Mostrando resultados por autor "Stephen Donald" en Todas las categorías

Mothers no longer name their sons ‘Adolph’. Almost everyone knows why. Though all innocent babes do not develop into monsters, all monsters develop from innocent babes. We prefer fiction to reality, because thoughts of the former easily yield to denials of reason, while the latter only reminds us of our common origins in the primitive. Steal a private moment now and listen to your inner voice. It whispers. Such twisted threads weave life’s strange tapestry. Of depravity, here find endless expositions, and of monsters, seven.

Modern cultures are awash in the reflections of humankind's primitive past. Often, only graven images of ancient violence pass through eons of time to speak to us today, and it is these Death Eidolons that enable us to understand the darkest point of our collective origins. Whether looming implacably through a dense jungle tangle or winking grotesquely through the uncertain blue light of our television sets, we cannot escape countless contemporary examples of humankind's base nature, which most of us constrain daily with a tenuous mastery.

Campaigning with Alexander the Great to wage war on a high plateau above an un-named eastern sea, he suffered a bite from a giant canine. His life would never be the same. Immortal and feral, he is the ultimate beast of battle and few live to describe his canny technique. Fur and blood will fly when the most desperate conflict in human history lets slip the dogs of war!

Isolated by rumors of adultery and murder, ‘Cat Lady Cassie’ has long lived alone amid Florida’s sprawling Everglades. So, when several of her felines disappear one after another, Cass begins to worry. Lately, an eerie silence rules the hollows and basins that surround her porch. Even the largest alligators have gone missing. Clearly, a ravenous new invader has arrived to trouble paradise.

Near the turn of the First Century, the Ninth Legion disappeared from frontier borderlands separating Romanized Britannia from the uncivilized lowlands of Caledonia. Between its first deployment there during Agricola’s invasion in 84AD and the return of Emperor Hadrian in 122AD, all mention of the Ninth fades from memory. No authenticated record confirms the legion’s military annihilation on a field of battle, and no evidence confirms its reassignment to any other region of the empire. Contemporary Rome, and all of history, seems to have simply forgotten the Ninth. Until now.

During his service as an intern at the SETI Project, Simian Wynwood fatefully records “first contact” with an alien intelligence. Within months, this so-called SETI-Tech seizes control of nearly every aspect of civilization when humankind foolishly opens Simian's Gate. Perversely efficient in the aftermath, an alien-incepted Terminus Signal drives roving clans of homicidal lunatics to exterminate Immune survivors to a last number. During the course of their apocalyptic odyssey, one such band of desperate survivors must form life-and-death bonds strong enough to withstand Simian's Walk. ...

An ordinary traveler. A typical business trip. Nothing unusual or out of place. If the inhabitants of Spittsville, Texas seem a bit odd, blame overbearing sunshine and endless horizons of arid wastes. Since a rational mind will neither conceive nor believe the startling truth. As gradual as the growth of a creeping vine, deep within the wilds of West Texas an unholy invasion begins. One changeling at a time.

During the summer of 1823, fortune called from the frontier of North America’s Great Plains. Alternately rowing or tromping along the Missouri River from Saint Louis through Fort Mandan and then beyond to Fort Henry and the Upper Missouri Breaks, countless traders gambled their lives to exploit the bounty of an untamed wilderness. All dreamed of easy profits. Herds of buffalo perished to feed them. Whole populations uprooted to serve them. Virulent diseases followed. Inevitably, a disturbed balance of nature collapsed. Then compensated. By fang and claw.

In a dystopian future, humankind has lost its love of violence. Peace has so long ruled the land that we have lost all means of confronting the resurgence of a genocidal revolution, which threatens to reduce human society to a state of chaos and anarchy. Only one defense stands between safety and oblivion. They are genetically modified warriors, bred and born to fight. They are Reapers.

Lovers reveal their most intimate and personal secrets on a breathless hiss, while murderous psychopaths use the same hushed voice to lure intended victims. Calamity often follows a violent shout, but we have more to fear from the occasional wee, wicked whisper. This is the medium of humanity’s most despicable tongue, for a quick whisper is the requisite mode of lies, the self-serving gloat of torment, the insidious confidence of slander, and the preferred protocol of psychosis.

