The Seven Orbs

Chapter One

Wisdom and Winsome

4.

Wisdom, of the Jenri Clan, was 10 years old. His older brother was Winsome, just two years elder, he liked to say, and his mother, Jade, made up the Jenri home. The young lad never knew his father, but his mother was strong of body and spirit, both mother and father to the two lads. Wisdom was too young to remember the War of the Three Kings, but he always favored and loved King Terria, and couldn't wait to grow to manhood so that he could join the King's Guard. He placed his tiny hand over the wooden sword he kept tied to his side, just as the soldiers wore their weapons. 

From his hiding place in the Counsel Chambers, he heard the heated exchange between the two Governors and the King. When all the shouting was done, all but The Counsel remained. In whispers loud enough for the young boy to hear, the words "What have we done?' were heard. Then footsteps and the chambers door was shut. The Counsel had left. From behind the curtains, Wisdom emerged and saw the great throne of the King before him. He circled the great seat of power and plopped himself upon the chair. "I am King," he announced to the empty room, then looked around cautiously as he didn't mean to speak so loudly. He bowed his head as if to a mighty knight, removed his wooden sword from the handmade hilt his mother made for him, and tapped the wooden blade on each of the knight's shoulders. "Rise now, brave warrior, a worthy King's Guardsman." 

Someone was at the door, so Wisdom darted back behind the curtains, found the vent leading to a series of larger passageways, which in turn led outside the castle. It was a secret tunnel system used by the Queen to hide the children and provide them escape during the War of the Three Kings. His mother told him the story of how the Queen had helped her escape that night the castle was under siege and how she saw the terrifying dragon defend the castle of the attackers. That battle alone changed the tide of the War and placed King Terria on the throne as the sole King of the Three Kingdoms. He wondered who had entered the Counsel Chambers. 

Captains and Lovers

5.

Alone in the Chambers, Theo and Abora embraced. Theo broke the silence, "So, it's war."

"Yes." She grew sad as Theo pushed away from her. 

"Then this will be the last time we meet," he said.

"Don't lose hope. Please don't lose hope." She tried to touch his shoulder, but he pulled away. 

"You lead your father's forces in The East, I, Captain of the King's Guard. What little hope I had was to meet you once more before we meet on the battlefield. I knew the day was coming. The freedom of The East and The West was always at hand. It was my father who wouldn't, no, couldn't accept it. His Guardsmen, his Wizard, that damned Dragon. He always believed that this made him invincible. Warriors, magic, and that demon beast won him the kingship all those years ago, and they've kept the peace all these years. His pride brings to war." Theo dropped into the throne.

"Theo," Abora scolded him, "don't disrespect your father's throne."

"Wood and Iron don't make a throne," he answered. "The man does." He gazed into Abora's teary eyes. "Father would have loved you, would have loved his grandkids."

"Don't speak of the future as if it were past." She grabbed Theo's hand and pulled him up from the throne. "There's still a small chance. If the War should be short, maybe we could still...".

"Still what?" he asked when she couldn't even finish her sentence. "Have hope?"

"Don't laugh at our one chance," she said, wiping away the tears she could no longer control. "My father and Governor Aquell have been busy these past years. Blacksmiths, carpenters, engineers, and more men tearing up the forest, dragging the river, hammering and clanging into the night, every night. They are building. What? I do not know. The Forces of The East, my warriors, know not what machines are being readied. But we will soon know, when they are ready."

"What machines can stop a dragon?"

"Please, let's escape to the mountains." Abora pressed her face and cheek into Theo's chest. "Let them destroy themselves. We'll start anew." 

"Where's your hope, now, my love? We cannot abandon our duties, or our fathers. What life could we start together without their blessings?" Theo's words sounded hollow. Even he did not believe them. As much as his heart yearned to run off to the mountains with Abora, he knew he wouldn't nor would she. "I once abandoned my duties for love when I was younger, but that was but fancy. Ours is true, and there's our hope. That we may survive to rekindle what this war would take from us." 

"To a short war, then, Theo, my prince," Abora said. 

