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Posts tagged “amazon kindle

Now Coming to You in Atomic Soundwaves from Space!

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I got my first taste in publishing when I was in high school. Some short story of which I have long since forgotten the title for and have long since misplaced the letter of authentication. Given my moody teenagerism, it was probably something dark and depressing. It would be another 15 years before I’d publish again. In 2014, I put out my second short story, Hobo, and followed it closely with Are You Hungry, Dear?, and then released my first novel, Reinheit. In that very short span of time, I’ve been able to launch 4 more novels in a continuing series called The Subdue Series (Dwelling, Emerging, Conceiving, and Converging), 2 solo shorts, contributed to 7 published anthologies (the 8th to be published later this year), including a serial short story exclusive to the 13: An Anthology of Horror and Dark Fiction series, my first collection called The Hobbsburg Horror, AND 2 novellas,  Lanmò and Feast.  That’s what? Some 20 published works, most of which are shorts. I’d say I was simply prolific, but I know more authors that do way more than my meager sum.

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No, the aim (for me) cannot be about out producing the competition. I’d go nuts trying to keep up. What I can aim to do is provide quality entertainment in the vein of horrifying reads. I want to tell stories, plain and simple. I don’t want to out do anyone. I want to tell tales and get them out there to be read. Easy enough, right? What’s interesting, in this current era we find ourselves, is the constant development of technology that allows schmoes like me to publish our works. Amazon wasn’t around when I was a grump moody teenager. Self publishing was unaffordable. And traditional publishing took knowing someone who knew someone who knew someone. If you didn’t have that connection to your father’s brother’s uncle’s cousin’s former roommate, you were SOL. And the BIG 5? Forgetaboutit.

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But now? Man, the entire system has expanded exponentially. With the development of eBooks (and its popularity) which later gave rise to print on demand (I use CreateSpace), publishing became insignificant. Not to belittle it, just that anyone can and many do. In fact, its not uncommon to stroll into a cyber writers group and read at least a dozen complaints about how saturated the market is. Its a favorite word to toss around that makes you sound more knowledgeable than what you really are. Saturated. Saturated. Saturated. Martha. Martha. Martha. And its true, the market IS super saturated. Personally though, I don’t think that’s such a bad thing. Now readers have more of what they want. They have options outside of what they thought they could only get from the BIG 5.

But there’s a trick.

You cannot just put something out there and expect readers to flock to you. That’s just insane. Unless you have a known name, readers are not going to flock to you. Connections help; making connections is even better. What I’ve found most appealing with how this publishing world has evolved is how much of a community it has become. Embrace it. There will be some who try to take advantage. Don’t let a few turds keep you from making lasting connections. If people are willing to not only share your stuff, but also interact and maybe even give advise, those are the connections worth holding on to.

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Experimenting with marketing can lead to surprising results. Ever heard the phrase, “Put your money were your mouth is?” The same applies to marketing your wares. I think “nut up or shut up” also applies, but its a tad cruder to tell your 80 year old grandma who wants to self-pub her book of recipes. In lieu, sometimes you gotta take a risk. Just don’t bet the farm. Play it smart, ask and listen to those connections, share what has worked or hasn’t worked. A word to the wise, among small press folk, BookBub is a known book promoter that lives by the slogan, money well spent.


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Above all this noise, the most important thing publishing schmoes can do is keep writing, keep publishing, keep moving forward. And if you want those quality stories to reach more readers, you need to be willing to adapt to new technology. Last year, I was introduced to a little thing called Audiobooks. This is not new, per say. The spirit of audiobooks has been around a long time, back in the land before TVs and cable networks. Audio entertainment is not a new idea, but the tech behind it has come a long way since The Shadow and Little Orphan Annie broadcasted to delighted listeners gathered around a cherry red cabinet Philco radio. Cassette tapes came, followed by CDs. Nowadays, we’ve got digital recordings. At first, it was new and I didn’t want anything to do with it. I turned my nose up at it. But then Audiobook Creation Exchange (ACX) made everything so bloody simple its almost scary. I jumped in and released 4 titles on ACX last year and have released 2 titles thus far in 2017.

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The idea here isn’t that your putting out even more stories (though you ought to be working on that). The idea is to use the technology available in order to put your work on as many platforms as possible so you can reach readers on the format that suits them best. And you’d be surprised. Audio is a expanding market for books. And the more this tech develops, the more affordable it becomes. Readers are now listeners, tuning in while driving to or from work or school. City and urban consumers plugged into YOUR book from their phones or tablets while they ride the train or bus or even airplane. Times are a-changing, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing unless we let it, right?

