Charlotte Emma Gledson has only been writing short stories seriously for seven months, though she has a collection of poetry based on her life experiences called "Turbulent Emotions". Four short stories and three of her poems have been published in the acclaimed "Darkened Horizons" horror anthologies. Other works have been published in the Word Weavers horror anthology “Requiem for the Damned” and “The World of Myth” e-zine. Other poems have been published in the Word Weavers “Reverence of Rune – A collection of Verse”.

Residing in the coastal town of Gosport UK, she currently divides her time as a busy Mum to four gregarious children, eighteen ventriloquist dummies, and a  scruffy mutt called Reg, whilst writing a supernatural/dark novel entitled “Bluebells For My Baby.”

Other works in progress include the Edward Ballister Project. A new initiative where a collaboration of esteemed and up and coming authors write a single chapter each, in order to create the ultimate horror novel.

Charlotte’s short story The Boys Night Out will be published in the upcoming premiere issue of The Ashen Eye. Here’s a brief excerpt:

Finally, huddled against a damp wall under a viaduct, a victim was found. Debris and neglect engulfed the figure. A roaring train whistled overhead, drowning any evidence of the approaching men.

“Oi mate! Fancy a ciggie?”

Max focused on the hooded figure, forcing a warm inviting smile.

“I feel for you mate. Cold this time of year isn’t it. Not the best way to spend your evenings is it?”

Whist flicking the lighter repeatedly, Max handed out a cigarette. The beggar rose from his dwelling. Unshaven and odorous, his hair covered the majority of his features. His clothes so soiled, it was hard to differentiate between any two colours.

Abruptly, Greg kicked the man forcefully on the back of his knees, watching him buckle. Max swiftly turned around to see if anyone was near. Satisfied, he stamped on the man’s knee, cracking the patella with a harsh snap under his Gucci heel.

Don’t forget to visit Charlotte’s website or MySpace page.

A former laboratory technician turned home educator, Richard H. Fay now spends his days juggling various writing and art projects. He resides in Upstate New York with his wife, daughter, two cats, and a rather confused shepherd-chow mix. History, myth, legend, folklore, and personal experiences with the uncanny and bizarre all serve as inspiration for Richard’s creative endeavors. Many of the fruits of his labor have appeared in various e-zines and print magazines, including “Niteblade”, “Hungur”, “The Fifth Di…”, and “Champagne Shivers”.

The premiere issue of The Ashen Eye will feature some of Richard’s poetry. As an introduction to his work, here is another one of his poems titled The Phantom Dimension.

The Phantom Dimension
by Richard H. Fay

Things little known to scholars and sages
Live outside the bounds of normality,
Slipping in and out of the mundane world
Like pallid spectres and fleeting shadows.

Determined to seek the ultimate truth,
I delve into forsaken ancient tomes
And construct many arcane devices
To uncover dark, forbidden secrets.

Glimmering power surges through the air
As I recite a cabalistic spell.
My fell machines pulse with electric life
As a portal opens between the planes.

A grey mist streaked with gold envelops me.
Spectral streams flow through the eldritch ether.
Strange creatures float past on rainbow currents
As I drift aimlessly through that weird realm.

Disturbed by my odd alien presence,
Dreadful ebon forms gather around me.
Amorphous limbs brush against my body;
Their algid touch courses right through my soul.

Then the wraiths flee in a frightful flurry
As a bloated beast rears up from the murk.
A pale, wretched face wreathed in tentacles
Fixes its fiery red eyes upon me.

Its lips part in a parody of speech.
A serpentine tongue lolls out of its maw.
The heaving horror spits sulphurous spume
As it seeks to extinguish my life force.

I fly from the gaze of that monstrous fiend,
But my flight is slowed by a clutching mire.
I struggle across the glowing threshold
And narrowly escape madness and death.

Other examples of his artwork and writing can be seen at his web site, Azure Lion Productions.

“Hey man, look, you know I’m asking out of concern. How are the new meds working?”

“Great actually! Yeah, I’m actually very impressed. The physical ticks have almost disappeared.”

