Live Action Reviews! by Crystal Connor: O Diabo Mora Aquil (The Devil Lives Here)

 

Master Imaginationist and Instagram photographer Crystal Connor is the Chief Imagineer working for the Department of Sleep Prevention’s Nightmare Division. A Washington State native she loves anything to do with monsters, bad guys (as in evil-geniuses & super-villains.  Not ‘those’ kind her mother warned her about), rogue scientific experiments, jewelry, sky-high high-heeled shoes & unreasonably priced handbags.

She is also the founder of CrystalCon, a symposium that brings both Science Fiction & Fantasy writers and STEM professions together to mix and mingle with fans, educators, and inventors in attempts to answer a new take on an age-old question … which came first, the science or the fiction?

When she’s not terrorizing her fans and racking up frequent flyers miles by gallivanting all over the country attending fan conventions and writer’s conferences she reviews indie horror and science fiction films for both her personal blog and HorrorAddicts.net

She is also considering changing her professional title to dramatization specialist because it so much more theatrical than being a mere drama queen.

The Website

The Fanpage

Download your free copy of …And They All Lived Happily Ever After! from Podiobooks.com and see why the name Crystal Connor has become “A Trusted Name in Terror!” 

http://podiobooks.com/title/and-they-all-lived-happily-ever-after

My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult Press Release : 30th Anniversary Tour Schedule

 

My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult 30th Anniversary Tour Dates:
10/05 @ 
Club Red – Mesa, AZ (All Ages)
10/06 @
191 Toole – Tucson, AZ (21+)
10/07 @
Tricky Falls – El Paso, TX (21+)
10/08 @ 
Launchpad – Albuquerque, NM (21+)
10/10 @ Diamond Ballroom – Oklahoma City, OK (All Ages)
10/11 @ 
Trees – Dallas, TX (All Ages)
10/12 @ Industry – San Antonio, TX (18+)
10/13 @ Elysium – Austin, TX (18+)
10/14 @ 
Scout Bar – Houston, TX (18+)
10/15 @ 
The Parish HOB – New Orleans, LA (18+)
10/17 @ 
Ready Room – St Louis, MO (All Ages)
10/18 @ 
Skully’s – Columbus, OH (All Ages)
10/19 @ 
Machine Shop – Flint, MI (18+)
10/20 @ 
Bottom Lounge – Chicago, IL (17+)
10/21 @ 
Amsterdam Bar – St Paul, MN (21+)
10/24 @ 
Oriental Theater – Denver, CO (18+)
10/27 @ 
Studio Seven – Seattle, WA (21+)
10/28 @ 
Dante’s – Portland, OR (21+)
10/30 @ 
The Ritz – San Jose, CA (21+)
10/31 @ Brick & Mortar – San Francisco, CA (18+)
11/02 @ 
Beauty Bar– Las Vegas, NV (21+)
11/03 @ Club 80’s – Corona, CA (21+)
11/04 @ 
Teragram Ballroom – Los Angeles, CA (All Ages)
11/05 @ 
The Casbah – San Diego, CA (21+)

 

Press Release: Florida Gothic by Mitzi Szereto

Press Release: Florida Gothic by Mitzi Szereto

 

FLORIDA GOTHIC by Mitzi Szereto

Stuck in a twilight world between life and death…

A hit-and-run driver leaves Ernesto Martinez to die by a Miami canal. Then an alligator comes along to finish the job.

Being dead gives Ernesto plenty of time to think. He thinks about his wife, taken from him too soon by illness. He thinks about his daughter, the victim of a drunk driver. He thinks about his death as he watches his body slowly decompose.

Most of all, he thinks about injustice.

The meth head ex-con living in the Everglades. The judge enjoying retirement on the Gulf Coast. The son of a Colombian drug kingpin partying in South Beach. These men care nothing for the pain they’ve caused. But they’ll soon know what it is to feel pain.

