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Thursday, November 3, 2011

Want to win a $25 Amazon GC? Read the post to find out how!

Today I'd like you to help me welcome horror author Gerald Rice to the blog. Today Gerald talks about one of his latest releases "Fleshbags" and joins the others before him on the hot seat as he answers our questions.

Isn't he handsome? *Grins*

Welcome Gerald, how long have you been an author?
Gerald: I’ve been writing the last 11 years. I guess I would elevate myself to the status of author last year after my first novel was published.

Congratulations, so what's your favourite genre?
Gerald: Horror. By far. I’m interested in other genres and will blend them with horror and dive into them, but I was raised on the scary stuff.

See I'm a big chicken when it comes to anything scary/ but I did enjoy a few Stephen King novels. I'm looking forward to reviewing Fleshbags for you though *winks*. What is the biggest surprise you’ve discovered about the writing process?
Gerald: Drafting is a lot easier than I would have guessed. I never used to draft; I would just start writing until I found myself stuck in a corner when it came to anything longer than a short story.

Awesome, can you tell us about one of your current works in progress?
Gerald: I just had an idea for something I’m tentatively calling 30 Tales from an Apartment. It’s not horror. Or at least, not strictly horror. I think it’s going to more or less be a bunch of weird tales. I’ve already written one about a woman who was removed from God’s love and now I’m at the beginning of one with an older couple having a calm discussion how they would kill one another if given the inclination.

Sounds like it'll be an interesting read. Now, if you had the chance to meet one of your characters privately, who would it be and what would you do?
Gerald: Probably Kelly Greene from The Ghost Toucher. He’s a lot like me, except a whole lot sadder. The guy could really use a friend after discovering he really isn’t a human being and his conception was a death sentence for an entire universe and the birth of another. Plus, the guy grew like 6 inches for no obvious reason.

Wow, he sounds like he could use a friend.

If you could choose to time travel, would you go backward or forward, and why?
Gerald: I guess I would go forward to a point when I could come up with a really good answer to that warning label question.

LOL, the warning label question is a fun one isn't it?

I'd like to thank Gerald for stopping by today. For those of you who would like to learn more about Gerald and his work he can be reached on his website, The Ghost Toucher, you can like his fan page Gerald Rice Fan Page, or you can follow him on Twitter @GeraldRice.

Here is a sneak peek of "Fleshbags" and some information on how to win the $25 Amazon GC Gerald has graciously offered to one lucky person of his choice.


Even before the explosion in the industrial area on the south side of the city they started showing up. There was something wrong with them. Anybody could see it. They leaked from every orifice and their stomachs were translucent bags showing rotting internal organs. But the ones the police had shot and killed were worse. Aggressive, fast, cannibalistic. The people still trapped in the south side of the city will fight, run, hide, and many will die. Can a young father get to his daughter? Can a husband and wife save a neighbor? Can a nurse make it home? Can an ex-con get out of the city? Can a cop keep control?

