Tease Me.. Taunt Me.. Haunt Me – “Southern Haunts” a @7thStarPress Anthology
Southern Haunts – The Spirits that Walk Among Us
Edited by: Alexander S. Brown & J.L. Mulvihill
I present another amazing anthology from Seventh Star Press. Today since I am still reading this lovely thing, (boo) I am excited to have nine haunting teasers for your enjoyment! Sit back and read a few and at the end? You will be buying your copy before you know it! Till then… Let me TEASE you … TAUNT you… and HAUNT you!!!
Southern Haunts (editors Alexander S. Brown and J.L. Mulvihill): From the shadowed realms of the paranormal comes 16 chilling tales that dwell in the South and Southwest. Resurrected in your very hands are stories that will make you laugh, ponder, and shiver as the reader is introduced to spirits that are humorous, saddened, and vengeful.
From 16 authors, learn of haunted homes, buildings, landmarks and roads where restless entities from beyond the grave desire acknowledgement amongst the living.
Become acquainted with the aftermath of an eclipse that awakens the dead in a Memphis cemetery, see what horrors dwell in the woods at Hell’s Gate, learn the dark secrets of Sidney’s Cotton, and dare to travel down Ghost Road.
These and many other tales are sure to keep you awake as you are introduced to what makes the South and South West so unique…. History and GHOSTS!!!!!
So, sit back, dim the lights and prepare yourself to face the spirits that walk among us.
AMAZON purchaseB & N puchase
Featured stories and authors in Southern Haunts:
- Windsong Levitch – “Interview for a Ghost Hunter”
- H. David Blalock – “An Eclipse Over Elmwood”
- Richard Parks – “Sydney’s Cotton”
- Jason Hughes – “Ghost Road”
- Herika R. Raymer – “Cal’s Cutoff”
- Diane Ward – “The Shack”
- Roland Mannn – “Haints”
- L.S. Nadler – “You Will Come to Meet Your Demise”
- M.R. Williamson – “Hell’s Gate”
- >William R. Eakin – “Maddness”
- Roman Merry – “Wellspring”
- Kalila Smith – “The Bequest”
- Miguel L. Viscarra – “The Cleansing”
- J.L. Mulvihill – “Bath 10?
- Angela Lucius – “Nightmares at Moccasin Bend”
- Alexander S. Brown – “The Top Floor”
Tease Me… Taunt Me… Haunt Me
Haints by Roland Mann
Uncle TB said he would sit on his porch in the evening, and about the time the sun went down, the haints came out. Said most of them would just walk along the road up to the church. Uncle TB couldn’t see the church from where he sat; it was around a bend in a road. He said the haints came in all shapes and sizes…but you could surely see them. Every now and again, one would wave to him just like they’s going to meeting.
The Bequest by Kalila Smith
Haunted or not, Clayton knew immediately that this house would fit perfectly into his future plans. As he wandered through the home, he found himself pleased at its exceptional condition, right down to the furniture left by his uncle. He gazed out of the back window to find that the courtyard area left a bit more to be desired. The courtyard garden had become overgrown with weeds. The second floor balcony seemed to be missing a few posts and the railing unstable. What formerly served as slave quarters, now boarded up, stood precariously, a dilapidated reminder of the past. “Ok, so you do need a bit of work,” he mused.
The Cleansings by Miguel Viscarra
A threadbare rope, which was thrown neatly over the handrails of the tower, swung in the breeze as Saúl and his companions walked slowly toward the entrance of the facility. Had the group been at a different vantage point, they would have been able to see exactly why the old rope was hung in the first place. During the riots at the prison, a man was dragged from the burning institution and strung up by other prisoners. Left for dead, his body remained there until the authorities were able to safely take him down in the early hours of February 3rd. What Saúl, Lee, and Claire failed to see was the entombed spirit that hung watching their every move, for it wasn’t merely the wind that was keeping the rope in motion.