Abora hooded her head to hide her identity as Theo escorted her out of the castle. But it wasn't hope or love that filled his thoughts. It was Abora's concern. The machines.

Coming soon

The Guardsmen Grumble

6

Coming soon

The King and The Prince

7

 

The House at Black Tooth Pond

Reviewed by Anthony Servante

The Author

Stephen Mark Rainey is the author of numerous novels, including BALAK, THE LEBO COVEN, DARK SHADOWS: DREAMS OF THE DARK (with Elizabeth Massie), BLUE DEVIL ISLAND, THE HOUSE AT BLACK TOOTH POND, and others, including several in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares Series for Young Readers. In addition, Mark's work includes six short story collections; over 200 published works of short fiction; and the scripts for several DARK SHADOWS audio productions, which feature members of the original ABC-TV series cast. For ten years, he edited the multi-award-winning DEATHREALM magazine and, most recently, the best-selling anthology, DEATHREALM: SPIRITS (Shortwave Publishing). He has also edited anthologies for Delirium Press, Chaosium, and Arkham House. Mark lives in Martinsville, VA, with his wife, Kimberly, and a passel of precocious house cats. He is a regular panelist on the weekly Lovecraft eZine Podcast and an active member of the Horror Writers Association.

A Summary

AIKEN MILL, VIRGINIA… A legend-haunted town in Sylvan County, located in a remote, mountainous corner of the state. With its long history of countless deaths and disappearances, Aiken Mill has become known to law enforcement as “The Cold Case Capital of the World.”

Now, an unidentified, mutilated body has turned up in the town. During his investigation, Sheriff Bryce Parrott discovers frightening clues that lead him to believe some ghostly force—or entity—may be responsible for the killing.

While exploring the darkest corners of Sylvan County, psychology professor Martin Pritchett and his brother, Phillip, happen upon a crumbling, century-old house beside a body of water called Black Tooth Pond. A strange compulsion leads both men back to the house time and time again, but neither can remember any of the events that occur there.

As both Sheriff Parrott and the Pritchett brothers attempt to solve their respective mysteries, their paths begin to converge—paths that lead inexorably to the ancient, foreboding house at Black Tooth Pond.

The Critique

Stephen Mark Rainey writes literary horror like it's nonfiction. Don't get me wrong. His work is fiction, but the story structure, the characters, and the believable supernatural aspects just seem real. It's this realism that elevates Rainey's stories to a literary level.  

Rainey employs a classic three act story structure that is tight and well developed, with each act driving the story to the next act with seamless transition. And not just seamless but suspenseful and damn entertaining as well. Most horror novels tend to save the third act for the major frights, but Rainey makes three acts seem like one, building tension and suspense in equal measure from the first page to the last. 

And by the time you get to the end, you are invested in the lives of each of the story's characters and how they intertwine with each other, as well as the supernatural element. You care just as much about their personal problems as you do with their connections to the horror aspects. You cheer them on to succeed personally and narratively. You care who will live and who will die. You watch lives unfold amidst a growing mystery. In other words, these characters are real to the reader.

Not only do you meet real people, you travel to real places, scary houses, foggy lakes, as well as bachelor pads that feel like what a bachelor would live in. That's how well-written this horror narrative is. It is real, verisimilitude real. When the monster finally appears, we're there too. 

I see other reviews calling this Lovecraftian. I think we're past calling Mark Stephen Rainey's work "Lovecraftian". It's time to use the more applicable moniker: Raineyan, for Real Horror.

Funereal Plots

Horror Cinema reviews

Matthew M. Bartlett

Honey Bunch

Writer/Director: Madeleine Sims-Fewer and Dusty Mancinelli


At the beginning of Honey Bunch, Homer (Ben Petrie) takes his wife Diana (Grace Glowicki) from her wheelchair and carries her into the ocean. He tells her he loves her, then lowers her into the roiling waters.

Cut to earlier days. The pair are driving through woods on a sunny day. Grace looks healthier than in the opening scene, but evinces memory loss issues and confusion—we learn that the couple was in a car accident. They arrive at an experimental trauma center. Then the fun begins.

