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Featured Indie Horror Indie Horror Creation Indie horror writers

Interview with Horror Author Ezekiel Kincaid

Johnny Walker Ranger - Demon Slayer Book promo image

Tell me a bit about your background. I understand you were Pastor at one point in time?

Yes, I was in the ministry full-time for around twenty years. I served in churches across the
South in just about every position imaginable. I have three religion/theology degrees because
my passion has always been teaching and the intellectual side of things. My favorite areas of
study are supernatural and psychic phenomena, as well as the compatibility between the
Christian faith and evolution. I also enjoy philosophy. In fact, it was my faith which lead me into
horror writing. Both the Bible and horror deal with the supernatural, fear, survival, overcoming
terrible situations, and human depravity. The death and resurrection of Jesus is the ultimate
display of these themes. For me, writing horror was a natural cross over.


My decision to write horror caused big waves in my circles. Few were supportive while most
didn’t understand. The issue many have is the content of my writing. They balk at the violence
and profanity at times. I have explained over and over again that in the Bible, we see the same
thing. These issues are a part of human existence and God knows this. He meets us where we
are, and the Bible does not shy away from presenting the harsh realities of what it means to be
human. Therefore, if I as a still ordained ministers and committed to my faith, want to be faithful
to the pattern of what I understand as inspired Scripture, why should I edit my content?
This is the big issue I have with Christian fiction and why I would never write it. It’s fake and
doesn’t face the grittiness of reality like the Bible does. It sacrifices the depths and complexity of
life for some made up, stringent moral code.


I think when people found out I was writing horror, they thought it would be like Little House on
the Prairie meets Casper. They were disappointed.

You have been writing about the paranormal and horror for a while now. What is your favorite bit
of paranormal lore from your area?


I grew up in the small town of Central, just outside of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Anyone who
keeps up with the paranormal and haunted places knows Louisiana is a hotbed of activity. In
Central, there’s a haunted road. It goes by the name Frenchtown and was known for its
ferocious curves. Toward the end of the wooded road, it opened up a little, and ahead of you
would appear a bridge. This bridge was a once functional railroad trestle. The foreboding, rusty
structure would glare down at you, covered in satanic graffiti. Near this bridge was where most
of the paranormal activity had been reported. But it’s not just about the bridge. Rumors of a
Satanic cult in the woods near the bridge, along with a witch who lived in the last house on the
left (yes, Wes Craven would be proud) are the prominent legends which once swirled around
this trestle. It was said that if you crossed under the bridge, the cult members would kidnap you
and drag you back to their lair. In the forest behind the bridge was where the rituals took place.
Some have even reported seeing dead cats hanging from underneath the trestle.
There are also many other phenomena reported about this site, too many to list here. I am
working on an article about it and going into detail about all the paranormal activity associated
with the place.

This has been so influential on me I have based an entire series of stories around it and am
developing them into novels. The collections of shorts are called The Tetromet Chronicles and are
forthcoming through Stitched Smile Publications. I have had several of these stories published
already through other horror publishers

Have you ever experienced anything paranormal yourself?


Yes. I don’t talk about it much because one thing I have found to be true—the person who
shouts about all of their paranormal experiences all the time and say they have them every day?
They are full of crap. With that said, let me relay some of my experiences with brevity.
One experience I will never forget is casting a demon out of a woman. It wasn’t anything like
The Exorcist, but her husband had to try and hold her down. I bound the demon in Jesus’ name
and the strength left. I was able to then cast the demons out. There were only two. I can’t even
imagine how bad it would have been if there were more.


Me and my buddy were also shot at by a Satanic cult when we stumbled upon their meeting
place late one night. This was in Louisiana and we had heard about the site and went to do a
cleansing. We didn’t think anyone would be there since it was 2 a.m. on a weeknight. Boy, were
we wrong.


I have also had an intense encounter with a ghost. She is the subject of one of my other
forthcoming novels called Theodosia.


I’ve had psychic experiences of remote viewing, clairvoyance, and telekinesis.

Johnny Walker Ranger has some pretty interesting combinations within the name. Tell me a bit
about this character and what inspired you to create him?


Ah, Johnny. My first fiction novel and the character I love so much. With all the serious stuff I
just laid on everyone, there is something else you need to know about me. I love sarcasm and
socially awkward humor. I am a HUGE Bruce Campbell fan and have been for decades. I was
the guy in high school telling people they needed to watch Bruce Campbell movies. Their
response? “Who is that?”


Yeah, you horror fans feel my pain.


Johnny is a Bruce Campbell tribute. It is taking us back to the days of VHS tapes and when we
could joke about things and not get so butt-hurt and offended. But yeah, it is a nod to Bruce, but
it is its own story and Johnny is his own character.


I came up with the story at a very low point in my life. Things with ministry went bad fast
because of jealous colleagues and pissed off people who wanted me to be a puppet pastor. I
was in a transitional period of my life and I needed something to make me laugh. So, I came up
with Johnny.


And the name?

I just came up with something I thought sounded like a drunk and pissed off redneck. Johnny
will always and forever be my favorite character I have come up with because he helped me
through such a dark time in my life. Even now, when things get bad, I go back to writing Johnny.
I am almost finished with Vol.2 and I have already started an anthology of stories written by
Johnny.

