13 Drops of Blood
Authors: James Roy Daley
JAMES ROY DALEY’S
13 DROPS OF BLOOD
* * *
- BOOKS of the DEAD -
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, events, dialog and situations in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
13 DROPS OF BLOOD
Collection copyright 2010 by James Roy Daley
Copyedit by Cynthia Gould
Book design by James Roy Daley
Cover Design by Cynthia Gould
FIRST EDITION
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
BOOKS of the DEAD
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[email protected]
* * *
Table of Contents:
Preview: Gary Brandner’s - The Howling
Preview: Gary Brandner’s - The Howling II
Preview: Gary Brandner’s - The Howling III
Preview: James Roy Daley’s - Terror Town
Preview: James Roy Daley’s - Into Hell
Preview: Paul Kane’s - Pain Cages
* * *
COPYRIGHT ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
“
The Exhibition,”
copyright 2009. First appeared in
Brutality as Art
, by Snuff Books.
“
The Confession,”
copyright 2007. Original for this anthology.
“
Baby,”
copyright 2010. Original for this anthology.
“
A Ghost in my Room,”
copyright 2007. Original for this anthology.
“
Jonathan vs. the Perfect Ten,”
copyright 2008. Original for this anthology.
“
The Hanging Tree,”
copyright 2010. First appeared in
The Zombist
, by Library of the Living Dead Press.
“
Thoughts of the Dead,”
copyright 2010. First appeared in
Through the Eyes of the Undead
, by Library of the Living Dead Press.
“
Summer of 1816,”
copyright 2007. First appeared in
History is Dead
by Permuted Press.
“
Fallen,”
copyright 2008. Original for this anthology.
“
The Relation Ship, ”
copyright 2006. Original for this anthology.
‘‘
Suffer Shirley Gunn,”
copyright 2008. Original for this anthology.
“
Humpy and Shrivels,”
copyright 2009. Original for this anthology.
“
Curse of the Blind Eel,”
copyright 2009. First published in
Dark Jesters
by Novello Publishers.
* * *
Great books from:
BOOKS of the DEAD
BEST NEW ZOMBIE TALES (VOL. 1)
BEST NEW ZOMBIE TALES (VOL. 2)
BEST NEW ZOMBIE TALES (VOL. 3)
BEST NEW VAMPIRE TALES (VOL. 1)
MATT HULTS - ANYTHING CAN BE DANGEROUS
JAMES ROY DALEY - 13 DROPS OF BLOOD
JAMES ROY DALEY - THE DEAD PARADE
GARY BRANDNER - THE HOWLING II
GARY BRANDNER - THE HOWLING III
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When I started putting this collection together I figured everything would fall under a single, simple heading: horror. After all, I consider myself a horror writer at heart. Now, for those of you keeping score, I’m well aware that being labeled a ‘horror’ writer in today’s literary world is like being labeled a ‘porno’ director in the film world, but I, for one, don’t care. Horror is that thing I grew up on, that friend Mom says is a bad influence. Some of my earliest memories connected to the genre include me curled up in a ball, watching
Jaws
while my mother and father discussed whether or not I was old enough to be seeing such a thing. I remember being absolutely captivated by
‘Salem’s
Lot
late one evening, alone in my brother’s bedroom, the feeling of terror consuming me as Ben Mears and Mark Petrie made their into the basement of the Marsten house, weapons in hand, danger all around them. I could hear my family in the room below––safe, secure, acting as if everything was normal in the world. For me, it wasn’t. I had a pillow covering half my face, my knees were nailed to my chest, and my heart was pounding clean out of my body as the goosebumps on my arms tried to crawl from my skin and hide in the corner; I couldn’t
believe
the images on television could be so intolerably wrong. Who would create such a thing?
And I loved it. Oh boy, did I ever.
Strange, huh?
Well, maybe not for you. Maybe not to the people that figure reading a book called
13 Drops of Blood
is a good way to go.
Horror. I can’t imagine myself hiding behind sub-labels such as
Dark Fantasy, Dark Suspense, Visceral, Supernatural, Gothic, Noir, Dark Fiction,
or my least favorite of all––at least when dealing with horror stories––
Speculative Fiction
. Ugh. This is where I shake my head.