Honey Bunch is a throwback in the best way. It’s shot like the cinema that of earlier decades that it frequently (and overtly) references. There are touches of The Stepford Wives, Rebecca, even Don’t Look Now. Paranoia reigns as Diana catches Homer in secretive conversations with the head of therapy, sees an enigmatic blonde figure staring at her, and the fleeing into the woods. All of this is deepened and made more real by flashbacks of the characters arguing and being silly with one another.

The plot thickens as new arrival Josephina (India Brown), accompanied by her father Joseph (Jason Isaacs), meet the couple and begin her therapy, with her father’s vocal and enthusiastic and hopeful encouragement. Homer and Joseph confer in secret—they know something we, the audience, do not.

And here we enter spoiler territory. Diana discovers that the mysterious blonde woman she’s been spotting is, in fact, a clone. She then discovers other patients sitting in groups with multiple doppelgangers of themselves. The facility is, in fact, attempting to replace deceased people with clones. Most of the doppelgangers are the failed versions. At one point, she sees Homer caring for the clones, showing deep love for each of them, and he is redeemed in her eyes—mostly, anyway.

Meanwhile, when Joseph’s daughter fails to respond to the treatment, his enthusiasm and devotion turns to disappointment, and then rage, and the desire for revenge. Diana, who seems whole again, escapes with Homer in the confusion of the conflagration after trying and failing to save her clones. The denouement mirrors the opening of the movie in an unexpected and satisfying way.

So, in the end, Homer is revealed to be less of a creep than we might have expected, the couple more solidly in love than we might have originally thought. There are countless horror movies that explore people trying to bring back from the grave people they loved. This is one of the more effective ones. Dripping with atmosphere and intrigue and soundtracked by ethereal dreamlike music and curious old songs, Honey Bunch looks and feels like a classic.

And the pun in the title is the cherry on top of the sundae. 

 

The Seven Orbs

Chapter One

Heirs and Politics

2.

The King sat uneasy on his ancient throne, its sheen long gone, its glory but a memory. Now it was just his favorite chair. Already word of the birth of his male heir was news spreading throughout the three kingdoms, the Eastern Forest Realm, the Western River Realm, and his own, the Realm of the Hills, seated at the base of the Forlorn Mountains. The Chief Counsel entered the throne room and took his seat at the table, across from the King. "Congratulations on the birth of your male heir," he said with a slight bow.

"I believe the Queen was hoping for a girl, as our eldest son, Theo, has first claim to my title." He let the thought settled in his mind a second before bidding the Counsel to convey his news. He sighed, looked at the Counsel soberly, and nodded. The Counsel cleared his throat and began, "Governor Bosque of the East and Governor Aguell of the West are in the waiting chamber expecting to meet with you."

"Is it that time again, dear Georgie? How many times must they hear me dash their request?" The King didn't expect an answer to his questions, nor did The Counsel offer any. 

"And some bad news, I'm afraid. Before his death, The Wizard managed only seven orbs. Not exactly the hundred we expected." He sighed in frustration.

The King asked, "Has my son, Captain of the Guard, been informed to prepare his men?"

"A message was left with his second in command," he answered. 

"Too busy to receive his messages, eh?" The King laughed without humor. "He spends too much time with that wench."

"Perhaps we should avoid calling her a wench in front of the Eastern Governor," he advised sternly. 

"I know, I know," The King fretted. "She might well just be my daughter-in-law soon. Good for politics, but not for our bloodline."

"Indeed," agreed The Counsel.

"Well, they've waited long enough. Call in the Governors." He clapped once and his advisor left to welcome the visitors. 

Love and War

3

"Nearly twenty years ago, our kingdoms went to war rather than share our resources. After the loss of many lives, all in vain, did we agree to share our bounties and live in peace," The Governor of the East explained to those who knew all too well. 

The Governor of the West nodded in agreement and continued, "But even peace came at a price. Of the three Kings, one would remain King to keep the peace, and the other two Kings would become governors over their lands. An agreement, more a treaty of peace, was arranged and we all signed it. As I recall."