As a horror writer what have been some of the biggest challenges in releasing this story?


Johnny is not for everyone. We had an editor bail because she kept getting triggered by the
story. We also had to fire a cover artist because he couldn’t come through and give us a
finished product. He got mad and went to social media and slandered me and Stitched Smile
Publications. He really focused on me because I was a pastor and am an outspoken Christian.
He went on and on for weeks and it finally died down. But still, he won’t let it go. He bought a
copy of the book and gave it a one star review on Amazon…but at least he bought the book!


What was your favorite scene in the book to write and what did you enjoy most about it?


Without a doubt, the Bootcamp chapter. It is towards the end of the book and Johnny is training
people in his church on how to kill demons. Here are some of the highlights.

The next few moments were beautiful. There’s nothing more melodic than the
sound of someone huffing when they get kicked in the nuts. As I perused the rows, I
came across a kid who looked to be about fifteen. Real nerdy looking fella; coke bottle
glasses, button up shirt, and skinny jeans. Blood gushed from his mouth, and he was
crying. I got in his face and went all-out Gunnery Sergeant Hartman on him.
“What in the fuck is this? Are those tears, private?”
He sniffed. “N-n-n-no, sir.”
“It’s not? Well shit on me and call me Commodious. Ladies and gentlemen, we
have a freak of nature here who can make it rain from his eyes. Is that rain coming from
your eyes, private?”
“N-n-n-no, sir.”
“Well then what the hell is it? It damn sure can’t be tears, ‘cause you just told me
it wasn’t. And I know for damn sure you aren’t fucking stupid enough to lie to me. So
what are they, private?”
He dried up real quick, but I kept at him.
“Listen here, el nerdo. If you are crying here, do you know what’s gonna happen
to you when you’re in war? Well, I’ll tell ya. You’re gonna piss yourself like a neutered
dog and run home to your Xbox and action figures. Now, if I catch you crying again, I
will body slam you to the ground and pee on you! Understood?”
“Y-y-y-yes, s-s-sir, D-d-demon S-slayer s-s-sir.” He sniffled a few more times
then got back into ready position.
“Good. Carry on, private.”

A few rows over, a fat dude who looked like Newman from Seinfeld raised his hand and
called for me.
“What do you want, Newman clone?”
“You can’t be serious? You really want us to electrocute each other?”
I marched double time and got in his face. “Serious? Serious?! Do you wanna know what
serious is, Newman? Serious is rescuing your pure virgin bride-to-be from becoming a sacrifice
to Satan. Serious is picking Toby brains out her hair before you make out with her. Serious is
fighting an angel cause he done pissed you off. Serious? You damn better believe I’m serious.
Ask me if I’m fucking serious again. Go ahead, Newman, I double damn dog dare you. You ever
ask me that again, I’ll shove that stun gun so far up your ass, when I turn it on, it’ll shave your
face, got it?”
Newman started to mutter.
“I can’t understand you, lard ass. Get your tongue outta the jar of Crisco and talk to me.”
“Sir, yes, sir, Demon Slayer sir.”
“Ya damn right! Now get to shocking, you pew-sitting, casserole-eating, toe-tapping
shittards!”

You must be a pretty big horror fan yourself, can you give us some movie and book recommendations?


I am. I am going avoid suggesting the big names in horror because most of us have seen the
movie or read the book. Before I give my suggestions, I will say The Exorcist and Legion by
William Peter Blatty are my favorite horror novels.


For reading I recommend the following:


Mine, by Robert McCammon. Best opening chapter of any book I have ever read.
Out Are The Lights, by Richard Laymon
Mark Of The Werewolf, by Jeffery Sackett
The Hunger Moon, by Ramsey Campbell
Night Warriors, by Graham Masterton
Hobgoblin, by John Coyne
Light Source, by Bari Wood
The Revelation, by Bentley Little

Again with movies, I will give some that are not mainstream


The Abomination, 1986
Galaxy of Terror, 1981The Nest, 1988
The Kindred, 1987
The Boogens, 1981
Witchboard, 1986
House II: The Second Story, 1987
The Beast Within, 1982
The Brain, 1988


Where can we find and stalk.. I mean follow you online?


Twitter: @EzekielKincaid
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ezekethefreak/
Website: https://ezekielkincaid.wordpress.com/


Where can we get your latest book and other works?
My books and other anthologies I have been published in can be found on Amazon.
https://www.amazon.com/s?k=ezekiel+kinciad&ref=nb_sb_noss_2
Free reading can be found on Stitched Smile’s WordPress site
https://stitchedsmilepublications.wordpress.com/
And Horror Bound
https://www.horrorbound.net/?author=5de80c37c09a8973f9c333cf

Categories
Featured Haunted Places Indie Horror Indie Horror Creation Indie horror writers Short Horror Stories

Shadowend Funeral Home

spooky old haunted house

“Shadowend Funeral Home?” Robby Falcon turned his gray F-150 off the main road of Baker High School and onto the service road that led to the interstate. “Brayden, that placed stopped being scary when we were in elementary school.”