“Good man, I’m glad to hear it. I noticed you were doing a lot better recently. Like I said John, I, out of concern, you know,” Nick said pulling the whole ‘I’m a co worker and I care, but actually I’m just extracting information’ routine.

“I really appreciate it Nick. It’s good to know people are noticing,” John said, returning the same fake smile.

Nick patted him on the shoulder, totally violating the rules. Oh God, John thought, now I’ll be late, I’ll have to count my primes again, then do my threes again, then….

“You alright buddy? You look pale,” Nick inquired.

“Yeah! Just thinking about the day ahead, the meeting with accounting, and I have Sarah to meet with also, to discuss the budget,” John replied.

“Oh yeah? Sarah can be a real ball buster John! I don’t envy you my friend, take it easy ok?” Nick said and left.

“Yes she can Nick… Yes she can,” John said in return. Nick waved in affirmation.

John would deal with Nick’s transgression in time; what mattered now were prime numbers, three’s, and some finger clicks. Sarah as well, the issue of her in general would be addressed soon. He gave it, at the most, another day or two. John walked over to the sink and washed his hands. The itching of his balls was almost unbearable. A small price to pay, in another day or two it will all be over.

You have just read an excerpt from the disturbing short story Patience, written by Ben Eads. The full story is scheduled to appear in the first issue of The Ashen Eye.

Ben Eads lives in Florida and works in the Information Technology field. Aside from reading and writing dark fiction, he enjoys martial arts, philosophy, and finding the secrets to the universe.

He started his own podcast, called “The Dark Fiction Spotlight”, which focuses on up and coming writers and the presses that publish them. Its goal is to spread the word to as many people as possible.

Ben’s work has recently appeared in “Black Petals”, issue #43, and the March/May issue of “NVH Magazine”.

Don’t forget to visit Ben’s MySpace page, home of “The Dark Fiction Spotlight”, and add him as a friend.

Jim Kelley is a full-time carpenter in the great state of Ohio, where he co-owns a small exterior deck & siding company. He’s a former semi-pro football player for the Columbus Sharks, Swarm, and Phantoms, and is happily married. Jim shares his house with his wife, six cats, and a hyper rot/beagle mix dog.

His short story, titled Sex and Rot in the Afterlife, will appear in the first issue of The Ashen Eye. The following is a short excerpt taken from it:

On a stack of elbow macaroni boxes, I saw Tina laying on her back. Her blouse was open and her milky white breasts almost glowed in the dimness. Her skirt—the denim number she teased me with earlier—was hiked up around her thighs. Worst of all, her knees draped across someone’s shoulders, and her hands pulled feverishly at the somebody’s hair.

“Tina,” I cried.

She snapped her head up; a look of horror crossed her face when she met my stare.

“Tom,” she tried to pull her blouse closed with one hand and push the guy’s head away with the other. She wasn’t successful with either, one tit still showed and the guy wasn’t giving up the head job.

“What’s going on?”

She only stared at me with her shocked and horrified look.

A million emotions raged through my mind, but chief among them were jealousy and betrayal. Tina and I weren’t an item, but we had dated on occasion. Nothing ever serious because she claimed she wasn’t emotionally available or ready for physical relationships again. Yet, here she was, sprawled out on a box of macaroni with a guy eating her out.

I added fury to my new found emotions.

My first thought was Brian Huffman hadn’t been in an accident after all. Maybe Tina decided to rob the cradle. But when the guy turned his face toward me and met my eyes with his one dull eye, my heart sank.

“Evan!”

Evan only scowled at me with blood on his lips and chin.

“My god, did he hurt you?” I started toward Evan, unsure exactly what I intended to do.

“No, he didn’t hurt me.” Tina’s sheepish voice stopped me.

Evan grinned as he spit what I thought was gum out on the floor.

My eyes followed the wad down and when it landed with a small splat, the white string told me what it was, a tampon.

“Puuussssyyyy,” Evan grinned.

I wanted to rip his rotting head off his shoulders, but I only stood there. Some semblance of reason crept back into my head as I realized what it was that stood in front of me. Zombies were twice as strong as living men and I’d seen them when they were enraged.

