Category: holidayhauntedtales

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Shimmering with sadness, speculative manifestations of madness with each shadow on the bough,
Filled me with exhilaration—palpable dread that crevassed never before…
THE HAUNTED OWL

You are about to meet the horrific dead. Masters of horror who made my heart race, my blood chill, and kept me up for days. Some of these dead writers you will recognize. Especially if you listened to DWELLER OF THE DARK, you most certainly will.

Now, I know it’s eerie–even for me–that century old writers can still scare the Hell out of you exquisitely. This selected group of beloved undead inspired me to become a writer. As I have clawed along, these same ghastly ghouls drove me to become a member, active writer, affiliate, and a whole lot more with the Horror Writers Association.

On to the book before the bad moon rises. HOWLING JOHN KANE is on the prowl! I see the wolf bane blooming already.

In my humble opinion, these are dreadful classics that scared many and inspired many more into the dark chasms of terrifying horror. Will you have the same dread or response as I did to each one? I don’t know. How calloused, how jaded are you to horror these days. I can say with surety though, these are the stories that got the greatest response from fans of DWELLER OF THE DARK. If these stories can haunt that devoted group of horror and supernatural maniacs, it is safe to say that you should get a ghost or two to linger.

Maybe a demon…I’m not picky.

Pleasant nightmares–JL

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‘The pale man shook his head. “At twenty-five dollars an hour,” he said, “are you kidding? I can barely afford to have my cape cleaned once a month.” “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Why do you wear it?” “You ever hear of a vampire without a cape? It’s part of the whole schmear, that’s all. I don’t know why!” –Charles Beaumont (BLOOD BROTHER)

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Dim, dubious, bat-like creatures seemed to be flitting to and fro between one of the stone vats and the group that toiled like sculptors, clothing the bony foot with a reddish plasm which they applied and moulded like so much clay. Gaspard thought, but was not certain later, that this plasm, which gleamed as if with mingled blood and fire, was being brought from the rosy-litten vat in vessels borne by the claws of the shadowy flying creatures. None of them, however, approached the other vat, whose wannish light was momently enfeebled, as if it were dying down. –Clark Ashton Smith (The Colossus of Ylourgne)

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Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine altar here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command: for this is thy dominion! But of the loved, revered, and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. It is not that the hand is heavy and will fall down when released; it is not that the heart and pulse are still; but that the hand was open, generous, and true; the heart brave, warm, and tender; and the pulse a man’s. Strike, Shadow, strike! And see his good deeds springing from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal! –Charles Dickens (A Christmas Carol)

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‘Now the web had filled the entire tomb. It ran and glistened with a hundred changing hues, it dripped with glories drawn from the spectrum of dissolution. It bloomed with ghostly blossoms, and foliages that grew and faded as if by necromancy. The eyes of Grotara were blinded; more and more he was meshed in the weird web. Unearthly, chill as the fingers of death, its gossamers clung and quivered upon his face and hands.’ –Clark Ashton Smith (The Weaver in the Vault)

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To feel alive with your terrified pulse pounding, to feel the warm embrace of love, to have your teeth chatter with fear, the stomach quivering nausea of dread, or the blinding throes of rage, is what I offer with this collection. These horror poems I share with you have blazed the flames brightly to inspire me to create the most ghastly of horror tales and the most powerful of rock songs to date. You’re going to know my soul crushing angst in ‘Blood in the Pouring Rain’ as I saved my father’s life. You’ll look over your shoulder a glance or two maybe with a tear hearing the haunting ‘Sarah the Eternal’. And maybe you will laugh and howl along with ‘Ghost on Christmas Mountain’ to lift your spirits.