Brayden Briley, packed his dip can with a loud pop and said, “Look, Falcon, it’s not about being scary man. It’s about having the place to ourselves.” Brayden opened the dip can, swiped out some tobacco, and stuck it in his front lip. He wiped his lip and checked his face in the side mirror to make sure no remnants of tobacco hung on. He looked at Falcon again. “Remember? Privacy?” Brayden reached in his back pack and produced a dime bag of weed and a fifth of whiskey.

Falcon did a double take. “Brayden, dammit! Put that away man. People can see!” Falcon slapped at him with one hand and kept the other on the steering wheel, then turned left to merge onto the interstate.

Brayden chuckled, “Don’t be such a baby, Falcon. No one can see.” Brayden stuffed the alcohol and weed into his back pack, hiding it underneath his history and math book.

Falcon’s face relaxed when he saw Brayden stow their stash away. “And how do you know Shadowend will not be occupied with other said teens engaging in underage drinking and other shenanigans?” He checked the rearview. His curly, sandy blond hair was damp and disheveled from 7th hour P.E.

Brayden placed an arm on the seat and grabbed Falcon’s shoulder. “Look man, that placed stopped being a party spot in the early 90s man. Sure, in the 80s it was the place to go. The stories were fresh then and people were looking for a scare. The place is so dead now, that not even the cops go out there. It’s perfect. The funeral home is considered so lame and overdone, its almost like its not even there.” He removed an empty plastic water bottle from the cup holder and spat.

Falcon sped up and merged. “Did you invite them?”

“Yeah.” Brayden spat again.

“And?”

“And they said they’d come. What’s the big deal?”

Falcon gave Brayden a backhand to the chest. The slap made a hollow echo throughout the cab. “What do you mean ‘what’s the big deal’? I’ve been trying to go out with Sarah since like 8th grade.”

Brayden made an umf sound and almost spat his dip on the windshield, then giggled. “I know, so don’t screw this up. Which, by the way, when I talked to Annie and invited them, she said that Sarah had told her just the other day about how hot you looked in your baseball uniform.” He jabbed Falcon in the ribs. “Huh? Huh?? Hey slugger?”

Falcon swiped at Brayden’s hand and gave a half smile. “What time did you tell them to meet us out there?” Falcon took his exit.

“2:00 am.” Brayden scratched his head, disturbing his short and wild black hair.

“2:00 am it is,” Falcon said, and took a left.

The full moon hung high over Shadowend that night. It directed its rays on the dilapidated funeral home like a spotlight, as if the structure was a lone actor on a stage of rustling tree branches and waving grass. Falcon and Brayden pulled up to the building five minutes before 2.

Shadowend sat on ten acres of land. An overgrown road with busted asphalt led back to the main building, which sat encircled by a wrought iron fence. The once active funeral home and cemetery stayed in business until 1980, when unexpectedly, the owners fled or disappeared. Soon after, the rumors circulated about the owners. A Satanic cult, eaters of the dead, child murders, aliens, and whatever else the imaginative minds of teenagers could come up with. But the truth was, no one knew.

The lights on Falcon’s truck shined on the face of the funeral home. The Victorian looking house, once a pristine white, now faded old and graying, like a sad elderly man in his last years of life. The windows were cracked, and some had holes the size of baseballs in them. The screen door sat cockeyed on its hinges, and the post which held up the awning of the porch was leaning..

“Oh, nice pick Brayden,” Falcon said, staring through the windshield. “I hope someone doesn’t fart too loud. They might knock the place down.”

“She’ll hold, capn’,” Brayden said in a terrible imitation pirate voice. “Now come on.” Brayden grabbed his backpack and got out the truck. Falcon killed the engine and followed.

A few seconds later, headlights appeared. It was Annie and Sarah. The two girls hopped out of Annie’s white Mustang and Sarah waved a bottle of vodka at them. “The whiskey won’t be enough, boys.” She said and winked at Falcon.

Falcon gave Sarah a nervous smile. Man, she looks so hot, he thought. Her red hair glistened in the moonlight, as if each particle were made of rubies. “You look nice.” Falcon said, then regretted how awkward it sounded.

Brayden snickered then said, “Yeah Sarah, I tried to talk Falcon in to wearing his baseball uniform, but he refused.” He put his arm around Annie and gave her a wink.

Sarah cut her eyes at Annie, then Brayden.

“Oh whatever,” Annie said. “We all know you have the hots for one another. Just get it over with.”

Falcon and Sarah exchanged skittish smiles, then Falcon reached out his hand. “Come on, let’s go explore the house.”

Sarah flipped her hair over her shoulder and grabbed his hand. Falcon walked her down the cracked cobblestone walkway and up the porch to the cockeyed screen door. Annie and Brayden followed.

Falcon turned his phone light on, then opened the front door. The light reflected off a dangling chandelier, hanging almost head level. Directly in front of them were red, carpeted stairs with white railings. Strewn across the floor were broken pieces of furniture, mortar from the ceiling, and numerous beer cans.  In the back of the room, a dark hallway drew their attention.

“What do you think is back there?” Sarah asked.

