Product Description

...a collection of entertaining tales that puts the fun back into dark fiction, with ironic twists and tongue-in-cheek wit to temper the jagged edge.

Charlaine Harris reveals the dark side of going green, when a quartet of die-hard environmentalists hosts a fundraiser with a gory twist in "An Evening with Al Gore"...In an all-new Dresden Files story from Jim Butcher, when it comes to tracking deadly paranormal doings, there's no such thing as a "Day Off" for the Chicago P.D.'s wizard detective, Harry Dresden...Sherrilyn Kenyon turns a cubicle-dwelling MBA with no life into a demon-fighting seraph with one hell of an afterlife in "Where Angels Fear to Tread"...Celebrity necromancer Jaime Vegas is headlining a sold-out séance tour, but behind the scenes, a disgruntled ghost has a bone to pick, in Kelley Armstrong's "The Ungrateful Dead." Plus tales guaranteed to get under your skin -- in a good way -- from

Janet Berliner Don D'Ammassa Nancy Holder Nancy KilpatrickJ. A. Konrath and F. Paul Wilson Joe R. Lansdale Will LudwigsenSharyn McCrumb Mark Onspaugh Mike Resnick Steven SavileD. L. Snell Eric James Stone Jeff Strand Lucien Soulban Matt Venne Christopher Welch

So let the blood flow and laughter reign -- because when it comes to facing our deepest, darkest fears, a little humor goes a long way!

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #9468 in Books
• Published on: 2008-10-21
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 400 pages

From Publishers Weekly
This toothsome anthology of 21 funny-scary stories from members of the Horror Writers Association arrives just in time for Halloween. On the humorous end, Matt Venne's Elvis Presley and the Bloodsucker Blues recreates Presley's voice with pitch perfect swagger and sets the record straight on how he really died, while Charlaine Harris's An Evening with Al Gore depicts a novel way to deal with environmental criminals; both tales are truly outstanding. In a creepier vein, Steven Savile's Dear Prudence finds a conflicted man repeatedly revising a note where he details gory plans for his significant other, and Nancy Holder's I Know Who You Ate Last Summer features stomach-churning rock star cannibals. Big names like Jim Butcher and Sherrilyn Kenyon will have comic horror fans grabbing this anthology off the shelves. (Oct.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author
SHERRILYN KENYON, aka Kinley MacGregor, is the author of numerous New York Times bestsellers, including Born to be BAD and BAD Attitude. There are more than ten million copies of her books in print. She lives with her family near Nashville, Tennessee. Visit her website at www.dailyinquisitor.com/sherrilyn.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

I see dead people. Unfortunately, they also see me.

One of the first lessons a necromancer learns is the art of playing dumb. When strolling down Fifth Avenue, searching for that perfect pair of shoes, pay no attention to the guy in the Civil War uniform. If he notices the glow that marks you as a necro, he will attempt to make conversation. Pretend you don't see him. With practice, you'll learn to finesse the act -- pursing your lips, tilting your head, murmuring "Hmm, I thought I heard -- Oh my God, would you look at those darling Jimmy Choos!"

Eventually, the ghost will decide you're untrained -- or just plain stupid -- and wander off before getting to the part that begins with "Say, could you do me a favor...?" Of course, one problem with playing dumb is that it seeps into your everyday life. But that has its advantages too. No one ever asks me to help with their taxes.

Now, as I stood behind the stage curtain, I searched for signs of any otherworldly presences. Nothing screws up a séance like the appearance of a real ghost.

In the theater, my intro began: "This is their world. A world of peace and beauty and joy. A world we all wish to enter."

I tensed, flexing my calf muscles.

"Jaime..." Brett warned as he fixed my hair. "Stand still or this piece is going to wave like a bug antenna."

Achieving an artlessly windswept updo is, truly, an art form, but it was part of the "sexy librarian" look I used for my shows. The pinned-up red hair, the modestly cut but curve-hugging dress and, of course, the wire-rimmed glasses. Admittedly, at forty-six, I was ramming the limit of how much longer there would be any "sexy" in my librarian. Keep the house lights low, though, and I looked damned hot.

