Bites From A Cemetery Earth

I don’t think they eat us out of hunger, I think they eat us out of hatred. I have been watching them for weeks now, for weeks upon weeks, and I don’t think they eat us out of hunger. They are withering, these things, these monsters, withering like unfed flowers, no matter how much they eat. I think we sustain them, that eating us holds off the rot and decay but that they are dying just the same. I have watched them tear at us, rip at us, and consume us but there is no satisfaction in their faces, no ease in the pain that is death, no, there is only something I know well and that is the animal instinct to kill, to destroy, and to devour prey. But just as they are dying so are we. I have watched families slaughtered, watched children plucked up and torn apart, and have seen soldiers and officers collapse before the horde.

Those things may be dying but I don’t know that we can outlast them. I don’t know if we can stop fighting ourselves long enough to survive. I don’t even know if we want to survive any longer. We have become more monstrous than they in our actions, in our deeds, but I hope, I hope that somehow, somehow we can find a way to stop them and maybe, god it’s so stupid, maybe we can change.

I was in jail when everything happened. The police in a podunk town catching me pissing next to someone’s house at four in the morning. I was drunk. Blind drunk. I wouldn’t even know what I did if they hadn’t told me. Things in the town went bad before they could find out who I am, or what I have done. If they had they never would have let me out.


Not even in this new Hell.

But they let me go and here I am, locked in the basement of a church and waiting, waiting to see who wins, us or them. Them or us.

I sit here waiting, waiting and wondering and wondering how long it will be until I finally let my own monsters free once more.

The dead have risen.

There is no hope.

There is is only survival.

This is…


Available for Kindle and in Paperback.

What The Living Forget…The Dead Will Remember


The things crawl and caper and drag themselves from their Mother and emerge into the world and thus begins the Dead Age. The world sleeps as they rise but as dawn breaks screams chase the sun into the clouds as blood paints the streets. A man falls into wakefulness at the sound of something scratching at one of the doors. He rises from dark dreams and glances to the place his wife should be and his shoulders slump. Day one hundred and forty three. One more day in Hell. The scratching comes again and he turns his attention to the noise and heads towards the kitchen and the back door. As he passes through the kitchen he glances towards the wall clock and sees it is only six in the morning. He had been out of work for a while now and the last thing he wanted was to be waken up by some idiot with the wrong house. Paper boy. It had to be the paper boy. The man reaches the door and looks down at himself and sees that he is hanging free of his boxers so he tucks himself back in, straightens his undershirt, and unlocks and opens the door.

It’s Greg.

Jesus Christ it’s Greg.

His face is sunken, his eyes gone, and he is covered in dirt but it’s him. Oh god in Heaven it’s his little boy.

The man stumbles forward, tears streaming down his eyes. First it was the job, then Maggie left, and then his boy, his boy, his beautiful little boy had died. The man shook his head, he blinked his eyes but there, there was his boy. His boy was back. He’d come back to him. The man started to bawl and reached his arms out to Greg.

The boy wavered a moment, took one tentative step forward, then another, then third and he opened his mouth to speak and put out his own arms. The man smiles down at his son. The thing that had once been Greg pulled its arms back and then plunged its skeletal fingers deep into the man that had been and the man screamed as blood and gore spilled out across the thin arms of his boy. The man tried to pull away but was losing too much blood and he fell onto his knees and looked into his boy’s eyes and saw nothing. The man tried to scream but the thing’s teeth sank deep into his throat and blood washed across the boy and in another moment the man was gone and all that was left of him was meat for the thing and its friends as they made their way to the feast. 


