Land of 10,000 Nightmares: Minnesota Tales of Terror
Joe Pawlowski Publishing presents Minnesota, as far from Lake Wobegon as you can possibly get. Few know it, but Minnesota is the epicenter of supernatural activity in America. Possibly in the world. Don’t let our nice-guy image fool you.

True, much of the state consists of pleasant folks going about their days in good-natured humor, but beneath our surface lies a separate realm, linked by portals to other worlds that let in all sorts of demons. A place where monster crabs invade, and baneful lunatics prowl; where mad scientists conduct villainous experiments, and children pray in their beds at night to be spared from the terror that lurks below their neighborhood park. Even the pristine Boundary Waters Canoe Area has been known to cough up a monstrosity or two.

This is a land of shadowy phantoms and death-dealing cults, where bizarre conspiracies come to life. It’s where corporations are taken over by wicked shape-shifters. And you’d be lucky if that pounding on the cabin door is only a hungry black bear.
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpt:
The Potter and the Clay
John had great big waterproof boots on. They were crappy boots, as they were no longer waterproof at all, in fact leaving his feet in a more prune-like condition (the effect of dry-rotted vinyl) than if he had not worn shoes at all. But being a man of deep superstitions, he would wear the boots with the same convictions in which he wore his Green Bay Packers Official Team Jersey inside-out every time the Packers played. Because the first time it had happened—purely by accident—his beloved team had won the 1967 Super Bowl. The wearing of the inside-out jersey didn’t necessarily guarantee a win, but he knew he would never forgive himself if he gave up on the magic of the jersey, thus sealing a loss for his team.

The second time he’d murdered a dirty filthy whore (wearing the boots), deep in the wilderness of the Superior National Forest—more specifically in the Boundary Waters region—he’d pulled it off without a hitch. He attributed his success to the boots, not to the painstaking months of planning he’d spent finding God’s chosen victim and God’s perfect location in which to carry out His Holy Plan to rid the world of evil (beginning in Northeast Minnesota). This line of reasoning, the magic of the boots, didn’t make sense, but neither did God’s Holy Plan sometimes. [read more in the anthology]

Midsummer Madness 2023 Bindweed Anthology
Heavenly Flower Publishing and Leilanie Stewart present a creative Bindweed anthology featuring poetry and fiction that is experimental, offbeat and one of a kind. 

Enjoy this compilation of poetry and fiction by authors: Lee Slonimsky, Gordon Scapens, Eugene Stevenson, Patrick T. Reardon, Joan McNerney, Adrian Harte, Mary Anne Abdo, Christopher Barnes, James Babbs, Joseph Farley, Dominik Slusarczyk, Marc Carver, Clive Donovan, Todd Matson, Robert Beveridge, Gary Beck, James Bates, Julie Sampson, Ian Mullins, Michael Lee Johnson, Robin Wright, Phil Vernon, Phil Huffy, John Grey, Matt Dennison, Rick Hartwell, Kay Kestner, RC deWinter, Cordelia Hanemann, Siobhan Ward, Jeff Gallagher, Jack Heslop, Roger Bloor, Laura Phillips, Stuart McKenzie, Hilary Watson, J.M. Summers, Anthony Dolphin, Callum J. McCready, Nigel Ford, Olivier Cousin, Ivars Balkits, Gregory Hill, Bob Carlton, Barry O'Farrell, Sean Padraic McCarthy, Christopher T. Dabrowski, Amy Finlay, Lisa H. Owens, Sean McNicholl and DJ Tyrer.
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpt:
A Story Told a Thousand Times
She watched the man wearing a fitted t-shirt that proclaimed him to be The Hot Dog King shove one hot dog after another into his unhinged maw, barely taking a breath between bites. He turned her stomach with his engorged belly and sweat drenched eyebrows, which reminded her of two wooly black tent caterpillars. She remembered there being an invasion of those wretched pests in her neighborhood when she was younger. The Homeowners’ Association had to call in the experts to prune the limbs housing the writhing silk-webbed tents, which affected every single tree to some extent. At the end of the pruning session, the tree-people arranged the tainted limbs they'd cut down into a teepee formation and set the squirming little critters, trapped within their tents, on fire. She had been upset by the thought of setting fire to a living creature, but her father had explained how they had to be proactive and kill them before they defoliated and damaged the stately trees beyond repair. Otherwise, they would spread like a plague, the difference being the caterpillars killed trees instead of people.
​
Cookie liked trees, particularly pecan trees (she was nuts about nuts), more than she liked most humans. Especially ones who overindulged on animal by-products. She couldn't hide the blatant disdain on her face—gagging a little at The Hot Dog King’s greasy chin—and as if he'd read her mind, it was at that precise second he glanced up from his rapidly dwindling pile of dogs and locked eyes with her. She flinched at the intimacy of his stare and was taken aback at her immediate visceral reaction to his deep turquoise eyes. Being a law-abiding citizen, Cookie had never been tasered, but she imagined it to feel something like the electric jolt that traveled through her body under his gaze, and she delicately crumpled to the ground.
# # #
Tank noticed her right away. The way she hovered on the edge of the crowd, watchful like a curious kitten, spinning a lock of her long ebony hair around her index finger. [read more in the anthology]

Galaxy #10: An Inner Circle Writers' Group Anthology
​Haunted worlds of crystal, androids with feelings, apocalyptic scenes, dragons, princesses, enchantment, strange time machines and more, it’s all here in the latest Galaxy anthology.

