  Horror/Scary
This week: Edited by: W.D.Wilcox  
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The Threat of Writing Newsletters
There is a country within my head, a magic, yet fearful country, where colors are clotted and somber; a domain of sights and sounds and aromas, without form or texture. I drift through it amazed while armies of rain march across my rooftop.
Sometimes there are voices and singing, growling, screaming—a great roar of a crowd in a far away arena worn and tattered by a worrying wind. It sweeps me away in its icy turbulent river, and I choke on its bitter waters, struggling for breath but finding none. Gasping for lungfuls of sour air, frantic, weeping, and praying for delivery to a warm dry shore, I….
“Oh, my God!”
My cry was so short-lived and so hollow that it might have been no more than the movement of moonlight across a backyard, merely a ghost of sound haunting a room in my mind.
“My newsletters are due!”
Cursing under my breath, panic welling in my mind like blood from a wound, I crept up on my computer and opened the Word Program.
It’s always the same for me—never prepared—deadlines overdue.
Some of you may think that writing newsletters is easy, but it gives me the heebie-jeebies. I never really know what I’m going to say. Of course, the whole idea behind these newsletters is to help others become better writers. But I’m no better than anyone else. Who am I to say what they should or shouldn’t do?
Focus.
“Okay! Okay!”
Welcome to the Horror Newsletter. This week’s topic is going to be about being responsible and prepared…
That sounds like crap.
“Focus! Focus! Focus!”
Knowing when the articles are due is the first major step in staying on top of your deadlines…deadlines…deadlines…
Hmm…DEADLINES…I like that. It’d make a great story idea.
I hear a quick rapping like knuckles on wood. Spinning toward the sound, I expect to see a hulking figure, demented eyes, an upraised arm, an arcing knife…but I’m alone. No one is there.
Damn! I gotta stay focused!
I hear something—the creak of piano hinges and someone playing one, single, high-octave note. Over the thundering stampede of my heart, I rush to the den. But there is no one there.
“LEAVE ME ALONE!”
Silence.
“That’s better.”
Now, back to work.
Newsletters are tough to write, for me as well as all the other editors. So shoot us some slack, will ya?
Ah, man…this ain’t gonna work.
I look out the window, watching the hard rain, a vertical river, beat the hell out of the cherry blossoms outside. Bright petals, like confetti, are scattered across the soaked lawn. A car plows its way through the flooded street as phospherescent white water plumes like angels wings across its bumper.
A door opens behind me, and I am chilled by the impression of inhuman malevolence….
"FOCUS!"
Oh, the hell with it. This newsletter is a total wash-out.
Until next time,
billwilcox
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Blood Blisters
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Excerpt: The large bee watched as if it knew she was now conscious of what was happening, then turned and crawled into her nose. Now Hannah understood the curious ticklish feeling and the never-ending humming. This was worse than death. Her body was not her own. Her eyes filled with glassy amber tears as she envisioned her mind a honeycomb.
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Excerpt: I remember now though. The blood, how I cried after every one of the killings. The screams of pain, and most of all I remember the ‘rewards.’ He made me remember the pleasure at the time, but now I can see his twisted sense of irony. I wanted him to love me, I begged him to love me. So he did, and I didn‘t want it, but I couldn‘t remember that. It‘s all so confusing, this world has become surreal, I can remember everything now.
Excerpt: Finally, the rat died on its back, its belly conveniently exposed for her to feast. A few moments later, she landed next to her death bite, and quivering her black and yellow striped body in primal joy, she nourished her body for the task of building her nest and producing her first eggs. In a week, she never left the cave again.
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Excerpt: Part of the reason I like to read and write “scary stuff” is because I don’t like a predictable story. I like to be surprised. Nothing is as boring to me as when I can figure out what happens next.
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Excerpt: His gazed shifted to the cellar door. Joey was not allowed down there. It was a grownup’s room, whatever that meant. He quickly discovered the lock had been left open. This was his chance to finally see what was down there. Taking the lock off, he threw the door wide, not knowing what to expect. The stairs started immediately and quickly trailed off into darkness. He went down three steps and tried to let his eyes adjust to the light. The door slowly swung shut. He was engulfed in the blackness.
Excerpt: The glass shattered spraying fragments everywhere. Several bit deeply into Lilia. The birds soared above her and dove down. Her ragid scream was cut off suddenly as she was covered in a swirling black mass.
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Excerpt: So, as I placed the drug dealer’s tongue in the jar with the formaldehyde solution, my concentration shifted to his big wide eyes. From prior experience, I knew his muscles tightened while he struggled with the sturdy straps. His entrapped frail legs writhed side to side like a quadriplegic sprinting to an enticing, yet improbable cure.
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Say What...?
Storm Machine 
Submitted Comment:
Thanks, Bill!
Your newsletters always give me food for thought. That, plus I keep getting caught up in the little stories you write that send shivers up my spine.
Jaye P. Marshall 
Submitted Comment:
Excellent editorial! It sure gave me the creepy-crawlies! Keep up the good work.
bookgraham 
Submitted Comment:
Hi
Loved the newsletter. Don't we always just miss the obvious?
bazilbob
Submitted Comment:
Don't lie in newsletters, you obviously had a new story right there. I know you did it for rhetorical effect, but it was just patronising. Good story though.
billwilcox replies:
(Now, Louise...do you actually think I'd lie about a thing like that?)
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Horror/Scary: April 09, 2008 Issue [#2317]
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