Set against the sweltering bug-infested backdrop of South Florida, Florida Gothic weaves a darkly unnerving and visceral tale of sex, drugs, crime and vengeance.
 

“Mitzi Szereto’s dark night of the soul is one wild, soul-blasting old mother of a trip, plus maggots, cockroaches, and cocaine. Solid, slippery, bug-eyed fun.”—Peter Straub, Interior Darkness: Selected Stories

(Book #1 in The “Gothic” Series of standalone horror novels from Mitzi Szereto.)

Buy links:
Amazon USA: https://www.amazon.com/Florida-Gothic-Book-1-ebook/dp/B06ZZ6QCXN/

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Florida-Gothic-Book-1-ebook/dp/B06ZZ6QCXN/

About the author:
Mitzi Szereto (http://mitziszereto.com) is an author and anthology editor of multi-genre fiction and non-fiction. She has her own blog of humorous essays at Errant Ramblings: Mitzi Szereto’s Weblog (http://mitziszereto.com/blog) and a web TV channel Mitzi TV (http://mitziszereto.com/tv), which covers the “quirky” side of London, England. Her books include Oysters and Pearls: Collected Stories;Phantom: The Immortal (co-authored with Ashley Lister); Rotten Peaches (The Thelonious T. Bear Chronicles) and Normal for Norfolk (The Thelonious T. Bear Chronicles)—the cozy mystery/satire series co-authored with celebrity author bear Teddy Tedaloo; Love, Lust and Zombies; The Wilde Passions of Dorian GrayPride and Prejudice: Hidden LustsDying for It: Tales of Sex and DeathThrones of Desire: Erotic Tales of Swords, Mist and Fire and Getting Even: Revenge Stories. Her anthology Erotic Travel Tales 2 is the first anthology of erotica to feature a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature. She divides her time between the Pacific Northwest and the UK.

Nightmare Fuel – The 11B-X-1371 Video

 

Hello Addicts,

For this week’s Nightmare Fuel, we take a look at a creepy video named 11B-X-1371.

Released in 2015, the video is a truly creepy one that is chock full of secret codes and hidden imagery. The video itself is two minutes in length and shows a person dressed up in what appears to be an old style plague doctor suit. The setting is a dilapidated building in a forest, and the distorted music and sounds playing throughout the video increase the creep factor exponentially. As the video plays, the person flashes various hand gestures while lights flash and symbols appear on the screen. This alone is enough for excite those of us who enjoy creepy mysteries, but this one is a multi-layered one that really caught on with code breakers and puzzle lovers.

Framed at the top of the video is a binary code, that, when translated, reads, “Te queda 1 año menos” or “You have 1 year less”. The soundtrack doubled as a code that, after being run through a spectrogram, revealed a skull, images of someone being tortured, and “You are already dead.” Other lines of code hidden in the video stills revealed other chilling information, such as the longitude and latitude coordinates of the White House, the phrase RED LIPS LIKE TENTH (which some take as an anagram for KILL THE PRESIDENT), “The Eagle infected will spread his disease. We are the antivirus will protect the world body”, and “Strike an arrow through the heart of the eagle.” Accordingly, many have interpreted all of this, including the costume, as a possible threat of bioterrorism against the USA.

Many have come forward to claim ownership of the video, but the strongest candidate for it is a person calling himself Parker Warner Wright, a US citizen living in Poland. He claims to have created the video at the former Zofiówka Sanatorium, near Otwock, a short distance south of Warsaw. The purpose of the video wasn’t any type of threat but was intended for an art project that needed multiple people to help decode all of the secrets. To back up his claim, he released an earlier video taken outside of the same location with a slight variation on the plague costume.

Regardless of the truth behind the video, I must admit that it is definitely a creepy one that has a lot of mystery yet to be unraveled. Check out the video at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quyXS4a0JGQ and judge for yourself. Perhaps you can help decode the full message behind the video.

Until next time, Addicts…

D.J. Pitsiladis

By The Fire Edpisode 143: Challenge 7: Write a 900-1000 word non-fiction blog post on something horrific you experienced.

