Good news, everybody! You can now pre-order the Kindle version of Night in New Orleans: Bizarre Beats from the Big Easy, due out on April 1st, 2017! The print version is available to pre-order from our very own FunDead Shop!
“There is but one New Orleans,” they say, bustling with joie de vivre, celebrating non-stop, but step closer, into the clinging, honeysuckle-scented air, and you will find a darker version of the Big Easy, depending on what you believe is true. Tales of vampires, werewolves, curses, and mysterious half-human bayou creatures are pervasive in New Orleans’ culture. Visitors may pass them off as folk tales and superstitions, but the locals know to never go into the deep swamp alone or into the cemetery at night. Tale or truth? In New Orleans, the line between them bleeds.
by Fanni Sütő
Akimitsu stood before the huge lacquered mirror, examining her naked body with a smug smile. Her skin smelled of warm sunlight, sweet rice cakes, and powder white perfection. She was preparing for the arrival of her beloved, the man she had summoned with the help of spirits and the power of angry longing. Her spell would call him away from the arms of another woman, from his duties, from his life. It would overthrow anything that stood between them. Akimitsu’s power reached out for him across seas, above mountains, and below rivers. From the moment she laid her eyes on him a long, long time ago, she wanted Nobuharu to be her lover. But he already wore another woman’s mark, a faded ring of hasty promises.
Akimitsu frowned at the memory and ran her hand down the golden brown kimono waiting for her on a chair. She tried to twirl her hair into elaborated designs but her locks kept breaking free. Under her touch, the silk rustled with the sound of falling leaves. She felt her lover drawing closer, dragged by the power of Akimitsu’s spell. The ground moaned about the fall of his footsteps. Akimitsu, the witch of the autumn winds, smiled. She enjoyed her power, it was bringing her the man she had desired for endless years. Her longing was so strong it would have ripped the jaws of earth open.
Akimitsu had been alive since the dawn of the time, dancing around death with the light steps of a geisha, always avoiding his touch when he reached out for her. Her power grew as the years went by, her reality merged with visions about the past and the future.
Akimitsu couldn’t remember when she saw him first, the ink-haired Nobuharu, but she remembered the haunted look in his eyes when he saw her. He must have seen Fate sitting on her shoulder.
The drifting scent of incense filled her house and the wind chimes reminded Akimutsu of wedding bells. The dying sun poured its copper light on the zen garden and the room, setting the scene for the long awaited meeting.
There was a knock on the door. Akimitsu gave herself one last appraising look, then rushed to salute her fiancé. He was bound to love her and to share her long life and to warm her tatami.
The autumn witch pulled away the rice paper door and faced the man she hadn’t seen for such a long time. Lost in her timeless thoughts, it had never occurred to Akimitsu that human life is as fragile as the finest china. Once it’s broken, it cannot be mended. Unless…
Nobuharu’s skin was gray and he was shading it like a cherry blossom shed its petals. His lightless eyes were drinking in the shape of Akimitsu who stood in front of him in her full beauty. Nobuharu’s one remaining nostril trembled with yearning for Akimitsu’s flesh.
She had summoned him and he came, following the call of her spell, leaving behind his village, his serenity and even the realm of the dead.
Nobuharu stepped closer to embrace the woman who ruined his peace. He saw horror in her eyes, but she didn’t try to escape, not even when he bit into her lips hungrily.
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By Chad A. McClendon
Bruce Kelley ran his fingers through his dust broom thin hair as he opened his corporate email Monday morning. His pants were still damp and cold from being pulled out of the dryer too quickly, the coffee burn hurt his mouth from earlier in the morning, and his boss was already complaining. He scanned his emails in order of importance, and opened one labeled Urgent Response Required; he scanned the contents of the missive and downloaded the spreadsheet attachment.
It was a report he was not familiar with, and he tried clicking on the tabs of data at the bottom of the sheet. He clicked, whispering at the sheet for not responding. His pointer on the screen turned into a spinning loading wheel, and he crossed his legs under his desk.
He noticed a flashing icon near the ribbon and saw a warning alert. Warning, sheet contains macros. Click here to enable. Bruce pointed a finger accusingly and clicked his mouse determinedly. Continue reading
We are pleased to announce that our next short story anthology, Night in New Orleans, is planned for release on April 1st, 2017. This new collection, set in the Big Easy, will contain nineteen dark stories to thrill and horrify. We will release information on pre-orders as soon as it becomes available!
The anthology will include the following writers:
Richard Pastor, Jonathan Shipley, Hillary Lyon, Klara Gomez, Ellery D. Margay, Erin Crocker, Pamela Q. Fernandez, DJ Tyrer, Corrine Phillips, Nathan Pettigrew, Cassandra Arnold, Joshua James Jordan, J. Benjamin Sanders Jr., P.L. McMillan, Brian Malachy Quinn, Jonathan D. Nichols, Bret Valdez, Brad P. Christy, and Laurie Moran
Down the Well
Rie Sheridan Rose
“It used to be a real well,” Greta said, leaning her chin on her crossed arms.
“Like, in the old times?” asked Pete, standing on the other side of the stone circle. He peeked over the edge curiously.
“My dad says this used to be a farm long back. The well went dry, and they couldn’t keep going,” she replied. “Now people throw coins in it.”
“It’s a wishing well?” He levered himself up on the wall, leaning out over the edge. “How cool is that!”
He jumped back from the well. “You have any coins?”
She reached into the pocket of her overalls and pulled out a handful of change.
Pete grabbed it out of her hand and darted back to the well, tossing the whole handful into the hole. There were a series of muted plops and a couple of plinks…there must be a bit of water left in the well after all.
“You asshole!” Greta screamed, stamping her foot. “I didn’t give you all of those. I didn’t give you any of those! My lucky silver dollar my grandpa gave me was one of those. I gotta get it back.” Continue reading