Thomas S. Flowers is known for his character-driven stories of dark fiction ranging from Shakespearean gore feasts to paranormal thrillers. Residing in the swamps of Houston, Texas, with his wife and daughter, his debut novel, Reinheit, was published with Shadow Work Publishing, along with The Incredible Zilch Von Whitstein, Apocalypse Meow, Lanmò, The Hobbsburg Horror, and FEAST. His veteran focused paranormal thriller series, The Subdue Series, including Dwelling, Emerging, Conceiving, and Converging, are published with Limitless Publishing, LLC. In 2008, he was honorably discharged from the U.S. Army where he served three tours in Operation Iraqi Freedom. In 2014, Thomas graduated from University of Houston-Clear Lake with a Bachelors in History. He blogs at machinemean[dot]org, where he reviews movies and books and hosts a gambit of guest writers who discuss a wide range of strange yet oddly related topics. You can follow Thomas by joining his author newsletter at

Now Available for YOUR earbuds!!!

The Hobbsburg Horror Audiobook

Book Featurette: Final Review


Warning: Some Scenes May Disturb. Every author knows that paying too much attention to bad reviews will only lead to trouble, and Emma’s about to find this out the hard way, thanks to her boyfriend, Wade. After the success and praise received from her first book, the two that followed haven’t done so well, and the less than shining reviews have disheartened Emma to the point where she considers pulling her books and perhaps even giving up writing altogether. Wade will have none of that, however. When Emma tells Wade reviewers are calling her books “unrealistic,” Wade sets out to teach Emma how to add realism to her horror stories. Just how “real” things get goes far beyond Emma’s expectations.

What readers are saying about Final Review:

“DC + JL’s ‘Final Review’ is a train-wreck of a story, and I mean that in the nicest possible way. You stop, you stare, you gape. Eventually, you realize there will be no order to the chaos and destruction and watch with one eye closed and jaw clenched tight. To brave this well-written but totally insane journey through the rigors of human hell (kidnapping, torture, rape, murder etc.) is a trip that will never be forgotten. Read at your own peril. You may just get thrown under the train.” -Amazon Reviewer.

“Another great extreme horror story from Dawn. She is one of the best authors of this type of story. I look daily for her new books and was sure worth the wait from her last book. I hope we get another great extreme story sooner than later. This was sad but a great story.” -Amazon Reviewer

“Speaking of bad reviews, here’s mine. I absolutely hated this story. Had I known there was so much sex in it, I wouldn’t have got it. I love horror, but not erotic, torture horror. I kept reading because I adore Dawn Cano’s writing, and there’s usually a kicker at the end. I should have just stopped. The only reason I gave this tale 3 stars is because it was well written, and most people who like extreme horror will probably like this also. I’ll be back for Dawn’s next story, but I should’ve passed on this one.” -Lisa

“Oh boy, just when you think Dawn Cano hasn’t had enough wine after cooking babies, endearing hit men, here comes Final Review. A bats**it crazy writer (but not Dawn, ok are we clear?) who goes on a ‘let’s create a story from experience’ adventure with her boyfriend. Just when you think you cannot possibly get more disturbed, Dawn Cano is your answer. obviously more wine has to head your way!” -Colleen Cassidy

You can get your copy of Final Review for $0.99!!!



Dawn Cano, aka The Queen of Extreme, is the author of Final Review(w/ John Ledger), Cash Out, Violent Delights (w/ Lewis Duncan), and several other extreme horror stories. Her latest project, editor for VS: US Vs. UK, which is a horror anthology that is currently a top seller on Amazon, pulling several up and coming authors. She also writes reviews for The Ginger Nuts of Horror. You can keep up with her work here.

The Lonely Struggle of Indie Authors

Good day my blogger friends! If you guessed by the title, I’d like to share a few thoughts regarding Indie Authorship. As I, myself, am one, perhaps I can add to the discussion my own perspective and the things I’ve learned thus far and finally how I’ve learned to cope with the sad reality that is indie authorship. If you’re worried this post is going to be a downer, don’t. Its not. Though, I will be absolutely frank and honest. And sometimes honesty is not all rainbows and teddy bear picnics. No, the reality of indie authorship is hard, but likewise, it is not entirely bleak, nor is it entirely hopeless. As the title suggests, the road of indie authorship is indeed often lonely and it is most certainly a struggle. But sometimes, often really, the best things are those that are hard fought. So sit back and take note. If you’re old to the game, you may nod your head. If you’re new, be patient. That is all I ask.