Hello again HorrorAddicts, I hope you are enjoying horroraddicts.net Next Great Horror Writer Challenge. The contest is getting more interesting as the challenges get harder. The contestants are now having to work harder as the assignments become more difficult. Writing is hard work and in order to get published, you have to challenge yourself and always find ways to make yourself better. Personally, I think writing is the hardest art form there is and this contest is making all the participants better writers.

The contest for episode 143 of the podcast is for the writers to write a 900-1000 word non-fiction blog post on something horrific they experienced. It could be a haunting, a disaster, a phobia, anything they found personally horrific and lived to tell the tale about. This will test their ability to blog, which is a part of every successful writer’s life. They will be judged on blog-ability (will it appeal to readers), topic interest, and writing quality.

The hardest part of this challenge for me would be reliving a horrifying experience. This is real life horror and for some people, real life is hard to write about. If you live through an earthquake or have been trapped in a haunted house, you don’t want to think about it again. These writers will have to do just that as they tell us their experience and make us feel the fear that they felt.

So the question is what happened to our writers in the past that scared them? Maybe surviving a horrible experience is what made them want to be horror writers. If you ask horror writers why they write what they do, some of them will tell you they do it to help them deal with the things in life that truly frighten them. Horror writing is not only fun, it’s also a form of therapy. So if you were in this contest what would you write about? What horrific experience do you want to share with others? What do you hope our writers will choose to write about? Let us know in the comments and don’t forget to listen to Episode 143.

 

#NGHW Winner of the True Horrific Blog Post Daphne Strasert

Winner Daphne Strasert!
INTO THE GRAVE

Innocuous travel advice led me there. My friend had already recommended a dozen museums and monuments to see while in Paris—this was just another item to add to the itinerary. I had no idea that it would lead me into a place where the darkness moved on its own and the walls whispered behind my back.

My visit started the same way that most vacation activities do: with a long line, a mingling of chatter and cigarette smoke in the air, and nearby shops that hawked gaudy souvenirs. Here, however, the cards and magnets boasted skulls and skeletons rather than the Paris skyline. The guarded entrance—a somber black shack on the edge of a park—bore no advertisement for the macabre attraction, just a plain placard.

l’Ossuaire Municipal—The Catacombs of Paris.

All of Paris stood on hollow ground, the skeleton of a network of once prosperous mines. In the miles of caverns resided the bones of the Parisian dead that were relocated from overflowing city cemeteries during the eighteenth century. With the remains of over six million people, the catacombs formed the largest human grave in the world.

I had no companions on this excursion, so was hastily tacked onto a rowdy group of teenage girls as I entered. They nudged each other as we went through the door, giggles and gossip filling the darkness of the stairwell. Their festive mood didn’t survive the spiral staircase. The deceased insisted on silence. With each step into the damp corpse of the Paris mines, the hush of the labyrinth wrapped us tighter in its embrace.

Though the ossuary was massive, only a corner was set aside for public display. To get there required a fifteen-minute walk along a winding stone path. Lighting was scarce in the tunnels, with only the sporadic bulb to chase away the shadows that grew like cobwebs along the stone. My steps slowed, feet lingering as if the dark sucked at them like mud, and I found myself outpaced by my incidental companions. With no sound but a drip which seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, my heartbeat pounded in my ears, almost deafening in this neighborhood of the dead. The darkness here had weight, pressing in on me on all sides. I trailed my hand along the damp stone edge—needing the solid reassurance that I had not walked out of the catacombs and into perdition by mistake—until the soft glimmer of light reappeared around another winding corner.

I followed the dark corridors, each one ending in another. At places, where a side tunnel had once veered from the main path, a wall of hasty brick now stood. I paused, drawn by curiosity to the metal bars that looked into the corridor beyond. Staring into the darkness that could have been inches or miles deep, I felt a call from the inky blackness beyond the barrier. Just a step inside, it said. Just a peek.