"You recall rightly, Aguell," said Bosque. "But as we all know here at this table, the agreement was temporary. We three only agreed that as long as we lived in peace, shared resources, and obeyed the rule of the one King, that one day we would be able to reclaim our lands as our own and resume the Three Kingdoms once more without war but with our current system of free trade. Well, it's been twenty years come Fall, and we do humbly request we weave a new agreement to live in peace as separate lands, each of us to govern their own kingdom."

The King and his counselor gave each other a knowing look. The Counsel stood to talk, but The King with a slap on the table made the advisor sit back down. It was The King who stood. "We are not children here, asking permission of one's parent to leave home. You do rule your own lands, but I rule the Kingdom that includes all our lands. We all share equally, we proper, and we have no war."

"Yet you have an army. We don't," said Bosque.

"As per the terms of the agreement," said The King calmly,  as if to a child.

Aguell didn't stand but spoke with a controlled anger. "Look here, Terria...".

Cutting him off, Terria said scoldingly, "That's King Terria."

Aguell stood angrily and stared back at the king's grim face. It was Bosque who broke the silence. "Then this day, we are still not free. We will waste no more words here. Aguell, we tried once more to reason with this impostor. The peace is no more. Ten days from now, we will reclaim our freedom on the field of battle."

Though it seemed he would say more, Aguell squeezed his shoulder as if to shush him. And Aguell understood. Without any further word, the two governors departed. 

"Just as you predicted, Georgie. War." The King shook his head sadly.

"But The Wizard failed us. All we have now are the seven orbs and one division of calvary and footmen." There was concern in his voice that even The King discerned. "And the governors? What do they have? Nothing. A kingdom of trees and a kingdom of water. Sticks and spit. Do not concern yourself, dear Georgie, for we'll make use of the orbs, and let's not forget, we have a dragon." 

The King did not notice that The Counsel smiled weakly at the mention of the dragon, and after he left the throne room, the advisor said to himself, "My God, what have we done?" 

 Coming soon...

Wisdom and Winsome

4

Captains and Lovers

5

 

The Listed

Chapter Two

He couldn't kill that one. She was too beautiful. She'd be surrounded by suitors day and night. It was too difficult to reach the beautiful. Stick to pretty, he thought. But I know what you're thinking: What is beauty? Truth is beauty, a poet once wrote. Then what the hell is truth? I am truth. Therefore, am I beauty? Does beauty drive a vintage T-Bird, 1966? Restored from the bare bones. Piece by piece. Till that engine 390 V8 roared to life. Three speed automatic. Roomy interior. Space enough to work. To find pretty. Like the one coming out of the library. He knew her. Carmen something. Lestrada? Leonard, perhaps. "Ms. Leonard," he called through the open passenger window. 

"Yes, sir," she said, bowing to look inside the car. "Oh, hi, Professor."

"You shouldn't be walking alone at this hour of the night. Let me drive you to your car?" He smiled his winningest smile.

"Thank you." She got in and set her books on her lap. "Nice car. Is it yours?"

He gave her a funny look.

"Of course it's yours. What was I thinking?" she gently laughed. "My car is in Lot Five."

"Heading there now. Studying for the midterm," he asked without curiosity. 

"Yeah, but I think I'm ready. Just a good night's rest, and I'll ace that exam in the morning." There was confidence in her voice. 

"I'm sure you'll do fine. Carmen, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yep, that's me. Carmen Leonard. You got a good memory, Professor." She smiled proudly. "You can pull over here. There's my car."

"What kind of gentleman would I be not to see you to your car door?" He pulled into the parking lot, turned left, and put the car in neutral while yanking the parking brake up. "Hold on. Let me get your door."

"Thank you," she said with a slight blush. 

He escorted her to her car, where she unlocked the driver's side and scooted into the seat behind the steering wheel. "There, all set and ready to go home."

"Yes, you are, my pretty," the Professor said with the happiest grin. He reached over and dragged the linoleum knife across her throat. The gush of blood covered the inside windshield and splashed over Carmen's shocked face. "Nothing more to say, I see."