From pen to paper to MS Word to Amazon Kindle:

The very first book I ever published on Amazon Kindle, I eventually had to go back and utterly remove from the site. Why? Because it was so God awful I did not want future publications to be tainted by its impurity. This action is both a blessing and a curse for indie authors. We can always go back and “fix” the blemishes. In fact, its often encouraged. And while its a blessing to be able to do this, it also highlights one of the first hard realities for indie authors: editing. We’re not signed with some fancy publisher that will “take care” of our unsightly editing mistakes. Its all on us. And from personal experience, no matter how often you read and double read and triple read, you will not catch every mistake. Hell, even editors with decades of experience will not catch every mistake. The problem with indie authors is that we get so excited about getting our work out there for someone to read, anyone really, we forgo one of the most important aspects of publishing. You’ve heard it more than you’d probably care to, but I’ll say it again. Editing is critical. While its true you will not catch everything, still, you do not want to use that as an excuse for ignoring the most important step in publishing your work. That first chapter, first paragraph, first sentence, first word, MUST BE PERFECT. Consider the first page or paragraph your hand shake to the reader. “Hi, my name such and such, and this is my story.” The hand shake must be firm. In control. And confident. You don’t want to shake a potential sale with sweaty clumsy hands, do you? And while this is important for all authors, its more important, I think, for indie authors. Why? Have you ever noticed that little tab beside the picture of a book on amazon? The tab says, “Look inside.” This is how future readers of your book will get a “sneak peek.” What will they find? Chances are, if they find a bunch of misspelled words, broken sentences, grammar mistakes, and just plain old sloppy writing, they will close the window and move on. you’ve missed a potential sale.

What’s the solution? Slow down. As hard as that sounds, because, trust me I know, its true. We get super excited about finally being done with the book we want to toss it out there. As much as we loved writing the book, it was taxing all the same. But, because we are indie authors, writing the book is only part of the job. We’re also editors, marketers, publishers, bloggers, etc etc. So, slow down. Take your time editing. Consider editing the work of a sculptor. The unedited book is our unshaped clay. Editing cuts and pastes and shapes the overall story. Editing, as hard as it may be, is the most important part in publishing and writing. It is also the most frustrating. Because, as I’ve stated before, you will not catch every mistake. And when you see it, when your story is already published, you’ll want to rip your hair out! Some indie authors end up paying folks to edit their work. If you’ve got money to burn, by all means. Just be careful with who you pick. And remember, when it comes to pricing, typically you get what you pay for. If you have trusted friends who can help you out, that would be the best option to go with. No only do you get “advanced readers” that way, but they can show you were things/words/structure did not work as you may have intended.

From author to publisher to promoter:

Okay. The next thing I’d like to mention has to do with formatting. I’m not going to tell you how, whatever platform you are publishing on will give you sources that will show you how. I just want to make sure you read it! Read what the sources say. I publish on Kindle. Super easy nowadays. Read the notes. Read the sources. Take note. If your editing mistakes did not turn off a potential reader/sale, your formatting issues most certainly will. So again, read what your platform has to say. Its there to help you. Read it.

Okay, moving on. So now you’re published! Awesome!! You made it, right? Excuse me…I wasn’t laughing at you, but with you. No. I’m sorry to say, you have not “made it.” Now comes the most frustrating, most infuriating part of indie authorship: bringing in potential buyers and making sales. Someone tweeted out recently a 140 character lament regarding this same issue that I so happen to respond to because I completely agreed with what they had to say. The tweet had to do with making steady or constant sales of books. Apparently, this particular indie author was not making many sales. And I totally understand their frustration. We’re writers, not promoters!!! Alas. You need to learn. And the best way to learn is to see what other people are doing.

First off: get on twitter. In my personal opinion, when it comes to social media for writers, you need to get on Twitter. Build a following. Follow and follow back. It’ll take time, but eventually you’ll build a descent size group of folks that’ll see whatever you post and re-tweet your stuff on their feed. Now, you do not need a unfathomable number of followers in order to get your promotions seen. But what you will need is to learn the hash-tag language. Hash tags are annoying and yet interesting at the same time. The feed on twitters runs so fast, if you only post regular promotions without the use of hash tags, chances are, no one will see it. Hash tags are annoying because its hard to tell which one works best. Hash tags evolve. You’ll need to pay attention to trends and what other folks are using. Consider hash tags a type of search engine. An example would be the hash tag #horror. If you type #horror in a search box you’ll see a horror feed with other folks posting #horror. If someone is looking for horror, chances are they’ll use #horror to find whatever it is their looking for. It could be your book.