Tourist gossip cautioned visitors not to follow any ghosts off the path. That advice carried more warning than the joking tone implied. After all, in June of 2017, a set of teenagers became lost in the catacombs for three days before search dogs found them scared, starved, and shivering. The catacombs called to many. That call could be deadly.

My own trance was broken by a startled shriek and a fit of giggles from the girls in front of me. Their lighthearted mood jarred my mind from the clutch of the caverns. With a shake of my head, I turned from the barrier and followed their voices down the path. We were there.

An inscription carved in stone guarded the entrance of the ossuary: “Arrete, c’est ici l’empire de la mort“—”Halt, this is the realm of death”. My feet hesitated, an elemental wariness warning me back, but a stronger force lured me forward. I entered.

Flood lamps lit the most famous parts of the ossuary, trapping them in a burning spotlight for tourist pictures. The visitors congregated there like cavemen around a fire, trembling at the unknown outside the protection of the light.

Skulls and femurs were stacked in artful walls as if they had not once held upright the stately human form. All dignity in death was stripped to create decorations. The last remnants of millions laid here jumbled far away from their original forms, as if all human parts were interchangeable. Would the souls of the residents here have agreed if they’d know they would spend eternal death as a subject of grim amusement? I found that idea unlikely. Death lurked in darkness, but not the caged, domesticated death of the attraction. This was something wilder which might have caught me in its claws if I turned from it.

I wandered farther from the flash of cameras—in the stone walkways, the voices seemed to fade faster than they ought to have—until I was once again alone with the ghosts of centuries past. Here the designs were less ordered, as if the artists had begun in earnest concentration and finished in a frantic rush. Bones had crumbled and the walls they formed had collapsed on themselves, a mockery of this deathless monument of dead.  

I had come so far, but, like a schoolkid in the neighborhood haunted house, I needed a token, some primitive proof of courage. With my back to the wall, I wrestled with the shadows to ensure my camera clearly captured both my face and the construction of bones behind me. Even in the dry air of the enclosed caverns, a cool breeze ran its finger through my hair and I shivered as the camera clicked. Snapshot obtained, I uttered a reverent thank you, then raced to the staircase that led back to the blaring life of Paris. Only after, tucked in the safety of a café, did I inspect the picture and notice the grin of the skull that peered over my shoulder with empty eyes.


Listen to the contestants battle for points this season on HorrorAddicts.net

#NGHW Top 7 True Horrific Blog Posts

These are the top 7 blog post excerpts from the True Horrific challenge.

Blog Post 1: Black Death – Naching T. Kassa

Death is the ultimate enemy. It steals those we love and forms a wall between this world and the next. It is the dark curtain we cannot peer behind.

Death waits for us all.

Do you remember the first time you encountered death? Did the passing of a pet or grandparent reveal its presence? When did you discover your mortality? How old were you?

My discovery began with a young girl’s demise. I was nine.

The girl was two years younger and lived a few miles away from me. We attended the same school and, though we didn’t know each other, she struck me as a sweet person.

Her hair was blonde. It stood out against the white sweaters and dresses she wore. I don’t think she wore white all of the time but I remember her that way. Perhaps, it’s because she was innocent and didn’t deserve what happened to her.


Blog Post 2: A Day at the Beach – Harry Husbands

I saw it first as a light shape that teetered just below the waterline a few meters ahead of me—large and circular. I moved forward, eager to become acquainted with this mysterious object and soon regretting my decision as the giant crab floated into view. I observed its vast body in horror—roughly the size of a tire with two black eyes that stared straight at me. I screamed to no one—entirely beyond earshot of any adult who might come to my aid. Its pincers rose above the water, snapping like malicious, orange hedge shears.

            I turned and slapped the sea, moving only as fast as my bronze swimming certificate would allow. I didn’t look back; I hadn’t needed to. I could feel its tough pincers brushing my legs. When my toes could reach the ocean’s bed, I tried to run. My legs seemed to move in slow-motion as the giant crab gained on me.