The Professor walked back to his car, removed his coat, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it into the back seat. He'll dispose of it in the basement furnace tonight, and then have a quiet dinner. Indeed she was a pretty one. But that was with make-up. The beautiful ones don't need cosmetics. And she liked the car. That was almost her ticket to freedom, except she wondered how someone like me could own such a car. Naughty. Whatever did she mean by that? We'll never know now. 

He turned the car into the freeway headed for home. He clicked the radio knob and "American Pie" was playing. He sang along while he wiped his face with a towelette. 

 

How I See the Aging of Rock and Roll

Generations by Decade

by Anthony Servante

I've compiled a list of art and music scene by decade, starting with 1890 to 2010, to encapsulate my view of trends being anachronistic from day one. That is, every new fad is already outdated as soon as it begins. Let's begin. 

1890 Lost Generation (Purple Reign & Fin de Siecle Decadents)
1900 Interbellum Generation (Progressives & Union Men)
1910 G.I. Generation (All-Americans & Military Men)
1920 Greatest Generation (Flappers & Boaters)
1930 Silent Generation (Be Boppers)
1940 Swing Generation (Swingers & and Jives)
1950 Beat Generation (Beatniks & Bohemians)
1960 Hip Generation (Hippies & Yippies)
1970 Me Generation (Glams & Disco & Punks)
1980 Generation X (Slackers & New Wave)
1990 Millennial Generation (or Generation Y & Grunge)
2000 Generation Z (or the Tweens & Emo)
2010 Generation Alpha (Hipsters & Beards & Nerd Chic).

Now keep in mind that no generation begins on any one date at any given time. There's a lot of overlap and carry-over. But I think this system works best for pigeonholing. The Purple Reign, for instance, had Oscar Wilde and Aubrey Beardsley. The G.I.s had "all-American" songs like "God Bless American" and "Over There". I also like the decade system because then we can see how certain generations hold up to aging. Slackers, for instance, are now in their 50s. 

I go to many Rock and Punk music concerts and old rockers and punks are not a pretty sight, I can tell you. And that's how I look at every new generation--by how they will grow old. Imagine the bearded hipsters when they're in their 40s and 50s still trying to look current and relevant. 

Anyway, I can't say I've been part of any fad or craze, but my heart has always been beatnik in spirit, if not in decade. I'm from the New Wave/Glam Rockers age. I just never wore it. I've always seen every generation in its time as anachronistic, always outdated as their generation blossomed and withered in the same moment. 

Take my pessimism with a grain of salt. Enjoy your youth. Every one of these generations did. Cool, Daddy-O. :)

The Listed

Chapter One

Number Ten

 

Malcolm Barre chugged down the last of his beer and tossed the can toward over a pile of dirty laundry by the basement door. The can struck the cracked antique lamp Malcolm had purchased without asking his wife's consent and rolled against the kitchen door. Next to the can were pieces of torn up photos that Malcolm ripped on one of his drunken binges. He ignored the pictures and popped open another beer can. 

But try as he might, he kept sneaking a peek over to the photos, trying to reattach them in his mind. This piece went with the picture of Bernice holding baby Patricia with Malcolm Jr. standing by her side. That piece showed the Acapulco beachfront hotel where he and Bernice honeymooned. The other pieces were unknowns, just another pile of discards. 

"The bitch," he muttered under his breath, and felt better for it. "How dare her leave me for that asshole ex-boss of mine, Mr. Roget. So what if I spent all my money on antiques. Didn't she realize that antiques increase in value over time. So we were late with the rent a few times. In the long run, these antiques would make us rich." He ran his hand along the crack on the neck of the lamp and sighed sadly.

 Yet she complained that I always brought them but never sold anything, and it was stealing food off the table. She was so dramatic. She just didn't understand the business. Just like my stupid boss didn't understand. I made good purchases for his shop. It wasn't my fault that the customers couldn't appreciate the gems he had chosen. Boss said he'd rather have cheap pieces that sold than "gems" that just sat there. 

