Got Vermin?

Rymfire  recently published the long-awaited anthology, Vermin, as an E-book, and it features an impressive roster o' talent, including Daniel R. Robichaud, Murray Leeder, Walt Jarvis,  A. R. Braun, and many more. My own story, "The Rat Farm", is also featured, and is, according to my wife, the "grossest thing I've ever written...really. Just...disgusting." That's high praise coming from someone who's seen me eat! The anthology features 15 stories in all, and is priced at a measly $2.99 for an e-book download. Heck, you probably spend more than that on a latte! Go ahead; part with a few beans and get me some royalties, damnit! 

New Fiction - "White Christmas" at Apex Magazine!

Seeing as how I only just launched this site/blog, this is a little late, but, a couple of weeks back, one of my latest stories - "White Christmas" - was posted up over at Apex Magazine as part of their January "2012" special issue. The story is of the man-vs-the-elements variety, in keeping with the whole apocalyptic theme of the end of the Mayan calendar, with a decidedly horrific twist. It's free to read (as is all of Apex Magazine's excellent monthly content), so, if you've got a few minutes to spare, head on over and check it out at! While you're there, be sure to check out other great stories and essays by some of the brightest new talents in sci-fi, as well as some old veterans whose names you'll be sure to recognize! 

Something Wet


Gratia PlacentiMy name’s Les Littleton, and I’m a porn star.

Not that anyone would know it, of course. I’m only in the movies from the neck down.

I’m a Sensory Observer; what some lesser informed individuals glibly refer to as a “fucksuit.” My job is to have sex with the hottest girls in the industry – and be sure to have a damned good time doing it – while every sight, smell, sound, taste, and feeling is recorded for the Jackers who line up around the corner to buy this shit. It may sound like easy work, but it’s not. It’s my responsibility to provide customers with the most comprehensive and enjoyable sexual simulation experience money can buy, and my commitment to my craft is evidenced by my body of work. If you’ve ever busted a nut on Mindseye, chances are good that it was my dick you were fucking with. Done the deed with Precious Peirce, Ashley Humps, or Hannah Storm? They work with me exclusively.

After School Special


Tales of the Zombie WarAs the bus squealed to a halt at the mouth of his driveway, Brian Keating slung his backpack over his shoulder, and made his way past the empty seats toward the driver.

“Have a good night, Mr. Sayers,” Brian said.

The late afternoon sun spilled through the windshield, and the driver shielded his eyes with one hand as he fumbled with the dial on his radio with the other. He cocked his head toward the loud hiss that emanated from the exposed speaker duct-taped to the dashboard.

“What?” Mr. Sayers asked. “Oh, you too, kid. You too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Brian nodded, waiting for Mr. Sayers to pull the switch on the door, but the driver seemed preoccupied by the few discernible words that cut through the static.




“Um…Mr. Sayers?”

One False Movement


How long had it been since he ate it? Three hours? Two?

He’d felt it on the ride home; the burning effervescent feeling in his chest. He knew it would come to this.

He’d spent the last hour sitting here, his aching posterior sunken into the faux wooden toilet seat, coated with a full body sweat, and feeling as though his plumbing were about to burst. He stood for a moment and checked himself in the mirror. His face candy apple red, with burst blood vessels spanning his cheeks like tiny purple tributaries.

The intense pain settled in that place just between his naval and his groin like a hot knife churning his insides. Every few minutes he’d pass wind; an embarrassingly loud trumpet blare that would blow out the pipes for a little while, tease him with relief, before the pressure built up again.

     He heard Joanie’s weight shifting on the creaky floorboards just outside the door.

“Honey, I’ll be...I’ll be fine,” he said, trying to mask the pain in his voice. “Just…constipated is all.”

“I told you not to eat so much, didn’t I?”

The Tow


The rain pounded on the roof of the Durango like a thousand impatient fingers, cascading down the windshield in a stream of such volume as to render the wipers useless. It was like staring at the world from behind a roaring waterfall. A fierce wind rocked the truck like a baby’s cradle, and whistled through the door seals.

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