Evan would rip me limb from limb if I attacked him.

Some of Jim Kelley’s short stories have appeared in “+The Horror Library+” and “The World of Myth” ezines under the pen name Kelly James. Also, he’s the book review columnist for The World of Myth.

To visit Jim Kelley’s MySpace page, please click here.

Poet Greg Schwartz fixes copiers by day and writes horror by night. His poetry has appeared in publications such as Talebones, Black Petals, The Magazine of Speculative Poetry, and Tales of the Talisman. A chapbook of his horror poetry, titled “Bits and Pieces”, was released last summer by Spec House of Poetry. Whenever he has the time, Greg reviews books and magazines for Whispers of Wickedness, and he’s also the staff cartoonist for Shadow Poetry’s SP Quill Magazine.

One of Greg’s works will be featured in upcoming premiere issue of The Ashen Eye. To provide you with a taste of his work beforehand, here’s a poem titled Bats.

Bats
by Greg Schwartz

alone
at your desk
blank sheet of paper
taunting you
while thoughts
swirl around your head
like bats
too quick for you to grab
until one gets careless
flies too close
and you snatch it
clutch it with both hands
squeeze out its lifeblood
onto the paper
not letting go
until every last drop
is spilled from the thing
and it falls to the floor
a dried empty husk
now you’re staring at the paper
soggy and red
scattered clumps of tissue
like islands
and once you clean it up
organize the mess
pick out stray bone fragments
you just might have
a poem.

Lorne Dixon lives and writes somewhere off an Exit of Route 78 in residential New Jersey. He grew up on a diet of yellow-spined paperbacks, black and white monster movies, and the thunder lizard backbeat of rock n’ roll.

The following is an excerpt from Lorne’s short story titled King James Version (Abridged), which is scheduled to be published in the upcoming issue of The Ashen Eye.

Lucy The Waitress looked up from the game of solitaire spread out on the table closest to the bar. She pulled her cigarette out of her mouth and blew out a plume of thick smoke. She stared at Matthias, transfixed.

He slowly realized the old man’s blood had speckled his face and clothes. He craned back his head and pinched his nose. He approached Lucy and asked in a nasal voice, "Paper towels? Nosebleed."

She clearly knew better. The cigarette dropped from her fingertips to the jack of hearts. Matthias let go of his nose and straightened up. Standing completely straight, he topped six foot five. She met his eyes with hers, clouded with alcohol, nicotine, and probably something stronger than either. She broke the stare to glance down at the cell phone she wore on her belt.

It only took a quick motion. Both collar bones crushed inwards, fragmenting and cutting through flesh and muscle until they met in her throat, cutting off her oxygen supply. Easy work for two strong thumbs. She spun off the table, trying to gasp, hands wrapped around her neck, failing to pry her bones out of her throat.

Lorne’s short fiction has appeared, or is scheduled to appear, in, “+The Horror Library+ Volume 2” (Cutting Block Press), “Bad-Ass Faeries” (Marietta), “The Book Of Dark Wisdom” Magazine (2008, Elder Signs), “Strange Stories Of Sand And Sea” (2008, Fine Tooth Press), “Traps” (2008, DarkHart Press), “Lilith Unbound” (2008, Popcorn Press), “Dark Distortions” (2008, Scotopia), “Bound For Evil: Curious Tales Of Books Gone Bad” (2008, Dead Letters Press), “Tales Of Moreauvia” Magazine, “Bad-Ass Faeries 2: Just Plain Bad” (2008, Marietta), and “Darkness On The Edge: Dark Stories Inspired By The Music Of Bruce Springsteen” (early 2009, PS Press UK).

Visit Lorne Dixon’s blog

He swept a hand over the roof of his car. It looked like finely ground particles of rust in the palm of his hand. Wasn’t the surface of Mars supposed to be covered in stuff like this? He stared at the particles, fascinated. How could it have been carried on the wind when there hadn’t been so much as a light breeze for the best part of a week? And yet it was everywhere; hair, clothes, roofs, drifting in through open windows; this strange phenomenon had become quite a talking point in Billy’s Bar. Jack made a fist, and then unclenched it. The sand left a russet stain on the palm of his hand.