“The morgue,” Brayden said and stepped through. “Come on, or you just gonna sit there and stare at it all night?”

The four teens eased through the doorway and let the screen door bang behind them. They skipped to the hallway, as if dodging landmines, trying not to trip on all the debris scattered across the floor. With all the lights on their phones shining, the group followed Brayden down the long hallway, then half way down, turned left.

Their lights gleamed back at them and reflected off a rusted chrome table, littered with grass, dirt, empty cigarette packs, and other pieces of trash that had deteriorated into unrecognizable black smut. A tube from the embalming station dangled over the side.

“Come on, Annie. Climb up there and lay down.” Brayden raised his eyebrows and winked.

“That is so disgusting.” Sarah coughed and placed a hand over her mouth.

Annie slapped Brayden. “So romantic.”

A deep humming noise, hollow and echoing, buzzed from the back of the mortuary.

“What was that?” Falcon asked.

Brayden motioned with his head. “Sounded like it came from the cold chambers.”

“Cold chambers? What’s that?” Annie tilted her head.

“The place where they would store the bodies.” Falcon said and followed Brayden to the back of the room.

The cold chambers sat along the wall in rows of threes. The doors were open, and the table on the one at the bottom left was rolled halfway out.

The humming noise came again.

“Where is that coming from?” Sarah stepped closer and squinted into the darkness.

Falcon shined his light on the cold chambers. “Sounds like its coming from one of those.”

The sound flowed again, this time softer.

Brayden eased forward and knelt by the cold chamber; the one with the table rolled out. He held his hand over the opening, palm facing forward. “I feel a breeze.”

Falcon knelt beside him, crawled halfway into the chamber, and shined his light into the back. “You guys aren’t going to believe this.”

Sarah placed a hand on Falcon’s leg. “What?’

“There’s an opening back here. Like a tunnel or something.” Falcon crawled further in. A trash bag had been duct taped over an opening and it crackled as a breeze waved it. He pushed the bag aside with the back of his hand and shinned his light through the opening. “Oh yeah. It’s a tunnel.”

“Sweet,” Brayden said. “Let’s see where it leads.”

“Um, no!” Annie grabbed Brayden’s jeans by the waist and tried to pull him back.

Sarah cracked open the bottle of vodka and took a swig. “Come on, Annie. Don’t be such a little bitch.”

Annie snatched the bottle from Sarah and took a sip. “Fine.”

“Hey give me some.” Brayden tried to grab the bottle.

Annie pushed his forehead. Brayden chuckled, took the bottle, and drank.

“Hey assholes, y’all coming?” Falcon’s voiced flowed from the tunnel. He was already in.

The three teens giggled, then joined Falcon.

The tunnel sloped in a slight decline, and there was dirt on all the sides, top, and bottom. They could still feel the cool breeze coming from ahead of them. The air smelled musty, like an old library. Falcon fought his way through spiderwebs and other retreating insects.

“Hey Annie, let’s hope they ain’t got no rats down here,” Brayden joked.

“Ew, shut up.” Annie slapped his butt.

“Hey! Stairs!” Falcon yelled from the front of the line. Before him, the tunnel widened to a winding metal staircase. The teens scurried down the steps, and when all their feet touched the floor, they stood, mouths agape at their surroundings.

“What is it?” Sarah turned in circles, shining her light. She then snatched the bottle from Annie.

“Stain glass window. Pews. Looks like a church,” Falcon said.

“Buried under ground?” Annie asked.

Falcon shrugged, still glancing around.

“Holy shit! Look at that!” Brayden pointed his light straight ahead.

The teens stood at the back of the sanctuary. The middle aisle led to where the pulpit should be, except there wasn’t a pulpit. What looked to be an old pine box rested in the middle of the stage, having been covered with stacks of old Bibles and religious relics. Only the corners of the pine box remained visible. Bibles and relics had even been piled on the floor around it and up the sides.

Falcons started down the aisle. “That’s odd. Like really odd.” He craned his neck around and glance at his friends, then smiled. “Let’s check it out!”

Brayden raised his eyebrows and followed.

“Look,” Annie protested. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason why that box is covered with Bibles and stuff. We should leave it alone.” She eased behind Brayden.

Falcon arrived first and blew the dust off some of the Bibles. “What do you think’s in the box?”

Brayden lifted his shoulders, then he and Falcon exchanged mischievous glances. “Let’s find out.” The boys began to push and fling the Bibles and relics onto the floor, making loud thuds and clanging sounds.

Sarah drank more vodka, not at all interested in this little adventure anymore.

Annie bit her nails and fidgeted with her hair.

The top of the pine box had torn out pages from the Bibles glued to it.

“You think it’s a coffin?” Brayden asked and ran his hands along the pages.

Falcon nodded. “Sure looks like it.” He studied the relics on the floor, then grabbed one. It was an old iron cross, with the end fashioned in a point. Falcon jabbed the point between the lid and the box and pried. He went along the entire left side, popping all the nails loose. He threw the relic to the ground, then called to the girls. “Hey ladies, time for the big reveal.”

Brayden rubbed his hands together, giddy as a school girl. Sarah huffed, drank some more vodka, then shuffled over rolling her eyes. Annie tip toed over with sweaty palms.

