Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 18-06-2013
After the summoning, the long night of interviewing began. In the end, Douglas decided to hire a team of 2 ghost writers who’d worked with the world’s greatest writers down through the centuries. “Byron was charming, we’ll give you that,” they chuckled, “but the guy couldn’t write a grocery list. We spun that poetry stuff for him while he was out chasing fast carriages and faster women.” Douglas smiled, relieved; he wanted to be a world famous novelist, but he wanted a life, too.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 12-06-2013
Heather screamed and threw the wedding planner to the floor, her hands trembling. Papers, napkins, swatches, bits of ribbon, and Post-It Notes billowed from the enormous book upon impact, covering most of the dining room. Terrified, she watched as a tiny hoof shoved out onto the floor from the middle of the binder, followed by the point of a tail, and a grasping little claw. “Oh, my God, it’s true” Heather thought with a shudder, “the Devil really IS in the details.”
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 15-05-2013
“Good riddance!” Stephen barked at the ‘Welcome to Amityville’ sign, then quickly surveyed the front and back seats to see if he’d disturbed his sleeping family. Not a peep; like him, the strangeness and horror of what they’d just experienced had left them completely exhausted. “I’ll get us somewhere safe,” he whispered to no one in particular, “some place normal.” He wasn’t ready for the big city, but he’d been researching possible suburbs that would work; Cloverfield was the winner. He leaned back and put the pedal to the metal.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 23-04-2013
Cheryl reviewed the documents smugly. No one in her office thought she’d be able to sell the place (a burned out cabin in the middle of a dying part of the woods), but they were eating crow today. She giggled. It was the perfect site for two guys opening a taxidermy workshop and she’d stressed how easy it would be to clear the grounds and expand. Cheryl squinted down at the fine print; she was right to put in in, but she didn’t want it to be prominent. “Property may or may not contain Evil Dead. It is the Owner’s responsibility to not raise said Dead or, if raised, to return Dead to Hell by any means necessary. Included in sale: one book, said to aid in management of Evil Dead.” “Good enough,” Cheryl said, putting the papers and the book into her briefcase.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 12-04-2013
It awoke with a start, the same dream unfolding – leaving behind the sinking feeling that it was being watched … pursued … by a crazy, one-legged man. It shuddered, then decided not to crest just yet; it needed space and some additional time to wake up. The great white whale moved slowly out to deeper water.
Filed Under (Reaper Ratings) by Tansy on 03-11-2012
I have described Ania Ahlborn’s”Seed” to friends as a cross between “The Exorcist” and “Donnie Darko”; although some of the characters and situations seem familiar, the writing is spare and fresh and extra “in your face” because of the casual style. Do not read if you are looking for smatterings of “Poltergeist” humor; these are people in a decidedly Not Funny situation and the pressure and horror only increase throughout the book. I personally love how the main characters seem to waste a lot of valuable time in denial, doing nothing; this is a good countermeasure to other books that seem to have a superhero (just add water) in the wings. Some of the scenes are still with me – which is rare. I can see why the story was optioned for film development. Am I brave enough to see the movie if it’s made? Perhaps … “Seed” gets a Reaper Rating of 4 (“Thrill Kill”) for its verve, tenacity, and ability to inspire night light use.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 23-10-2012
She awoke from the strangest dream and it stayed with her all day. In it, she’d been a spider living at the top of a large doorway; a talking pig would happen by and they’d engage in conversation – or she’d weave him messages in her web. “How incredibly disturbing,” Charlotte thought with a shudder. By the late afternoon, she’d sworn off laudanum completely, fearing some fracture of the mind. Turning herself firmly towards more practical subject matter, Miss Bronte sat herself down by the fire and wrote “Jane Eyre”.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 16-08-2012
Alton found the box of scrapbooks and, laughing, called Dale over. Inside, not only a book for each of them, but three volumes of other people’s stuff – people who’d hurt their mom terribly over the years. “I sensed in myself a tendency towards grudges,” she wrote in the letter taped to the lid, “and I felt that I should try harder to see them as people with purpose and potential. It helped. I can die saying that I never hated anybody.” They didn’t burn the scrapbooks as she instructed, but proudly shared them with others.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 10-08-2012
He put the sign out: “Book Sale”. It might take all day but, eventually, they would come (true bibliophiles were unable to resist that siren’s song – even to an unmarked shop at the end of a dark street). Some were young and in love with reading; some were seasoned and possessed a desire to write themselves; still others were old and longing for a different world than this. All were welcome to browse and buy, but only one would be picked to stay for dinner (as both guest and main course). Nothing was as deliciously complex as the well-read brain.
Filed Under (Reaper Ratings) by Tansy on 15-07-2012
That’s right, RAY. As the summer progresses, and the heat drives us into fantasies about fall and winter, get your chills early at the hands of a legend. Although known for his breathtaking science fiction, Ray Bradbury had a healthy dollop of dark fiction mojo which he sparingly released. “The October Country” (a collection of short stories) and “From the Dust Returned” (short stories woven into a larger book) are brilliant, dazzling reads; “Dark Carnival” (another collection) will prime the pump for another dive into “Something Wicked This Way Comes”. Remember the man with some older work that lies off of the beaten path. Bradbury’s collections cannot be rated; they are priceless.