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She turned the FM on and there was only static. All her presets were out and she scanned through to find nothing was on. Ms. Mila switched to AM and the manufacturer presets were all static too. She scanned all the way up and then all the way down, knowing there wasn’t going to be anything, but a smattering of panic drove her on.
There was a beep.
It was buried deep in a wall of white noise, but it had been there. She was concentrating on trying to hear if there was anyone talking when something bumped into her car. Ms. Mila looked around, but didn’t see anything. Another bump. She looked in all her mirrors and was about to open her door when she looked over at her blindspot.
There was a naked man standing there.
He had his back to her and Ms. Mila’s first thought was to throw open the door and run back to Kiddie Kamp. But whatever he wanted—let’s be honest, he wanted her body, why else would he be naked?—she had to play this smart.
Wait a minute. She was in a car.
Ms. Mila gave a short laugh. She could just drive away. Not that she was leaving. No, he would see there was nothing here for him and simply move on. If he tried to attack her car she would just break his legs with a tap of her bumper.
She started her car and threw it in reverse. Ms. Margie was behind the door, pointing at something, probably the naked man. “I know,” Ms. Mila said, knowing the stupid girl couldn’t hear her before tapping the gas hard enough to make the car lurch. She bumped the man next to the car and he stumbled, falling over into the car two spots over.
And then she saw his stomach.
Or where one should have been.
There were holes in his chest right where his heart should have been. Ms. Mila had never seen bullet wounds before, but it clicked that those were gunshots. The man climbed to his feet, but he should have been dead.
She didn’t notice her foot was barely touching the brake pad until she’d back into the car behind her. Ms. Mila yelped and immediately put the car in drive. She eased her foot onto the gas and the engine revved, but nothing else happened. She gave the pedal two good pumps and the front tires chirped before the car leapt just as the naked dead man was reaching for her. Logically, she knew he couldn’t grab her through the glass, but his hands out like that—
Something slammed onto the hood. Ms. Mila automatically hit the brakes and saw she’d hit someone. The man slowly rose off the hood, and his eyes swirled onto her. He was naked too and his stomach had what looked like a clear garbage bag attached to it. It was torn open and something horrible and black was spilling out. Ms. Mila squealed as the other naked man crawled onto the car and began scratching at the window.
The way the Audi was angled she’d have to go in reverse and forward several times to right the car to drive out the lot. To hell with the children—she’d drive to Florida right now. She threw the car in reverse and turned the wheel hard. The man on the hood slumped onto the ground and she clipped the man’s feet next to the car. He stumbled over, rising and falling again. The second man’s legs must have been broken because he started crawling on his elbows.
She reversed and forwarded several times and was about to drive out when Ms. Margie came outside. It had just started to rain and she was getting soaked.
“Sir, are you all right?” she said, approaching the man whose feet Ms. Mila had run over. He whirled on her, clutching her arms for support and pulling her down and clamped his mouth down on her shoulder. She screamed and shoved him off, her arms pinwheeling as she stumbled backwards, tripping over the man on the ground.
He rolled her off of him and was in the process of climbing on top of her when Ms. Mila knew what she had to do.
She had to save her. She had to wrestle her away from that man, get them both inside and protect the children. Ms. Mila couldn’t just leave.
But that had more to do with the forty or so fleshbags in the street that seemed to be headed her way.
It had just popped in her head, but Ms. Mila thought the name for them fit perfectly. Most of them still had that bag of transparent flesh with whatever that was inside them attached. All of them were showing flesh. Flesh plus bag.
“Get a hold of yourself, Mila,” she said aloud. The one whose feet she’d run over stumbled into the Audi and she opened the door on him, sending him tumbling over one more time. There was a cantaloupe-sized stone a few feet away from Ms. Margie and the crippled one and Ms. Mila scooped it up and dropped it on his back.
The air left his lungs in a deep whoosh and clear fluid shot out of his mouth into Ms. Margie’s face. Ms. Mila bent and rolled him off of her and grabbed whatever she could of the younger woman (it was completely coincidental that one hand latched onto a fistful of hair) and yanked her upright.
She was surging with adrenaline now, ignoring her creaky, semi-arthritic spine and she looked to the street to see they were shuffling, but getting closer. The stumbler was up again, staggering his way over and Ms. Mila kicked him in the chest Leonidas style, howling at him as he flew backwards, smacking his head off a decorative stone. They were about equally distant from the front door as the fleshbags in the approach and Ms. Mila found herself suddenly weighed down by the younger woman.
She’d fainted.
“Oh no you don’t!” Ms. Mila shouted and squeezed her, half lifting her as she climbed to the door. Their faces were wet like they’d been crying and drooling simultaneously and by the time the two women reached the door she’d gotten a good look at what was in those bags.
If she’d had anything other than vikes on her stomach she would have hurled.
Ms. Mila got through the outer door just as one of them was reaching for them. She patted her pocket for her keys and at the same time realized she’d left them in her car. Hopefully, whatever was wrong with these people kept them from managing doors too easily. She banged furiously on the inner door, but there was no one in the main room or behind the reception desk. The only way in was the fingerprint access.
Ms. Mila shifted Ms. Margie to her other arm, feeling her body quiver as the rush started to wear off. She thumbed in her code and it beeped, alerting her to place her primary finger on the scanner. She put her index on and waited the infinitely long few seconds it took to read. It gave a double beep and flashed red, requesting her to place her primary finger on again.
Ms. Mila made a fist, commanding her hand to be still and placed her index on one more time. She looked over her shoulder and saw nothing but fleshbags pressed against the door. One of them was looking at the door handle.
“Please, please, please!” she begged, clenching her eyes shut. The access gave a single beep and the door buzzed open. She swung her hand over to the handle and Ms. Margie slipped out of her arm and hit the floor just as they were starting to pull open the outer door. Ms. Mila lifted her legs out of the way, swung the door open and stepped inside. She grabbed Ms. Margie by the legs as someone came up behind her.
“What’s going on?” a woman said.
“Get the hell out of the way!” Ms. Mila shouted dragging the young woman inside. The inner door swung shut and she dropped Ms. Margie’s legs, falling to her knees and weeping.

*CONTEST NOTE from Author Gerald Rice -

I’m giving away a $25 Amazon gift card. Anyone interested can go to The Ghost Toucher for details.


Best Wishes,

~Author Jennifer Labelle~

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