Saturday, March 21, 2015

Child's Play is the King of Killer Dolls

My favorite Horror movie with killer dolls is 'Dolls' (1987). It's actually the inspiration that drove me to create 'Porcelain,' but most people never heard of it. When you bring up killer dolls, most people will reply with this, "Chucky."

Now, granted the first 'Child's Play' was a great Horror story and movie unlike the abominations that followed, but Chucky seems to be the king of killer dolls. Why write in that genre when dominated by him, but doesn't anyone remember any other Horror movie like 'Puppet Master'?

Chucky needs to take a backseat, and I plan on doing just that. Maybe, I should have said this sooner, but with Chucky dominating the killer dolls, it's hard to dethrone the king. But maybe, it could be done.

Porcelain is only the first book. I want to launch a series of books following this killer doll storyline, but I do not want to self-publish them. If this first book, the tip of the iceberg, can break ground and gain interest, then maybe interested parties will seek to provide the platform that I need to launch this horrifying tale.

As some of you have read and might have been disappointed by the anti-climatic ending, this tale is far from over for there is so much more going on underneath Porcelain.

And I know that I said that I would be doing another book giveaway with Porcelain in April, but between two recent book giveaways, I have depleted my funds.

I won't be able to do another book giveaway until the summer, but that gives me time to begin a new novella, which I hope to make available to you by then as well.

And like with Joffrey in Game of Thrones, Chucky needs to go!

Monday, March 16, 2015

Gone Without A Trace

Can you see me?
Do you know who I am?
I am the ghost
walking along these streets.
My face is on the wall.
I am one of the disappeared.
I am lost in the crowd.
I’m nowhere near the light.
I’m gone.
Chorus:But I’m alive!
I’m here
for all the world to see,
but won’t you see me?
Won’t you know me?
Know I’m alive.
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Wednesday, March 04, 2015


The Hole Within Us

A voice in the void
cries out
for somebody to come
and save
whatever is left
of a sanity
left hung in limbo
as time swallows itself in,
and moments drift by
like dying thoughts
of a mind
left shaken
from being here
in this space
to remain,
to die in
as the voice echoes
within the corridors
of limbo
and time
for a deaf ear
to fall upon
and maybe re-awake
they themselves had placed
inside their minds
to ignore the pain
of not being heard
or even known.


As we stare each other down,
we don’t see a virus
within our system.
We continue to insult each other
without knowing that we are affected.
We keep kicking those,
who are already down,
and we don’t realize
that one of them died.
We are mice in a maze,
and the only way out
is to destroy each other.
We are drugged by society
to believe that our kind is better.
We live in an illusion,
where you have to be superior.
We aren’t the supermen of tomorrow,
but sick children,
who pass the parasite back and forth.
And another one dies.
We hurt each other
with lies and selfish acts,
and to be caring
is to be weak.
We are still animals
trapped in our cages
as the needle injects another strain of disease.
What is killing us
that we can’t see?
What is this virus?
Who is the parasite?
Should we really know?
Well, we are the plague
that wipes ourselves out
because we still refuse
to accept people
as human beings.
We rather cut our eyes out
and die from misery
than join with people,
who were always different from us.
This is why mankind won’t last much longer.


I have been trapped within myself,
but my shell is breaking.
I can step away from myself
and see my life with clear eyes.
As I stare at the destruction before me,
I fight the urge to run and hide.
I bow my head
because my bitter words
and my wrong choices
had brought my world down
onto its knees.
I pick up a photo of a man
and hold it to my chest
as my heart sobs in silence.
I remember the people
that I turned away.
I remember the people
that I wanted to see me
for who I am
not what I should be.
I was wrong for the way I behaved.
I was wrong for how I treated others.
I should have treated them with respect,
so they would respect me.
I don’t respect myself, though.
I don’t know who I am.
I have buried myself
so deep into this body
that I have suffocated myself
and made myself into a child,
who cannot stand on her own feet.
I fold the picture in my hands
and turn to my skin.
I bundle it up
and throw it into a fire of passion
or burning desire to live.
I must salvage what is left
because my time may end
before I know it,
and I want something left behind
to make people remember me.
I don’t want to be forgotten
because my life would have been wasted.
I want to be remembered,
so I can see a shy girl
accomplish a dream.


