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CONTEST WINNER!

5/22/2016

Winner of the FROM DARKNESS WE COME Short Story Blog Contest - $10 Amazon Gift Card

It’s time to announce the Winner of the FROM DARKNESS WE COME Short Story Contest on my blog! We had some great comments, and it was too difficult to decide which was the best, so I asked milady Bettye Jarrell to pick a number between 1 and 7 (the # of entries) without her knowing why. She picked 2. That means Denise Keef is the
Winner of a $10 Amazon Gift Card!

Congratulations Denise!

Thanks to all who shared your thoughts and entered: Veronica Smith, Denise, Lisa Williams, Tammy McLanahan, Doc Lark, Michael Schutz, and Elizabeth Robbins.

Holly Jolly sez "Woof!" which means congrats Denise!

Be sure to join us for the
MARIONETTES Release Party
on Facebook Sunday, June 5 from 3 – 6 p.m. EST (2 – 5 p.m. CST, 1 – 4 p.m. MST, & 12 noon – 3 p.m. PST) for LOTS more fun contests with great prizes including several Amazon Gift Cards, ebooks, and 1 Grand Prize Contest!
MARIONETTES Party link: https://www.facebook.com/events/1710763682523980

Pick up your copy of MARIONETTES (only $3.99!) available for pre-order now and auto-delivered to your Kindle or e-reader on 5/31:
https://www.amazon.com/Marionettes-Kerry-Alan-Denney-ebook/dp/B01DEEJJF0

Check out the rave Advance Reviews for MARIONETTES:

“Kerry Alan Denney proves once again he is the master of showing us the good – and the evil – in the human race. This is his best one yet!” – Deborah D. Moore, bestselling author of The Journal series

“I've read a few books by Kerry Alan Denney, and he's one of my favorite authors. I thought he'd outdone himself on Jagannath, but that changed after I read Marionettes. Wowzers! I highly recommend this book. King, Koontz, and Gaiman fans take note: There's a new author in town, and his name is Kerry Alan Denney aka The Reality Bender.” – Monique Happy, Managing/ Acquisitions Editor of Winlock Press and Owner/ Operator of Monique Happy Editorial Services

“Whether you're a fan of mystery, suspense, or sci-fi makes no difference. This book shines with elements of all. From the first line, My whole life changed after I drowned and died in the flood, to the last word, this story will hold you in its grip. Beautifully written. A must read!” – Lynda Fitzgerald, critically acclaimed author of the LIVE Sunshine State mystery series

“In Marionettes, Kerry Alan Denney presents readers with a wholly original take on the ‘Lazarus’ sub-genre – the topic of what happens if someone is raised from the dead. In our protagonist, David, we see a complex man who is broken, lost, and mourning. He is given a power that can offer either salvation, damnation, or a means for revenge. His captivating journey is as much about self-discovery as it is about practicing his newfound talent. As challenges mount, so does the suspense. The last fifty pages fly by with extreme action and insight. Such a cleverly balanced book, Marionettes is not to be missed!” – Michael Schutz, author of Blood Vengeance and the forthcoming Edging

“Kerry Alan Denney continues to amaze with his unique and intriguing books. I've never read a book of his I didn't like and Marionettes will not disappoint! I loved falling into this book; I felt like I was right there with the characters, living it with them. If you read only one book this year, make sure it's Marionettes!” – Veronica L. Smith of Horror Geeks, author of Chalk Outline

Thanks again to everyone who participated in the contest and shared my story with your friends... more coming soon!

Happy reading to all!

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FROM DARKNESS WE COME: A short story about the unbreakable bonds of family & love

5/14/2016

15 Comments

FROM DARKNESS WE COME

(Plus $10 Amazon Gift Card Contest! Details at end of this blog post*)

In a city plagued by mysterious child disappearances, one devastated man discovers the horrible truth, and must risk sacrificing everything to save his son from an otherworldly entity that is stealing children’s souls.

originally published July 31, 2015 in
AT HELL'S GATES 4: BOUND BY BLOOD

In celebration of the upcoming 5/31 release of my new supernatural thriller MARIONETTES:
This story is dedicated to all my friends, readers, and colleagues...
so that the Nothingness may never take you.

    Devon took a final puff on his cigarette before he headed up the driveway to knock on the door--his door, at least until he blew the best thing that ever happened to him. He watched Champ growl at a tattered flyer that fluttered past them in the light breeze. Even though the black-and-white type was smeared and faded from exposure to the elements, Devon knew what it proclaimed. He’d seen too many like it lately, along with the rest of the denizens of this weary city.
    The photo of the smiling boy on the flyer said it all: another missing child, another pair of distraught and aggrieved parents, another desperate last-gasp attempt to recover a lost little boy who would likely never be seen again.
    More flyers with other children’s faces just like it were plastered all over the city, stapled to post office bulletin boards and telephone poles, nailed to tenement walls, hanging from street signs, and taped to store windows; as prevalent as the endless flyers advertising bands that no one ever heard of performing in dingy clubs that served overpriced drinks to legions of apathetic nihilists.

    Most parents’ instinctive reactions were probably the same as Devon’s: Thank God it’s not my child—more apathy that did nothing to solve the escalating problem.
    Devon dropped his smoking butt on the sidewalk, stomped it out, and gave Champ’s leash a gentle tug. “Come on, buddy. Big day today. Ready to go see Shane?”
    Champ pranced, tail wagging, and let out a soft “Wuff!”
    Devon had no idea how smart—or dumb—dogs really were, but his four-year-old chocolate Labrador retriever clearly recognized his little master’s name and the home in which they’d spent most of the dog’s life. Together they hurried up the driveway to the old Decatur, Georgia brick house; a place Devon still thought of as home, no matter that he and Champ had been exiled from it for four months now.
    He still felt uncomfortable knocking on what he considered his own front door. Hopefully Jade wouldn’t be pissed that they were late yet again.
    She answered the door seconds after he knocked and squinted at him, not saying a word as she threw open the storm door. Her creamy mocha complexion still made his heart ache every time he saw her, even though it was marred by a scowl intended exclu-sively for him. She turned away and headed inside, leaving him and Champ to determine whether they were welcome to enter this time or not. Her intoxicating jasmine and honey body scent wafted beneath his nostrils in her fiery wake, yet another reminder of all that he had lost.
    “You’re late again,” she said. “And I’m late for work.” Her tone added the unnecessary because of you.
    Champ tugged on his leash, eager to go see his little buddy. Sighing, Devon stepped inside with Champ leading. The storm door’s pneumatic arm hissed at him as the door shut behind him, another wordless accusation.
    “I’m sorry, Jade. I couldn’t get anyone to cover the morning shift for me.” Not to mention he needed every extra bit of cash he could scrape together. His rent was late again, but no way in hell he would miss a child support payment.
    “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” she said, thankfully not turning around to pierce him with daggers from her gorgeous brown eyes as she stomped down the hallway. “And I don’t need to hear any more of your excuses either, Devon.”
    He winced, crouching beside Champ and petting his flank. Champ whined. Unlike Devon and most people in general, dogs were never afraid to show their eagerness to be reunited with family, whether their last parting had been minutes, hours, days, or weeks ago.
    Champ chuffed and jerked on his leash when they heard a rustle and clomp of hurried footsteps coming from down the hall. Shane popped into the living room with a big grin lighting up his eight-year-old face and dashed toward Devon and Champ. Yet another reminder of a daily joy Devon had surrendered when he let his rocky marriage crumble into ruins.

    “Dad! Champ!” Shane dropped to his knees beside Champ and hugged the dog’s neck. Champ licked Shane’s face, his rapidly oscillating tail smacking into Devon’s arm like a whip punishing him for keeping the boy and dog duo apart far too long.
    Punishing him for blowing everything and losing the two best things that had ever happened to him. Devon made it through each grueling day by telling himself that it wasn’t too late to repair the damages he’d wrought, to make that ship sail across the gleaming waves again, as it once had done so magnificently.
    “Hey, little big man,” Devon said, almost choking on the words as he watched his boy romp with Champ.
    Thankfully Shane had more of his mother’s good looks than his father’s. Same flawless chocolate-brown skin, same dimples, same arched cheekbones and delicate but prominent jaw line.
   Same beautiful brown eyes, same captivating smile.
    Taking on extra shifts in the auto assembly line lately had turned Devon’s skin a chalky, lusterless white, but every moment spent ratcheting endless nuts and bolts was worth seeing his son’s innocent, cheerful smile.
    Now if Devon could only get his boy’s mother to smile like that again—for both of them.
    Jade popped back in the living room, fumbling in her purse and looking as fine as ever in a scarlet hip-hugging dress that was way too short and revealed way too much cleavage for Devon’s comfort. She had the perfect body and long, curvy legs for an exotic dancer, and Devon silently cursed himself again for forcing her to take that demeaning job, despite her popularity with the clientele at the upper-scale dance club where she worked six nights a week.
    Another bitter reminder that Devon was a thrice-damned fool.
    Jade pulled a crisp green twenty out of her purse along with her jangling keys. The stiletto heels of her shiny black Jimmy Choo’s clacked against the hardwood floor as she approached Shane and offered him the twenty. Devon winced at all the bare skin she revealed to lust-filled men. Men other than him.
    “I got it, Jade,” Devon said, waving a hand.
    “It’s for emergencies,” Jade said, smirking at him.
    Devon bit his tongue, withholding a scathing reply like What kind of emergency? You mean like if I lose our son?
    Shane pocketed the twenty. “Thanks, Mom.” He stood and hugged her.
    “No junk food.”
    “Okay, Mom.” Shane grinned at Devon, and Devon slipped him a sly wink.
    Jade kissed Shane’s forehead and glared at Devon. “Don’t keep him up too late. And no horror movies; you know that gives him nightmares.”
    Devon nodded as Shane snickered, keeping their secret.
    “And you better have him back by tomorrow night at eight this time. You know Sunday night’s a school night.”
    “I promise,” Devon said, almost calling her babe again.
    She raised one eyebrow, lips pursed, giving him that icy look that dared him to defy her wishes. Then she stooped over and hugged Shane again, revealing tempting cleavage. “Bye, sweetie. Have fun, my little monster lover,”—Shane giggled—“and mind your father, and go easy on the pizza this time. I love you so much.”
    “Love you too, Mom.” Shane spun, clapped at Champ, and looked at Devon with that delighted grin that Devon would wrestle lions, tigers, and bears to preserve. “Are we taking Champ to the park before we get pizza and go to the drive-in?”
    “You bet we are, my man.”
   Jade gave Devon those big brown pleading eyes that once belonged to only him. “Please be careful.”
    “You too.”
    Each knew what the other meant: Watch out for predators. Devon was referring to nightclub sharks with groping hands and lusty eyes. Jade was talking about prowling human monsters who stole children. Just last night, another little girl had disappeared, right down the street in the seedier warrens of their troubled city.
    With a heavy sigh full of doubt—which Devon knew was intended for him—Jade let them out and locked up behind them. Devon gave her a wistful wave as she climbed in her rusted Corolla. Then he loaded Shane and Champ in his Pathfinder and took them to Piedmont Park.

***

   Daylight Savings Time, and just enough late Saturday afternoon sunlight remained to allow Shane and Devon to wear out Champ playing tennis ball fetch. After that, they went to the Mellow Mushroom and ordered a large extra-cheese pizza to go with the works—no anchovies per Shane, bleh—along with two large Cokes. Then Devon drove them to the Starlight Drive-In, a relic reminiscent of better and safer days gone by and one of the few remaining drive-in movie theaters in the state.
   Dogs weren’t allowed at the drive-in, and Devon and Shane —and Champ too—loved making a game of sneaking Champ in. Devon had the back seats of his SUV turned down, with blankets and pillows piled up in the rear. As they pulled up to the ticket gate, Champ was nestled under the blankets, only his snout poking out beneath them. He knew how to play this game: stay, boy; play dead. Good dog.
    Worked like a charm every time. Shane giggled as they pulled through the gates. Decent crowd, but Devon found a spot near the end of the front row and parked backward in it, rear bumper facing the big screen. While Devon dialed in the right station for their movie on the radio, Shane uncovered Champ and set up their pillows against the back of the front seats. Devon raised the rear hatch and joined Shane and Champ in their comfortable makeshift seats, and they started chowing down on the best pizza money could buy as they waited for the movie to start.
    Cheap and cheesy, yeah, but money couldn’t buy moments like these. The only thing that could make this special night priceless is if Jade were there with them, snuggling close and laughing and chattering about everything and nothing.
    Devon spent a large chunk of his time every day and night trying to figure out how to make that happen again.
    The plan was for Shane to tell his mother they saw the latest new Pixar movie—he’d seen enough trailers to make up a storyline for it—but they were here to see Jagannath, a horror movie about a shape-shifting monster that had nearly destroyed civilization. The monster from your nightmares is here, the creepy trailer advertised. With his irresistible brown eyes as his primary weapon, Shane assured Devon his nightmares would be worth the trip, so Devon indulged his son’s creature feature fascination, prepared to pay the price later if Jade discovered the truth.
    Seeing his son’s eyes light up at the prospect of watching an action-packed monster movie filled with all the latest and greatest CG special effects with him, Devon couldn’t refuse. He rarely could say no to the other light of his life.