“Guys, like I said, that thing was buried for a reason. I don’t think opening it…is a good idea.” Annie bit her lip.

Brayden rubbed her back. “Oh come on. Are you serious? It’s probably just an old decaying corpse.”

“Yeah and besides, we’ve found something here no one else has. Who knows? Maybe this discovery will make this place poppin’ again.” Falcon grasped the lid with both hands and lifted it opened. The old wood groaned in protest.

Brayden shined his light into the coffin, and his mouth fell open. Annie clamped a hand over her’s with a gasp. Sarah dropped the vodka bottle, and Falcon furrowed his brow.

Lying in the coffin was a body no more than five feet long. It was wrapped in faded cloth. Written on the cloth were more religious symbols and phrases in Latin. White hair snaked out from the corpse’s head, and a small opening was cut over the mouth. In the opening was a rolled-up piece of paper.

Falcon went to pull the piece of paper out its mouth but was stopped by Annie’s hand clamping around his wrist. “No. Absolutely not,” she grimaced. “This isn’t right. This doesn’t feel right. We need to go.”

Falcon jerked his arm away and dismissed her.He retrieved the paper and unrolled it.

“Well?” Brayden asked.

Falcon handed him the page. “More Latin.”

Brayden tossed the paper on the body. “Too bad none of us can read it.” A movement caught Brayden’s attention out the corner of his eye. He stared down at the corpse. “Hey did y’all see that!”

Falcon waved a hand at Brayden. “Stop messing around. I’m gonna shut the lid.”

“Thank God,” Annie mumbled and rubbed her arms with her hands. “Feels like it’s gotten colder since we’ve been here.”

“No I’m serious look at her mouth!” Brayden pointed.

The group leaned in to get a better look. The cloth around the corpse’s mouth moved in and out, as if it were breathing. .

“That’s it I’m done.” Annie pushed away from the coffin and sprinted down the aisle toward the stairs. The other three turned their attention away from the coffin and watched Annie in disbelief.

Sarah was the first to look back at the coffin. When she did, she screamed. The corpse sat up, and the breathing became more visible, as the cloth around its lungs expanded and relaxed. In reactionary manner Brayden, who always carried a folding knife with a four-inch blade, whipped it out and started stabbing the corpse in the chest. He than worked on the stomach and tore away the old cloth. A translucent liquid poured out, followed by a flurry of baby eels.

“Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod!” Brayden dropped the knife and leaped back.

Falcon slammed the lid and dashed towards the stairs. Sarah had already joined Annie. The four teens scurried up the stairs, crawled through the tunnel and out the cold chambers. They ran back down the hall, then paused at the front door. A shadow moved passed the window, and faint moaning sound came from the porch.

“Is there another way out?” Sarah asked between breaths.

“The back.” Brayden turned toward the hall and sprinted, the others right behind him.

The teens arrived at the back door, which was a faded and chipping white. Brayden turned the brass deadbolt and opened the door. Concrete steps led down to a cobblestone walkway. The walkway led to the abandoned cemetery. Through the clearing they could see a tall hill. The full moon hung over it and illuminated the top. They watched as shadows loomed. Something approached from the back side of the hill. As the things moved closer, the shadows took form.

They looked human.

A few seconds passed, then a mass of human figures appeared. They walked with contorted and jerky gestures and moaned. Some tripped over each other and rolled down the hill.

Brayden slammed the door and locked it back. “Guys we are seriously…”

“The truck,” Falcon interrupted. “It’s our only chance. We can make it if we go now.”

The others nodded, and they took off down the hallway. Falcon led the way. He went to pass by the mortuary room but jolted to a stop. The others bumped into his back.

“What the hell? Why’d you stop!” Sarah shrieked.

Annie shined her light ahead, then let out an ear-piercing shrill.

The corpse from the coffin stood in the middle of the hallway. The grave cloths hung off her in shreds. Her skin was as pale as the moonlight. Symbols were cared into her body; not the religious symbols that once decorated her coffin, but different ones. Evil, dark looking ones. Eels still pumped forth from her stomach, falling to the ground with sloshing and splattering sounds. Her white hair seemed to glow, and her eyes looked like dark red marbles. She opened her mouth and her tongue flopped out, falling all the way to the floor with the eels. The end danced and curled on the floor. Yellow eyes formed in the tip of her tongue, as did a slit. The slit opened, and the bottom unhinged like a snake, revealing fangs.

Annie turned to run away. The tongue wrapped around her ankle and tripped her to the ground. The eels were on Annie before her face thudded against the floor. In a matter of seconds, they had eaten her skin off.

Brayden went to grab the tongue. When he got close, it struck him on the hand. He felt a warm liquid pump from the fangs into his hand. The fluid filled his entire body within moments, and a burning sensation hit him all over. He looked at his arms, and his pores leaked a red and purple liquid. Brayden fell to the ground in pain, where he sweated his insides out his pores till he died.