Search goggle or Bing or whatever search engine works for you. There’s all kinds of information on promoting your work. Personally, I like to create creative flyers and post them on twitter. Anything that will grab a prospective readers attention. Book cover art and quick read blurbs. Be creative with your book blurbs. Be creative with your book posts. Please, do not just post: “Buy my book. Its really good.” You’d be surprised how many people actually post something similar. Give a little taste of the mood or theme or characters in your book. give a 50-100 character blurb. Its seems daunting, but it works. And again, use proper hash tags with these posts. Basically, in the space of a single moment, you’re making a pitch, telling the reader why they should read your book. Not just because YOU think its good. Inspire the reader, draw them in.

And lastly: find someone to review your work. Especially on Amazon, you need review. The number of reviews is still up for debate, but lets say somewhere in the ball park of 3-10 reviews is decently healthily. Potential readers will not sift through 100 reviews. Just like when I’m looking for a new book to buy, I’ll read maybe a few positives and most certainly one or two negative reviews. The point being, you do not need a million reviews on one book, but you do need at least a few. Even if your blurb catches someones eye, without a review to confirm, chances are your potential buyer will skip on to the next one. And yes. There will always be another book for them to buy.

From promoter to paying it forward:

In the end, after all the hard work and time you’ve dumped into getting “your name” out there, you still will struggle. Recently, I’ve come to the understanding that I cannot force people to buy my book. Nor should I. Its not the point of writing. The point in writing fiction is to tell a good story and by doing so, promoting the genre in which you work. Period. I write horror, occult, supernatural stuff, so naturally my ultimate goal should be promoting the genre in which I write. The best most karma induced way in promoting our genres is by promoting other indie writers who work in those particular fields. Follow fellow writers on Twitter. Promote their work from time to time. Use commonsense. Be ethical. I don’t want to slap you with the Ten Commandants or anything, but don’t brag, don’t boost about helping someone, just do it. Be honest and keep the other writer in mind. Trust me. Karma will come back. Some of the best most helpful and promoting tweets or emails that has ever happened for me has come from fellow writers. This what I call: Paying it Forward. Simple, right? Pay it forward. Find someone to promote. Keep to indie writers. The big guys can take care of themselves. They have big name publishing houses to get their name out there. Indie authors only have each other. Remember that.

Remember that after all the hard work and time consuming promotions and editing, that in the end, its all about the craft. It always comes back to the writing. Telling the tale, so to speak. At rock bottom, the best quality for indie authors is humility. We know were no one; we’re telling a story.

Well. I think i’ve made this post long enough to have put you asleep. If you have any questions or comments about your own journey as an Indie Author, please share.


Reinheit: Excerpt

In the spirit of Halloween, as I, and I’m assuming most of you do as well, love this particular season of fright, I wanted to do something special and offer an excerpt from my recently published book, Reinheit. The following excerpt is from the very beginning, so it does not give anything away, but hopefully it does instill the mood and tone of the books entirety. Others have reviewed and have called Reinheit a dark thriller, heavy, and full of difficult conversions. Inspiration for Reinheit came from several different facets. Here are a few.

1. Reality. While ghosts and goblins and witches and werewolf’s and aliens and vampires are fantastic stables of horror, sometimes reality can be even more terrifying. Reinheit draws its heavy dark energy from the norms of the world. The story follows two time lines: 1940’s and present day 2014. The bulk comes from present day, while the 1940’s segment highlights the power the armchair has over particular people. It also showcases the historical context of the reality in this story, as well. The reality used in the context of this book include: The Holocaust, Einsatzgruppen, Nazis, hate, abuse, fear of the other, us verses them, immigration, and school shootings. Intrigued yet?