Featuring the work of the Birch Twins, Jim Bates, Mark Pearce, Justin Jones, Jack Wilkos, Lisa H. Owens, Linda Sparks, Michal Reiben, Susanne Thomas, DJ Elton, David Painter, Tony J. Fyler and C.L. Steele, with two special bonus features from legendary authors: ‘The Smallest Dragonboy’ by Anne McCaffrey and ‘Prize Ship’ by Philip K. Dick.
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpt:
The Odd Trial of the Gaffer
“Speak now, for to hold your tongue is to condemn this boy to death. What say you, my constituents? Will you execute the gaffer?” Father Yosemite slowly ran his titanium fingernails down the gaffer’s cheeks, leaving behind the requisite deeply etched mazes. The bloody hallmarks of shame.

“The floor is now open for discussion,” he spread his arms wide—a humble man not afraid of discord—then pointed to the focal point of the chamber. A slab of granite retracted to reveal the Open Floor, a natural phenomenon, burping and expelling noxious fumes, around which the Judgement Chamber had been constructed.

“Please, forgive my error,” the gaffer begged, his tears winding through twin mazes of coagulating blood as they flowed down his cheeks. “Bid me freedom, my Lord. I can do better. Be a better…” his words trailed off.
​
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. To go against Father Yosemite, defending the gaffer’s cause, was to invite the father’s wrath. Waves of dry heat wafted up from the pit, accompanying the noxious fumes and bringing the temperature in the chamber to unbearable levels, thus reminding the converts of the fate that awaited the gaffer should no one step forward to champion his cause. [read more in the anthology]

​

Run Rabbit Run
Black Hare Press and Minions of the Hell Hare present a dark drabble anthology filled with bunny butchers, lunatic lagomorphs, cut-throat cottontails, evil Easter bunnies, poisonous pikas, and all manner of arduous alliterative animal anecdotes. They queue. With gaunt faces and bloodshot eyes, weary feet trudge slowly. The line snakes down the hill, back and forth between the Hell Fires, all eyes on the stooped shoulders in front. Silence, but for quiet groans. He watches. Three crimson eyes glow eerily in the dark; all that can be seen of the black Hell Hare waiting in the shadows. Trembling hands lift their offering to the altar, reverently placing it upon the last. Some even shed a single tear. His soul aches. For he knows he is the maker of dreams, but also the breaker of hearts.
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpts: 
A Macabre Easter Tradition:
Sweat poured down Jim’s cheeks and his bloodshot eyes shifted between the metal folding chairs and the giant furry paw operating the record player. 

Only one seat available. 

Two participants sprinted past twelve occupied seats, transitioning to a crawl as they rounded the corner nearest chair thirteen.

The furry paw teased—fake-lifted the needle as Bill launched himself at the final chair... [read more in the anthology]

Hare-y Roadside Assistance:
“John, what’s that?” John placed another lug-nut in Peg’s palm, glancing away from the pancaked tire currently ruining his honeymoon, to see a wall of dust bearing down on them.

“Maybe a tumbleweed,” he rotated the tire-iron, “WHOA…JUMP!” They rocketed over the tailgate, narrowly escaping an olio of stampeding wildlife—jackrabbits bringing up the rear. [read more in the anthology]

​Spring Cleaning:
Spring arrived with an explosion of pollen and Mabel’s sinuses thrummed. She tossed back an antihistamine with last night’s whiskey, then time to declutter.
 
She activated Dust-Bun-E, the robotic monstrosity laden with hoses and brushes. Guaranteed to Clean Everything from A to Z!
 
Yeah… Her home was a disaster and she’d soon disprove Hare, Incorporated’s ridiculous claims. [read more in the anthology]

Galaxy #9 
​Grant Hudson and Clarendon House Publishing present artificial intelligence seen from a new perspective, alien visitations with unusual consequences, post-apocalyptic worlds with a difference, quantum entanglement, the devastating effects of time travel, wheeling and dealing in space freight, stories with unexpected shifts and mystical curves, plus an essay on the nature of science fiction and fantasy and the first appearance of Buck Rogers in a novella by American science fiction writer, Philip Francis Nowlan — it’s all here in Galaxy # 9, another of the splendid and eye-opening series from Clarendon House.

