Author: Jeffrey LeBlanc

Horror is in my blood and in my bones! It's what we enjoy and what we live to for. I've taken my experiences and travels throughout Louisiana and remote places around the world to create novels and short stories of horror and the macabre. Many of the stories are original creations to sink your teeth into. But be warned. My characters bite back. Currently we have written four books and have four working drafts of horror novels and short story collections. Many, many more will follow. Titles: **The Devil of Black Bayou **Wings of the Seraph **Wolves, Wings, & Other Things **Shadows...Ghosts of the Moonlight Working Drafts: **Mary Wept (Homage to "The Exorcist", "William Wilson", and "The Shrine") **Lightning Bug **Wolf of Bluff Mountain **The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea Again, welcome to our website! We hope you enjoy!
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Children of horror, we are passing haunted Avalon Island. Hear the roar of towering waves as they crash against rock, whispering marsh, and sand shore off the coast of Louisana. In the distance between freezing ice and rolling fog we see a twisted, wrecked pirate ship. As you smell the brine and seaweed, you can see the long, ghostly shadows haunting the ancient vessel. The aged, creaking hull solemnly sits in foamed surf. Cold winds howl their discontent and invite you to stay an eternal guest onboard the decayed structure.
This is the ancient crypt of Antoine Valterre, “The Devil of Black Bayou”. And the following sums up the man’s existence best.
“Yon shadowy bark hath been to that wreck,
And the dim blue fire that lights her deck
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew
As ever yet drank the churchyard dew!”
–The Ghost Ship by Sir Thomas Moore

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Yet, are we mistaken, as he fades in and out, in curious time as the arcs of lightning?
As you smell the scent of rain, sea, and something ancient and dead, you hear ghastly laughs around you as the storm continues to approach. Shadows continue to whisper. There is no escape and no reprieve from the whisperers beyond.
Out of the singed heart of cosmic horror, and electrifying arcs of slime, we introduce you to the terrifying dimensions of the mortal immortal, Isaac Abramovitch in “The Masque of Death”.
William Blake captured Isaac’s nightmarish world so poignantly in the verses below.

Cruelty has a Human Heart
And Jealousy a Human Face
Terror, the Human Form Divine
And Secrecy, the Human Dress
The Human Dress, is forged Iron
The Human Form, a fiery Forge.
The Human Face, a Furnace seal’d
The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge –William Blake (A Divine Image)

Follow on children of horror through winding, spiraling, dark dimensions as we journey ever on into thunderheads on sandy shores, shadowed waterways, fog-foetid bayous, and amongst the darkness of decayed swamp without torch, flashlight, or candle flame with only electric arcs to light our way.
Those distant, shadowed whispers you hear are nothing to fear. And the tentacle monstrosity climbing out of a ripped dimension circling you can’t be a d—, or can they? There’s no such thing of course.

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Out of the singed heart of cosmic horror, and electrifying arcs of slime, we introduce you to the terrifying dimensions of the mortal immortal, Isaac Abramovitch in “The Masque of Death”.
William Blake captured Isaac’s nightmarish world so poignantly in the verses below.

Cruelty has a Human Heart
And Jealousy a Human Face
Terror, the Human Form Divine
And Secrecy, the Human Dress
The Human Dress, is forged Iron
The Human Form, a fiery Forge.
The Human Face, a Furnace seal’d
The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge –William Blake (A Divine Image)

Follow on children of horror through winding, spiraling, dark dimensions as we journey ever on into thunderheads on sandy shores, shadowed waterways, fog-foetid bayous, and amongst the darkness of decayed swamp without torch, flashlight, or candle flame with only electric arcs to light our way.
Those distant, shadowed whispers you hear are nothing to fear. And the tentacle monstrosity climbing out of a ripped dimension circling you can’t be a d—, or can they? There’s no such thing of course.

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Follow on children of horror by padded, clawed feet as we journey ever on into shadowed waterways, fog-foetid bayous, and amongst the darkness of decayed swamp without torch, flashlight, or candle flame with only lunar light to guide our way.

Those distant baying howls you hear are nothing to fear. And the growl circling you can’t be a w—, or can they? There’s no such thing of course.

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“Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of unmerciful gloom”—H.P. Lovecraft

Follow me children of horror as we cross the ghoul guarded gateways, the labyrinth of the lost, ancient cyclopean stairs of moss, and the decrepit crypt into that cherished abyss that is moonlight, swamp, and darkest night. Journey with us through midnight worlds with no torch, no candle, and no flashlight with just the occasional arc of lightning.

Forever are we outsiders to their world and the coil that is man. And, for that, relish in the strange, the grotesque, and the un-nerving tales of their tragic encounters with supernatural terror.-JL

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. He saw towers and walls in nighted depths under the sea, and vortices of space where wisps of black mist floated before thin shimmerings of cold purple haze. And beyond all else he glimpsed an infinite gulf of darkness, where solid and semi-solid forms were known only by their windy stirrings, and cloudy patterns of force seemed to superimpose order on chaos and hold forth a key to all the paradoxes and arcana of the worlds we know.

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The terrifying, the strange, and the deadly all come out to play in “Wolves, Wings, & Other Things” a collection of horror, science fiction, and fantasy tales set throughout Louisiana.

Now, in honor of recent HWA verification and Dark Regions Honorable Mentions x 3, we are offering for a short time the collection at a special prices for fans.

Check us out on Kindle, YouTube, and soon Patreon and beyond!