My cue came. I walked to the curtain, cheeks twitching as I struggled to keep my smile in, reminding myself I'd need it for the next two hours.

As I stepped onto the dimly lit catwalk, I could hear the breathing of the sold-out crowd. Their excitement ignited mine and my grin broke through. I bit my cheek and set out.

"Come with me now," my recorded whisper snaked through the hushed theater. "Let me take you into their world. The world of the spirits."

I stopped. The speakers hissed as the recording switched to a man's voice.

"The Globe Theater proudly presents... internationally renowned spiritualist..." Another hiss as the volume swelled, the house lights rising with it. "Jaime Vegas!"

"I'm getting a male relative," I said to Patty, a round-faced woman with big tortoiseshell glasses straight out of the eighties. "His name starts with N...no, wait...M. Yes, M."

Statistically speaking, M is one of the most common first letters for male given names. Somewhere in Patty's mental file, she'd find a deceased Mike, a Matthew or...

"Mort!" she shrieked, like she'd correctly answered the Double Jeopardy question. "My uncle Mort."

"Yes, that's right. Your moth..." I drew out the word, watching for her reaction. At her frantic nod, I said decisively, "Your mother's brother."

Interpreting cues was the key to cold reading. Sometimes it was only a slight widening of the eyes or a faint involuntary nod. Then I'd get people like Patty, so eager to praise and encourage me that I felt like a puppy who'd finally piddled outside.

I spent the next few minutes postponing the inevitable message, with "Wait, he's fading...no, here he comes...I think he's trying to say something..." It's a two-hour show.

I was in the midst of "reeling" Mort back when a voice said, "You called?"

I glanced behind me. There stood a sixtyish bald man with a round face, bearing a striking resemblance to Patty. Uncle Mort. It doesn't matter that I rarely summon ghosts onstage. Sometimes they just show up.

"Mortimer!" I beamed a smile as his gaze nestled in my cleavage. "How wonderful. I thought I'd lost you."

"Uncle Mort?" Patty bounced, clearing her seat by a good three inches. "It's me, Patty."

Mort squinted. "Patty? Shit. I thought you said Pammy, her sister." His eyes rolled back as he smiled. "Mmm. Pammy. She was always the cute one, but after she turned sixteen? Boom." He gestured to show what part of Pammy's anatomy had exploded.

"Uncle Mort would like to tell your sister, Pammy, that he's thinking of her."

"Ask her if Pammy's still hot," Mort said. "Last time I saw her was at my funeral. She wore this lacy little black number. And no panties." He chortled. "That's one good thing about being a ghost -- "

"Uncle Mort remembers that black silk dress Pammy wore to his funeral."

If Patty bounced any higher, she was going to take flight. "What about me? Does he remember me?"

"Yeah," Mort said. "The fat one. Even as a baby she was a little tub of lard -- "

"Uncle Mort says he remembers what a beautiful baby you were, so cute and chubby with red cheeks like apples."

Patty spent the next few minutes telling Uncle Mort about Cousin Ken's cataracts and Aunt Amy's arthritis and little Lulu's lazy eye. Uncle Mort ignored her, instead peppering me with questions about Pammy.

"Are you even listening to me?" Mort said finally.

"Uncle Mort appreciates the update," I said. "And he'd like you to pass on a message in return. Tell everyone he misses them dearly -- "

"Miss them? One more Christmas with those people, and if the cancer didn't get me -- "

" -- but he's gone to a good place, and he's happy."

"Would I be here if I was happy? I'm bored out of my frigging skull."

I crouched beside Patty, clasped her hands and wished her all the best. Then I returned to the catwalk. "Uncle Mort has left us now."

Mort jumped in front of me, waving his arms. I walked through him.

"She's ignoring you," another voice said.

"I'm waiting for a new spirit to make contact," I continued. "I can sense them just beyond the veil." I pretended to scan the room, to get a look at the new arrival without letting on I'd heard him. More secrets of the successful spiritualist.