***

All of a sudden it was night, sheeting with rain, and Jack was gripping the steering wheel of his car. The night was dragging and he had two more pizzas to deliver. He was cruising down the main drag, glancing at the prostitutes who hung out on the street corners. Most of them were addicts trying to earn enough for their next fix. Half of them looked as if they were going to collapse at any moment.

Then he saw something in the corner of his eye and jammed his foot on the brake.

***

He blinked; then found himself back in the present day, staring at the particles of sand.

“Weird!”

Then the strangest thing happened. The particles seemed to dissolve, as though seeping into the pores of his skin. In seconds the sand had gone; even the red stain, which had marked the palm of his hand, had vanished.

What you’ve just read is an excerpt from Dave Price’s short story titled A Town Built on Dreams, which you will be able to find in the first issue of The Ashen Eye. David Price is an ex coal miner who started writing for the small press in 1995. Since then he’s had over 70 stories published in such diverse magazines as “Not One of Us”, “Nasty Piece of Work”, “Kimota”, “Shadow Writers”, and “Dream Zone”.

Between 1997 and 1999 David Price was the editor of dark fiction magazine “Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque”. In 2001 a collection of his stories, titled “Evil Eye”, was published by BJM Press (now Rainfall Books)

Click here to visit David Price’s website.

Our next contributor is fiction author David Byron. David has had numerous short stories accepted for publication in magazines such as Dark Recesses Press and Fantastic Horror. He is also the author of the book “Lucid Nightmares” and the moderator of NVH magazine {New Voices in Horror}. His short story titled Petrifaction will be published in the first issue of The Ashen Eye. The following is an excerpt from that story:

“These are fabulous!” Alicia said. She turned toward Henry and asked, “May I touch them?”

Henry smiled. “Of course.”

She ran a slender hand down the side of one of the males.

“That one is Stephen,” Henry told her.

Alicia looked at him queerly. “That seems such a plain name for such a beautiful statue. But I guess if David can be David, then he can be a Stephen.”

Jake seemed only slightly taken aback by his girlfriend’s admiration of the tall naked statue, and appeared content to admire the women. He got down on his knees in front of one, face to crotch and made a rude gesture with his tongue. Alicia slapped the back of his head.

“Hey,” he protested as he stood, wiping the dust from the knees of his jeans.

They each moved to opposite sides of the room, content in mutual admiration of both sexes of the specimens.

“They’re so…anatomically intricate,” Alicia said. “Who’s the artist?”

“A local fellow. He prefers to remain anonymous until the unveiling,” Henry said.

“Well, he’s very good. To carve stone and polish it this way and still leave every crease, every bulge in place. It’s astonishing.”

“Yes. Astonishing.” Henry gave the door a nudge to shut it slightly and walked toward the center of the room. The kids didn’t seem to notice; they studied the interior of a specimen that sat in two pieces. The top half rested flat on the floor, with the bottom half in a kneeling position sitting beside it.

They whispered to each other, and Henry moved closer.

“That’s a liver,” Alicia was saying. “I don’t think these are…”

Henry pulled two syringes from his pocket, flicked off the plastic tips with his thumbs, and plunged one into each of the kid’s necks.

“What the…” Jake didn’t even have time to finish his sentence before the succinylcholine chloride took effect. Both of the kids lay on the floor, eyes open. This was one of Henry’s favorite parts of the process.

To order a copy of David’s book, “Lucid Nightmares”, please click here.

Our next fiction contributor is named Troy Barnes. Troy lives in a small coastal town called Penguin, in Tasmania, Australia. He is 35 years of age, married, and writes at night while working a full time job, managing a retail hardware store, during the day. One of his short stories, titled Family Matters, has been accepted for publication in The Ashen Eye’s premiere issue. Here’s a short excerpt to whet your appetites:

When Dean woke up he wasn’t really sure why. Sometimes you just have a feeling that you shouldn’t be sleeping. A subconscious thought that tells you something is happening. Jimmy was standing silently near the end of the bed.

