In print again.
The Horror Zine has a new issue out, and this one includes my 'Claiming Number Eight' short story. I was never sure if that was horror or SF. Somewhere in between, I suspect. Or maybe both. I suppose horror tales will still be told in the future, so one day it won't be SF any more. Anyway, I'll let the readers decide for themselves.
Remember to look over the rest of the fiction, poetry and art. The art is best viewed just before bedtime to provide inspiration for dreams.
I need darker dreams. Lately they have been plagued with puppies and bunnies and sunshine. I wake up completely devoid of cold sweat and haven't had a good scream for ages. It's just wrong.
Perhaps I should see a psychiatrist. Then again, maybe not. Cousin Phalanges once went to a psychiatrist and has never been seen since. I hear they shrink people.
I wonder how it's done?