    Twilight gave way to darkness; a moonless night sky filled with glimmering stars that maybe harbored worlds where other fathers and sons shared a special night out together. After the previews and numerous advertisements finished playing—the latter heckled and cat-called at in good-natured fun by Devon, Shane, and even Champ with a few spirited woofs—the opening credits rolled across the screen, and ominous creepy theme music thundered out of the SUV’s speakers.
    “You’re not gonna rat me out to your mother, are you, big guy?” Devon asked around a mouthful of delicious warm pizza.
    “No way, Dad! This is too cool.”
    Devon laughed, a genuine pleasure he experienced too seldom lately, and wiped tomato sauce off Shane’s cheek with a napkin. Shane took a big two-handed gulp out of his monster-sized Coke, and an on-screen explosion rattled the speakers. Champ jumped at the noise, his tail smacked into Shane’s cup, and the cup went flying. Half-melted ice and sticky soda splattered all over the blankets laid out on the carpeted deck.
    “Champ, way to go!” Shane spluttered, rolling his eyes at Devon. “Sorry, Dad.”
    Devon laughed. “No worries, matey. Watch the movie. I’ll get it.” He set his own Coke beside him and started sopping up the spilled Coke with a towel he kept in the back for just such an occasion.
    On-screen shouts of alarm warned of the next thunderous explosion, but Champ wasn’t ready for it. He barked and jumped backward, turning over Devon’s Coke.
    “Champ!” Devon and Shane exclaimed together.
    Champ whined and leaped into Shane’s lap, nearly smothering him with wriggling fur. Shane and Devon looked at each other and started laughing.
    “Okay, that was my bad,” Devon said, shaking his head as he tossed spilled ice out the back. “Goofy dog.”
    “Chicken dog,” Shane said, and he and Devon laughed harder.
    Champ settled into Shane’s lap, safe refuge from the scary noises. He grumbled and growled at the screen as fire and more explosions played flickering flashes off the interior walls of the SUV.
    Devon finished sopping up the spilled Cokes, only half paying attention to the movie, although it seemed pretty intense and interesting. Shane munched on pizza with Champ snuggled in his lap; his eyes goggled as he watched the monster devour victims on the screen. The pizza was less than half gone, and Devon was still hungry. And they’d be thirsty again in minutes.
    “Okay, bud,” he said to Shane, wishing he had packed a cooler with iced-down sodas. “Guess we have to go to the concession stand and get a couple more Cokes.”
    “No, Dad! I wanna watch the movie. This is way cool.”
   “We can watch while we’re walking. We’ll walk backwards. Won’t take five minutes.” More like ten, but we won’t miss that much.
    “Dad, please,” Shane drawled. He tore his big eyes from the screen and gave Devon that damnably irresistible pleading look again, then grinned and hugged Champ. “Champ will protect me while you’re gone.”
    You mean Chicken-dog? “Shane, your mother would kick my ass if she found out I left you alone, even for five minutes.”
    “She won’t find out, I swear. It’ll be our secret.”
    “Shane—”
    “Come on, Dad. This monster is so awesome.”
    Devon sighed and scanned the crowd, then the parking lot. The whole theater was fenced in, with barbed wire topping the fences. Nobody but paying customers in cars could get in. No way would predators come here looking for stray children—too many prying eyes, too many parents who would sound the alarm, and only one way out if some prowler had to bolt. The premises were fre- quently scouted by security guards as well, off-duty police officers looking for a few extra bucks to keep food on the table and their families together.

    If Jade were here with them, it wouldn’t be an issue. Devon silently cursed himself again for screwing up their lives and wreck- ing his marriage. So everything hadn’t been perfect. Whose marriage was? Keeping a family safe and together required constant commitment, vigilance, and selfless responsibility—three things Devon had foolishly relinquished one too many times. They had once been a team, unbreakable, each one having the other’s back. But the resentment piled up quicker than the bills, and now they were fragmented, like a car trying to drive on two wheels, a plane trying to fly with one wing.
    “Okay, big guy. I’m trusting you to sit tight, no matter what.”
    “Okay, Dad. Hurry.”
    “I’ll be back in five minutes.”
    “With popcorn too?” Shane grinned at him.
    “Your mother said no junk food. Besides, pizza’s enough. We’ll be full before we finish it.”
    Shane sighed and hugged Champ, his eyes riveted on the movie. “Okay.”
    Devon nodded and clambered out the back. The quicker he got to the concession stand and back, the sooner he could breathe again. Jade would rip his head off with her bare hands if she knew he was doing this. He hustled to the driveway alongside the parking area, not taking his eyes off his SUV, and walked backward the whole way. Anyone watching him would think he couldn’t take his eyes off the movie—which was pretty good, and only half as cheesy as their pizza—but he only had eyes for his boy.
    “Watch where you’re going, dude,” some teenage kid he bumped into said, carrying popcorn and a drink beside his equally overloaded buds. They laughed at Devon as they passed him.
    “Sorry,” Devon muttered. He spun and high-tailed it to the concession stand. With a ten out and crumpled in his hand, he stood in line. He turned around and tried to spot his ride while he waited, his breath coming ragged and harsh.
    Some ditzy teenage girl served at the concession counter and was chatting it up with some other teenage girls at the front of the line.
    “Do you mind?” he blurted, out of patience and regretting this move.
    The girls turned and smirked at him.
    “Take a number, Grandpa,” one said with a scowl, and turned back and resumed her blather with the girl at the window.
    Devon bristled. “I’m only thirty-three.”
    The girl turned and grimaced at him. “Whatever, dude.”
    “Sorry. I just... don’t wanna miss the movie.”
    Sweat beaded on his brow, and she mumbled something that sounded a lot like “freaking horror geek.”
    He shrugged. “My son’s waiting in the car. I don’t wanna leave him by himself too long.”
    Her eyes widened, her mouth hanging open. “You left your kid alone in your car?”
    He shrugged again. “He’ll be okay.” It was more to reassure himself than anyone else.
    “Asshole,” another one of the girls muttered.
    The first girl gave that long-bereaved sigh that only sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girls can accurately pull off, rolled her eyes, and shook her head. Devon was about to hang it up and haul ass back to his ride when the girls finally finished their oh-so-important jabbering and left the window. He felt their gazes burning holes in the back of his head as he ordered.
    Stupid, stupid, stupid, Devon. He heard Jade cursing him up and down in his mind, and tried to shut out the imaginary reprimands. Just get him back to Shane, and he’d never do anything this foolish again.
    The dingbat behind the counter finally gave him his two large Cokes—while texting on her cell, no less—and he threw the ten on the counter. “Keep the change.”
    “It’s twelve-nineteen, sir.”
    “Jesus.” He fumbled out his wallet and threw down a five, grabbed the Cokes, and spun around.
    Not caring if he spilled the sticky drinks on his arms, he hurried back toward his SUV, keeping his eyes peeled for monsters in human guise creeping up on his ride and his only precious child.
    “Never again, I swear,” he mumbled, a silent prayer begging to be forgiven for his temporary insanity.
    Front row, finally, and his SUV was still there. He almost tripped over a man and his two boys reclining in lounge chairs outside their car as he hurried over. The man cursed at him as he passed them, but it barely registered. His chest ached; too many cigarettes, not enough exercise. Plus worry so heavy that it made Atlas’s burden seem like a bag of feathers.
     He rounded his back bumper, the rear hatch still open, ready to grab Shane and never let him go.
    The back of his SUV was empty except for the pizza, blankets, and pillows.

    “Shane!” He dropped the Cokes, didn’t even feel the sticky liquid splatter against his jeans and shoes. The world spun around him as panic assaulted him. He turned in circles, eyes darting everywhere, chest on fire.
    “Shane!”
    “Keep it down, buddy!” somebody called out. “We’re trying to watch the damn movie.”
    “Shane!”
    A woman in the driver's seat of the car beside his called out to him. “You looking for a little black boy, about nine, with a big brown dog?”
    “Yes!” He dashed toward the car, making the woman flinch backward. “Where did he go?”
     “You’re not supposed to have dogs at the drive-in,” she said.
     “I know. Please, lady. Which way did they go? Were they with anybody?”
     “We would have brought ours if you could. We have two little Schnauzers, Peppy and Dingo.”
    I don’t give a damn if their names are Poopie and DingDong, woman. Devon slammed his hands against her car door. “Dammit, where did they go?”
    Her wide eyes showed her sudden fear. “Over that way.” She pointed toward the empty side lot, a grassy area past the potholed blacktop that led to the fence twenty feet farther away. “I figured he just went over there to... you know, let the dog—”
   “Thank you.” Devon didn’t hear the rest. He was already sprinting toward the grassy area expecting a human predator to be spiriting his boy away into the darkness, and was about to call out to Shane again when he spotted him.
    Shane faced the fence, about twenty feet from it, his back to Devon. Champ stood beside Shane, snarling with a low, menacing growl rumbling in his belly. Even from thirty feet away in the dark, Devon saw Champ’s hackles were raised.
    The hairs on Devon’s arms and the back of his neck rose too when he saw what Shane was watching; the part of the fence —and anything beyond it—that had Shane mesmerized appeared to just... not be there. The warped, fuzzy edges of the broken fence seemed to undulate, as if part of it wavered in and out of existence.
    “Shane?” Devon staggered forward, unable to take his eyes off his son, or the spectacle beyond him.
    Shane didn’t answer, and Champ didn’t respond; he just kept snarling, his tail down.
    Devon slowly drew closer, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he gaped at the spectacle before him. Blood pounded in his ears; he couldn’t even hear the movie soundtrack coming from the cars behind him. He had forgotten all about it, and everyone there.
    The darkness moved, a deeper blackness than the night surrounding it, yet emptier than the void between the stars. It was like a hole had been torn in the fabric of reality, a rip that bled warped darkness around its fluctuating edges, and Devon, Shane, and Champ were gazing into another dimension that Devon could only describe as...
    Nothingness.
    “Yeah, but only for a few minutes,” Shane said out of the blue, as if he were speaking with someone Devon couldn’t hear.
    “Shane? What’s—”
    “He said he’d be right back,” Shane said.
    Devon stumbled forward. “Shane?”
    “No,” Shane said, as if he didn’t hear his father calling his name behind him. “I don’t wanna go with you.”
    Devon couldn’t breathe. Someone or something had stolen all the air everywhere. He couldn’t even choke out his son’s name.
    “He does too love me!” Shane said, his little fists clenching at his sides.
    Champ barked at the nothingness, half-snarl, half-growl. Then he whimpered and turned his furry head to look at Devon.
    “No, I don’t wanna,” Shane said, slowly moving toward the darkness as if it drew him forward. His plaintive voice ripped a new hole in Devon’s heart.
    Devon sucked in a deep breath as if he was underwater and drowning. “Shane! This is your father! Come back here now!”
    The empty void wrapped around Shane, and every parent’s nightmare came true for Devon.
     Shane disappeared.
    With a ferocious growl, Champ leaped into the nothingness... and vanished.
    “Shane! No!” Devon staggered forward as the darkness dim- inished, becoming smaller, like the hole was closing. He felt like he was swimming through coagulating blood, gradually going blind. But his desperation lent him the strength of a thousand mighty horses.
    And he leaped into the nothingness before it closed.