Sarah and Falcon couldn’t move. Fear deadened their limbs. They gawked as the tongue grew in length and thickness. The tongue coiled up and stared at them with its yellow eyes and flickering tongue. It struck Sarah first, right in the mid-section. She screamed and grabbed for Falcon. Falcon tried to hold on, but the snake proved too powerful. He watched with tear-soaked eyes and a pounding heart as the tongue-snake swallowed Sarah. Even when she was in its belly, he could still hear her screams.

Falcon backed away and stepped into the mortuary. The tongue shrank and rolled back into the lady’s mouth. She matched Falcon’s steps, going with him into the mortuary. A clattering sound rang out as Falcon backed into the embalming table. The lady’s hands extended with a slow, smooth movement towards Falcons’ neck.

Falcon stared deep into her dark red eyes. His head spun, and he became disoriented. He fell back and laid on the table. The last thing Falcon saw before he died was the embalming needle moving up his nose.

The lady didn’t bother to dispose of the bodies. She even left Falcon lying on the embalming table. She shuffled out the room, then went down the hall toward the front of the house. She walked around the staircase and into the sitting room. She sat down in her rocker and rocked. She reminisced about her days at Shadowend, when the home was in its prime.

Categories
Featured Indie Horror Short Horror Stories

The 12 A.M. To Nowhere

blank

This must be the hundredth time I have woken up on this damn subway covered in blood and body parts. If I have to spit one more ear lobe out my mouth again, I swear I am going to shit a brick.

Nothing changes.

It is the same thing over and over. There’s the red head over there draped across the seat. One of her green eyes is dangling out of the socket and her legs are gnawed off at the knees. Then there’s the douche bag looking bro dude with black hair and a trimmed beard. Well, what’s left of him anyway. He is splattered all over the car. At my feet are the police officers. One has his chest ripped open. The other has her organs over her face, and still another is missing his head.

I examine the car and see broken windows. It had crashed at some point. I walk down the aisle and see the mangled remains of men, women, and children. A crash didn’t do this. There is no way a wreck can take someone’s intestines and wrap them around the holding bar like a coiled serpent.

“Hello!” I yell. I say the same words every time. “Anyone there? What the fuck happened?”

I look down at my hands and they are dripping crimson. My eyes scan my body again and I am naked. Goosebumps are all over my flesh and there is skin underneath my fingernails. I hold my hands up and stare at them.

“What the hell…” Something crunches under my feet. I stare down at it and see a severed jaw.

The sinews and ligaments are wiggling and dripping blood. Then I remember Ronnie. He got on the subway with me. We were going to the movies because they were having a horror triple feature.

“Ronnie!” I call. “Where are you, man?”

I step over more dead people and go into the next car. I see Ronnie. The expression on his face is sheer panic. His brown eyes are gazing into me and he is missing his ears. Blood trickles down his neck and for some reason, all I can focus on are the drops which are on a few strands of his neck hair. His fingers are missing from his hand. They had been shoved in his mouth and he resembles a bad Dick Tracy character.

I sob and tremble. “Ronnie! Oh, God! Ronnie!” I grab him and shake him. The fingers spill out of his mouth and topple onto the floor. “Shit,” I mumble and step back.

I remember now.

I know what’s coming.

I have the same memory lapse for a while then when I get to this point it all comes back to me.

I peek over my shoulder and remember Hannah. My beautiful, blonde angel who loved me like no other. She came with me because we both love horror movies. Too bad I couldn’t save her. She is sprawled out on a seat with her throat ripped to shreds. Her hip bones are missing too.

Who the hell can rip out hip bones?

You can The thought arose from the recesses of my mind. “Bull shit!” I yelled. “I did not!” I clasp my palms over my ears. “Shut the fuck up and get out of my fucking head!”

I spin in circles and scream. All I notice are the blood stains splattered on the car. I stop then grab Hannah and hold her in my arms.

“Who did this!” I yell. I fling my head back and cry. I pull a hand away from Hannah and wipe my eyes then blood mixed with tears stream down my cheek.

You did this, the voice in my head says again.

I throw Hannah’s corpse down in rage and glare up at the ceiling. I clench my fist and lift them towards the heavens. “I did not!”

Yes, you did.

“Bull shit! You liar!”

Then the events play through my mind. I killed all these people. I killed Ronnie. I killed Hannah. I killed those kids. The revelation is too much for me. My knees grow week and I fall to the ground. I can feel the warm blood on my naked butt. I pull my knees to my chin and bury my head into them. I weep and rock, smelling the copper scent of blood and organs.

I don’t know if this is hell.

I don’t know if this is reality gone mad.

I don’t know if this is quantum physics on hallucinogens.

All I know is I can sense the full moon even down in this subway and I am going to have my transformation.

And this shit is about to happen all lover again.

Categories
Featured Haunted Places Horror Mystery and Lore

The Demon Dog of Valle Crucis, North Carolina an Urban Legend

My day job is working as a pest control technician for an awesome company here in Blowing Rock, North Carolina. Come to find out, I have a haunted site on my route. (Yeah, I know. What are the odds that the horror author gets the route with a haunted place or even better a place haunted by a demon dog?) I have included pictures in this article that I took the last time I was in this area. This local legend of the demon dog of Valle Crucis has been around since the late 1800s.

