Michael O’Neal, or else a monster will come out from under you’re bed tonight and eat you, toes first. You have been warned.

MAX VILE is a prolific author of horror and the erotic & his works can be found in numerous publications and sometimes scrawled on dirty bathroom doors. He currently resides in Sin City but has been known to travel out of body for his many spiritual quests, or often just to scare the crap out of folks that pissed him off (if you see him in your dreams tonight don't be afraid; he's just glad you read his story and wanted to ask you a few questions about its review). His artwork can be found on FineArt America or if you just Google his name, for the lazy. He can be reached for info, requests, fan mail, contracted work, personal attacks, and spam at [email protected] (be warned spammers: he has a way to retrace the spam to your account and will infect you with more than a computer virus). His blood type is AB- but he loves the taste of O+, for anybody who might be interested in a donation...

TREVER PALMER’s mother gave birth to him on April Fool's Day while watching
Creature from the Black Lagoon
.  Since then, he's held jobs in a slaughterhouse, mental hospital, and porn theater.  He now lives with thirteen cats that tell him what to write. He is the author of the novella
Different Seasons,
the collection
Smells Like Fish
, and has authored numerous short stories.

TW BROWN is a member of the Horror Writers Association and the writer of the
DEAD
Series (
The Ugly Beginning
,
Revelations
, and
Fortunes & Failures
) as well as the
Zomblog trilogy.
He is the editor for May December Publications and oversees the selection team for the various anthologies under that label. Notreebooks, Pill Hill Press, and others have published his work but this is his first appearance in a
Books of the Dead Press
title. Besides zombies, he is a fan of all things pertaining to the American Civil War and Seattle Seahawks football. In what little spare time he can find he plays guitar and tries to train his Border Collie to do silly tricks. 

WILLIAM MEIKLE is a Scottish writer with more than ten published novels and over 200 short story credits in thirteen countries. He is the author of the ongoing
Midnight Eye
series, and his work has appeared in numerous anthologies.

T. A. WARDROPE resides in Minneapolis, MN where he tends to his own private bestiary, which does not include any gorillas. He has a M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Hamline University and is a graduate of Borderlands Press Horror Writer's Bootcamp. His science-fiction novel, Arcadian Gates, will be available from Amazon in early 2012.

* * *

Preview of:

GARY BRANDNER’S - THE HOWLING

1

The September heat lay heavy on Los Angeles. In the condominium community called Hermosa Terrace all the windows were tightly closed. The only sounds were the hum of exhaust fans and the muted growl of a power mower.

In the living room of Unit Two, Karyn Beatty stood on tiptoe to kiss her husband, Roy. Lady, their miniature collie, wagged her approval from the sofa. It started as a casual husband-and-wife first-anniversary kiss, but it quickly became something more. Karyn drew back her head and looked into Roy’s clear brown eyes.

“Are you trying to start something?” she said a little breathlessly.

“Darn right,” Roy replied, taking her in his arms.

Roy pulled her close, his big, gentle hands warm through the thin material of her summer dress. He kissed her neck where the blond hair curled forward below her ear.

“Won’t Chris be here soon?” she said, her lips close to his ear.

“We won’t answer the door.”

“You couldn’t do that to your best friend. Especially after we asked him to come by for an anniversary drink.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Roy admitted. “Anyway, he won’t stay long. He has a date.”

“Anybody we know?”

“A new one, I think.”

“Doesn’t Chris ever get serious about anybody?”

“Who knows? I think he’s secretly in love with you.”

“You don’t mean it?”

“Why not? All my friends have good taste.”

* * *

Max Quist shut off the power mower and took out a soiled handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his face. He watched as a young couple in sparkling tennis whites climbed out of a sports car and ran laughing across the lawn. They didn’t pay any attention to Max. Nobody living in Hermosa Terrace paid any attention to Max. He was like another piece of shrubbery to them.

No, he thought, not even that much.

Max hated these people. He hated them for having all the things he would never have. He would quit this lousy job in a minute if it weren’t for his parole officer. Just once he would like to show the smug sons-of-bitches that Max Quist was
somebody
.

* * *

The telephone rang in Unit Two. Roy Beatty picked it up and frowned as he listened to the voice on the other end. He spoke briefly and hung up.

“Anything wrong?” Karyn asked.

“I’ve got to go to Anaheim. Deliver some books.”

“On Saturday? On our anniversary?”

“Dammit, it’s my own fault. I promised to drop off a set of inspection manuals at Aerodyne yesterday. Had them in the trunk of the car and forgot all about it. I don’t know how it slipped my mind.”

Karyn smiled. It was very unlike Roy to forget anything. He was always thoroughly organized, like one of the technical manuals he edited. When she had first met him she had thought Roy Beatty was as stodgy as a church deacon. However, she had soon discovered his warm sense of humor, an open-minded willingness to listen, and a depth of intellect that was not apparent in his All-American good looks. Karyn had been working as a convention hostess for the New York Hilton at the time. Roy was in the city for a gathering of engineers. For the first time, she had broken the hotel rule against socializing with the guests. Roy had stayed on for a week after the convention, and they had been together constantly. When he had returned to the Coast he had said he would be back for her on his vacation. She had not expected him to come, but he had. That was when she had finally admitted she loved him.

