I have a recurring dream in which I’m trying to reach my mother, who in real life has been dead for half a decade. The dream varies somewhat, but one ongoing theme is that I’m stranded in some strange and unpleasant place.
I’m usually attempting to contact her on a cell phone, but (as often happens in dreams) I’m unable to do the simplest things. For instance, I can’t for the life of me remember her number, or find it in my phone, or punch the right digits on the tiny keypad with my fumbling fingers. And all the while I’m aware that I’m not supposed to be calling her, that there are people nearby, shifting faceless figures, who would prevent me from doing so, if they knew. Because they don’t want me to leave that lost and lonely place in which I’m trapped. Continue reading
Horror. The most misunderstood, looked-down-the-nose-upon genre out there. The red-headed stepchild.
But here’s the thing: good horror can actually be quite literary. Because it goes further. It’s more emotional, more visceral than other genres. It explores the nooks and crannies of the human psyche. It’s intellectual. Horror isn’t just about the monster in the closet, or the thing under the bed. It’s about people’s deep fears, the things they never say out loud, and many times the things they won’t even admit to themselves.
Real life, in other words. Continue reading
Dreaming At the Top of My Lungs is here, in the flesh. Well…not actually. That’s the next book.
It feels great to have it finally finished, and I’m already on to the next project, which I’m pretty excited about. I’ll keep you up to speed as it progresses.
So go. Get the book. Read it. Then, if you’d be so kind, leave a review on Amazon. It’ll help me keep my dog in kibble. I thank you and so does he.
That’s it for now. Short and sweet. But I’ll be seeing you. Late some night soon. Watching over you in the dark as you sleep.
And making sure that the thing under your bed doesn’t crawl out.
Ten tales of horror from the mind of Israel Finn
-A man who is faced with the prospect of losing the most important thing in his life—his son—but instead loses his mind. And then finds himself trapped in a waking nightmare with no way out.
-A frustrated man who curses life for having the audacity to pass him by, but discovers how it feels to be truly forsaken when the universe chooses to teach him a horrifying lesson.
-An outcast who must decide between vengeance and forgiveness in a world turned upside down by war and famine.
-A woman on trial in a world where telling the truth is a crime.
-A man who is living with a very odd houseguest, a visitor who has no concept of war.
-A boy who lives in constant terror of someone who is supposed to love and protect him, but who has betrayed that trust. A horror story that examines the real-life beasts who walk among us every day.
I also can’t really remember my parents being married, although they were, once upon a time. But they divorced right around the time I graduated diapers. Living with my dad and stepmom was tense, to say the least. Why I stayed as long as I did is a story for another time.
There wasn’t much chance for R&R on the old homestead, except according to schedules handed down to my stepbrother, David, and me: after chores—consisting mostly of tending our farm animals—before he and I left for school in the morning, then again when we arrived home in the afternoon, and once more between dinner dishes (though we called the evening meal “supper” in Indiana) being washed, dried, and put away, and tending to the animals yet again at night. And on the weekends, after the delightful job of shoveling shit out of the rabbit hutch, mowing the lawn (in the summer), and helping either my dad or my stepmom, Rose, with some new project or another. But I digress. Continue reading