2. My Horror Modus Operandi: When I first started writing horror, or I should say, when I first starting taking writing horror seriously, I read up on what master horror authors had to say on the craft. I forget who actually wrote this, and this is probably terrible paraphrased, but the jest of some of the best advice I read was: “Write what scares you. If you are terrified, freighted, and find writing the story difficult because its so damn spooky, it’ll come across to your readers, and even though they may not fear the same things you do, they’ll understand your fear and feel it. By reading your story, they will become terrified as well.” This is the best advice I’ve ever read and I can’t even reminded who wrote it! But anyways, it makes sense, doesn’t it? If your not afraid, why should your readers be? The subject and context of Reinheit terrifies me, the conclusion of a “us verses them” world is troublesome and, speaking from my own personal experiences, and experiences read from history, can lead to horrible things.

Okay. Well, without further ado, I give you the excerpt from Reinheit. Enjoy!


An excerpt

Copyright © Thomas Flowers. October 02 2014. All Rights Reserved.


              It was cold. The room was cold. His body was cold. Schröder buried his icy fingers into his armpit. It was no use, his entire being shivered. He sat, staring into nothing, into the cold dark pit of a fireplace. The coals had longed burned out. Pillars of white grey smoke slithered up into the chute. Where am I? He wondered, but could not yet recall. The room was — familiar. And so was the armchair he was sitting. His mind tittered on a sea of confusion. He felt nauseated. Getting up on numb legs, Schröder peered out the adjacent window and down into an open courtyard. There was a single road made up of loose dirt and pebbles that lead –somewhere, he could not be for certain. The path was swallowed by the same pitiful darkness that seemed to consume everything around him. The moon above was fat, perched upon hazy grey clouds. Its color was an eerie shade of emerald green, casting strange slender shadows on the pine trees that lined the perimeter of the grounds below. The unnatural green light came in through the window, painting the flower print wallpaper, the floor, the door, the fireplace and the armchair. This is all wrong…

Schröder looked back over at the armchair thinking he’d heard a soft moan. It was a terrible yawn, both sad and haunting. He turned and saw – something, a shape in the emerald green, peeking just over the edge of the high backrest of the chair. Is someone sitting there?

“Hello?” he called.

No answer.

Whispers grew from the armchair, the sound of a thousand mumbling and hissing voices talking all at once. The whispers crawled over everything. It penetrated the walls, along the floor boards, slithering up his frozen body, scratching, clawing into his ears. The voices became screams, louder and louder. Schröder crept closer to the shape.

“Excuse me?” he called again, sounding weak. His teeth clinched. This isn’t right…wasn’t I just sitting there? Who is this? Who is this? How did I miss them?

Still no answer.

Schröder began to gag. He smelt the putrid and nauseating stink of rot – of some dead thing, bacteria, perhaps, blooming in hideous black and purple-green flowers, evaporating into the air in sulfuric fumes. His eyes watered. He could not breathe. Yet, despite this sudden lurching in his gut, he was compelled toward the decomposing muck, compelled to discover who it was, what it was, and why it was sitting in the armchair.

               Do I know you?

Schröder approached the armchair. He gazed down at the body of — a man. He was young, slim, and not unattractive. He wore a black uniform and a red armband with a swastika at the center. His boots were polished to a high shine. His hair was blonde and unkempt. He was not shaven. Blonde stubble grew on the chin. The man’s eyes were wide and opaque as milk. His skin smooth and chalky.

“You…” Schröder started but trailed off. He was dumbstruck by those blank lifeless eyes glaring into some unknown place and time. My God! Slowly, the face came into focus. The corpse was petrified in a horrifying scream, distorted beyond imagination. Once red lips, now chalky white, pulled back and stretched beyond human limit. Schröder stepped back. He knocked over an empty bottle of schnapps on the floor. It rolled and pinged against the stone frame of the fireplace. With wide eyes, Schröder examined the man’s face. On his forehead there was a gapping black hole of mangled flesh and tissue and splintered bone. You? He thought. What happened here?

Schröder moved away from the armchair, unable to look at the dead man and the blood spattered against the tall backrest of the armchair, and those awful cloudy eyes. A growing feeling of unease began to take over. The whispers that seemed to come from every crevasse of the armchair continued its pursuit. The deafening moans scratched at the center of his brain. Schröder felt a trickle of warmth flow slowly down his face. He jerked from the sudden sensation. With a trembling hand he reached up and touched his head and pulled back. His fingers were black and simmering green from the moon. With soiled fingers, Schröder traced the path and felt parts of his skull were missing. He pushed his fingers deeper to see how far the damage went. At the center, he touched something grotesque, wet, and malleable.

Schröder snatched his hand back. He screamed. He tasted smoke and ash. There was a dry itch at the back of his throat. He was shivering harder now, struggling to deny something too horrible to be true.