***

   Devon gazed around at a barren landscape of grays, lighter grays upon darker grays. A dim, murky, colorless light illuminated the scene, coming from nowhere and everywhere. Surrounding him was nothing but rolling dunes of gray, featureless sand.
    Nothing moved. No sound, not even his heart pounding blood in his ears, even though he felt it pumping through his body like he was bleeding the last drop of his life onto the monochrome sand. No odors, not even a taste to the air he breathed—if he was indeed even breathing.
    He looked down at his feet and saw he was slowly sinking into the sand. He staggered forward, blinking and squinting to see through the fog that felt like a mist shrouding his mind.
    “Shane!”
    His shout sounded muted, as if the air was compressed and he was in a vacuum.
    He discerned a figure at the bottom of the dune atop which he stood. It moved toward him, looking his way, half-mired in the sand. Four legs and a tail. Champ.
    As Devon stumbled down the side of the dune, Champ’s frantic barking finally pierced the emptiness surrounding him.
    “Champ!” He lumbered toward their dog, his heart racing, his feet getting mired in the sand the same as Champ’s paws. It seemed to take forever for them to reach each other, far longer than the deceptive distance between them required. When they met, Devon fell to his knees and grabbed the fur around Champ’s neck in his hands.
    “Where’s Shane, boy?”
    Champ whined, muffled and distant although they were face to face. Devon stood and turned in circles, squinting to see through the murky fog.
    There, atop a distant dune; another figure, dark-skinned, standing on two legs.
    “Come on, boy!” Devon lurched across the endless gray sand toward the figure, Champ struggling at his side.
    In what may have been only minutes but could have been years or millennia, they finally reached the bottom of the dune atop which the lone figure stood. Undaunted and determined, Devon started scrabbling up the dune’s side. Champ followed.
    With each yard they climbed, they lost a foot or two and got bogged down in the soft shifting sand. But they finally made it to the top, Devon wheezing and swearing to kick his damned nicotine habit, Champ panting and slobbering.
    “Shane!” The figure was Devon and Jade’s son, but he didn’t respond to his name, didn’t even acknowledge Devon or Champ’s presence. Shane stared off into the misty distance, mouth hanging open, eyes glazed.
    Devon faced him, dared to reach out and grab his shoulders, frightened to the core of his soul that Shane might not really be there, that his boy was somehow forever lost to him. Champ barked three times, as if calling his little master’s name in an incantation that would wake him from his enchantment.
    “Shane, what’s wrong? What happened to you? Why did you... go into the nothingness?”
    Stupid question. Insane, insanity. Champ licked Shane’s limp dangling fingers, and Shane blinked and shook his head.
    “Dad?”
    “Oh, God; please tell me you’re okay.” Devon hugged his son, and Shane slowly reached his arms around Devon’s waist and hugged him back.
    “I... think I am. But Dad, look.” Shane pointed to the top of another dune in the distance, and then another farther off to the right, and another beyond that one.
    Devon pulled back and looked, but didn’t release Shane; he would never again let him go.
    Through the swirling haze, Devon made out a small figure standing atop each dune. They didn’t move, their arms hanging limp at their sides—just as he’d found Shane, staring off into eternity. They were children, and Devon shuddered as the truth struck him. He suddenly knew from where they had come, and how they had arrived here. Champ licked Shane’s fingers again, whining, his tail tentatively wagging.
    Shane smiled and ruffled Champ’s fur around his neck. “Champ, good boy. You came for me.”
    Champ chuffed, his tail slapping Shane’s thighs.
    “What the hell?” Devon said, squinting to see the figures better.
    “I think they’re lost, Dad. Like I almost was.”
    Squeezing Shane’s hand, Devon shook his head as if trying to dispel an ominous hex. “Whatever. All I know is we gotta get you out of this place—whatever the hell it is—and get you back home to your mother.”
    Shane clenched Devon’s hand tighter and nodded vigorously. “Yeah. I don’t like it here, Dad. Come on, Champ, let’s go, boy.”
    “Woof!”
    “I don’t either, big guy.” Devon spun and started to head back down the dune’s sloping side—he had no idea where he would go from here—but the sight that greeted him froze him in his tracks, and he gasped for a breath that wouldn’t come.
    The empty nothingness hovered in the air by the top of the dune, wavering and shimmering, darker than a black hole in a dying universe. Devon’s skin crawled at the eerie vision, and he could swear hairy spiders skittered up and down his spine.
    Shane flinched, squeezing Devon’s hand so hard it made Devon wince. “Do you hear it, Dad? It’s like it’s calling my name again, like it did at the movie.”
    Devon sneered and pointed at the hole in the world. “Whatever the hell you are, get out of my damn way, and let us go back home.” As he said it, he realized this thing might be their only way back home, a gateway of sorts between this barren world and his own.

    “WHY WOULD YOU WISH TO LEAVE?”
    The voice was like an eerie whisper that originated from the cold lonely vacuum of space, a gusty wind that formed words in Devon’s mind and made him feel as if parasitic aliens with dagger-sharp teeth were eating him up from the inside out. He gathered what little courage he had left and choked out a response.
    “What the hell are you, and what did you do to these children?”
    “THESE CHILDREN ARE WANTED HERE, NEEDED HERE. LOVED HERE, UNLIKE THE PLACE FROM WHENCE THEY CAME. AS ARE ALL THE FORLORN SOULS WE BRING INTO THE LIGHT.”
    Devon scowled, feeling creepy critters crawl under his skin. “That doesn’t answer my damn question, so stop speaking in riddles. Just exactly what are you?”
    “WE ARE THE LIGHT AND THE LOVE. WE PIERCE THE DARKNESS.”
     Devon shook his head, trying to fight off the fugue and trance that the nothingness assailed him with. Somehow it compelled him to sleep, and rejoice. He couldn’t do that, must not do that. He kept his body between the void and Shane. Champ stood at his side, a low growl rumbling in his belly, sounding like it came from miles away. Devon sucked in a precious breath and managed to force out a reply.
     “Forget it. Doesn’t matter. No more riddles. Where are we, and how do we get the hell out of here?”
     “FROM DARKNESS YOU COME, INTO DARKNESS YOU GO. WE ARE THE LIGHT IN BETWEEN. WE BRING THE LOVE YOUR NEGLECTED SPAWN DOES NOT HAVE OR RECEIVE IN YOUR WORLD.”
     “Love?” Devon barked out a harsh laugh and waved at the distant dunes and children. “That isn’t love, you unholy... thing. They’re all hypnotized! This is nowhere.”
    “WE ARE ALL-WHERES, EVERYWHERE, EVERYTHING BETWEEN THE DARKNESS AND THE ABANDONED.”
      “Abandoned?” Devon snorted. He suddenly knew what he had to do to get himself, Shane, and Champ back home. And he knew what he had to do to win his wife’s heart back, too. If he didn’t do it, he would lose her—and his family—forever. But he may lose himself in the process.
     Didn’t matter. If he didn’t try, he would spend the rest of his life in his own personal darkness, a Hell deeper than a billion gods could devise, knowing he took the selfish coward’s way out.
      Even if his deed didn’t win Jade’s heart back, he must do this.
    He took a quick look around at all the lost children staring blankly into nothing, and sneered at the empty void hovering in the stale lifeless air only a few feet away, the gateway from his world into this so-called “light” that was another form of soul-darkness. He may have spent much of his life as a self- destructive fool, but he knew now what true darkness was.
      It was life without love, existence without family or friends. It may be the nothingness from which we sprang, may be the emptiness into which we go, but in between we make the light.
    He faced the void, a new understanding stoking the fire smoldering in his heart.
      “To hell with you, to hell with your riddles, and to hell with this place.” He looked down at Shane. “We’re going home, Shane. You, me, and Champ—together. You ready?”
     His son gazed up at him with those big, gentle brown eyes, so full of love and trust, so very much an integral part and piece of him, and of Jade too. Shane nodded, his lips trembling.
     “STAY HERE IN THE LIGHT. SHINE HERE IN THE LOVE.”
     Devon glared at the void, squeezing Shane’s hand tighter. “Go fuck yourself, whatever you are.” He nodded back at Shane. “On three, little big man. One... two... three!”
    Together they leaped into the nothingness, and somehow Champ knew to follow them.

    They emerged onto grass and into a different darkness, broken by flickers coming from the big screen standing at the bottom of the hill past the blacktop. The movie was still playing, interrupted by swirling flashing blue lights.
    Two cops stood by the cruiser, watching the spot where Devon, Shane, and Champ appeared as if out of nowhere. One’s mouth hung open, her hand resting on her holstered pistol. The other was speaking into his radio, and froze and stopped talking when he saw the trio that had emerged from nothingness.
    A small crowd of onlookers surrounded the cops, adults and children—some dazed, some frantic—all in different stages of shock. Among them stood the woman who had told Devon about Shane and Champ walking off toward the fence. Three children huddled around her, two with their hands clutching hers, one clinging to her blouse.
   Devon had a bright, shiny new comprehension of that incomparable all-encompassing love.
    Champ barked, a canine grin splitting his jowls as his tail wagged fast enough to power a turbine. Devon crouched beside Shane, praying to a God he hoped existed that he would see his beloved son—and his beautiful wife and their goofy dog—again soon. He pointed toward the officers.
   “Shane, I want you and Champ to go over there and stay with those two cops. They’ll help you get home to your mother.”
     “Dad, wait. What are you—”
     “Shane, do as I say.” Devon swallowed a hot lump of coal and glanced over his shoulder. The gateway hovered behind him, just a few yards away, slowly becoming smaller, losing coherence and closing now as the crowd and the cops gaped at it. He looked back at Shane and gave him his best smile. “You know I love you, big guy, more than all the stars in the whole universe.”
     More than the vast emptiness between the darkness and the light.
    Tears pooled in Shane’s eyes, glimmering with each passing flash of blue lights. “I love you too, Dad. But—”
     “Do you remember the story of The Pied Piper of Hamelin?”

   Shane nodded as tears spilled down his cheeks. “Yeah. He got rid of the rats, but they wouldn’t pay him, so he took their children.”
    “That’s right, smart guy. So... think of me as sort of the Anti- Pied Piper; the opposite of him.”
    “Dad, no! What are you gonna do?”
    “I’m going to go get the other children. And bring them back home.”
    Shane leaped into Devon’s arms and squeezed him. “No! Don’t leave me, Dad. Please.”
    Devon gave his son one last tight embrace, enough to last him until he either returned or vanished into the gloomy light in between the darkness from which we came and the darkness into which we go, and pushed him away. “If I don’t come back, promise me you’ll tell your mother how much I love her, under-stand? And you and Champ take care of each other.”
    Shane was sobbing now, breaking Devon’s heart, but the determination and fire in his eyes—an inferno of love, hope, faith, and trust he inherited from his mother and father—showed he understood. He nodded, much braver than Devon could ever be.
    “You’ll come back. You have to.”
    Devon nodded, jumped to his feet, and spun around before he could change his mind.
    And leaped back into the nothingness.

Me and my Holly Jolly

Thank you for joining us on this journey.

Your thoughts and comments are greatly welcomed and appreciated...

...with wagging tails and welcome smiles.

*CONTEST DETAILS:
The reader who posts the most insightful comment about this story on this blog post in the Comments section below will win a $10 Amazon Gift Card!
So get your "Writer Jones" pumping!
(Holly Jolly will decide the Winner)
Contest starts today Saturday May 14 & ends Saturday May 21
at midnight EST
Winner will be announced on this blog and on Facebook
Sunday May 22

New supernatural thriller MARIONETTES
available for pre-order on Amazon (only $3.99!):
https://www.amazon.com/Marionettes-Kerry-Alan-Denney-ebook/dp/B01DEEJJF0

Click on the link or cover to pre-order your copy today - auto-delivered to your Kindle May 31, 2016

Best wishes and happy reading to you all!

15 Comments

OLD COOT: A short story about a remarkable therapy dog

4/30/2016

5 Comments

Dedicated to all my faithful readers, and to all you dog lovers all over the world. Originally published to critical acclaim on Page & Spine November 1, 2013.

OLD COOT

    My Golden Retriever Kadie looks at me with an excitement that feels like a static charge in the air. We’re going to see Johnny again, and that’s all she cares about.
     Her wagging tail tells the tale, if I may be so bold.
     We like going to see Johnny, and all his friends too, the ones he keeps forgetting and calling by different names. Johnny never remembers me, but he always smiles and chuckles when he sees Kadie.
     She never seems to mind Johnny calling her boy names.
     “Go see Johnny now?” I ask, and she whines.
     Her soulful eyes tell me she thinks, “Duh, Daddy. Hurry!”
     But then we can’t read our dogs’ minds, can we? We can only watch them play and interact, and marvel at how it sometimes seems they see so much more than we do. At least about what’s important.
     I can’t think about the appointments I need to make, or the ones I canceled. If I want to see Kadie scamper across the ceiling and bounce off the walls, all I have to do is deny her this visit.
     All I really have to do is hang the car keys back on their hook and sit down and take off my shoes, and she’ll go ballistic.
     She’s ready to go, her furry tail thumping against the kitchen chair by the door to the garage as if it could pound the furniture into kindling. Pant teetering between a whine and a whimper. Eyes wide and ears perked up as if asking me what I’m waiting for, and demanding an immediate response.