I tried to explain to him that all collectors wanted these days was kitsch-- crucifixes that glow in the dark, fiberglass chairs with six legs, and bean-bag furniture. It was no wonder the wicker furniture stores were running us out of business. Then get me those things, Mr. Roget yelled at me. Any sale is a good sale. No sale is just plain dumb. Your paycheck should be coming out of the profits, not my pocket. 

I should have killed him that day. Gutted him like a fish. And her too. Why the hell did she leave me for him?! Damn, he was old enough to be her father's father. Maybe now is the time. They would be here this weekend to drop off my belongings. I'll buy a chainsaw, a hacksaw, and some of that acid stuff like you see in the movies. I'll buy them all at separate stores. Pay cash. Wear a cap and overcoat. Places where they don't know me. No witnesses. Do it right. No evidence. No blood. No hair. Nothing but memories. And they can't convict you for memories. 

I should have done it years ago, on the day she first started nagging me about the beer and bills. Made me wonder when it was she met my ex-boss. I wonder how many afternoons they slept in our bed while I was out making purchases for Mr. Roget. I should have killed them a long time ago. Well, better late than never. 

A grin spread across Malcolm's face like the slice of a good barber  razor fresh off the strap. He stared at the TV in his little cabin hideaway, oblivious to the wrestling match, lost in his little fantasy of murder that played out in his imagination by the sixth can of beer. 

He didn't even notice the noises coming from the kitchen. Not until the wrestling match turned to a commercial about toothpaste. He froze in the seat. Tried to remain silent, so he could hear more clearer the sounds in the kitchen. Two people were in there. He dimmed the lamp light and saw the shadows at the bottom of the kitchen door. One of them was at the door, the other just behind him. 

Then another noise sounded at the window to his right. His eye twitched as he tried to focus on any movement in the dark trees about thirty yards away. The only light he had to help him see outside was his cracked lamp that he had dimmed. All he could see was the silhouettes of branches and trunks. But there was a sound. How dare they interrupt his fantasy. He was about to chainsaw his ex-wife's head off. Then he was in his ex-boss's office about to hack him to bits. 

The kitchen doorknob started to turn. He reached under his seat and found his loaded 38 revolver. Come to papa, Malcolm thought. He switched the light from dim to dark, and fired three shots at the kitchen door. The door squeaked open, followed by a grunt. Someone shouted, Back it up, I'm hit. Malcolm fired two more shots. That's when he saw the two men wearing ski masks and gloves. Both had on similar black clothing. He leveled the barrel at the burglar in front for another shot when all of a sudden he heard the window glass crack. 

He felt dizzy. There was a B-B sized hole in the pane, right in the center, perfectly aligned for a trajectory to his right temple. With his left hand, he confirmed his estimation by touching at the right side of his head. There was a small puncture bleeding out. Bullseye, except he wasn't dead. 

He looked around as if in slow-motion. His gaze settled on a piece of torn photograph. It showed Bernice's sad eyes, tired from crying night after night over her husband's excessive drinking and stupid spending. He was worse than a gambler, the pawn shop guy told him; he was a collector of junk. Suddenly he understood her suffering. She wasn't lusting after Mr. Roget. He was just a friend. My friend. Her friend. He glanced down and saw all the blood pooled by his chair. He dropped his gun into that pool, and it splashed and sank. Or so it seemed.

The two men from the kitchen entered the TV room. One of them opened the front door where three other similarly dressed figures joined their team. Double-check and triple-check, said a female voice. I did already, came the angry reply from a male voice, one of the guys from the kitchen. Well, check again, she ordered. The angry male opened his leather binder. That's him, he confirmed; Malcolm Barre, Number Ten. Targets in play were Bernice Barre and Kyle Roget. Deadline was this weekend, three days from now, Saturday. Either with a chainsaw or hacksaw. Not a 38? the female in charge asked. Not according to our records. Good enough, she said; now let's wrap it up.

Malcolm realized he had been shot with a dart gun, some sort of sedative. Mixed with the booze, he didn't feel a thing, not even as the five dark figures fired lethal darts into his flesh until he was cold dead.

To be continued...