A Book Of The Living Dead

Red Re-Do 2 Red Re-Do 8 Red Re-Do 13 Red Re-Do 14

What You Bury


What You Bury Will Return

In front of him was row after row of benches that lead all the way to the front of the barn and on the benches were people huddled together and bent forward as if in prayer. How they could see, let alone stand the stench, Hunter hadn’t a clue but they were all silent and all focused on what they were doing and had yet to notice him. At the head of the rows there was a podium and behind it yet another cross, this one at least ten feet tall and beside it painted sheets with the same insignia of the lion with the lamb in its mouth and beside the podium was a chair and in it was someone slumped forward. Hunter took the spear in both hands and held it as tight as he could and made his way to the far left side of the rows and began walking forward slowly, his eyes on the parishioners as he moved. Now that he’d been inside a few minutes he was finally able to see more clearly and saw that there was blood everywhere and in the pews humans sat side by side with the things, their hands clasped and all of them roped in place so they’d stay and be still. And there would be no problem with being good little children in church because the tell tale holes were all there in every body he saw and he had been right, this was a dead place, but what it had been, and what had been going on he did his best not to imagine. – excerpted from Cemetery Earth


Cover Band

   It’s never easy on these books of mine to get 1. the right cover right out of the gate and 2. the cover formatted the correct way. Of all the books this one has definitely gone through the most cover iterations.

Initially, when I had first been thinking of this as at least a collection of stories I had a cover design all ready. It would be the image of a decrepit cemetery with blood bubbling up from the graves. Not over the top but creepy. THAT was always the plan. As I neared completion of editing the book though I started to wonder if there wasn’t a better way to do it. If there wasn’t a better idea.

I loved the idea of drawing the cover because it’s one of those things I just like to do, I like to do my covers. But then there’s reality, is the cover I see in my mind and I like one that would entice people to pick it up?

cemetery earth alternate cover

I like that. But I also know that my art style does not skew to the realistic. It skews cartoony and I am not sure that was what would work. So I decided to do a photo for the cover. My fiancée and me got all bloody and I set things up and figured I’d shoot the cover.

Cover Idea 04 possible cover idea possible cover 2

I really liked how these turned out. Simple but effective and it conveyed the feeling I wanted of dread and danger. I really like these. But in speaking to an artist friend he offered that yeah, those were cool but he could make them cooler. He could make them better. My friend Loren Gillespie III is a darned good artist and I have known him long enough to trust him so I trusted what he wanted to do.

Loren Cover 1 Loren Cover 2 Loren Cover 4

I liked all three covers, which he did illustrations on to give them a different feel, dangerous but surreal, but of the three I liked the last one the best. I liked the colors and the feel of that world. So that was the version I finally went with.

Cemetery Earth cover2-revised

Naturally things never quite work as you think so it had to be tweaked a little further to get it approved for print but this was it. This was the cover. This was the world of CEMETERY EARTH. I love this cover. Loren did an amazing job and I am really honored to have his work on the cover. We had worked together nearly twenty years ago on ‘zines and here we were working together again. Pretty awesome and fitting because this is a book that had lived in me for a very long time and stories that had been born years ago.

I really think that this is the cover. This is the cover that fits a book I am very, very happy with.

This really is CEMETERY EARTH.


  Cemetery Earth cover2-revised After what seems like ages, and sorta was, my newest novel is officially out! CEMETERY EARTH is a book about the end of the world and the dawn of the Dead Age when the living dead walk the earth. I love this book and think you will too.

It is available for $15 on Amazon and through CreateSpace

It is available for Kindle for $5

And is available for Nook for $5


  Cemetery Earth cover2-revised After what seems like ages, and sorta was, my newest novel is officially out! CEMETERY EARTH is a book about the end of the world and the dawn of the Dead Age when the living dead walk the earth. I love this book and think you will too.

It is available for $15 on Amazon and through CreateSpace

It is available for Kindle for $5

And is available for Nook for $5

CEMETERY EARTH Sample – Meaningless Signs

The  following is a sample from my new novel Cemetery Earth. This is a story that details the beginning of the end of society and the rise of the dead.

If you’d like to read the full book it is available as an e-book for $5 here.


Meaningless Signs

Maybe it started with rain. Like the beginning of the world. Like the beginning of Man. And like, perhaps, the end.

Maybe it all started with the rain.

In the end, they were meaningless signs. But then, so many signs had been ignored, for so long, that this should have been no surprise. No surprise at all.