     I laugh and jangle the keys, and she barks at me.
     Her special ruby red bandana with the white-lettered Prancing Paws Therapy Dogs logo looks like a cape about to grant her the power of flight. If her paws were wings, I’d have to rent a helicopter to catch her. Or maybe find a butterfly for her to chase until I can sling the leash around her neck and tether her to the Earth.
     We go for a ride.
     When we arrive at the Golden Days Retirement Home, there are plenty of parking spaces. Johnny doesn’t have or need a car anymore, and neither do his neighbors and friends. Most of them couldn’t renew their driver’s licenses if they tried. They don’t get a lot of visitors either, so there’s plenty of room for me, Kadie, and our other friends in pairs like us.
     I pull into a parking spot, and Kadie’s dangling tongue dribbles drool on my shoulder.
     “You goofy girl, we’re here,” I say, laughing, and push her cold wet snout away from me. Her panting would steam up the windows if they weren’t already down.
     The crisp mid-March breeze heralds the promise of spring in its lively mélange of fragrances, adding a sweet taste of blooming life to the bitter reminder of that which must pass to make way for the new. At least that’s how I picture it. My nose is nowhere near Kadie’s equal. Her nostrils vibrate, and she adds a plaintive whine to her exuberance.
     If a dog can spontaneously combust, Kadie is about to.
     Must go see Johnny.
     It just enters my head, as if she thought it at me with a power beyond human comprehension.
     “Okay, okay!” I say. I laugh again, although I know I won’t be laughing soon. Kadie is always so happy before, during, and after one of these visits. I do okay with the before and during parts. Maybe later I can smuggle a chuckle out of the tears, when she snuggles up beside me on the couch and I tell her how she was such a good girl today.

     If Kadie and her furry friends can close their eyes and sleep after something like this, then we should be able to as well.
     I hop out and clip her leash on. She gives me an urgent whimper, and I call her out. As we head for the front entrance to join the others, I think of my mother and father. They died when I was a teenager, so I can’t know the anguish involved in consigning a parent to a retirement home. But I have friends who do.
     Some of those friends display lips that still smile, but eyes that bleed.
     Susan and Duke are waiting outside for the rest of the furry therapists and their human tagalongs. Susan’s short blond hair complements Duke’s bristly yellow Labrador fur.
     “Hey, Kadie!” Susan says. Duke and Kadie prance and wag tails, but don’t approach each other or pull on their leashes. Though they want to play, they know Duke came to see Amelia, and Kadie came to see Johnny. They’ll end up sharing some of the love, but they’re here to see special friends.
     Susan and I chat for a few minutes about important stuff that doesn’t matter while we wait for the others. They join us shortly, and the canines show their infinite tolerance for people pleasantries as we greet each other. Then we enter the building together, therapy dogs walking their humans.
     We the two-legged are superfluous. Those of us who glean a snatch of the big picture know it. Those who don’t are proud of their pets as if they’re a personal accomplishment, or an accessory.
     Some of us burn with an understanding of the difference.

   The antiseptic foyer surely has a bite that offends our four-legged friends, but they tolerate it with a patience and exhilaration we could all stand to learn. With hopeful smiles on our faces and happy wagging tails carrying our friends forward, we enter the greeting room.
      The staff keeps the place toasty year-round. I can already feel sweat beading on my chest, and am glad I’m wearing a T-shirt and Bermuda shorts. After a few frolicking moments, old friends pair up. Susan smiles at me from across the room as Duke focuses on Amelia, and I do my best to return the smile as Kadie tugs me toward Johnny.
     “Cooter!” Johnny says. His arthritic hand reaches down to stroke the fur behind Kadie’s ear as she pushes her neck against the armrest of his wheelchair. Johnny’s lips crinkle in a toothless smile, a glimmer of sunshine on a day full of black clouds, and he chuckles. He looks at me with cataract-riddled eyes glowing.
     “I knew my good boy would come back. I just knew it.”
     “Yes, sir,” I say. I don’t have a clue what to say. I never do. “Cooter loves his buddy.”
     Johnny cackles, his claw-shaped hand spreading out and his fingers regaining an agility they must have known in bygone days as he ruffles Kadie’s golden fur. She whines and licks his fingers, her tail thumping the floor.
    The restraint she shows by not jumping into his lap is impressive, at least to me.
     “You know, son,” Johnny says as he looks off at the fluorescent lights spanning the big room. He doesn’t recognize me, and introducing myself again is pointless.
     “Yes, sir?” I ask, a deliberate prompt.
     He laughs, and Kadie pushes her nose into his curled fingers.
     “Oh, yeah. Me and my Cooter go huntin’ all the time,” Johnny says for the fifth or fifteenth time. “He never misses a duck or quail, never mangles ’em. Brings ’em up to me just like a snooty-falooty waiter servin’ a fine dinner in a fancy restaurant, he does.”

     I’ve heard the line before, but give him the requisite laugh and response. “No kiddin’?”
     Johnny cackles and starts gasping for breath, and his nurse applies the oxygen mask as I hold a flat waving palm out at Kadie. She whines but relaxes, her trembling haunches obediently plopping against the floor.
     After a minute or so, Johnny laughs again and pets her. “Yeah, Cooter’s a good boy, ain’t he?”
     “Yes, sir, he sure is,” I say, and nod slowly at Kadie. Her rolling eyes tell me she doesn’t need the prod, and she rests her snout against Johnny’s withered leg.
    “Yeah, me and my buddy, we go huntin’ every season.” Johnny leans his head back as he strokes Kadie’s fur. He smiles and looks down at Kadie, who looks up at Johnny as if he is the beginning and end of her universe.
     How do we earn that trusting love?
    Kadie licks his fingers again, but Johnny’s eyes close, and plastered on his wrinkled lips is a grin I’d like to find and display for all my fellow humans to see.
     The nurse smiles and says, “Thank you,” and I nod at her. If I could speak, I’d say all the things I don’t have the words for. She rolls Johnny’s wheelchair back down the long hallway. I hear him chuckle again as Kadie strains at her leash, trying to follow.
     The session is over. I call Kadie to heel, but she resists, which is unusual for such a normally well-behaved girl. She gives me eyes that beg for things I can’t describe and pulls the leash taut, aiming her snout at Johnny and his nurse.
     When she whines again and tugs me down the hall, I follow, unnecessary human that I am. I’m only interfering with Kadie’s purpose today, the reason she wears a cape that can make her fly.

     In Johnny’s room, a couple of nurses settle him in his bed. Kadie and I stand in the doorway, and the nurses give me what I think are dubious eyes at best. After a moment they nod, inviting me and Kadie into the room.
     With his eyes closed, Johnny sighs and reaches a hand down between the rails lining his bed, and I let Kadie push up against them. She rolls her head into his fingers, understanding something we should all know.
     Johnny chuckles again. Kadie looks back at me and whines. I wave my “wait” hand at her as she lifts her forelegs onto the supporting rails beside the bed.
     I approach her and lift her up, much to the consternation of the wide-eyed nurses.
     “Just like when she was a little bitty puppy, holding her in my hands,” I say softly. Her answering whimper tells me all I need to know without benefit of words.
     A machine bleeps quietly beside me and Kadie as I lay her on the bed. She snuggles up beside Johnny and pushes her snout against his wrinkled chin. She doesn’t need me to waggle the “gentle, easy” hand. She knows what she’s doing. I have no idea, of course, being human.
    Johnny cackles in his sleep, in a field deep in the woods somewhere, and he rubs Kadie’s ears as his dream-voice murmurs.
     “Yeah, old Coot’s a good boy.”
     Kadie only gives me eyes every thirty seconds or so to confirm something I’ll never understand. While the nurses watch and my heart becomes a lump in my throat I can never swallow, the bleeping sound diminishes, then becomes a constant whine, signaling an end of worldly things for a weary old hunter.

    I barely remember the hugs and kind words the teary-eyed nurses gave me, or their fur-ruffling and cooing at Kadie when they told her she was such a good girl today. I have no idea how Kadie and I made it back down the hall, out the doors, and into the bright sunshine of a green and gloriously blooming new spring day. I think Kadie took me on that journey. I remember it mostly as a blur.
     Maybe I just got something stuck in my eyes.
     Back home, after we have dinner and I try to evade the story screaming to be told in my mind, we settle on the couch together. I envision all the dreams that may have floated around in Johnny’s head before he embarked on the next great adventure in the world beyond ours. With an indecipherable snuffle, Kadie pushes her snout against my thigh, begging again for something I don’t have. I ruffle her fur, and place my lips on her head behind her quivering ears.
     The words I say are meaningless, but she snuggles closer when I utter them.
     “Old Coot’s a good boy.”

Your comments and thoughts are heartily welcomed and encouraged!

As Holly Jolly, my veteran professional Therapy Dog who inspired this story wishes for us all in her
motto and creed:

"Live your lives with wind-in-fur."

5 Comments

5 Quick Tips on Grammar & Word Usage

4/10/2016

4 Comments

5 Quick Tips on Grammar & Word Usage
(because somebody has to say it)

Please understand that I couldn't stop myself from posting this. I tried, but my recalcitrant muse took over my body and mind during the creation of this blog post, as my protagonist David Flint does in my new supernatural thriller MARIONETTES, coming May 31, 2016, and I was helpless.

Nobody likes a know-it-all. Seriously. They're as annoying as a handful of burrs in your sock on a ten-mile hike, as aggravating as a persistent hemorrhoid.

But if you're even remotely as proud and confident as I am, when you come across someone who's apparently compelled to constantly correct you and others when you say something incorrectly or do something wrong, your initial reaction is likely to bitch-slap them backhanded, as mine is also, rather than a more appropriate reaction such as saying something like,
"Thank you for clarifying that, jackass."

We mean well. Really, we do. Or at least I do.
I can't speak for the rest of the jackasses.

When people use these words and grammar properly, it makes me and Holly Jolly happy.

Here is how we look when people get it right:

This post is meant to be helpful and assist, and is not in any way intended to be criticism, or condescending or sanctimonious. Especially not condescending. Please take it with the proverbial grain of salt, and in the spirit in which it is intended.
So let's have fun with it.

Ready... set... go!

1. Your vs. You're

This one's easy, yet so many folks get them confused.

your is a possessive adjective that refers to something that belongs to or relates to the person being addressed. It NEVER means "you are": Your pants are on fire.

you're is ALWAYS a contraction of "you are." There is never a case in which it functions as a possessive adjective, as "your" does: You're going to have to extinguish your pants, or you're going to become a flaming human torch.

If you switch and misuse these two words, Holly Jolly and I may send these two girls after you in the dead of night.

You do NOT want us sending these two girls after you. Trust me.

2. Their, They're, and There

I've noticed that even professionally, traditionally published books sometimes get these wrong. Let's clear it up once and for all.

their is a plural possessive adjective, just as your is (usually) a singular possessive adjective, along with his, her, and its (we'll get to that last one shortly): Their house is on fire.

they're is ALWAYS a contraction of "they are". There is never a case in which it functions as anything else: They're going to have to extinguish their house fire, or else they're going to be living on the streets or in a motel like a bunch of crack whores.

there is an adverb (or sometimes a pronoun or interjection) used to indicate a place, either one that has already been mentioned or is understood, or one indicated by pointing or looking:
I'm not going over there, because their house is on fire.

A GRAMMAR NOTE: the singular noun or adjective always gets the plural verb, and the plural noun or adjective always gets the singular verb, i.e., in the case of the (oddly and inexplicably) plural "pants" above, your gets the verb are and their gets the verb is, for just two examples among many. However, if the usage of "your" is singular, such as "your burning house", then it gets the plural verb "is".

Here is Holly Jolly's non-stern, non-judgmental admonishing look she gives to people when they get these three words wrong:

She won't bite. She never bites. But she may sic Bitey-dog on you.