“It can’t be,” he hissed, turning back to the dead man in the armchair. It’s not me! It can’t be me. This is impossible. I am not dead.


The armchair stopped whispering. The room was still. Cold. Dark.

The door began to move. Behind the vibration came a chorus of sorrow, pain, agony, and despair. The sounds grew in the waves emanating from the hallway, just beyond the door. It was the shrill of women and men calling out, and other softer voices, frightening sounds of infants wailing, and children crying, and the infirm pleading – they all bellowed in despair and in thrashing fits of anger. The oak door quaked violently. The wood exploded in a deafening boom. Schröder shielded himself in a protective cradle. He fell back toward the armchair.


He peered over the top of the armchair. He watched in horror as dozens, hundreds, thousands of shambling dead things came in through the broken door. The cream of their eyes locked with his. The dead quickened their pace. The bodies shimmered in the emerald green of the moon, which seemed closer now, just outside the window, as if it were peaking in and laughing at his misfortune. The dead bore no clothing, except for the mud and moss and earth that clung to ruined flesh. The worst of them were the mothers – carrying bruised blue and purple babies still suckling at the tit. The dead reached with bone chewed fingers, grasping for some bit of flesh to call their own. Schröder could not move. He stood petrified as these – things – people (perhaps once) came for him. The corpses pulled and heaved him up into the air. Schröder looked down into the armchair. His dead body was smiling up at him. He screamed and was carried through the door. Schröder desperately wanted to kick and throw himself off, but his legs and arms would no longer work to his will. He was silenced. His muscles congealed in the sack of his skin.

Outside, Schröder watched as the building he was carried off from ignited in a brilliant blaze. The red of the fire grouped together with the emerald green in a queer sundry. He watched from on top the dead mob as the fire quickly spread. Glass shattered. Flames licked from the windows. He could hear men screaming from inside. Are there people in there? He wondered. I don’t remember seeing anyone… Schröder was hauled down the dark pebble path and then the scene faded and dissolved and he found himself in a dark forest, lush with spruce and pine. The dead things with dirt caked nails scratched and bit his flesh. Voices howled in low roar from below.



“Spare my children…”

“Spare us, please…”



Schröder wanted to scream. His heart felt burdened. His body shivered against the frigid grasp of the desolate things hauling him along the way. The march continued along a path through a maze of cold damp mist that hovered waist deep from the ground. Some of the haze dissolved into something oddly familiar. I know this place, he thought. I’ve been here before. Schröder clutched at his clothing from a gust of distant memory, as if a ghost had walked over his grave.

The parade of corpses halted. Schröder peered down and saw a large wide mound of earth, swollen over the foliage. The shambling things tossed him upon the ground. The dead stared in terrible silence. Thousands of soupy eyes looking at him, judging him. Why are they judging me? He wondered. Schröder laid there on the ground, unable to move. And then the mound began to quake – shifting – shuddering – dirt peeled and rolled off the makeshift hill. Blue-grey rotting hands came up from beneath. Reaching, they took hold of Schröder before he could crawl away. Rotting hands pinched his wrists and ankles, grabbing at his uniform. One tore off his swastika armband while the other ridged fingers began to pull him under.

“What is going on!” he screamed. “Why are you doing this to me? What have I done? What have I done? Answer me, I demand you answer.”

Schröder watched in terror as the dead hands became arms, and then torsos, and finally heads with white hideous eyes that burst like grapes. The teeth were broken, bodies naked and covered in puss, grabbing onto him, taking him further beneath the earth and mound. The dead smelled yellow. He wanted to scream. He had no voice. Schröder watched powerless as the dead things pulled him into the grave. His legs sunk under. Then his hips. Then his soft belly and arms, till only his head remained above the surface. In a shrill muffled cry that echoed across the cold misty forest Schröder disappeared with the dead into the pit.

The End….

If you like what you read and what to check out the rest, you can get the full version of Reinheit here.

And if you’ve got a few more moments, I’d like to ask you a favor. All writers thrive on reviews from awesome readers such as yourself, but especially for indie writers like me. If you could, leave a review with Amazon or even here on this blog so other folks can see what you thought of the story. What was good? What wasn’t? And, also, so I can see what you thought of my work. If there is anything else a storyteller wants in the world, it’s a way in which they can improve their craft. The best way for writers to improve is by hearing from their readers!

Thank you!