Sometimes it walks right up and punches you.
Holes in the
Somewhere
by Richard R. Brown
Genre: Speculative Fiction, Horror Stories
A single mother encounters insanity in the worst possible
person; an estranged parent loses his reunited family to a mysterious bathroom
wall; a group of strangers come together to fight a fungal pandemic; college
students prepare for the extinction of the Sun... these are a few of the
challenges faced by the desperate characters in Holes In The Somewhere. The
choices they make, the dilemmas they wrestle with, all have very supernatural
consequences, but are felt with very human emotions.
These stories will tug at strings your heart thought were
too well-hidden for anyone to know about, and cause the mind to probe the gray
areas between wrong and right. Between normal and paranormal. Behind what's
real and only to the side of what's unreal. A perfect mix of quick, unsettling
reads, and longer, heart-wrenching escapes.
What readers
are saying:
"The debut is speculative fiction in form: weird,
unsettling, occasionally cosmic. But it reads less like a genre exercise than
like grief that has been given permission to take unusual shapes." -
Justine Castellon, Author/Reviewer
"I guarantee there is a 'gotcha' story in there for
just about anybody, and if you don't find at least one that bothers you just as
you're about to fall asleep, you're made of sterner stuff than I am." -
Kenneth Crist, editor-in-chief, Black Petals Magazine
“These stories are weird and creepy and heart-wrenching in all the best ways. If you enjoy fiction that makes you question everything and wrecks you emotionally, this is for you!” – Valerie S., 5 star Amazon Review
Amazon * B&N
* Kobo * IngramSpark
* Bookbub
* Goodreads
Excerpt from ‘No Content Available’, a story in ‘Holes In The Somewhere’
Okay, yes, being loved was pretty fantastical. Is that a word? It doesn’t matter; it’s what it was. The angel I adored and stoked the passionate flames in my heart loved me, and her child- my child- loved me. I knew by how she hugged me, always threatening to choke me into unconsciousness with her loving arms. I knew by the pictures she drew for me at daycare. I knew by the faith in her wide, brown eyes when she asked for my help, my protection, from the monsters that infested her closet.
Amber and I were watching American Idol about thirty minutes after Clara had been put to bed, when a shaky, timid voice asked from the living room doorway, “Daddy, there are monsters in my closet. Will you sing to scare them away?”
Amber laughed. My musical talent was a reliable source of humor. I smiled at Clara, struck by the realization that my voice was so horrendous that it would scare the scariest things in my child’s imagination. The three of us made our way down the hallway to Clara’s bedroom, and I urged the two of them to stand outside the doorway, so as to protect them from any resistant monsters, or maybe panicky ones. Clara nodded her vigorous assent and clung to Amber’s waist, eyes wide with fear and brimming with tears. I stole into the bedroom, warned the monsters of my intentions, and slid the closet door open. That left half of the closet still in deep shadow, and Clara, peeking around the corner, alerted me to the still-present danger. “They’re still in there, Daddy!” she whispered. Everyone knows that idle threats are counter-productive when dealing with monsters, so I drew in a deep breath, poked my head into the shadowy depths, and sang. I considered trying to make my voice even worse than normal, but decided that Clara thought it was already bad enough, and I didn’t want to risk sounding phony to my daughter. So I sang. I sang with the heartfelt intention and desire to banish any slimy, scaly, or slobbering creature that remained to harm my little girl. I sang,
All you critters
Horned and fanged
Clawed and tentacled
Who delight in frightening kids
You are now vanquished, banished, and defeated.
Return to your shadowy homes,
Your dripping caves,
Your stinky holes.
Bother my little girl no more
For she is my daughter,
And has inherited my voice!
After a long, hushed pause, Clara inspected the closet and declared it safe. I received an extra tight hug for my bravery, and Clara gratefully went to bed. As Amber and I retreated from the room, Clara turned her little head to look me directly in the eyes and whispered her thanks.
Several months later, during a period of civility which marked the short times between our ferocious arguments, Amber muted the television and interrupted my reading by blurting out, “I don’t love you.”
Richard R. Brown is a legally-blind author of speculative fiction, horror, and thrillers. He writes from experience, having lived through paranormal events, alien attacks, and cosmic horrors -- at least, in his mind and in the books he listens to. He and his Guide Dog live in the Pacific Northwest. Richard is between Guide Dogs at the moment as Edison retired last summer. Edison was at Richard's side through every story in his book. Richard has no such guidance for his current novel, but will likely have one for editing help.
No comments:
Post a Comment