3. Its vs. It's

Another simple distinction, yet even many professional writers and editors occasionally get them mixed up... most often probably an oversight rather than an outright mistake. Let's fix this error once and for all, too (not "to", but we'll save that one for another day's lesson).

its is always a possessive adjective, showing that something belongs to or relates to something. NEVER use a possessive apostrophe for this usage, as you would with "John's fiery pants" or "Jane's burning house," just two examples among many: Their house has lost its former charm ever since it burned down.

it's is always a contraction of "it is". It's never used as a possessive adjective. Not ever. Really: Their property is now a vacant lot because it's nothing but charred ruins now.

Please don't use "it's" as an improper contraction of "it has" or "it was", or else Holly will have to punish you accordingly. I have absolutely no idea how "it'd" EVER got accepted as a proper contraction of "it would" or "it had". So please don't ask me about that one.

Even the Cookie Monster sometimes gets bent out of shape when people use these two words wrong.

Contrary to popular misconception, the Cookie Monster will NEVER become the Veggie Monster; he will never permanently forswear cookies.

4. Supposedly vs. Supposably

This one, despite the fact that some people still get it wrong, is ridiculously simple.

When I was a wee lad, there was no such word as supposably in the dictionaries. Even now, my spell checker here still puts that squiggly red line under it because it doesn't recognize it as a real word. Sometime since my youth (please don't ask how long that has been), the word gurus have added it... likely because so many people misused it in place of the correct "supposedly" that they finally threw their hands up in frustration and surrender, and reluctantly stuck it in there.

However, the correct and proper English usage was, is, and will likely always be "supposedly": They supposedly had no choice but to live on the streets like crack whores after their house burned down.

This is how I feel and react when I hear people mistakenly say "supposably":

Please don't make me bite off poor Baby Ted's widdle head.

5. Definitely vs. Defiantly

Simply put, these are two entirely different words with completely different meanings. The only time they have anything in common is when someone is definitely defiant.

definitely is an adverb that means certainly; finally and unchangeably. It has nothing to do with defiance: People who mix up these two words are definitely going to catch their pants on fire or get their houses burned down.

defiantly is an adverb that means aggressively challenging or deliberately disobedient. It has nothing to do with being certain or definite: Kerry and Holly Jolly defiantly posted this article to dissuade people from incorrectly using these words. Misusing these words definitely sets their heads on fire.

Holly Jolly (a veteran professional Therapy Dog) and I participate in two local library-sponsored R.E.A.D. programs (Reading Education Assistance Dogs) in which we go to the library and sit in the children's section, and kids come up to us, read to Holly, and learn how to properly approach unfamiliar dogs. We've noticed that even some preschool girls who read well beyond a 3rd or 4th grade level sometimes react like this when they see people misuse these two radically different words:

You don't want to be responsible for scaring little girls, now do you? DO YOU?

We're having fun with this, so let's add an important Bonus Tip! Misuse of these two really sets my pants on fire.

Bonus Tip #6:
Regardless vs. Irregardless

regardless is an adverb that means in spite of everything, or without regard to something, and is the only true correct usage of these two: I posted this article regardless of the fact that my pants, head, and house were on fire.

irregardless is one of those non-word words that makes me grind the enamel off my molars and want to set my house on fire every time I hear it. Under "irregardless," my dictionary actually states "(nonstandard) see regardless".

Since regardless means "without regard to" and the prefix "irr" means "the absence of", "without", or "not" (as in irresponsible means not responsible), then irregardless is actually a double negative, meaning "without without regard to," or, because it's a double negative, "with regard to" or "regarding." That's messed up big time when you think about it, isn't it?

I'm convinced that irregardless was added to the dictionary by pompous sanctimonious arrogant professors, scholars, and academicians who mistakenly believe that saying "irregardless" makes them sound intellectually superior and like a know-it-all smartypants. They have no clue that when their students and understudies hear them say it that it makes them want to vomit and commit hara-kiri. And set their pants and house on fire.

Here's my word usage sentence for these two:
Regardless of the fact that hearing someone say irregardless makes my head explode, the next time I hear some pompous jackass say irregardless, I'm going to email them the link to this blog post and let their own smartypants catch fire.

Here is what hearing someone say "irregardless" transforms me into:

Even X-Gen folks know about the ancient horror classic movie "Trilogy of Terror." You don't want to turn me into this nasty little guy, do you?

Okay, I feel better now. Holly and I had fun with it. She corrected my typos and grammatical errors. She's awesome that way. Thanks, my furry friend and Snoopy-dancing partner.

Holly and I hope you had fun with it, too!

For those of you who get these words wrong, no worries.

We still like you! A lot.*

(* Not "alot", which is not a word. "Allot" is, but its meaning is entirely different. We'll save that one for another post another day when we feel like setting something else ablaze.)

In fact, whether you get these words right or not, Holly is still a very happy girl, and I'm a happy guy. Holly even wants to play with you (and me) regardless of all our silly faults.
See? Who can resist this?

Do you have your own grammar and word usage pet peeves?
Feel free to share them in the Comments section below.
We're happy to hear from you, and add yours to our list!

Happy reading to you all, and as Holly's motto prescribes,
"Live your lives with wind-in-fur."

4 Comments

MARIONETTES Cover Reveal!

4/7/2016

0 Comments

It's time for the
MARIONETTES Cover Reveal!

Kerry Alan Denney aka The Reality Bender
and Juju Mojo Publications
are proud to present

MARIONETTES

A Supernatural Thriller

Publication date: May 31, 2016

Pre-order your ebook copy on Amazon HERE now! Only $3.99 – auto-delivered to your Kindle May 31
Paperback edition available May 31
Also available on Goodreads, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords May 31

Read a FREE Sneak Preview of the first 5 chapters NOW by clicking HERE

What would you do if you could control the thoughts and actions of others, making them your own personal puppets? How far would you go before the power started controlling you?

Marionettes illuminates the greatest achievements of the human spirit and the darkest corridors of our minds, and answers the age-old question: What are the consequences of absolute power?

MARIONETTES Synopsis:

Resuscitated after he drowns and dies in a flood, David Flint discovers he has returned from the other side with an uncanny ability: He can “jump” into people’s bodies and minds, and control their thoughts and actions.

David believes it's a gift, and wants to use it to help people. Then four members of a ruthless drug ring savagely attack his fiancée and leave her in a coma, and David tries to use his new power to destroy the whole ring. But the ringleader, a voodoo priest known as the Zombie Master, is a formidable man with a deadly secret: He has the same incredible ability as David.

When the two human marionette masters clash in a brutal bloody showdown, using the ring’s members as their puppets, David discovers he’s battling for much more than his life—he’s fighting to rid the world of an evil human abomination.

Attention horror, sci-fi, fantasy, paranormal, and supernatural Reviewers & Bloggers:

Interested in reviewing Marionettes on your site? Contact Kerry using the Contact Form below or write him at kerrydenney(AT)gmail(DOT)com with links to your sites and your request for a
Read-4-Review copy!

Paperback spread: Front Cover, Spine, & Back Cover

Advance Rave Reviews for MARIONETTES:

“Kerry Alan Denney proves once again he is the master of showing us the good—and the evil—in the human race. This is his best one yet!” – Deborah D. Moore, bestselling author of The Journal natural disaster series

“Whether you're a fan of mystery, suspense, or sci-fi makes no difference. This book shines with elements of all. From the first line, My whole life changed after I drowned and died in the flood, to the last word, this story will hold you in its grip. Beautifully written. A must read!” – Lynda Fitzgerald, critically acclaimed author of the Sunshine State LIVE mystery series

“Kerry Alan Denney presents readers with a wholly original take on the ‘Lazarus’ sub-genre—the topic of what happens if someone is raised from the dead. In our protagonist, David, we see a complex man who is broken, lost, and mourning. He is given a power that can offer either salvation or a means for revenge. His captivating journey is as much about self-discovery as it is about practicing his newfound talent. As challenges mount, so does the suspense. The last fifty pages fly by with extreme action and insight. Such a cleverly balanced book, Marionettes is not to be missed!” – Michael Schutz, author of Blood Vengeance and the forthcoming Edging

“Kerry Alan Denney continues to amaze with his unique and intriguing books. I've never read a book of his I didn't like and Marionettes will not disappoint! I loved falling into this book; I felt like I was right there with the characters, living it with them. If you read only one book this year, make sure it's Marionettes!” – Veronica Smith of Horror Geeks, author of Chalk Outline

Want a signed paperback copy to add to your favorites collection?
Write Kerry using the Contact Form below to get your personal signed copy for the unprecedented low price of only $7.99 + $3 S&H (Continental United States ONLY; ask Kerry about rates outside the U.S.A.)
That’s less than the regular Amazon price –
plus you get a signed copy!
(Pay-Pal accepted; Available after the May 31 release date – please allow one week for processing and shipping)

This blog post has been officially approved by
Holly Jolly the professional Therapy Dog

Special thanks, cheers, and kudos to Nicolle "Nikki" Brown of Nicolle Brown Designs for the spectacular cover.

We heartily welcome your thoughts and opinions in the comments section below. Happy reading and live your lives with wind-in-fur!

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OCTOBER'S CHILDREN - A Halloween Short Story

10/28/2015

13 Comments

OCTOBER'S CHILDREN

by Kerry Alan Denney
aka The Reality Bender

A Halloween Tale of Terror

(short story originally published in
Dark Moon Digest #16 July 2014)

photo by Sushant Photography

    The ancient jungle gym, swing set, see-saws, and monkey bars in the abandoned playground at the edge of the woods look like giant mutant insects from a lame old black-and-white horror flick. Their angular shadows are growing long in the coming twilight.
    Me and the guys are sitting in the outfield of the town’s only baseball diamond, sixty yards from the hulking structures.
    “Even older kids say it’s haunted,” I say.
    “That’s bull and you know it,” Gary says. “Ain’t no such thing as a haunted playground.”
    Brian snickers. “I ain’t scared.”
    “Yeah?” Gary laughs, always daring us to do something that will land us in deep shit. “I don’t remember ever seeing you over there. Wuss.”
    “That’s ’cause my dad’ll tan my butt raw if he finds out I did, dickweed.”
    Mike nods. “Mine too. He says he can’t afford the technis shot if I get cut on that crap.”
    “Tetanus, you goober,” I say.
    Mike smirks. “Whatever, Poindexter.”
    “Yeah, Robbie,” Gary says. “You’re such a book geek.”
    I flip him a bird. “How come we never see you there, Gary?”
    “Bite me, Rodgers. I don’t wanna get caught by the creepy old guy in the woods. Carries a loaded shotgun everywhere he goes. Always has a gigantic mean-ass wolf with him.”
    Brian snickers. “I heard he kidnaps children and eats ’em. Like Hannibal the Cannibal.”
    “Y’all are so full of it.” I watch the swing set. One swing gently sways back and forth. Probably just the late October breeze—although the air is unnaturally still. “Besides, have you ever actually seen this ‘creepy old guy in the woods’?”
    They shake their heads.
    Gary grins. “You never see him until it’s too late. Then you’re lunch.”
    I laugh. “Talk about bull. You’re such a douchebag.”
    Mike chuckles. “Yeah, Gary, that fake spiderweb shit’s for babies.”
    Gary gives us a double-bird flip-off. “All of ya blow me. It’s cool, ’cause girls like to be scared.”
    We laugh at him. He’d strung the sticky white stuff across his handlebars, and stuck a big black rubber spider in it. Our school halls are decorated with the cheesy fakery, along with orange and black streamers, tissue-paper ghosts, and green-faced witches.