A young man had climbed onto the catwalk. Dressed in a striped Henley shirt and cargo shorts, he was about twenty, stocky, with manicured beard stubble. A frat boy, I guessed. A ghost, I knew. The fact that no one noticed him sauntering down the catwalk gave it away.

I continued to survey the room. "A spirit is trying to break through the veil..."

"Don't bother, buddy," Mort said to the other ghost. "She may be a necromancer, but she needs some serious remedial training."

"Actually, I hear she's very good. Comes from a long line of powerful necros."

"Yeah? Well, it skipped a generation."

"I have a name," I intoned, eyes half-closed. "Is there a Belinda in the audience?" In seat L15, if my sources were correct.

"See?" Mort said. "She doesn't even know we're here."

"Oh, she knows." The frat boy's voice carried a burr of condescension. "Don't you, Red?"

"Do I have a Belinda in the audience? Hoping to contact her father?"

A bingo-hall shriek as an elderly woman -- in L15 -- leapt up. I made my way over to her. Mort stomped back to his afterlife. The frat boy stayed.

After the show, I strode down the backstage hall, an icy water bottle pressed to my cheek.

My assistant, Tara, scampered along beside me. "We have a ten a.m. tomorrow with the Post Intelligencer, then a two o'clock pretape with KCPQ. Friday's show is totally sold-out, but you can plug the October one in Portland."

"Will do. Now, can you find Kat? Let's see if we can't get that sound system fixed before Friday."

I slipped into my dressing room, closed the door and leaned against it. A slow clapping started across the room.

The frat boy slid off my dressing table. "Okay, show's over. You done good, Red. Now it's time to get to work. Be a real necromancer."

I uncapped my water and chugged.

"Cut the crap," he said. "I know you can -- "

" -- hear you. Yes, I can." I mopped my sweaty face with a towel. "But a dressing-room ambush really isn't a good way to get my attention."

His full lips twisted. "Oh, please. You think I'm going to peep at you undressing? You're, like, forty."

"I meant it's rude." I tossed the towel aside and grabbed my hairbrush. "If you'd like to talk, meet me at the rear doors in twenty minutes."

"Um, no. I'm going to talk to you now, and I'm not leaving until I do."

Rule one of "how to win favors and influence necros"? Never threaten. I'd say if you're lucky enough to get one to listen, you should fall on your knees with gratitude. But that might be pushing it. A simple "okay, thanks" will do.

I'm not heartless. In fact, in the last few years, I've made a real effort to listen to ghosts, and I'd had every intention of hearing this one out. But he was fast blowing his chance.

I turned to the mirror and brushed out my hair, pins clinking to the floor.

"Don't turn your back on me," the ghost said.

"I'm not. I said I'll be ready in twenty minutes."

He walked through the dressing table, planting himself between the mirror and me. "Fine. How about this?"

He shimmered, then shot back, clothing drenched with blood, stomach ripped open, safety glass shards studding his intestines. A brain-splattered metal rod protruded from his ear. One eye bounced on his cheek.

I fell back. "Oh my God! No, please. Not the death body. I'll do whatever you want!"

I recovered and reached through his intestines for my cold cream. "Do you really think you're the first spook who's tried that? I've seen decapitations, burnings, drownings, bear maulings, electrocution..." I leaned to see my reflection past the rod sticking from his head. "A couple of years ago, there was this one ghost who'd been cut almost in half. Industrial accident, I guess. That one did give me a start. But car accidents? Pfft."

I met his eyes -- or the one still in its socket. "Did you see that segment on E! last month? About celebrities addicted to plastic surgery? They talk and it's like watching a ventriloquist dummy. Only their mouths move. That scares me."

I went into the bathroom to wash my face. The ghost followed. He changed back to his regular body, but stood behind me,...