Blog Post 3: Calling the Dead – Cat Voleur

More than anything, I remember the sound the doll made when it burned. The events leading up to that moment were a haze of adrenaline masking fear of what I had done, distrust, and confusion. Memories of the decision to play this game with a ghost, of preparing for it, even of the ritual itself have all but entirely faded in the seven years I’ve neglected to tell this story, but I will remember that sound until the day I die. The unearthly hissing of death mingling with the crackling fire haunts my dreams, still.

I was fifteen years old. All my life I had been fascinated with the supernatural, particularly spirits. I was the proud of veteran of many such ghost-games, Bloody Mary, Candyman, The Elevator Game, but in my years of trying to endanger myself, I hadn’t seen or summoned anything spectacular. I had no reason to believe this would be any different.


Blog post 4: Syncope – JC Martinez

We stopped when she said she wasn’t feeling so well. I thought she was just tired, or that she had no desire to continue running. We were at a park close to her flat, so I walked her back home. We still had to climb four flights of stairs. She opened the door, took a couple of steps forward, and stopped next to a black leather sofa.

I spoke from under the door. I asked if she was all right. She didn’t answer. She turned as I approached. When I was near her, she just collapsed. No alerts, no warnings, it was as if her body suddenly shut off. I was able to catch her as she was falling. In my nervousness, I thought she was pulling a prank on me. I kept calling her name, asking her to get back on her feet. Then I saw them.

I’ll never forget the dull eyes of that empty look.


Blog post 5: Into the Grave – Daphne Strasert

Though the ossuary was massive, only a corner was set aside for public display. To get there required a fifteen-minute walk along a winding stone path. Lighting was scarce in the tunnels, with only the sporadic bulb to chase away the shadows that grew like cobwebs along the stone. My steps slowed, feet lingering as if the dark sucked at them like mud, and I found myself outpaced by my incidental companions. With no sound but a drip which seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, my heartbeat pounded in my ears, almost deafening in this neighborhood of the dead. The darkness here had weight, pressing in on me on all sides. I trailed my hand along the damp stone edge—needing the solid reassurance that I had not walked out of the catacombs and into perdition by mistake—until the soft glimmer of light reappeared around another winding corner.


Blog post 6: My Life as a Young Adult Urban Horror Heroine – Sumiko Saulson

“Help!” the man with the matted hair screamed. “They put out my eye! They put out my eye!” A white man in his mid-thirties, obviously homeless, was screaming and holding his face. His beige shirt was stained with sweat, the long sleeve across his face stained with mucous. Just a child, I was tuned into his crying. I sat there, aghast, as my mom lectured my brother.

When he removed his hand from his face, his screams were joined by my own. His eye was a mass of red, welted flesh. Blood and ruined ocular tissue were visible from my uncomfortable seat. I kept trying to understand why they wouldn’t help him.  Was it because he was homeless? I remembered sitting next to a homeless man on the bus. His khaki pants were stained and smelled of urine. They didn’t serve people like that at Denny’s, but surely they would help him? They had to!

“They took my eye!”


Blog Post 7: Dogs and Sand – Jonathan Fortin

My memories of our first visit are murky, but they are unsettling to me. I remember harsh wind, blowing sand across me like a net–as though the beach wanted to cover me in itself, to claim me. I remember losing my sweater in a puddle of water. I remember that, for reasons I could not recall, I responded to this by removing the rest of my clothes and crouching down to hide in the sand. I remembered that, as people passed, I barked at them like a dog.

I did not feel myself at that beach.

I was a kid, and sometimes kids do weird things. But as I left, and returned to myself, I remember feeling strangely violated and uncertain what had come over me.

A year later, we drove once more up to Port Orford, and on the way home, we returned to that beach. When I learned we would be going back, dread swelled within me.

 


Listen to the contestants battle for points this season on HorrorAddicts.net