    I just came from the town library, my favorite place in the world—although I’ll never tell anybody that. No pretty girl will ever talk to me again if that secret gets out. The guys rode their bikes and met me here after school. My bike has a flat tire; Mom is picking me up here at six-thirty. We brought our gloves, tossed my ball around a while, and hit a few homers with my Louisville Slugger, future A-Rods in the making. Then we sat around in the grass, conspiring and talking about girls and freaky stuff like guys are supposed to do.
    I’ve always loved Halloween, and trick-or-treating with my little brother. It’s the only time our parents cut us loose and let us terrorize the neighborhood after dark. But I’m too old for kiddie stuff now—although I still love the candy.
    We’re all about to turn thirteen next year. We have to act like the adults we are. More than just our bodies are changing. Our minds are changing too, and now many things look different than they did just a year ago.
    Gary grins and snorts at me. “You think you’re Mr. Too-Cool, Robbie? Let’s see you go over there. Just sit in a swing. I double dare you.”
    “Triple-dog dare!” Mike and Brian say together, laughing.
    I smirk at them. “Fine. See you ladies later.” I grab my ball, bat, glove, and book bag and head toward the playground.
    I’m not afraid. Pinky-swear. I suck in a deep breath as I approach the rusty swing set. The air feels colder here, and the battleship-gray sky is darker than it was a few minutes ago. Twilight has arrived, the witching hour approaching.
    I drop my stuff in the sand beside a swing and sit in the moldy seat. I hear laughter, and look back. The guys are speeding off on their bikes, cackling at me.
    “Bunch of chickenshits!” I yell, sounding a lot braver than I feel.
    A stiff breeze kicks up, blowing crackling leaves around in a whirlwind in front of me. The mini-cyclone blows right through me, spraying sand in my face. I close my eyes and shudder. It feels like the touch of icy fingers on the back of my neck.

art by Dean Tersigni 2008 www.thealmightyguru.com

    I wipe gritty sand out of my eyes. When I look up, a girl about my age is sitting in the swing beside mine, slowly rocking back and forth. She’s kind of cute, even in her old-fashioned ankle-length dress. Crinkly upturned nose, curly blond hair pinned up in a bun. Six more kids about the same age lean against the supports. One girl and five boys. Where the hell did they come from?
    I don’t recall seeing these kids in class, or in the hallways, or anywhere around here for that matter. Strangers in a small town where everybody knows who’s who.
    “Did you come to play with us?” the retro-girl asks, licking her lips.
    My heart thunders in my ears loud enough to wake the dead, and I wonder if these kids hear it. “Huh?”
    “I’m Lizzie. What’s your name?”
    “Ruh…” I clear my throat. “Robbie.”
    “Hi, Ruh-Robbie.” She points to the gang. “That’s Belle, Jeffrey, Eddie, and John. Ted’s the cute one. Jimmy’s the one with the grape Kool-Aid.” She rolls her eyes. “Always.”
    Jimmy offers me the bottle of purple liquid. “You want some? It’s good. Everybody should have some.”
    I grimace. “No thanks. Gross.”
    “Yeah, Jones,” Ted says, laughing. “Nobody wants your nasty-ass Kool-Aid.”
    Jimmy sneers. “Eat me, Bundy.”
    John sneaks up behind Lizzie, yanks the wooden barrette out of her hair, and leaps back. Lizzie springs out of the swing and dashes toward him, face scrunched up and scowling.
    “John Wayne Gacy, you clown, you give that back now!”
    John darts off, cackling. He trips on a broken branch as thick as an axe handle and falls face-first in the withered grass. Lizzie leaps on his back, grabs the branch, and starts beating his arms and shoulders with it.
    “Whack him, Lizzie!” Eddie cries.
    “Yeah, Lizzie!” Belle hollers. “Whack him good!”
    The hairs on my arms and neck stand up and goose bumps form on my flesh. I shudder. Something about this is hauntingly familiar. And deeply wrong.
    I stumble out of the swing and stagger toward Lizzie, who’s whacking John really good--about forty times now, an eerie voice whispers in my head. John is alternately howling and laughing.

    Jeffrey stands in my way, smiling. “I got some really cool stuff back at my grandmother’s house. You wanna come see it?”
    “Hell no.” Jeez, what a creep. I push him aside and approach Lizzie and John. “Stop it!” I grab the branch and yank it out of Lizzie’s hand.
    “Hey!” She turns and sneers at me. “You shouldn’t’ve done that.”
    “Leave him alone.” I scowl at John. “And you, buttface. Give her barrette back. Asswipe.”
    Somebody pushes me from behind, and I stumble and fall flat on my face. My head hits a big rock poking out of the ground, and bells clang and stars flash in front of my eyes. The playground spins around me in roller coaster circles. I wipe sticky wetness out of my eyes and finally figure out who these kids are.
    October’s children gather around me.
    Somebody kicks me and I curl up, trembling and praying to God to rescue me from these freaks and get me out of here alive. They laugh, join hands, and dance around me in a tightening circle, leering and chanting.
    “Ruh-Robbie! Ruh-Robbie!”
    I retch, about to piss my pants and barf my guts out.
    Lizzie shrieks, then cackles. “Come play with us tonight, Robbie! The gang is all here!”
    “We’ve been waiting for you, Robbie,” Ted says, grinning like a cat with a mouse clamped between its jaws.
    “Join us for dinner, Robbie,” Jeffrey says. “You’re the main course!”
    “Let’s tie him up,” John says with a wicked grin, clenching his fists.
    Their laughter is a demented symphony, musicians all out of tune. From somewhere far away a horn or siren wails, warning me to hurry before it’s too late.
    Lizzie leans over me, her glassy eyes about to drown me in an eternity of darkness. She leers at me. “Whenever you close your eyes, Robbie, we’ll be there.”

    I shudder, wishing Mike, Brian, and Gary were here. Chickenshits left me behind, a play-toy for a bunch of wicked little homicidal demons. Ain’t no such thing as a haunted playground my ass. I’m dead meat. Nobody can save me now.
    Without warning, all sounds but the alarming klaxon stop. Something coarse like wet sandpaper scrapes across my cheek, and something hot and stinky crinkles my nose. I wrench my eyes open, ready to meet the Grim Reaper, and gaze up into a wrinkled leathery face.
    Full white beard, veiny hands mottled with liver spots, dirty overalls.
    The creepy old guy from the woods.
    No shotgun; just a gnarled old cane he leans on. His ancient blue eyes seem kind and wise. A scraggly hound dog beside him is licking my face, tail wagging. Ha. Some giant wolf. The old-timer smiles, reaches down, and pulls me up.
    “Nasty fall you took there, fella. Need to get that looked at pretty quick.”
    I swipe blood out of my eyes, shivering like a wet dog in a blizzard, and he squints at me.
    “You saw ’em, din’tcha, boy?”
    We both know who he’s talking about. I’m too terrified to speak, can barely move. I nod, glancing around at the empty playground, knowing the gang’s still here, will always be here.
    “Best get on home now, son. Your Momma looks pretty impatient over there.”
    There she is at the curb in her Lexus a hundred yards away, leaning on her horn. Nothing ever looked so good, and suddenly home seems like a damn fine place to be. Maybe I can do something to get myself grounded for the rest of the year. Stay in my room with my books.
    “Thank you,” I mumble. I grab my stuff and take off like a fox fleeing from rabid Hellhounds.

    In the car, Mom looks at me with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open. “What happened to you, honey?”
    “I fell.”
    “You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”
    “Yeah. Can we please go now?” I look back at the playground, still trembling.
    Deserted. In my mind, I hear the gang singing a familiar haunting song about Lizzie Borden whacking away with her bloody axe. Soon David Berkowitz, Charles Manson, Dennis Rader, and Wayne Williams will join them—after they do the living a favor and finally kick the bucket.
    Mom sighs and hands me some napkins. “We’ll clean you up when we get home, okay?”
    “Okay. It’s just a scratch.”
    She turns onto Elm Street, and Unforgivable Crimes: America’s Most Notorious and Gruesome Serial Killers and Murderers spills out of my book bag.
    Mom sees it and groans. “How can you read that horrible stuff?”
    “It’s for a book report, Mom.” With some unexpected terrifying personal experience thrown in for realism. I try not to laugh. I might not stop if I do.
    She grimaces. “Yuck. Are you taking Rodney trick-or-treating tonight?”
    “No. The guys are coming over. Galactic Warrior championship.”
    “You guys and your video games. Well, you’re getting too old for trick-or-treating anyway.” She ruffles my hair, and for once I don’t groan and push her hand away. “My handsome young man. You guys can raid the candy bowl after the little monsters are gone, okay?”
    Little monsters. I shudder. “Thanks, Mom.”
    No way in hell I’m setting foot outside tonight.
    The gang might all be there.
    Waiting for me to come out and play.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN TO ALL!

Feel free to share your comments below!

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October Frights Blog Hop Day 8: 5 Things I Loved Most About Halloween as a Kid

10/8/2015

4 Comments

5 Things I Loved Most About
Halloween as a Kid

1. THE CANDY!

What, are you freakin' kidding me? Of course #1 was the candy! Great googly moogly, my brothers and I used to coerce our mother into giving us the biggest pillow cases we had. Those were our loot bags, ready to be filled with incomparable sweet treasures by way of a legalized-one-night-out-of-the-year implied threat and ultimatum: Give us some candy, or be prepared to get Punk'd with a potentially nasty surprise!

With visions of Snickers, Milky Way, 3 Musketeers, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, M&Ms, and a veritable cornucopia of coma-inducing chocolates and other sweet treats guaranteed to bring on a temporary diabetic reaction from a gastronomic gluttony of a sugar overdose filling our wicked little minds, we fled our lair in the darkening twilight dressed in our homemade costumes to terrorize neighbors to whom we were supposed to be unfailingly polite and friendly the other 364 days out of the year.

This was OUR night! No adults allowed... well, except for the requisite chaperoning for the littlest witches, goblins, ghouls, vampires, werewolves, and other various frightful creature disguises intended to send our friends and neighbors into cardiac arrest due to the sheer terror our shocking wardrobes were sure to induce.

Don't try to be friendly or cute with compliments on our horrifying costumes and accessories; don't make small talk; don't act like you think you know us. You don't. We're creatures of the darkness, children of the night. Just shut up and give us buckets, bags, pillow cases, and plastic orange jack-o-lanterns full of CANDY!!!

Hell yeah, bring on the bellyache.

2. BEING CUT LOOSE FROM THE PARENTAL UNITS!

Only on this one unholy, fright-filled night--when we were deemed "old enough" by elders we generally chose to ignore as much as possible --we cut that annoying, cloying, intrusive parental tether with extreme prejudice so we could consume mass quantities of candy!

Ah, sweet freedom! Your delectable taste was nearly as enticing, tantalizing, and titillating as the treasure trove of scrumptious sweetness we were sure to be lugging homeward and stuffing our guts with when our bags and buckets were finally crammed to the brim and overflowing. And with our most irresistible smiles, my brothers and I often cajoled our parents into letting us take a second trip!

Kevin, dump your stash over there; Kerry, empty your massive bag over here; Kolan, put yours there on the couch... and we were off again with freshly emptied pillow cases and an aching desire that could only be experienced in childhood to collect enough individually wrapped candies and treats to last through Christmas.

One night out of the year only, we became the demons and devils and goblins that our costumes represented, the fierce creatures of the night that we imagined ourselves to be, free to scare the living daylights out of everyone we encountered with our master- ful disguises, free from that nagging compulsion to behave like goody two-shoes little boys and girls, free from that stifling parental restraint!

On Halloween night, best of all, our imaginations were set free. And as many of you know, I've always had a very vivid and overactive imagination.

Let the frightmares commence, baby, it's HALLOWEEN!!!

3. THE HOMEMADE COSTUMES!

Party City?!?! We don't need no stinkin' Party City! In fact, there was no such thing as Party City - or a Halloween Costume store or the Internet, for that matter - when I was a kid.

We made our own costumes, Jack. Or rather, our mothers made our costumes (sometimes with a little help from enthusiastic fathers wanting to experience the frightful joy vicariously), with a bit of help from us in the encouragement and "No, do it like this!" departments.

We were each fully confident that our costume was the best, the wickedest, the most inventive, just the coolest damn thing ever... besides Halloween and all the candy we confiscated from neigh- bors that we generally managed to avoid the rest of the year, of course.

Batman and Robin, Gale Sayers and Roger Staubach, Captain America and The Incredible Hulk (hey, they were comic book characters back then before they starred in movies) for the boys, witches and pretty little princesses for the girls; you name it, we became it.

And we didn't need any pre-fab blockbuster movie's merchan- dising department or outrageously overpriced online costume stores to tell us who to be or how to dress for it. All we needed was our imaginations. We were the bomb dot com, baby!

...and then of course there's the Halloween dog costumes!

4. The Unprecedented Unmitigated FUN!

By George, we had a BLAST! I still remember the thrills and excitement that built up for days before Halloween finally came. It was about candy big time, yes, but it was also about the FUN. Days before Halloween, you couldn't restrain me with industrial strength chains. I was pumped, psyched, planning in my adolescent mind the exciting escapades to come on the one night a year our wicked little inner demons were finally set free to ravage, terrorize, and blackmail our stuffy neighbors. In my childhood, the thrills accompanying Halloween were second only to that unbeatable Christmas morning magic.

