Days of the Dead Presents Georgia Screeches

Days of the Dead

presents

Georgia Screeches

A Horror Fanthology

Atlanta Georgia

February 7-9, 2020

Edited by

Joe Moe

Days of the Dead presents:

Georgia Screeches

A Horror Fanthology

Atlanta Georgia, February 7-9, 2020

A Black Bed Sheet/Diverse Media Book

January 2020

Copyright © 2020 by Black Bed Sheet Books/Days of the Dead/all respective authors & contributors

All rights reserved.

Days of the Dead conventions are brought to you by Bill Philputt

and sponsored by Big Bang Toys & Collectibles

Cover art by Shawn Langley Illustration

Additional art by Jessica White

Design by Nicholas Grabowsky

and copyright © 2020 Black Bed Sheet Books

The selections in this book are works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN-10: 1-946874-18-3

ISBN-13: 978-1-946874-18-4

Days of the Dead presents

Georgia Screeches

A Horror Fanthology

Atlanta Georgia

February 7-9, 2020

A Black Bed Sheet/Diverse Media Book

Antelope, CA

Short horror stories written by fans for fans

Dedicated to Forrest J Ackerman. A man who never let his own hopes and dreams sway him from helping others realize their own.

Special thanks to

Bill Philputt and Brooklyn Ewing

Contents

Forryword by Joe Moe

Gone with the Wind,

Back with an Appetite by Joe Moe

The Imposter by Jack Bannister

The Black Derpy Cat by Jezibell Anat

Fingernails by Allen Alberson

Small Towns by Richard Tanner

I Smell a Screamer by Wald Jāmz Fälschermann

Boogers by Phillip Lawless

Howler by Allan J.D. McNeill

Becoming by Jonathan Cook

It’s Raining Again by Richard Tanner

The Buzz by Chuck W. Chapman

The Silver Dollar Killer by Amanda Blanton

The House on Greenville Street by Mike Lyddon

Glow by Alison MacInnis

The Tear in the Roof by Jonathan Cook

Topstone by Anthony Taylor

Eternal Hills by D.C. Phillips

Forryword

A thunderstorm and some healthy competition inspired a teenaged Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley to conjure the novel Frankenstein out of thin, electrified air. A raven named Grip from Charles Dickens’ novel Barnaby Rudge, inspired Edgar Allen Poe to write his narrative poem, The Raven. A stay at a snowy, vacant Stanley hotel a day before Halloween, coaxed a nightmare called The Shining out of Stephen King. Serendipity aside, there have also been some very intentional forces of inspiration, which have moved us to write and share our stories with each other. Forrest J Ackerman was one of those forces. 

In the 1930s, Forry made sure an impoverished teenaged paperboy named Ray Bradbury could afford to attend early Sci-Fi club meetings in Los Angeles where he met many of his contemporaries. In the late 50s, along with publisher James Warren, Uncle Forry wrote and edited Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine, sharing a spotlight usually reserved for the stars on screen with the movie magicians behind the camera, motivating many monster-loving kids to pursue a creative life themselves. These kids grew up to be Joe Dante, Peter Jackson, Steven Spielberg, Tim Burton, Stephen King, Penn & Teller, Billy Bob Thornton, Gene Simmons, Rick Baker, George Lucas, Elvira, Danny Elfman, Frank Darabont, Guillermo del Toro, Kirk Hammett, John Landis, some of you, me, and more! My hope is that this very anthology may serve to inspire you! Thanks to all of you who submitted your stories. Whether you made it into these pages this time or not, I hope the accomplishment of writing a story was a fulfilling one that will move you to continue to create. We all owe it to ourselves to find our voice. Once we do, it’s our responsibility to share that voice with the world. You have a unique story to tell. You have a unique perspective on the stories that others have already told through the ages. You have the ability to magically create a universe using nothing more than your imagination and fingertips upon a keyboard. Keep going! 

Thank you for allowing me, Days of the Dead horror conventions and Black Bed Sheet Books the privilege of being your launching pad to fantastic new worlds, epic journeys, harrowing horrors, and the magnificent monsters that make us shudder with glee.

Your grateful pal and editor, 

Joe Moe

Gone with the Wind, Back with an Appetite

by Joe Moe

As Scarlet moved among the wounded

The moaning maimed, the writhing soon dead

She looked each soldier in the eye

A last fair grace before they die

She felt a tug upon her hem

and turned, not to admonish them

Perhaps the lack of etiquette

was lost to need of tourniquet?