It was morning but it had already been a long day. The world was changing quickly and it was hard to keep up with it, and harder to keep up with your own thoughts. The protesters march, despite the rain, despite the exhaustion, and despite the growing fear that lay in all of them. They march, their arms raised high, their mouths wide, and moving in a wide circle in front of a government building that had already been closed when the news of the invasion hit but still they were here, the message greater than the target. There were a hundred of them from young to old, and all of each of them were there for their own reasons. A day before there had been fifty people marching, and in a week there might be a thousand. There was a movement that had been building in America, a wave rising, and given time, it would drown the nation. A wave that had begun with the first shootings that had started to shake the nation and which was reaching its crescendo with word of the great shadow that was about to stretch across the world.

There would be no time for that wave to become more than a nuisance though.

There would be no time.

The protesters march around and around, chanting to the cars leaving the city, to the people abandoning their homes, to the families fleeing in terror, and the very point of the march was quickly lost in rhetoric and chant. Each person’s voice rising to drown the person beside them, the One Message lost to the messages of many. And as they march, around them form their opposition, their twisted mirror image. Those for the war.


But this was not like any other war America had seen for more years than most could count. Since America had warred amongst its own it had taken its wars to its enemies but now, now the blood would wash on its shores. This time the war was on this soil, not some distant land with a name few could pronounce. No, this time the blood would wash upon American soil, this time it was America that had been issued the ultimatum, this time it was America that would be invaded. This time it was America itself that might be lost.

And in the end the words meant nothing. The government did nothing as the invaders landed and stepped foot on American shore. And in the end all the words and signs were so much dust to scatter to the winds.

As the Eastern Seaboard was soaked in the blood of a trench war the rest of the nation watched, helpless, hopeless, and scared. So some ran. Others fought. After an accident in Kansas the warheads were exploded and the Bible Belt was lost. The nation was in chaos and during it all some marched, for or against, it mattered little. Some just marched because it was all they could do.

More and more people gathered, some for the war, some against, but all of them having nowhere else to go, nothing else to do, and eventually there were enough that the traffic slowed, and then stopped. Suddenly the downtown of this small city was filled with hundreds of people gathered together and not quite certain why.

Time slowed.

Angers flared

There were too many people, too many voices, too much fear, too much rage, and a new war broke out in the streets. Everything becomes a blur of fists and bodies. Blood spatters the signs. Screams fill the air like heavy clouds. Someone has a knife, another a gun. The rain begins again, and harder this time, washing the blood away even as more of it spills.

The police join the fray but fall quickly beneath the mixed blows of both sides. A man drops his sign, grabs his daughter by the hand and spins around, looking for an exit but finds none. There was no escape.

Hands reach in and take the girl. A bat smashes down onto the man’s head and the world goes black as around him all went red in the city.

Then, a scream.

Not like the screams that had come before. This was different.

The first scream was followed by another, and another.

A woman feels a hand fall upon her shoulder and turns in time to see something inhuman push its face into her throat and pull her vocal chords free, her scream stretching and fading into arterial spray. The woman’s husband, seeing what was happening, pulls the thing away from his wife and, in pulling, tears its head from its shoulders before feeling more hands on him, pulling him in several directions at once and finally pulling him apart.

There was one, another, several of the things appearing in the crowd until they were part of it and then outnumbering the crowd.

The dead spread like a stain through the crowd and in a matter of moments everyone was on the same side, their petty dispute forgotten and fighting these monsters with anything they had as they try to escape. Two men who had had one another by the throats saw one of the creatures approaching them and pick up fallen protest signs and beat the thing with them but are surrounded by more of its kind before they could destroy it.

And so they fell, one by one, protester and foe alike.

All falling before enemies they couldn’t even imagine in nightmares.

Blood stains the streets and as the last of the people fall, the things move away, looking for more meat. The city a vast cemetery whose coffins were yawning wide as the dead crawled back into the light to take revenge for their Mother.

And in the end they were meaningless signs.

In then end it was just rain, like there was at the beginning, like there was in the trenches, and like there would be in the end.

And now?

It was the end of the world.