Trick-or-Treating was its own form of magic, a time for our devious imaginations to let the monsters inside us loose, set them free. I hope that parents of my generation remember that excitement, and share it in any way that they can with the young Trick-or-Treaters of today.

5. NO FEAR OF PREDATORS!

This is a tough one for me, personally. When I was a kid (yeah, I know I'm showing my age), we never heard of people sticking razor blades in candy apples, injecting Ex-Lax (or worse) into the candies, or poisoning homemade cookies and brownies (yes, we had three women in our neighborhood who gave those out instead of pre-packaged candies, and they were delicious!).

We never heard of sick human predators hiding out in the bushes and culverts waiting to snatch little wandering ghouls and goblins - although we all know they were out there, even yesteryear.

It was a kinder, more innocent and more trusting time in our nation's history. Parents didn't have to anguish over their children's safety... even though they doubtlessly did, to the point of chewing their nails to the quick and tearing their hair out - but that anguish and fear wasn't singular to just Halloween. Caring parents always worry about their little goblins, ghouls, witches, demons, hellions, cowboys, cowgirls, princes, princesses, and Stormtroopers. That's no different today than it was when I was but a wee precocious lad, and that's just as it should be.

Our children rely on us to look out for them, and protect them from evil. So woe be unto any predators who ever endanger our youth and cross MY path.

Nowadays, grocery stores, malls, churches, schools, and various responsible neighborhood communities organize their own form of "safe" Trick-or-Treating, and I'm proud of those honorable people who coordinate and orchestrate these events in an effort to keep the Great Tradition alive today. They remember the fun, costumes, excitement, and most of all, the gobs and scads and buckets full of candy, candy, candy.

So bring on the Trick-or-Treaters! They're safe in MY neighborhood. I have a ginormous tray full of all the best candy for them... and I don't even need a costume to look scary when they come to my door, lol.

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Join me and my fellow horror and paranormal authors for the October Frights Blog Hop:

I heartily welcome all comments, opinions, and suggestions, so don't be shy! Share your own thoughts about your Halloween experiences as a kid.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYBODY!

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Ebook GIVEAWAYS! October Frights Blog Hop 10/1 - 10/10: DREAMWEAVERS, JAGANNATH, & SOULSNATCHER

10/6/2015

2 Comments

Ebook Giveaways: 1 copy each of my paranormal thrillers DREAMWEAVERS and SOULSNATCHER and one copy of my post-apocalyptic sci-fi/ horror thriller JAGANNATH!

Click on cover image to go to Amazon's DREAMWEAVERS page

Anything can happen when dreams merge with reality... including murder.

Welcome to Dreamweavers, Incorporated, where Dr. Paula Steiner blends lucid dreaming techniques with neuro-stimulation to teach her patients how to control their dreams and conquer their personal demons.

Toni Fontaine’s possessive ex-husband is stalking her, while nightmares of brutal violence torment her. Travis Colt is haunted by the ghosts of his dead wife and son every night while he sleeps. When Toni and Travis meet at Dreamweavers, sparks fly, and dreams literally come true.

But fellow patient Nick Buchanan is making nightmares come true. Nick, a bitter young man adored by women until an accident permanently scars his face, has learned a powerful secret: he incorporates his twisted dreams into the real world, and uses them to kill people he hates. When Toni spurns Nick’s advances and he sees her and Travis happy together, Nick makes Toni and Travis his next targets.

As the border between dreams and reality blurs, Toni and Travis realize they are the only ones who can stop Nick.

And the only way to defeat him is in their dreams.

Filled with hope, humor, romance, intrigue, action, surreal dreamscapes, a uniquely gifted and nefarious villain, and two amazing dogs, Dreamweavers reveals the compassion and resilience of the human—and canine—spirits with a triumphant climax that blends dreams and nightmares with what we all perceive as the real world.

RAVE TESTIMONIALS FOR DREAMWEAVERS:

"Kerry Denney has written another pulse-pounding thriller that captivated me instantly. If Hitchcock, King, and Koontz got together for a beer, they might come up with something this horrifyingly twisted. DREAMWEAVERS has my highest recommendation!" - Monique Lewis Happy, critically acclaimed Managing/ Acquisitions Editor at Winlock Press and Owner/ Managing Editor at Monique Happy Editorial Services

"Wow. This book jumps right in with the action. Love it! From the minute I started reading I couldn't put it down. This is another great unique idea by Kerry Alan Denney. DREAMWEAVERS grabs you and sucks you in and you don't want to stop reading. I had many "Whoa!" moments. It was a roller coaster of action and emotion. I highly recommend this book." - Veronica L. Smith at Horror Geeks Magazine

Click on cover image to go to Amazon's JAGANNATH page

The monster from your nightmares is here. It’s destroying civilization. Soon the human race will be extinct.

The year is 2037, and Corporal Kimi Jayden has one chance to rescue the lone refugee girl who is miraculously immune to Reaper absorption. Thirteen-year-old Lily walks the deserted streets of Savannah alone, ever since the Reaper absorbed her family—and tried and failed to absorb her—a year ago. An amorphous creature that has nearly wiped out civilization, growing as it feeds, the Reaper assimilates its prey’s intelligence when it consumes flesh and blood, and transforms into monsters created from our darkest nightmares—and it loves tormenting its victims.

Kimi and her fellow survivors in the North Georgia Renegade Enclave believe Lily’s DNA holds the key to mankind’s survival. But the Reaper covets Lily, and Kimi must battle a ghastly horde of Reaper incarnations to preserve humanity’s last hope against extinction.

Jagannath reveals the resilience of the human spirit in an action-filled tale of terror, selfless courage, and ultimate redemption in the post-apocalyptic tradition of Justin Cronin's The Passage and Robert R. McCammon’s Swan Song.

RAVE TESTIMONIALS FOR JAGANNATH:

"Jagannath is a hair-raising, fantastic, adventurous ride. Brilliant, amazing, and impossible to put down. A must-read for all sci-fi/ horror fans. Highly recommended!" - Lynda Fitzgerald, critically acclaimed author of If Truth Be Told, Of Words & Music, and the LIVE mystery series

"Kerry Alan Denney's Jagannath has everything I love in an action novel: great characters, strange otherworldly monsters, and one spunky four-legged hero. With every novel, Denney grows stronger as both an author and storyteller, and this latest effort proves this in spades. If you want a story that holds you in its grip from page one to the last line, pick up this book!" - James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author of The Sixth Extinction and the Sigma Force series

Click on cover image to go to Amazon's SOULSNATCHER page

2nd Place Winner - 2014 Book of the Year - The Drunken Druid's International Book Award.

Children with extraordinary psychic powers are being used as pawns in a deadly supernatural war. Jasmine "Jazz" Tandy and her nine-year-old son Chaz, who can heal people with his touch, are fleeing from a ruthless organization that kidnaps these children. Kaylee Daley can control and manipulate plant life. Mara Fleming can see into the future. Their only hope for salvation is a covert group called the Guardians, who protect these children from the organization's merciless hunters.

Dr. Larssen Sössnacher, the organization's leader - called "Soulsnatcher" by the remarkable children he abducts and exploits - believes Chaz is the miraculous prodigy who will grant him the immortality he craves... and he'll stop at nothing to get Chaz.

Cody Jackson, a Guardian and martial arts and weapons expert, rescues Jazz and Chaz from Soulsnatcher's hunters and takes them to Homestead, a safe haven where the children learn to use their powers to help others. But Soulsnatcher's hunters raid Homestead and battle the Guardians in a surreal deadly showdown - with the souls of all the children as the ultimate prize.

RAVE TESTIMONIALS FOR SOULSNATCHER:

"Kerry Alan Denney's SOULSNATCHER grabs you by both the heart and the throat, as children with incredible powers are put in the path of villains with truly horrific ambitions. Here is a story rife with adventure, suspense, and a dash of humor, and it had me turning the pages deep into the night--and it will have you doing the same." - James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author of THE EYE OF GOD and the SIGMA FORCE series

"What can I say about this? How about - Captivating! Author Kerry Alan Denney has a firm grasp on writing and the English language, and it shows. He paints scenes with beautiful detail that fills your mind's eye from the very first page. Every word in this story has a heartbeat and every time I read a great book I am left obsessing for more. What more could you want? Read this now! You won't regret it." - Sara Knight from A Drunken Druid's View

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Continue the 2015 October Frights Blog Hop here:

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2015 October Frights Blog Hop: Thoughts on Lucid Dreaming - Reality vs. Myth

10/5/2015

6 Comments

Thoughts on Lucid Dreaming:
Reality vs. Myth

originally published on the Darkness Dwells Blog June 9, 2015

subsequently published in the paranormal thriller
DREAMWEAVERS
by Kerry Alan Denney aka The Reality Bender
(Juju Mojo Publications, August 2015)

lucid dream: a dream in which a person is aware that he or she is dreaming. In a lucid dream, the dreamer has a greater chance to exert some degree of control over their participation within the dream or be able to manipulate their imaginary experiences in their dream environment.

***

Is lucid dreaming real? Very much so. In fact, the human species has been engaged in pursuing, studying, and perfecting the techniques of lucid dreaming for thousands of years. And we’re just now starting to get a handle on it as we delve deeper into the study of the subconscious mind. Historical texts are laden with the products of fantastic dreams. Who knows what we’ll dream up next?

With microchip technology, we’ve made a thousand angels dance on the head of a pin — or on the point of a needle, to be more historically accurate. Medical research is producing new cures for diseases every day, and will hopefully continue to do so. We’ve recently dived in to the amazing field of nanotechnology, and who knows where that will lead us next? Scientists, quantum physicists, and astronomers have just recently discovered dark matter and dark energy. Even the vacuum of space between the stars and planets apparently has a life of its own. Every new day makes another dream come true.

"Dream World" by Spraycan2

Can I prove lucid dreaming is real? A better question would be: Can anyone prove dreaming is real, or that dreams are anything more than figments of our incredible imaginations? As Travis mentioned in DREAMWEAVERS, no one can prove love and happiness are real, and by extension, no one can prove that faith, trust, mercy, and hope are real. They are not tangible, physical forces that can be accurately measured by anything within our scope.

We can point to examples of their manifestation and application in the so-called “real world” that we all subjectively agree upon, but we cannot prove they exist. Yet so many of us believe so fervently in their existence that we unequivocally place — indulge me here — our faith and trust in them. I can’t prove the existence of any of the above-mentioned forces, but I most assuredly believe in them all. They are what makes us human, and separates us from savage animals.

"Dream" by Taenaron

According to modern beliefs that may be no more than popular misconception, The Book of Revelations
— often known simply as Revelation or The Apocalypse — in the Holy Bible was written by the Apostle John. And that entire final book of the Bible comes from... you got it: a dream, or series of dreams. Although we can’t prove who wrote it or from where it originated — many scholars and historians have desperately tried, without anything more than squabbling and disagreement as the final result — one fact is clear: the book that finishes the Bible was inspired by dreams. The concept begs another intriguing question: How else could so many “dream facts” and incidents be remembered so clearly if the dreams were not lucid, and easily recalled by the conscious mind? Either that, or it’s the demented ravings of a warped mind. Whichever it is, I hope none of it ever comes true.

"Apocalypse" by Jarka A.

The methodology, practice, and implementation of the techniques used to achieve a state of lucid dreaming — actually causing a crossover between the conscious and subconscious mind — mentioned in DREAMWEAVERS is factually accurate, and easily researchable. Additionally, what my fictional character Dr. Paula Steiner said about WILDs, DILDs, and MILDs is well-known modern accrued knowledge about the numerous studies of dreams and lucid dreaming — and is just as easily researched as well as applied.

I heartily encourage all my readers to find out the facts and sift between the myths for yourselves, and make up your own minds about how much of it is true, and how much of it is fantasy. After all, fantasy is merely nothing more than the projection of our imaginations into the fabric of what we perceive as “reality,” is it not?

"Caravan" by Salvadore Dali

Have I had lucid dreams, and if so, did I have them deliberately? Oh yes, I most certainly have. In fact, during the researching and writing of DREAMWEAVERS, I became quite adept at the practice.