“Don’t be long,” she said as he stood at the door. She kissed him and watched him walk down the winding path through the neatly trimmed shrubbery. Karyn could not imagine how she could be happier. She had Roy and she had an excellent job with a hotel near the airport where she was in line for convention manager when her current boss retired. Tonight she would give Roy her special anniversary gift––the news that he was going to be a father. Yes, her life was just about perfect.

* * *

Max Quist watched the blond young man come out of Unit Two and stride down the walk past him without a flicker. Max might as well have been invisible. The woman stood in the doorway watching him go. Good-looking cunt. Too good-looking. Both of them. Like people in a magazine ad. Young, beautiful, healthy, rich. Max spat on the cropped grass. How he wanted to show them what it’s like to be hurt. Hurt them. Yes… hurt them.

* * *

Karyn was in the kitchen putting the lunch things away when the doorbell chimed. Chris was early, she thought. She dried her hands and walked out through the living room to the door. She did not bother to look through the tiny viewer. She never did. There was no danger here. This was Hermosa Terrace, not East Los Angeles.

Karyn opened the door and the heat pushed against the cool inside air. The man in the doorway was not Chris Halloran. He smiled at her.

“Yes?” Karyn said when the man did hot speak right away.

He had thick black hair that was poorly barbered. His cotton work-shirt was dark with perspiration under the arms. He seemed vaguely familiar.

“I’m supposed to check the pipes in your bathroom,” he said.

“There’s nothing wrong with our pipes.”

“It’s in the apartment next door. Their shower don’t drain right, and it might be plugged up where your drain pipes come together.”

Something in the way the man spoke was wrong. The short speech sounded rehearsed. Something about the man himself was wrong. He continued to smile.

“You’d better come back when my husband is here. He knows about those things.”

Without making any sudden moves the man had somehow come through the doorway and was standing in the living room. He was still smiling, but it was a different smile. “That’s okay,” he said. “We won’t need your husband.”

Over on the couch Lady raised her neat little head and pricked her ears at the strange male voice. After a moment she put her head back down on her paws, but remained watchful.

“I’m sorry, but I’d rather you didn’t come in now.” Karyn fought to still the tremor of fear in her voice.

“But I
am
in,” the man said. He reached behind him and closed the door. Without taking his eyes off Karyn he turned the small knob, shooting the dead-bolt lock into place.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Karyn wanted her voice to be angry and strong, but the fear was in her now. She could not hide it.

“You know what I’m doing,” the man said.

“I–I don’t keep much money in the house. You can have what there is. And my jewelry.”

“I don’t want your money or your jewelry. But you know that, don’t you? You know what I want, and you’re going to give it to me.” He reached out suddenly and squeezed her breast.

Karyn jumped back as though from an electric shock. “Please, leave me alone!” The sour smell of his body was sharp in her nostrils. “M–my husband will be home.”

“No he won’t. He just left. We have all the time we need.”

She took a careful step backward. The man’s eyes traveled over her body, probing at her. His hands shot out and seized her wrists.

“No!” she cried.

“Relax,” he said. “You’re going to like it.”

“Please… you can’t…”

The man pulled Karyn against his body and mashed his mouth down on hers. Karyn clamped her jaws together as his tongue pushed in past her lips. He tasted of stale cigarettes.

“Where’s the bedroom?”

Karyn shook her head from side to side, afraid to trust her voice.

With a sudden movement the man twisted one arm up behind her back, forcing her to walk in front of him. He marched Karyn into the hallway that opened between the living room and the room Roy used for a den. She stumbled along in his grasp past the bathroom to the open door, through which they could see the bed.

All the things she had read about rape tumbled through Karyn’s mind. All the advice for women. Fight back. Don’t fight back. Scream. Stay calm. Blow a whistle. Run. Reason with the man.

Lovely advice, all useless. Fight the man? He was at least seventy pounds heavier than she, and certainly stronger. Scream? Who would hear? Hermosa Terrace Townhomes were proud of their soundproofing. Reason with him? Reason with an animal?

They were in the bedroom now. The man spun Karyn around and pushed her backward onto the bed.

The thinking part of her mind shut off and instinct took over. She crossed her arms protectively over her breasts and drew back her feet to kick out at the man when he came at her.

The man laughed at her efforts and batted the kick aside with an easy swipe of his hand. He grasped her by the ankles and forced her legs apart. Karyn writhed on the bed, helpless against his strength.

The man grinned down at her, showing large, strong teeth. Droplets of sweat stood out on his forehead and upper lip. His eyes moved down to her crotch. Karyn felt open and exposed with the thin velour pants pulled tight between her legs.

“I’m pregnant,” she said suddenly.

“Bullshit.”

“I
am
,” she insisted. “Three months.”

“Then you don’t have to worry about getting knocked up, do you?”

He released one of Karyn’s ankles and took hold of the velour pants at the waist. He yanked them down, exposing the smooth, pale skin of her belly. The snap and zipper held at first, but he tugged again and the material tore away.

Then she screamed. Not with any thought of summoning help or frightening the man off. A visceral scream of outrage and terror.