You know it's been a good day of killing zombies when there is nowhere to step except on rotting flesh and oozing brain matter, but the day isn't over. They keep coming, stumbling, reaching, jaws snapping. Your arm aches from swinging the katana, the sweet song of the blade singing. Heads tumble through the air spraying blood, hitting the floor with hollow thuds, headless bodies taking one step before collapsing into piles of stinking flesh and still they come. You switch the sword to your left hand as he pull the Glock from the small of your back and begin firing, heads exploding, filling the air with a bloody mist as chunks of skull and dead brains splatter to the floor….
Yes, I can write horror, but I don't although some of my scenes taken out of context may cause some readers to question that contention.
My version of horror is the paranormal thriller, which is character driven with something dark slithering around in the background. My stories are only scary if you like my characters. Don't like them and you'll be able to sleep with the lights off. Like them and your electric bill takes a jump.
Lead-ins to two paranormal thrillers:
Seven feet tall, ten feet of wing span, deadly talons, carnivorous jaws, bad attitude, thank God they are not a part of our world. In our world a beautiful archaeologist is about to discover an ancient artifact with a horrible secret. Some things should stay buried.
Carlos Ramirez, drug lord, child molester, murderer and that's just the tip of the iceberg. Nonhuman spirit, hundreds of past lives, billions in treasure, bloody footprints across history, memories of everything.