Eclipse Over Elmwood by H. David Blalock
“I never realized how extensive that epidemic was,” I admitted. Thumbing through the lists, I was appalled at the numbers. Men, women, and children died, entire families killed by the indiscriminate and merciless disease. I paged back into the descriptions of the horrors of life in Memphis in those months between August and October 1878. I couldn’t read long without becoming ill at the brutal descriptions of the effects of the yellow fever: black vomit from digested internal bleeding, yellow eyes, high fever, delirium and death. The suffering of these people was beyond my ability to grasp and I now understood, a least a little, the need they might have to break away from that anonymous darkness of history’s forgetfulness. They remembered their lives, but that memory was shared only with the other dead. There was no immortality for them like there was for those who survived. They left no one to carry on their memory, to visit even the unmarked trench that enclosed their mortal remains. Their names were forever gone, a casualty of the epidemic as much as their bodies.
It was the ultimate insult heaped on the ultimate injury: namelessness after death.
No one had mourned them. Fear of the fever kept even the grave-diggers away. Their belongings were reduced to ash, the evidence of their presence purged by carbolic acid, bleach and fire. They had been abandoned to their fate, many dying alone in tortuous agony and despair.
Cal’s Cutoff by Herika Raymer
Thinking of the house, Celina recalled that it was the main attraction of Cal’s Cutoff. Once known as the ‘Cult House’, it was located in the middle of a field surrounded by a wooded area. Its name derived from the rumor that satanic groups would meet out there and hold their rites by a large bonfire. Those who had managed to find their way to the house would find graffiti or other objects around or in the house. The porch light, however, could be considered the main point of interest concerning this house in the teenage mind. As strange as it may be, day or night, the generally held belief that if the porch light was blazed on then anyone on the road should vacate immediately for their life would be in peril.
Naturally, none of the stories were true, but adults and the authorities felt these stories would keep high school kids from messing around on a back road at night. Of course it actually did the opposite. Dares to see who could brave the road, or better yet brave the night at the bonfire site or in the Cult House, were common.
It had been one such dare that had caused Celina’s current trepidation for being anywhere near Cal’s Cutoff.
You Will Come to Meet Your Demise by L.S. Nadler
There is perhaps no street more frequented by the devil and his minions than Franklin Street. Paved with age-old cobblestone, Franklin Street stretches from the vast Oceanside all the way up to 2nd street before coming to a swift dead end. Few are able to afford the Oceanside view, where light is prevalent and the sun shines thoroughly, the crashing waves on the shore offering a cool breeze that you would be hard struck to find elsewhere in Charleston. The remainder of the street is barren, a desolate wasteland. The rustics abandoned their houses, which then fell, vanquished and claimed by the souls who once lived but live no longer. On the hottest days when the sun is at its highest point in the sky, shadows still wander aimlessly about; they are most adrift and darkest around the orphanage, The Jenkins Institute, halfway down Franklin Street, far past the breezy shoreline.
The Jenkins Institute has long since been abandoned, left to wither away and rot at the hands of the relentless sun and countless thunderstorms. Once a spectacular white abode this massively wide rectangular building is lined with archways across the front with two sets of stairs leading up from either side and meeting in the center where large sequoia doors grant entrance. The townspeople would not tear it down in fear of what the devil might do; rather they choose to endure the melancholy voice that emanates from within.
MADDNESS by William R. Eakin
An ambulance was outside the Gray House, just in the gravel driveway. They’d parked it as if to showcase it to the world right there in front of the gaping double door of the turn-of-the-century gray-planked barn the Grays used as a garage. Just above where they’d parked the white, metallic ambulance with its own rear doors open, the Gray’s first and only son Bobby Star had scrawled in black spray paint across the lintel of the barn the misspelled MADDNESS. He’d been thirteen, and was sent away for treatment. He came back home when he was twenty-one, and lived upstairs in what was supposedly the old nursery.
I was on my daily walk and the County Sherriff Orvil Kellner was standing big and round as Humpty-Dumpty lording over the whole procedure with a thick stogie in his hand. He was a friend of mine. He motioned another cigar at me and I took it as I asked: “What’s happened?”
“He finally killed ‘em,” said Orville looking with disgust as the EMTs hauled the gurneys over the porch steps and to the back of the ambulance: I saw only white lumpy landscapes on each of them, and streaks and clots of blood, as if the lumps were volcanoes pressing out gunk from some deep center.