But what she saw, not corpse nor man,

that grasped her French lace in its hand,

made Scarlet wretch and pale as snow

It chilled her blood, it ceased to flow

Groping at her satin skirt

enrobed in blood, and piss, and dirt,

a crudely amputated arm

that clearly meant to do her harm

She thought to flee, to no avail

The moment for escape had sailed

For all the dead were rising now

No time to ponder why or how

The Southern Belle was torn apart

From bonnet to her beating heart

Dreaming of Tara as she succumbed

and thankfully, her senses numbed

She wished her love were with her now

He’d know the whys, the whats, the hows

Yes, Rhett would know why dead men stand,

Frankly, my dear, they are the damned.

Jack Bannister was born and raised in Augusta and, along with his two cats, calls Georgia home. Regarding the genre, Jack believes, Fear is an emotion that we all share, whether it be an unexplained feeling or documented phobia, we can connect on that shared feeling and find mutual ground in horror. It’s not surprising that Jack’s influences include Sergei Lukyanenko and H.P. Lovecraft. His atmospheric and moody, The Imposter visits paranoid themes of loss of identity common to both of his heroes. If it’s true that one should write what they love and what they know, it stands to reason that Jack’s story would revolve around...a cat.

The Imposter 

by Jack Bannister

The quivering of his limbs violently brought Victor from slumber, slowly wrapping his arms around his body to try to get some warmth. Blinking, the edge of light from the kitchen cast a bizarre glow across his right eye, as he groaned and reached blindly for the covers. Why is it so fucking cold in here?  Unable to find his blanket, he pulled himself up in the bed and waited as his eyes adjusted to the shadows of his room. Still groggy, he swung his legs over the bed and half skipped to the bedroom door to shut it. Turning the handle to let it slide into place, he felt icy tugs of wind pulling the nape of his neck as it danced across the skin of his arm.  Yvonne? he called out. You home?  

It didn’t feel that cold earlier, and realizing he was alone in the apartment, Victor opened the door and stepped out into the common room of the apartment.  Another shiver brought his attention to the thermostat anchored across the room. Rubbing his arms, he tiptoed across the room, eyeing the registered temperature in the apartment was a frigid thirty-eight degrees.  Skimming through the settings, the settings were right, and nothing had changed. Gazing to the ceiling, the dust that needed to be cleaned had taken life as the duct behind it appeared to have air spilling from the slits in the grate.  Feeling another gust of chilly air, he turned his attention to see where it was coming from. Rounding the corner, he spotted the door wide open. I know I locked that… trailing off, he noticed that one of his cats was parked in front of the door, staring off into the distance. 

Hopping the small distance to the door, he bent down and went to pull the cat back inside.  He froze as he saw that the feline’s hair was standing on edge and her back was slightly arched, eyes locked on some distant image Victor was unable to see in the dark. 

Rian, get back. Ignoring the uneasy feeling that Rian’s reaction toward the open door gave him, he pulled her back into the hallway, finally able to shut the door. The cat let out a guttural meow and skittered backwards, low to the floor, eyes fixated on the door and not blinking as she made her way tail first toward the table in the common room.  The door closed; relief was almost instant as the cold breeze was cut off from the source. Looking around, he didn’t see the other cat.

Diego? he called out, glancing around the room. Rian skittered across the floor in front of him, meowing loudly, bumping her back against his shin to garner his attention.

Diego? He turned around and glanced through the kitchen, scanning above the cupboards to see if he spotted the cat hiding behind any of the bottles that littered the top of the cabinets.  Frowning, he went back to his room and flipped the light on, glancing under the bed and then through the closet.

Diego!? he called again. Rian hopped on the bed and pawed the air, meowing lightly for attention.  

Looking at the time, he noticed the sky was beginning to lighten and turned back around. He peeked under the couches, knowing that the cat couldn’t fit under there but checking anyways. He turned around as he heard the door open. You’re up early, Yvonne said.  

The door was open. I know I locked it.  And it seems like Diego isn’t here, Victor huffed. I hope he didn’t get out; he’s not meant to be outside. And it’s so cold!

Yvonne paused for a minute. How’d the door open? 

Shrugging, Victor ran to his room, shrugged some pants on and grabbed a jacket. "I don’t know but it