The story was birthed at St. John’s Episcopal Church in Valle Crucis, North Carolina around 1860. A few people were found dead in the nearby woods by an apparent animal attack. Instead of looking for a rational explanation of what happened, the local minister claimed he saw a “demon dog” kill these people. I’m not bashing ministers or any religion or denomination, for I myself an am ordained minister, but given the time period should we be surprised?

This urban legend has gone on for several generations, but the most popular story has to do with two young men who were students at App State. They were traveling down the road next to the church one moonlit autumn night. A large, shadowy figure leaped our from behind one of the tombstones from the church’s graveyard and appeared in front of their vehicle. The driver swerved to the side of the road to avoid slamming into whatever had stepped in front of them. According to witnesses, he slammed on the breaks and eased his vehicle to the shoulder.

Cemetery in Valle Crucis at St. John's Episcopal Church
St. John's Episcopal Church and gravestones

The two friends peered out the window into the darkness. The figure took shape under the moonlight and they were shocked at what they saw. A massive dog, the size of a full grown man, stood in the road staring at them. it was covered in shimmering black fur and had large, yellow teeth. It’s eyes were glowing red and did not reflect back the light like a dog or cat’s eyes will sometimes do at night. One of the young men turned to the other and said, “Do you see that?” His friend replied, “No, and neither do you.”

Sign in front of tombs at St. John's Episcopal Church

The dog eased towards the vehicle and growled. The driver took his foot off the braked and slammed on the gas. The vehicle sped down the dark, mountain road, hugging the curves as hard as it could without flipping. Sixty miles and hour…Seventy miles an hour…the driver did his best to keep the car under control. He glanced in his rear view mirror and had the shock of his life. The demon dog was keeping us with the car. No, it was gaining on them.

The driver mashed the accelerator even harder. The car sped over a the bridge where the streams in Valle Crucis meet to form a cross (the name in Latin means Vale of the Cross). The dog stopped following them and then vanished.

St. John's Episcopal Church sign established in 1862

The frightened friends drove into Boone and stopped at a local diner, which was the only place open late at night. They tried to let their nerves settle down but it wasn’t happening. They knew neither of them were going to get to sleep for a while. They also knew they had experienced something terrifying and supernatural. The two men shared their story and the urban legend of the Demon Dog of Valle Crucis was cemented into North Carolina folklore forever.

There are other stories surrounding this quaint little cemetery at St. John’s. Some have reported seeing the apparition of a woman wondering around the graves. Others have reported sounds of gunshots and a weeping female, all of which cannot be connected to any known event.

Is the legend of the Demon Dog true? Is this a case of lycanthropy maybe?

When I was out there, I called and whistled for the demon dog several times. I walked among the graves and tried to see if I could get him to come out. He was either napping or had better things to do. I got back in my truck and drove away. I looked in my review, and to my disappointment, there was no demon dog chasing me.

Categories
Indie Horror Short Horror Stories

The Paranormal Journal of Ezekiel Kincaid – Entry One Theodosia

Entry One: Theodosia by Ezekiel Kincaid

I leave these words and experiences behind so those who come after me might not feel so alone. Stephen King called this gift “The Shining”. Others have called it the Third Eye of the Sixth Sense.

I call it The Reach. It is the rare, yet powerful ability to walk in the realm of the dead while living in the realm of the living. It makes the dead visible, their voices audible, and their thoughts understandable. It is the gift which many fake, but few have.

And those who have it?

You would never know, for the things they see are beyond belief. They never talk about it. They never write about it either because the world is full of so many fictitious diatribes.

But I am going to write about it.

I don’t care if you believe me or not. I am not writing to convince you. I am writing to share Theodosia’s story, and to tell how though the darkness howls, the light roars.

I am Ezekiel Kincaid, the one many have dubbed the Paranormal Pastor, and this is the story about my experiences with Theodosia.

There was one glaring lesson I learned from her…

When the darkness howls, the light roars.

I discovered this a long time ago, but it never became a reality until I met Theodosia.

Theodosia started off as a story idea. A tale about a young, innocent girl who had the ability to see and walk in the realm of the supernatural. This realm I called The Ethereal Plane, playing off the ideas of H.P. Lovecraft and others.

It was meant to be a horror fantasy. Theodosia was supposed to be a young girl with psychic ability who encountered creatures from the Plane that wanted to use her talent to cross over. Yet as I wrote, Theodosia took on a life of her own.

Many of horror fans and horror authors would roll their eyes and say, “Oh sure, I get it. As a writer, your characters ‘come to life’ and take over the story.”

I have been writing long enough to know that. My characters have taken over my books and stories many times. Johnny Walker Ranger, the main character of my recently released book, is a perfect example. I created him, and then as I wrote, let him run with the story in my mind.

But Johnny never visited me in my dreams.

Johnny never showed up on my couch scolding me because the story wasn’t written well enough.

Johnny never appeared in my back yard catching fireflies with his sister.

Theodosia did.

I started writing Theodosia’s story three years ago, but things didn’t get weird until this last five year.

The first time I heard her speak unsettled me. I was sitting at my desk one night writing her story. I felt someone walk up behind me. I turned to see who it was, but no one was there. It was late and I had been writing for a while, so I figured I was just tired. I faced my computer again and went to finish up a scene before I headed to bed.