“Everything okay there, Jimmy?” he asked his son through half open eyes.

His tiny silhouetted frame just stood still in the shadows, his face as blank as an unused blackboard. Dean sat up in bed.

“Jim?”

“Daddy. The baby isn’t going to cry anymore.”

Dean woke up as though his body had been hit by a pulse of lightening. Jimmy wasn’t standing by the bed like he had seen seconds before. It was all just a strange dream. Something his mind had made up all by itself. He tried to steady his heartbeat by resting his head back down on the pillow. He rolled over to cuddle up to Jane but to his surprise she wasn’t laying beside him. It was unlike her to wake during the night unless something was wrong.

The baby isn’t going to cry anymore.

Dean moved up and sat on the edge of the bed. The house sounded quiet but then there was a slight muffling coming from down the hall. He moved slowly towards the sound of the noise. The small glowing lights plugged into the power points provided just enough light to know his surroundings. He reached the far room nearest to the front door. The television was turned on but the reception was only static. The noise was more obvious now. It was a slurping sound, like someone was drinking soup from a tipped bowl.

“Are you okay, honey?”

Jane was still naked. She was crouching down at the end of the sofa, facing away from him as if looking for something. He yawned a little and moved closer, tilting his head to the side a little to try and see what his wife was doing.

“What are you doing up this late?”

She shot her head around in a speeding blur and stared directly into her husband’s eyes. He took a step backwards as his mouth dropped with a terrifying rupture of reality. She had a look if intense insanity in her bloodshot eyes. Her mouth, overcome with swollen teeth, was covered in red and black clotted blood, and her skin was pale and void of life. Dark stains were scattered around where her bare body was kneeling.

Troy’s debut novel, called "Deadlight", was released in March 2007, and has since been read all around Australia, and also in the USA, Denmark, Japan and Switzerland. He has been lucky enough, through sheer determination, to personally pass on copies to actor Eric Bana, and Leigh Whannell - From the Saw movies. His short story "Blender" soon followed and was included in the horror anthology, Concrete Blood, released in the USA. After this came "Alley Kat", included in Darkened Horizons Issue 2, and "The Diary of Norman Dicker" in the invitation only, Darkened Horizons - Halloween Edition.

Troy’s second novel, “Monochromacy”, will be released mid 2008.

To find more information or to order a copy of “Deadlight”, please visit Troy Barnes’ MySpace page or his official website, www.troy-barnes.com.

Visit the official Troy Barnes website

The third officially confirmed contributor to The Ashen Eye is multi-talented poet, horror fiction writer and musician Alexis Child.

Alexis Child hails from Toronto, Canada; horror in its purest form. She works at a Call Crisis Center befriending demons of the mind that roam freely amongst her writings and lives with a Calico-cat child sleuthing all that goes bump in the night.

She has been kind enough to allow us to feature one of her blood-chilling poems to introduce you to her work. Another one of her poems will be featured in the premiere issue of The Ashen Eye.

Corpse Grinder
by Alexis Child

Memories chase after him like a murderer’s glove,
bruised and bloodied. Fugitive thoughts are nighttime
shadows springing from an abnormal mind, the wrong
shade of red. Scarcely remembered are the others, like a
child standing with its face pressed, distorted against glass.

Darkness closes in as a ravenous crow, sadistic urges
a devouring flesh. Emotionless eyes laugh coldly,
"Either way they die." Driving down the long highway,
he hunts for prey like the hawks he holds in high esteem,
bleeding offerings to the broken moonlight, nothing
less than the blatant face of death embracing itself.

Alexis Child’s poetry and fiction have been featured in numerous online and print publications, including Sinfully Twisted Magazine, Black Petals, Tales of the Talisman and Whispers of Wickedness (featuring an interview with the writer). Her first collection of poetry, titled “Devil in the Clock”, is now available in e-book from Purpleverse Publishing. Book in print coming soon.

To visit her website please click here.

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