He hates clowns. His wife thinks they're cute. When they unexpectedly inherit an unimaginable fortune complete with fast cars, fine furnishings, and multiple large houses, they learn nothing comes free. The one catch to their apparent good fortune is a clockworks harlequin. No need to wind it. It doesn't require batteries. This life-size clown runs on the power of black magic!

His heritage long since withered pitifully beneath shadows of boastful legend and shades of neglectful disregard, he will claim the familial patriarchy many years before his dying grandfather can fully prepare him for its dangers and demands. His reign will begin as it must end, with violence and a vast letting of blood.

A silly titmouse once sang sweetly to describe love as “a many-splendored thing”. Perhaps this is so for some. For others, love’s terrible spectacle shines in its many violent twists and unexpected turns. Each feckless angle of its affection or disaffection invariably leaves a disfiguring blemish that renders exquisite facets of character from alternating impacts of tragedy, disaster, triumph, and ecstasy. Steal a secret moment now and listen to your heart. It confides. Such twisted threads weave life’s strange tapestry. Of love, here find endless variations, and of lovers, nine.

Within each human being lingers a mischievous child, but each of us also cages an unformed primitive. We keep our individual id-monster within the tempered bars of civility, yet it remains our secret delight of a darkened, unobserved evening and we make it our fondest fetish at every available opportunity. No matter how mightily we struggle, history scrawls with endless tales of failed self-control, so each scandal both titillates and disgusts depending upon personal sensibilities. Indulge your inner-beast. How it roars! Such twisted threads weave life’s strange tapestry. Of abnormalities...

This is reality television run amok, daytime programming in the bloody Coliseum. Survival is the game and vast wealth the reward. As the number of players dwindle, the prize increases with the danger. Only one can win.

This is the true-to-life horror story of a boy born without a name into a lifetime of loss, suffering and sorrow. Bestially abused throughout his formative years, the boy has the appearance of a patchwork monster by the time he arrives at a notorious desert orphanage in Pecan County, Texas. Stoic and untouched by the damage done to him, the boy named Manga will only learn to live after he selflessly rescues a girl named Heaven.

While the vast majority perishes in quiet anonymity, a tour of any national monument quickly reveals countless names carved into stone. These names generally identify three classes of people; scribe, conquered, and conqueror. Indeed, if anything, life is an endless series of contests, large and small, but these stone-graven records typically ignore the latter for the former. Pause a reflective moment to ponder the future – anticipate all the boastful elite to be immortalized there. Seeking grandeur in concrete, granite, and marble, they will tell. Such twisted threads weave life’s ...

Rascals, rapscallions, villains, and varlets; all terms of a bygone era intended to describe the guy in the black hat, that perverse character of low virtue and strayed morality who forever ties the distressed damsel to cold, steel rails. Gasp! Within fictional fantasies, they are always guys and damsels, and they must wear black. In reality, we still mostly read about bad ‘guys’, but the women tend to fight back now, often with devastating effect. Tonight, the devil laces thigh-high boots over fence-net stockings before taking a turn through town. Be warned and beware. Such twisted ...

Champions come in all shapes and forms. The same is true of cowards. In fact, most notable acts of heroism are not the results of well-considered, carefully laid plans. Rather, these are often spontaneous yet deliberate demonstrations of selflessness occasionally on display when normal human beings must confront life-threatening risk. Take a deep, calming breath now before you dare gaze into the face of death. Trembling, heed its heckling catcalls. Such twisted threads weave life’s strange tapestries. Of redemptions failed or delivered, here find disturbing variations, and of heroes, none.

He is the scourge of the night, every bachelorette's worst nightmare. He has already killed many single young ladies, and he will certainly kill again. Tonight, he lingers outside the house of his next intended victim. Watching. Waiting. Every matchmaker claims there is someone for everyone. This is what happens when like evils meet.