Tuesday, March 03, 2015

Supernatural is my Favorite TV Show

Carry On Winchester Sons
(Parody of Kansas’s ‘Carry on Wayward Son’)
by Melissa R. Mendelson

Carry on you Winchester sons
There’s always work to be done
Lay your blade against their head
Won’t you fight some more


Once I saw two young men dressed in illusion
Fighting the Supernatural in all its wonder and confusion
Stakes soaring ever higher, and the end was nigh

Through my eyes could I see their heart and soul
Through my mind their lives I would forever know
I hear their wisdom when I’m dreaming,
I heard them say,

Carry on you Winchester sons
There’s always work to be done
Lay your blade against their head
Won’t you fight some more

Cas masquerading as a man with a reason
Crowley’s suspicious and afraid of treason
And if you claim to be his friend,
Well, it surely means your very end

On a stormy red of Mark of Cain
We’re tossed about along Dean’s pain
He set a course to sail far away,
But then he heard his brother say,

Carry on you Winchester sons
There’s always work to be done
Lay your blade against their head
Won’t you fight some more yes!

Carry on,
We will always remember you
Carry on,
Castiel, Charlie, and Crowley too
Your stories are here to eternity
We have been defined by you

Carry on you Winchester sons
There’s always work to be done
Lay your blade against their head
Won’t you fight some more

Some more!

Sunday, February 22, 2015

The Diary of the Returned - 5

Diary of The Returned

Dear R.E.T.U.R.,

I almost believed that it was over.  The bed was so welcoming.  My body was at ease.  My mind drifted like the soft breeze flowing through the open window.  My heart was light like a white feather drifting down into nothing.  I was at peace, but then the voices downstairs shattered all that.  This nightmare was far from over.

I had a choice.  Stay with Jenny at Jacob’s home, or go with the other to what they called, Sanctuary.  I felt safe with Jenny.  She took care of me.  I didn’t want to leave her side, and maybe, the blind woman felt the same.  She was here too, but in another room.  I don’t think she liked me, but she didn’t say anything.  She hardly said anything.

The voices were loud downstairs.  Jacob was holding another meeting.  I could sit in on them, if I wanted, but I didn’t.  I wanted no part of this fight.  I just wanted to survive, and then I noticed Jenny peering in on me.  She met my gaze, and then she was gone.  And I was alone, and I don’t think I can stay neutral for very much longer.  This fight might be coming here next, and then I would have to fight.  Or die.

I don’t think I was in the shower that long.  The meeting was still going on.  People were worried.  They were worried about their enemy, Nathaniel, but who was he?  And why were they also talking about a preacher, Preacher James?  This was too much.  Maybe, I should leave.  I could go anywhere.  How would they know that I was like them, but I heard mention of a mole.  The government had someone that could track us, and that was how they knew about me.  No.  I could not run.  There was nowhere to run to.

I found myself standing before Jacob’s parents’ bedroom.  I haven’t seen them.  He doesn’t really talk about them.  He left their room just as they had it.  There were a lot of pictures in here of them and Jacob as a boy.  There was a sense of happiness and sadness.  I was just lost in thought when he came up the stairs.  I didn’t know what to do, so I hid behind the bedroom door.  I wasn’t spying.  I was just admiring his family, and then I heard him talking.

“I don’t care that Preacher James wants a truce,” Jacob said into the phone.  “I will never forgive him for what he did to Marty.”

Marty?  He was the boy that Jenny took care of.  He must have been what?  Twelve?  Why was Jacob talking about him like he was a man?  What did Preacher James do to him?  Oh, no.  Jacob saw me.  He looked through the crack on the side of the door, and he’s hanging up the phone now.  And he’s standing before me.

“What are you doing in here?  Are you listening to my conversation?”

“I…  I was looking at your family.”


“Because mine is not like yours, which was why I left them.”

“You left your family?”

“I did.”

“And how is someone at your age a Returned?”

“I was murdered.”

He was quiet for a long time after that.  “I’m sorry, and the one that…  The one responsible?”

“He’s dead.  I didn’t do it.  I think.”

“Does Jenny know?”  I shook my head.  “How much did you hear?”

“Enough, but I don’t want to fight.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Jacob?”  He stopped moving away.  “What did Preacher James do to Marty?”