For me, a horror writer hiding behind a label that’s currently more accepted by the tea-sippers is a writer embracing the art of selling the reader lies. And why? Marketing? Is that the reason? Or is it to appease some eccentric echelon of self-value, to demonstrate the arc of personal growth?
It’s sort of sad, really. Sad, unless of course, the writer in question believes the art falls under such a label. Then it’s a different thing: to each his own. But still, something doesn’t add up here. It’s disappointing to watch millions of people embrace horror on the big screen, knowing that if you crack open a book the same story will need to be toned down and slapped with a different label… a
softer
label.
What are you reading, honey?
Who me? Oh, I’m reading a fantastic Dark Suspense novel. It’s about this cannibal that owns a chainsaw store. He runs around town, chopping off people’s heads with the newest power tools. I think you’d like it. It’s called ‘Conscious Desires.’ What are you reading?
I’m reading a very interesting Speculative Fiction book called ‘The Passion.’ You should totally check it out. It’s about a guy that gets buried alive and ends up chewing on a corpse to survive. It reminds me of that Viscerally Gothic novel about the family that lived in the sewers for so long they mutated into werewolves. You know the one… ‘Irresistible Amour.’
That’s nice, dear. Sounds very literary.
Yuck.
I’m a horror man. I always have been, I suspect I always will be.
That being said, I did notice that the stories in this anthology didn’t exactly fall under the same category. Some were slanted one way while some were slanted another.
I considered pulling some of them from the book and putting together a different type of collection, one with an unfailing direction. I decided against it. The range of stories inside this book sits well with me.
A writer compiling a collection of stories is, in many ways, like a musician assembling an album. Sometimes the music on the album will have a consistent flow, and each track will touch the listener in a similar manner. Sometimes an album will take the listener on a journey; each song will be distinctly different than the one before it. Either way, there is no right or wrong. There is only the art form, the artist, and those that appreciate what has been offered. In the end, the artist puts together a collection that feels right. Everything past that is fodder for public scrutiny.
This collection is an excursion rooted in horror. It will take you, literate horror fan, along more than a few unexpected paths. Hope you enjoy the journey. Lord knows you’re in for an unconventional ride.
* * *
HORROR:
Scott and Penny Beach stood in line for a long time before they were admitted into the exhibition. And while they waited, they couldn’t help wondering if the show would be worth the bother. Penny didn’t think so. She didn’t think anything was worth a wait of longer than fifteen minutes. She suggested to Scott––not once, but several times––to forfeit their spot in line, toss the two hundred dollar tickets into the trash, and head to the nearest bar for cocktails, her treat. Each time she suggested this, Scott only smiled.
Normally he would have gone for it; Scott hated waiting in line as much as she did, but he didn’t want to miss the exhibition or throw away money needlessly. It wasn’t in his nature.
The exhibition was called
The Horror Show
, and Scott was a horror enthusiast. He had books, DVDs, posters, video games, and autographs. To say he was excited would be an understatement; he had never seen a horror
exhibition
before.
The front door opened, the line inched ahead two spots and Penny dragged a finger through her hair, saying, “I forgot to ask… what are the reviews like? They any good? Is it gross… is it creepy?”
“There are no reviews,” Scott said with a smug expression materializing on his face.
“Is this opening night?”
“Not really.”
“Okay Scott, I’ll bite. Why are there no reviews?”
Scott nodded and grinned. “This is a one night only event.”
“You never told me that.”
“I thought I had.”
“No. You said it was scary, but you didn’t tell me
that
.”
Noise from a streetcar disrupted their conversation. The couple watched it move along the avenue. Scott’s eyes fell upon a three-story building that was shamefully vandalized. Two men stood near the building’s front door. One man––a tall fellow with thick eyebrows––kicked a dead pigeon with an oversized boot as the other man coughed and mumbled. Both were dressed the same: in tattered, unstylish clothing. Shaggy beards and scruffy hair seemed to be the look of the day.
“By the way,” Scott said, “thanks for coming.”
Penny shrugged. “No problem.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t the greatest neighborhood in the world. I’m sure you’re not used to it, and I know you don’t like this type of thing.”