Bath 10 by J.L. Mulvihill
Hot Springs, Arkansas got a lot of history, especially in the old part of town where the government declared it a national park. Everybody knows it’s the healing waters of natural hot springs that draw people to this town. When the bathhouses went up, plenty of people come through here over the years, more than half of them with ailments lookin’ to be cured by those magical waters. You can just imagine all sorts of things that went on in this town that had nothin’ to do with healing waters though. Gangsters, gunfights, politics and money ran those bathhouses. The sick, the dying, the rich, the poor and the greedy, they all partook of the cleansin’ waters praying for miracles. Things happen in places like this; human nature tends to write its own horror stories without the help of imagination.
What most folks don’t know is that before those bathhouses were built, those hills already had secrets. Dark thinks lie hidden down deep in those bubblin’ wells of crystal waters, things that had been sleepin’ for centuries and awakened by the relentless scratchin’ of humans as they built their town scarrin’ the land and suckin’ the essence from the ground; dark things that feed on human greed and fears.
Nightmares at Moccasin Bend by Angela Lucius
Ashlyn shook her head in disagreement, but her feet followed the girl without her consent. Disappearing into the shadows, the girl led Ashlyn down the dark hallway; she could feel the green slime on the floor squish between her bare toes. The stench of death and mildew burned at her nostrils.
The girl turned the corner and Ashlyn followed as if in a trance. All the while trying to convince herself not to go, and being unable to resist the urge to follow. Tears streamed down her cheeks now against her will, as she rushed to keep up with the morbid looking girl, who had been her worst nightmare.
Alexander S. Brown
Alexander S. Brown is a Mississippi author who was published in 2008. His first book, Traumatized, is a short story collection that has received rave reviews from horror fans throughout America. Although, Brown began as a horror author, he has recently published two young adult steampunk tales, which can be found in the anthologies, Dreams of Steam 2: Brass and Bolts, as well as, Clockwork Spells and Magical Bells. His poem, “Maters” was later published in the magazine, Midnight Screaming Volume 3, #4. Brown says there are more works on the way as he plans to write a series of novels chronicling the lives of residents in a town that is damned. Eventually, he will pen a fantasy/horror trilogy.
J.L Mulvihill is the author of the young adult fantasy novel, The Lost Daughter of Easa, published through Kerlak Publishing. Other stories J.L has written and had published includes, Chilled Meat, a steampunk thriller, found in Dreams of Steam II-Of Bolts and Brass, anthology; The Leprechaun’s Story, a steampunk urban fantasy found in the anthology, Clockwork, Spells, & Magical Bells. A Real Dragon and Magic in The Ozarks, found in Memories and Dreams published by The Fine Arts Center of Hot Springs, AR; Jen’s Spicy Crawfish Bisque, found in It’s All about Food with a Mississippi Twist, published through the Clinton Ink-Slingers; and The Proud Oak, published through the Gulf Coast Writer’s Association.
J.L Mulvihill has written several articles for Examiner.com as the Jackson Literature Examiner. She is also an event’s coordinator for the Mississippi Chapter of Imagicopter known as the Magnolia-Tower, a volunteer organization of authors and artists who promote their own publications while lending a hand to other writers and artists. J L Mulvihill is a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI), Gulf Coast Writers Association (GCWA), The Mississippi Writers Guild (MWG), as well as the Arts Council of Clinton, the Clinton Ink-Slingers Writing Group, and the Java Jotters.
J.L is currently working on her second novel, Elsindai, as well as her young adult steampunk series, Steel Roots, and an anthology project with horror author Alexander S. Brown entitled Southern Haunts. She also continues to write short stories in the fantasy, steampunk, horror, and sci/fi genre, as well as poetry inspired by her life in Mississippi. She has also been known to Karaoke from time to time when she thinks no one is looking.
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Seventh Star Press is a small press publisher located in Lexington, KY. SSP specializes in speculative fiction (fantasy, science fiction, and horror). The company was established in October of 2008.
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