Customer Reviews

stories in a lighter vein
What a great idea for an anthology! I picked up this book because I am a big fan of Kevin J. Anderson, -- I was disappointed he doesn't have a story here. These stories range from laugh-out-loud antics (Joe Lansdale, Dond'Amassa, Christopher Welch) to cute twists (Eric James Stone, Jeff Strand, Mark Onspaugh), to just plain enjoyable romps (Lucien Soulban, Jim Butcher). I had never read Jim Butcher before, but I'm sold after reading his "Day Off" in the Harry Dresden series. Since humor is a subjective thing, you probably won't like ALL of the stories here, but you'll certainly find something to tickle your funny bone.

Chuckles outweigh the clunkers
I mostly got this book for the offering by Jim Butcher, but I felt it a disservice to the other authors if I didn't read the rest. Granted, the other stories are a mixed bag in terms of quality, and some of the humor is of the splatter and potty-joke variety, but it's still worth a reading if you want an easy giggle and a mild case of the shudders:

"The Ungrateful Dead" -- A Necromancer finds a clever way to ward off a pesky spirit and his zombie cousin.

"Mr. Bear" -- The unnerving true story of a celebrity bear gone bad.

"Hell in a Handbasket" -- A surprise delivery to the infernal gates winds up more than the nether regions can handle

"The Eldritch Pastiche from Beyond the Shadow of Horror" -- Part tongue-in-cheek parody of H.P. Lovecraft's works, part shivery meta-fiction.

"Elvis Presley and the Bloodsucker Blues" -- What happens when the King of Rock and Roll becomes a king of the night...

"No Problem" -- A mad scientist's descendant discovers his heritage and starts to experiment with his findings... with disastrous results.

"Old School" -- A ritual gone wrong when the practitioners failed to read the fine print...

"A Sound of Blunder" -- A gleefully splatter-laden parody of Ray Bradbury's "A Sound of Thunder" featuring two inept gangster-wannabes' attempts to make a bad deal go away.

"An Evening with Al Gore" -- A satiric look at going green -- and what happens when the preternatural fights back to protect the natural.

"Dear Prudence" -- A blackly witty tale in letters as a man contemplates offing his shrewish wife...

"A Good Psycho is Hard to Find" -- A spoof on chainsaw murderer flicks -- and a rip on who the real psychos might be..

"High Kicks and Misdemeanors" -- A skeezy talent scout finds a strange use for a gift left to him by his Native American uncle.

"PR Problems" -- A ghoul gives us a look into the sorry lot he has in being overshadowed by other, cooler preternatural beings.

"Where Angels Fear to Tread" -- An office worker is called to a higher order when he picks up a mysterious sacred coin.

"A Very Special Girl" -- A group of Damon Runyon-esque paranormal gangsters juggle a sticky bit of bookmaking with a dame you don't want to mess with.

"Love Seat Solitaire" -- A shivery duel between a group of slackers and an angry old poltergeist.

"I Know Who You Ate Last Summer" -- A pair of washed-up rock stars' foray into the Other white meat comes up to bite them.

"Bitches of the Night" -- Ever wondered what it must really be like for Dracula and his brides? Here's a sneak peek into the other side of the coffin lid...

"The Bell... FROM HELL!" -- A nerve-jangler featuring a man with a shockingly simple demonic artifact... and where the real horrors lurk.

"Dead Hand" -- A car-racing crew member tries to get his team ahead by resorting to Cherokee magic, but only annoys the spirit he calls up.

"Day Off" -- Jim Butcher's Harry Dresden is looking forward to a relaxing day with his lady friend... but life on both sides of the Never-Never has other plans for him.

Fun read!
I picked this up at the bookstore on a lark. I'm a dedicated Charlaine Harris and Jim Butcher fan, so I figured I couldn't go wrong. This is a book for entertainment; it's very light-hearted, and yes, it's full of the "gross" factor, but it was fun to read some of my favorite authors take a side trip from their usual series that I know and love. It was also a great way to experience some previously unread authors for me so I can be on the lookout for their books. All in all, it was worth purchasing and even the few that were just not my bag were far outnumbered with enjoyable stories.