“Why don’t you ask him when he arrives here?”

I watched him pause by the dresser.  He stared at a picture of his parents.  I could see the tears forming in his eyes.  He quickly wiped them away.  He didn’t want to be a leader.  It was forced upon him just like this fight might be forced upon me.  “Was your family that bad?”  His question surprised me, and it took me a moment to answer.

“Yes,” I said.


“My parents didn’t think much of my future.  They were ready to have me married off and become a fat housewife.  We couldn’t hold one decent conversation.”

“I loved my parents a great deal.  When my mother died…”  He paused for another long moment.  “She never Returned, and my father couldn’t live without her.  He asked for my permission to let go.  That was the hardest thing for me.  Watching him disappear.”  He stared at me for a long moment.  “I never wanted this.”  It was like he read my mind.  “You’re different.  Jenny picked up on that.  I can to, but you don’t know what you are.  Do you?”  I shook my head in response.  “Well, when the time comes, I hope that you do.  Breakfast is downstairs, if you’re hungry.”  He left the room.

I watched him go.  I didn’t feel different.  I felt connected to this place, this town as if there were some kind of connection here, but my parents never mentioned living in Arcadia.  They never really talked about their past.  It was strange, but I never asked.  We never could talk to each other anyway.  We would always argue, and yet, I still remembered these beautiful memories of youth.  Where did it all go wrong?

The voices were finally quiet downstairs.  Jacob was probably back in his study, his father’s study.  Jenny was with Marty.  You would think that she was his mother, but she would correct me and say that she was his big sister.  There was a lot of history here, a lot that I didn’t know about, and they were all keeping that quiet.  Why was the preacher coming here?  Jenny hated him.  Jacob hated him.  How could you trust someone that you hated, and why did they need him now?  What did he have to offer to save all of them, or was it just another ploy?

I wish I knew.  Today had just begun, but I wished for it to be over with.  I wished to walk outside and enjoy the world.  The people here were leaving us alone, but we were on borrowed time.  How long would it take for the government to show up at our doorstep, or the people in this town, who were convinced that we were evil?  The fight was coming.  It was coming soon, and we have to be ready.  I would have to be ready, but when the time comes, would I be ready?  Would I know why I was so different?

Read The Entire Series Here:

Sunday, February 15, 2015

The Diary of the Returned - 4

Diary of The Returned

Dear R.E.T.U.,

It’s been almost a week.  I didn’t think you would be returned to me.  Apparently, they had to pry you from my fingertips.  They had to examine you, look for codes.  They thought I was a spy.  They were wrong, and I begged, pleaded for your return.  I never thought that I would see you again, but today, after lunch, I found you waiting on my cot by the window.

At first, I didn’t know where I was.  There were so many of us clustered in one space, and then we were driven here.  It’s like a medium square.  We have our sleeping chambers, bathrooms, kitchen, and rec room.  There is also the Black Room, but I’ll get to that later.  I know now that we are held in some kind of government compound outside another town.  She called that town, Arcadia, but how the hell did I wind up in Missouri?  Why am I here?  I want to go home.

Nobody would talk to us.  The soldiers stood guard outside, armed, and they won’t look at us.  They won’t look at me.  The only interaction we have with them is when they come in for another one of us to take, and that one is taken to the Black Room.  We never see them again, and the soldiers return to their stations shortly after.  It scares me.  It scares me a lot how sterile they treat us like we are the virus or its cause, but I was never sick.  It wasn’t me, but maybe, I am guilty by association.  Still, it’s wrong, but I remain their prisoner.

I cried a lot in the beginning.  Nobody consoled me.  They huddled with friends they recognized, or they stayed in corners, lost themselves.  Nobody had any words of comfort to give.  They knew that we would never leave here, and the numbers are dwindling.  I didn’t notice at first, but as she came and put her arm around me, I started to notice.  I listened to her words, smiled at her smile, but I was aware now.  And I started to see those brought with me disappear.  Soon, it would be my turn to enter the Black Room.  Would it be today?  Was that why my journal was left for me now?  Would these be the last words I write?  Please, God, don’t let it be true.