The most common and effective way of achieving a lucid dreaming state, as noted in DREAMWEAVERS, is to make a determined, persistent, and eventually unconscious habit of asking yourself during every single moment of your awareness “Am I dreaming now? Now? How about now?” until it becomes so indelibly ingrained into your everyday existence that you no longer think about it consciously, but rather make it a mantra that forces you to examine every facet of what you perceive as “existence” so that — in those oh-so-brief moments when you are actually dreaming — the question intrudes into your every thought, and voila! You inevitably start asking yourself if you’re dreaming within your dreams, and you do one of three things, as mentioned in DREAMWEAVERS: You wake up, your mind takes you into another distinctly different dream in which you lose track of your conscious awareness that you are dreaming, or you remain in the current dream and learn how to manipulate and control your dream environment, your very dreamscape.

"Condo Dreamscape" by Funkwood

Modern studies of lucid dreaming have proven that the best way to control your dreams and therefore your dream environment is to look at your hands and feet in your dream, which Dr. Steiner also specified in DREAMWEAVERS. Think about it: How often, in your dreams, have you seen your own hands and feet, or for that matter, any portion of your own body? The recognition and acceptance of your physical self while dreaming compels the conscious part of your “dreaming” (aka subconscious) mind to, in effect, “wake up” and recognize what we so often do not recognize in our dreams: the existence and awareness of our self, or better yet, our physical acknowledgement of our existence in what we all perceive — and commonly agree on — as the physical “real world.”

Cliffs of Moher, Ireland

I believe it’s important to mention, at this point in our exploration of the dream-world (and everything our subconscious minds can imagine), that achieving a constant ability to maintain a lucid dreaming state while we sleep requires such a vigorous, strict, rigorous, persistent, and demanding self-discipline that many who try to examine the phenomenon will inevitably fall by the wayside. As Toni mentioned in DREAMWEAVERS, we are so effectively caught up in the material world that any expectations that a metaphysical world beyond this one may exist often become a secondary consideration, a flight of fancy, a pursuit by those who have chosen to peruse an imaginary world that so many of us believe we don’t have the time to examine. But we never have time for anything nowadays; for the things that matter to us, we must make the time.

"Serenity"

As mentioned in DREAMWEAVERS, I can hardly begin to stress how liberating and empowering the ability to control your subconscious mind is. In the blissful moments that I have repeatedly achieved a lucid dreaming state, I have woken up to a new day in which I truly believed I could conquer and achieve anything, even beyond — pardon the cliché — my wildest dreams. And what could possibly be so horrifyingly terrible about such an inspiring feeling of self-confidence?

Many modern psychiatrists and psychologists still consider the notion unachievable, a preposterous fantasy, and as Dr. Steiner thinks to herself in DREAMWEAVERS, they have accordingly labeled the study and implementation of lucid dreaming as “voodoo psychiatry.” Who is to say who’s right? Is it the people who want us to keep coming back over and over to pay them enormous sums of money to help us solve our problems and fight our personal demons in the so-called “real world,” or is it the dreamers, schemers, philosophers, and daring intrepid explorers who have the courage to ask “What lies beyond this world we perceive as real, and how can we utilize our awareness of it in a positive way to influence our lives and our problems so that we can learn to rise above every imaginable obstacle that impedes our progress in achieving our goals... or better yet, in making our dreams come true?”

I suspect you are asking yourself the same question now, if you’ve dared to come this far in our mutual exploration of what we consider real and what we label as fantasy. My kudos and a huge “bravo” to you for your courage, my friends. We are the intrepid explorers.

The Eagle Nebula's "Pillars of Creation" from The Hubble Telescope

Can anyone alive today manifest their dreams into reality, as Nick does in DREAMWEAVERS? I sincerely hope not. We would all be screwed, because unfortunately mankind is rife with those who would happily crush those whom they believe oppose them in order to make their own twisted dreams come true. Maybe one day, if we’re lucky and vigilant, that selfish madness in our species will die the gruesome death it so richly deserves to die.

Is the human race as a species evolving? I certainly hope so. We’ve come so far, yet have such a long way to go. I hope we find the right answers, and implement them, and that we do so together. It’s really the only way we have even a chance — or a hope — of surviving the ravages of time, the beastliness of narcissism, and the folly of hubris.

"The Harrowing of Hell" by Hieronymus Bosch

My best advice to those of you who dare to dream the Big Dream, as I have dreamt so often and will continue to do so until I keel over for the final time and take that magical journey into the great beyond, is to make sure the good guys win in the end. Whatever your religious or spiritual beliefs, teach your children the awareness of this world that lies outside the grasp of our five physical senses, and trust in them to determine for themselves how to respond to it. We are the genetic product of our ancestors, and haven’t completely screwed up everything yet, have we? We still have much hope. Many of us have faith in ourselves, and we should have it in our progeny as well. They are the future architects and carpenters of the world we’re building, and hoping to cause to flourish.

Bring happiness to others, and consequently to yourselves and to those whom you treasure. Share love, without exception and without reservation. Be kind to strangers; a simple smile and a kind word will open doors as well as hearts. Find the difference between good and evil, propagate the former, and fight the latter.

Thank you for joining me on this fantastic journey into the endlessly fascinating human mind and heart. I wish you all the very best of discoveries in your adventures, and hope that all your wildest, most heartfelt dreams come true. If we’re lucky and persistent, and if we persevere against all opposition, we shall one day meet each other in those dreams, and it will be a most happy and auspicious day.

Be true to yourself and to those whom you cherish, and may grace, kindness, hope, love, faith, mercy, compassion, and trust follow you all your days in this reality and every imaginable reality beyond it.

Kerry Alan Denney
May 2015

My special thanks to the talented author Clarissa Johal and all my amazing fellow authors on the 2015 October Frights Blog Hop.

Best wishes to all for much success with all your writing endeavors!

My heartiest thanks to all my wonderful readers and all the book lovers the world over: YOU are the magical power source that sparks my imagination and keeps the Big Dream Machine soaring through this universe, the next, and all the worlds in between.

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Continue the 2015 October Frights Blog Hop here:

http://clarissajohal.blogspot.com/

Thanks for joining us!

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5 Things You Didn't Know About Kerry Alan Denney aka The Reality Bender

4/15/2015

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5 Things You Didn't Know About Kerry Alan Denney aka The Reality Bender

Besides being the multiple award-winning author of the paranormal thriller Soulsnatcher (Lazy Day Publishing, April 2014) and the author of the post-apocalyptic sci-fi/ horror thriller Jagannath (Permuted Press, February 2015), Kerry has also written six other novels with supernatural/ paranormal/ fantasy/ sci-fi/ horror crossover themes, the primary reason he is branded as The Reality Bender.

Here are 5 fun facts about Kerry:

Kerry is a 30-year veteran performing and recording musician, guitarist, and songwriter

That’s right, he’s a string-slinging shred-meister madman! Kerry learned how to read music when he picked up the trumpet in 6th grade, and joined his school band. He continued to play in school bands, including his High School band, through the 10th grade. Except for his first year playing trumpet, Kerry was always 1st section 1st chair in the trumpet section of his school bands.

At 15, Kerry grew his hair out and picked up the guitar, and there was no stopping him after that. He continued developing his guitar-playing and songwriting skills through years of personal lessons, playing in several bands who performed numerous regular gigs at various bars, nightclubs, and private parties. In 1995, Kerry’s band played in the historic Fabulous Fox Theater in Atlanta, Georgia, as well as endless venues both popular and somewhat scary, including some spots where the sun never shines and only shadows dare venture.

Kerry has written, recorded, engineered, and produced 4 CDs of melodic hard rock filled with sweet guitar shreddage, some instrumental and some with vocals, and all are available for sale on his author website here under the “More” tab in the dropdown menu “Music”. Write him at kerrydenney(AT)gmail(DOT)com for a song sample now!

Kerry Denney's Self-Indulgence, Inc. CD cover

Kerry’s 8-year-old Golden retriever Holly Jolly is a professional
Therapy Dog

Not only that, but Holly is also a certified CGC dog (Canine Good Citizen). Holly and Kerry have been participating in two local library-sponsored R.E.A.D. programs (Reading Education Assistance Dogs) through Therapy Dogs, Incorporated for 4 years now. On the 1st and 3rd Saturdays of each month, they go to “Doggie Tales” at the Mountain Park Library Branch in Lilburn, Georgia from 1 to 2 p.m. On the 4th Saturday of each month, they go to “Read to Rover” at the Sue Yeager Library Branch in Stone Mountain, Georgia from 12 noon to 1 p.m.

Kids come up to the dogs, read to them, pet them, and learn how to properly approach unfamiliar dogs. Holly and Kerry encourage the kids to learn to love reading, and help them with their reading comprehension skills. The kids absolutely LOVE Holly, and she loves them too. She’s like a furry four-legged rock star every time she walks in the library, minus the rad shades and leather regalia—and she’s always on her best behavior when she visits.

Holly and Kerry also visit hospices and retirement homes, where everyone is always happy to see her. Sharing Holly’s unique and unconditional love and unfettered wind-in-fur joy and happiness is an incomparable spiritually and emotionally rewarding experience for Holly’s various friends, as well as for Holly and Kerry. See photos of Holly at Kerry’s author website under the “More” tab in the dropdown menu “Photos.”

Holly Jolly's Advanced Training gradjeeashun photo - happy girl!

Kerry has several published short stories and poems

...and most of them are available to read for free! Kerry's critically acclaimed short story Old Coot, about a most remarkable Therapy Dog, was published on Page & Spine Fiction Showcase November 1, 2013.

Also critically acclaimed, Kerry's short Christmas story A Clatter of Hooves has been published 3 times now: First in Silver Boomer Books’ A Quilt of Holidays on August 6, 2012, second on Page & Spine Fiction Showcase December 20, 2013, and most recently in the Christmas anthology A Cup of Christmas November 27, 2014 (all proceeds go to the First Book charity for underprivileged children).

His creepy Halloween short story October’s Children was published in Dark Moon Digest #16 on July 1, 2014.

His wicked mad short story Something in the Air was published in SNM Horror Magazine’s December Diseases Issue #61 on December 1, 2014, and was awarded Honorable Mention in the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future contest in 2013.

His short story In the Night She Comes was the First Place Winner in the Atlanta Writers Club Fall 2013 short story contest.

His poem On the Corner was the First Place Winner in the Atlanta Writers Club Fall 2009 poetry contest.

Most recently, Kerry was invited to write and share two short stories for two different popular upcoming anthologies, both to be published in 2015.

To see more about Kerry’s various publications including poems—with links—go to the “Books” tab on this website.

Kerry interviews authors on his blog

That’s right! About one author every couple of weeks, and the interviews are a lot of fun. If you’re an author, you could be interviewed by The Reality Bender too. Go to the “I INTERVIEW YOU!” tab on this website and the “Request an Author Interview: Guidelines and Policies” page in the dropdown menu to find out how, and send Kerry your request.

You can find the Questionnaire here.

Feel free to check out some of the author interviews here on his blog, and see some of the fun and clever answers various authors have come up with.

Brand NEW cover (4/15/15) for SOULSNATCHER by the amazing Christian Bentulan of "Covers by Christian"

Kerry has a few intriguing secrets he’s only willing to share with YOU

Yep. Don’t tell anyone, but Kerry actually owns a Time Machine, a Teleportation Chamber, a Crystal Ball, and a Cloak of Invisibility. Only problem is, they’re all in the shop, and the proprietors never call back about the status of repairs.

Kerry thinks they’re already fixed, and being used without his consent. He’s fairly certain someone has been following and watching him while using his Cloak of Invisibility, and teleporting into and out of his bedroom at night while he’s sleeping.

Every time he goes to the shop to check on his stuff, it seems to be closed, and no one answers the door when he knocks. Hmm...

Kerry Alan Denney aka The Reality Bender: "Soon the world will be mine, all mine, bwa ha ha ha hah!"

Please feel free to share your thoughts in the Comments section below, and happy reading to you all!

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CONTEST WINNER!

FROM DARKNESS WE COME: A short story about the unbreakable bonds of family & love

OLD COOT: A short story about a remarkable therapy dog

5 Quick Tips on Grammar & Word Usage

MARIONETTES Cover Reveal!

OCTOBER'S CHILDREN - A Halloween Short Story

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Ebook GIVEAWAYS! October Frights Blog Hop 10/1 - 10/10: DREAMWEAVERS, JAGANNATH, & SOULSNATCHER

2015 October Frights Blog Hop: Thoughts on Lucid Dreaming - Reality vs. Myth

5 Things You Didn't Know About Kerry Alan Denney aka The Reality Bender

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