“That’s not how it happened.”

A child’s voice spoke from behind me. The hairs on my neck stood on end. I felt a chill all the way in the marrow of my bones. I eased my head around in a slow, almost lifeless motion.  My body followed, spinning the chair I sat in. When my eyes fell to the scenery behind me, nothing was there– just the clothes I had tossed on the floor and my sleeping dog.

“Did you hear that,” I asked my dog.

She moaned and opened one eye then ignored me.

“Guess not.” I shook my head then arose from my seat. I shut my computer and went to bed.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. I knew it was her. I knew it was Theodosia. It was then I began to wonder if this wasn’t just more than a story.

Since her audible voice broke through, every time I sat down to write her story she showed up. She screamed and scolded every time I sat down to write.

“No, change this.”

“This isn’t dark enough.”

“This isn’t how it happened.”

On and on Theodosia went, telling her story and taking it to a place I never imagined.

I reached the end of the book and had it outlined. The odd thing was Theodosia never showed up when I worked on the ending, so I just came up with something on my own. 

This is when Theodosia took the story to a new level.

Theodosia came to me one night in a dream. Her red hair was disheveled and matted to her face. Her eyes were black, and her pupils changed colors from red to green to yellow. Her lips were dry and cracked and the skin on her face hung in shreds.

We were standing in the hallway on the second story of her farmhouse. When I saw her, I knew I was not dealing with a sweet, helpless little girl. Theodosia was evil. Pure darkness devoid of any light.

“What do you want,” I asked her.

She smiled an insidious grin, revealing teeth covered in human flesh. “I want to show you how the end happened. How I died. How my sister died. How the children died. And you need to know about the demon. It didn’t happen the way you outlined it.”

Theodosia’s voice was not sweet anymore. It was deep and grating.

She continued. “And from this point on, no more sweet Theodosia in your story. She is dead. The darkness took her and corrupted her. Now, follow me.”

I followed Theodosia around the upstairs and she showed me awful things. Those images are burned in my mind and I will never forget them. They were vivid. They were raw. They were brutal.  And I started to think they just might be true.

When Emile was done showing me these things, she said. “Now, go and write what I showed you.”

Then, I woke up.

I began to pray and ask God if I should continue to write this story. I asked Him to show me what was going on, who this girl was, and why this was happening. I didn’t want to finish the story. I didn’t want to write Theodosia anymore. Not after seeing her true form.

But God had different plans.

A few weeks after the dream Theodosia showed up on my couch. I was sitting in a recliner working on her story.

“What you wrote today was terrible. I didn’t like it. You didn’t write it as good as you could,” she scolded.

I glared at her. “Yeah, well. I’ve been distracted today. Lot’s going on. I will fix it.” I glanced down at my computer screen then back at her. “And for the record, pop off at me again and see what happens to your story. Now, go away.”

Theodosia snarled at me. “You wreak of the Lamb’s blood, pastor.”

I smiled up at her. “Good. Now, in the name of Jesus go away and leave me alone.”

Theodosia disappeared, but came back the next night.

I was in my yard, catching fireflies with my kids. As they were off chasing some with their nets, another light appeared on the opposite side of the yard. The light was a lantern. It was being held by the oldest of the two girls, and they were running and jumping, trying to catch fireflies. One of the girls looked over her shoulder at me.

It was Theodosia, but she wasn’t corrupted like in my dream. She had the look of sweet, childlike innocence. Then, the lantern filled with blood and the apparition of the two girls vanished.

The very next day, Theodosia visited me again. I was sitting in my bed writing, and she materialized in the chair at my desk. Her appearance was like from the dream. She radiated darkness and evil.

“What do you want? Why did you show me you and your sister last night? Why do you want me to write this story,” I asked.

Theodosia changed form before my eyes. The sweet, innocent girl was back.

“Because,” she began to weep. “Because the darkness. It came and it corrupted me. It destroyed me. It destroyed my family. It ravaged my soul. You have to tell my story. People have to know. They have to know how dangerous the dark is and how powerful it can become.”

She wiped her eyes and went on. “Then you have to show them the light. They have to know the light. But they can’t see it until they come face to face with the dark. I can’t change what I did, but you can give me justice and redemption by using my story to help others.”

Then the little girl disappeared.

I had my answer from God.

So yes, Theodosia, I will finish your story so your life will not be wasted.

She came to me many more times while I wrote her work. I cannot go into anymore detail unless I ruin certain points of the book for the reader. I have finished the book and have not seen her since. I am currently seeking a publisher for it. I have a feeling when she finds a home, I will see her again. I also have a feeling this book might end up being haunted. 

About Author Ezekiel Kincaid

Twitter: @EzekielKincaid
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ezekethefreak/
Website: https://ezekielkincaid.wordpress.com/
Books and other anthologies
https://www.amazon.com/s?k=ezekiel+kinciad&ref=nb_sb_noss_2
Free reading can be found on Stitched Smile’s WordPress site
https://stitchedsmilepublications.wordpress.com/
And Horror Bound
https://www.horrorbound.net/?author=5de80c37c09a8973f9c333cf