About Lee Andrew Forman

Lee Forman is a writer and editor from the Hudson Valley, NY. His fascination with the macabre began in childhood, watching old movies and reading everything he could get his hands on. He’s a third-generation horror fanatic, starting with his grandfather who was a fan of the classic Hollywood Monsters. His work has been published in numerous magazines, anthologies, websites, and podcasts. He’s an editor for Sirens Call Publications and writes, edits, and is an administrator for the horror fiction website PenoftheDamned.com. He’s also a regular contributor of non-fiction articles for Living Paranormal Magazine. When he’s not crafting horrifying creatures and tales of terror, he spends his time playing guitar and writing music. For more information and a list of publications go to www.leeformanauthor.com

The Sirens Call eZine Open for Submissions!

The Sirens Call eZine is open for submissions! Issue #44 — “Can You Feel It?” For the 44th issue of The Sirens Call eZine we want you to make us feel the horror! We accept short fiction, drabbles, and poetry. Reprints are welcome!

Check out submission guidelines at www.sirenscallpublications.com

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Damned Words 38

8 pieces of dark flash fiction, all inspired by this image — Damned Words 38, only at http://www.penofthedamned.com.

Includes stories by A.F. Stewart​, Scarlett R. Algee​, Lydia Prime​, Nina D’Arcangela​, Mark Steinwachs​, Mercedes Yardley​, Charles Gramlich​, and myself!

Pen of the Damned

Below Stairs
A.F. Stewart

Upstairs the music plays, a tragic operatic aria of lament and loss. It drowns out the hiss and creak of the steam and wheels, and the crunch of bones. Oblivious laughter—from the latest guests—mingles with the song, their merry voices drifting into a preceding silence of parties long forgotten.

For the dead no longer scream.

Beneath the gaiety, the servants’ footfalls tread along the stair, from back rooms and the kitchens, down to the deepest level. There, they feed the machines stockpiled flesh. Watching the meat grind, the blood and bone pulverize into dripping globs of raw spat out into vats, waiting for dinners to come. In another corner, maids tuck away silks and jewels to sell.

Nothing to be wasted. No remains to be found.

Above it all the people circulate, eating canopies and drinking wine. The host, he smiles and makes the rounds, greeting…

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Dark Soil

Up this week on Pen of the Damned is ‘Dark Soil’ by Nina D’Arcangela!

Pen of the Damned

Plunging, scooping, the sound of dirt sliding off each shovel as it’s tossed to the side. Another plunge, another scoop, more shoosh – the pile grows larger, the hole surrounding their boots deeper, the men more weary. The scent of dry dirt giving way to the earthy aroma of moist, dark soil.

Removing his cap and scratching his head, he asks, “‘Ere, guv, don’t you think this looks more than a bit odd?”

The other spits, digs, then replies. “Blood well is, son.”

Digging deeper, the dirt turning firmer, becoming more dense. Each shovel still plunging; a foot braced on the back lending force to the spade as it slides into hardened ground. Loose dirt scooped upon the belly of the trowel tossed above as it slips off the metal edge – the hole growing with each effort.

Removing his cap, wiping sweat from his brow, he asks, “Take a…

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Almost Human

Pen of the Damned

How tiresome it had become to watch them come and go with no regard for me or my kind. We stood all around and effortlessly represented what they could never be. The vast majority of us were expressionless, but if you cared to look closely, you would see the rage building on our faces. Just this morning, I saw the children of these pretentious brutes tear the limbs from one of our own and wave them around triumphantly; clashing the severed appendages together as they feigned a fight between each other, cackling madly all the while. Their mother smiled, as if there was no cause for concern for what her little monsters had done. She simply ushered them away, leaving the amputated extremities haphazardly on the ground. We all watched in horror, paralyzed and disgusted.

Night fell and the overstuffed room was dimly lit by only emergency lights. The horde…

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Reunion

This week on Pen of the Damned, author Charles Gramlich brings you a tale of horror titled, ‘Reunion’.

Pen of the Damned

A small shack in the Ozark Mountains. Through the pines that noose it, a hard wind rushes like frantic horses. It isn’t wind that wakes David Holcomb from a long sleep. A car door slams outside. David slips from bed, hugs himself against the chill air. Candles gutter; the fireplace gleams with coals, but not with warmth.

David peers out a window through dusty glass. The moon hangs like a melted Christmas ornament in the nylon shine of night. No clouds mar the star-seeded sky. A parked station wagon is visible. A shadow strides to the cabin’s front porch.

Hesitantly, David steps onto the porch. Wind plucks at him; the chill needles. The figure’s back is toward him. “Who are you?” David calls loudly. “What do you want?”

The figure turns; a coat with a hood hides the face. “We need to get inside,” a voice says. “It’s coming.”

The…

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Tawny Kipphorn @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Spreading the Writer's Word

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Atlas

by Tawny Kipphorn

Each night I watch as the moonlight dances upon the shore. The high tide and full moon are the only ingredients necessary to achieve the grand prize, but tonight the alignment of Jupiter alongside Ursa Major and Minor has filled me with a warm delight. One could endeavor to rip open my chest to reveal what has replaced my heart, and all they would see is the mighty Atlas, encased within a block of ice.
This perfect marriage of planetery proportions shall assist my navigation of the mythical vessel. My dreams are plagued by visions of the Arcus lighthouse and the raging waters of the Sea of Callisto. I know within her depths, beneath the mounting pressure, lies Atlas himself upon her darkened floors. Like Poseidon bereft of his mighty trident, I wander eternally before the vista, transfixed by…

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OPEN SUBMISSIONS: The Sirens Call – Issue 43 ‘WiHM10’ | #Horror #OpenCall #ReprintsWelcome #fiction

Submissions are now open for the annual Women in Horror Month issue of The Sirens Call eZine!

The Sirens Song

eZine_Submission_Image

February is Women in Horror Month, and each year we celebrate by dedicating our February issue to all women, all horror!

For the 43rd issue of The Sirens Call eZine, we’re looking for stories and prose of horror or dark fiction written by women only (sorry guys – April is just around the corner).

Your piece can be creepy, sullen, emotive, freaky, elegant, bizarre, have a dark-humor edge to it, or be flat out scary as hell!

The basic rules:

  • Write the piece well.
  • You must be a woman to submit.
  • It must be primarily horror/dark fiction.
  • Don’t break our set-in-stone taboos – NO pedophilia, NO bestiality, and NO descriptive rape scenarios.

Ladies, let’s make the women of the horror genre proud and give them an eZine packed with talent, creative work, and chills! Not so hard, right?

Send us your horror pieces, and if they qualify, we’ll make sure…

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