She said that her name was, Jenny.  I can’t tell her age.  She might be in her twenties, if not mid to late twenties.  She’s from Arcadia.  Her parents were gone, but her brother was alive somewhere.  She looked sad when she spoke about him as if something had happened to him, but she would not share those details.  She was one of the first brought here.  The only other one, who has lasted as long as her was the blind woman in the corner.  She barely spoke, and the soldiers left her alone.  But the rest of us?  She looked very sad when I asked her that, and I knew the answer.  My turn was coming.

Why are they doing this to us, I would then demand to know.  She shrugged at first but then grew serious.  There was one among us that hungered for control.  He could bend most of the Returned to his will, but it was the Living that posed a larger threat.  This virus, this epidemic was his doing, and her friends were trying to stop him.  That’s why they hadn’t saved her, and she didn’t believe that they would or could.  He had to be stopped.  The preacher was right, and then she would say no more.  Just enjoy today, and that would always be the last of our conversation.  Until tomorrow.  If I was still here.

I was in the rec room when it happened.  My next door neighbor, the woman that was taken before me, erupted from the Black Room.  She flew madly toward us, knocking the soldiers down that tried to stop her.  She screamed loudly.  She screamed that they were making us disappear.  He found a way.  He found a way to erase us, and as they caught her and dragged her back to that god-awful room, he stood there.  He looked government.  He looked like a twisted weasel, and he looked right at me.  And my skin crawled.  He would not forget me.  I would not forget him, and I wanted to cry again.  My turn is coming.

It’s the next day.  Jenny remained, so did the blind woman.  There were only four of the others including me left.  The soldiers marched in early.  Maybe, it was nine a.m., if not earlier.  They moved toward me.  I’m clinging to you for dear life again.  I think it is my turn, and just as they are mere inches from taking me, Jenny planted herself before them, blocking their prize.  I was amazed that they retreated from her.  Were they scared of her?  I didn’t think so, but she was someone important.  And they were told not to harm her.  Who was protecting Jenny, and would they now protect me too?  And because Jenny protected me, they grabbed the next poor soul, who had a complete meltdown as they dragged him out of the room.

Thank you, I forced out, but it was so hard.  He was disappeared because of me.  Would the others now go before me?  They looked at me with fear and hatred.  I couldn’t blame them.  How did I know that I made friends with someone with protection?  How long could Jenny protect me for?  When we are all gone, she says, they would bring in the next batch to do it all over again.  There were too many of us, and they needed to cut down our population.  She said that she couldn’t save me, so most likely, I might be the last of this batch to go.  But funny enough, I was okay with that, and that sickened me.

I tried talking to the blind woman.  She had very long, blonde hair.  Her skin was almost white.  She wore dark sunglasses over her eyes.  She merely looked at me and did not say a word.  She smiled or what smile she could muster, and that was it.  And I retreated to my cot to write some more, but I don’t know what more to write.  I am going to die.  I died before, but now, I really am going to die.  How do you write about that?  How do you write about the hours melting down into nothing, where you could hear a pin drop?  How do you sleep, dream?  How do you eat?  The end is coming, and I can’t stop it.  Soon, I’ll be in his hands, and he will close them over me forever.  I never wanted to live forever.  I just wanted a normal life, or this one.  I can’t have both.  I can’t have any life.  This is the end, and I can no longer cry about it.  And now she is staying away because it is down to the last two.  Who goes tomorrow?  Her or I?

It was late.  Very late.  I was asleep.  Sunk deep into black oblivion, my tomorrow, but I pulled myself out of it.  I dragged myself to the blinding light now shining over me, and she was yelling something.  She was pulling me toward the now open door.  Where were the soldiers?  Was that gunfire?  What was she saying?

Come on, she yelled, and I followed.  So did the blind woman, and the other one in my batch.  She still looked at me with hatred, but I didn’t care.  We were running now.  We were running toward the gunfire.  I wanted to stop, but Jenny’s hand tightened on my wrist.  We continued to run over the bodies of soldiers.  Were they dead?  Did it matter?

The Black Room hung open.  I shuddered as I ran past it.  I did not see the government weasel guy.  I hoped he was dead.  I didn’t even feel bad thinking that, and then I saw a large group of people appear before us.  They too were Returned, and she screamed a joyous scream as she finally let go of my wrist.  She ran toward one man, who apparently was their leader.  And she said a name.

She said, “Jacob.”

Next Chapter Arrives 2/22/15 at 9 p.m.