Featuring the work of (in order of appearance): Tony Fyler, Jim Bates, Jean Smith, A.L. Paradiso, David Painter, C. L. Steele, the Birch Twins, Lisa H. Owens, Tim Law, Raphael Merriman, DJ Elton and Michal Reiben and the story ‘Armageddon—2419 A.D.’ by Philip Francis Nowlan.
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpt:
The Last Storyteller:
I want to tell you a story. I'm not going to lie; no matter how many times I tell this tale of regret, it still chokes me up a bit.
 
You know how sometimes your mind stumbles upon a memory so raw it takes your breath away? You revisit the memory from different angles, searching for a way to tweak a detail here or there. To change it enough to make it hurt less, wishing for a redo.
 
If only I could go back in time…
 
The former one-room schoolhouse, converted into the disjointed whimsical home in which my sister-in-law Marie and her family lived, was a whirlwind of activity the morning of the surprise party to commemorate my mother-in-law, Annie’s, 75th birthday. The celebration was the brainchild of her husband, Zeke, for he was ill, and his days were numbered. The relatives did not disappoint. Arriving from near and far—via planes, trains and automobiles—we made it happen. Made it an unforgettable day for Annie and most importantly, a legendary last hurrah for Zeke. One for the books.
 
No one was exempt from performing a preparatory task while waiting for the guest of honor to arrive. The kids were outside setting up the croquet course for the brutal game that would later ensue, while the adults followed orders given by Marie, the organizer. I was tasked with putting lobster salad, a grotesque combination of delicate lobster and gobs of disgusting mayonnaise, into soft buns that looked suspiciously like hotdog rolls.

“What a waste of lobster,” I grumbled to aunts and uncles and cousins—as they scampered around in varying degrees of panic—and snuck off to fix a margarita. Harried activity surrounded me as I quietly sipped my drink while creating a haphazard tower of lobster rolls on a melamine platter. I had just situated that final roll on the tray with a flourish, when whoever was assigned to man the upstairs window overlooking the driveway shouted, “THEY’RE HERE,” and that message was repeated throughout the house, carrying through to the backyard.

Hordes of relatives appeared out of the woodwork, it seemed, and gravitated towards the kitchen. We heard groaning and jostling in the front entryway and a frustrated relative murmured, Christ, as a folded wheelchair scraped through the narrow doorway. [read more in the anthology]

Love Me, Love Me Not: Dark Tales of Love, Lust, and Lunacy
Black Hare Press Dark Drabbles presents: Just in time for Valentine's Day and all the nonsense that ensues, Dark Drabbles is pleased to present dark of Love, lust, and lunacy.

Have you ever been so obsessed with someone that thoughts of them envelop everything in your life, fill your every waking moment with desire, permeate your dreams…make you crazier than a sack of cats?

Have you ever been so devout in your love for another that all rational thought goes out of the window and you’d do everything in your power to keep them close, no matter what? Maybe keep them locked away…? Kill for them…?
Kill them…?

When love or lust hungers you, what would you do?
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpts:
The Hunt
The view of the Ferris Wheel was spectacular from the moonlit rooftop, especially when watching through his telescope. Sometimes it was quick and sometimes it could take months; but one thing was certain, he’d always find fresh love.
He’d focused on the girl with the yellow braids for a while. She was terrified of heights, it was evident, yet there she was again—white-knuckling the safety bar...

Apartment 609
I saw you in Central Park last spring. You sat alone on a boulder eating Chinese take-out, the sun kissing your face and breeze stroking your auburn hair. It was then I knew.
I must have you.

You didn't notice my shadowy figure trailing behind like a love-sick pup. You didn't know I loitered nearby as you entered your code, watched you step inside—drawing nearer still—as you opened your mailbox. 

Cupid's Last Delivery
Midnight. Cupid arrived at Greg's girlfriend's house—his final delivery on loves' special day. He embraced the role. Wore the bunchy toga-diaper. Apple-red cheeks. And though she snickered, Auntie May curled his hair.

Cupid arrived in his busted Yugo. Read Greg's order. Grabbed the boombox and his hunting crossbow. On the stoop, he shifted the toga-diaper. Rang the doorbell till Greg's girlfriend... 

Nothing Says Love Like a Handmade Card
Thine Graffiti Artiste filmed the creation of his masterpiece. He adjusted camera placement, then painted, using wide masterful strokes, stopping periodically to carve and sculpt with the cleaver.

“BE STILL!” he roared at his writhing canvas—former lovers—mangled and nailed to the back-alley wall of an abandoned Hallmark Shop... [read more in the anthology]
​

Year Four: Dark Moments and Patreon Anthology:
​Black Hare Press and Patreon present a cumulation of all the nano-tales published in the Dark Moments online archive, and all the tales published on Patreon during 2022.

As a champion of emerging writers, you'll always find works by debut authors in our publications, as well new pieces from established and best-selling authors. We hope you enjoy the hard work that has been put into these tiny tales.
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpt:
[Night of the Killer Flamingos Series]
Birds Just Wanna Have Fun
The sky was rippled pink, and the streets painted red. They left without warning, as quickly as they'd appeared. A cloud of pink feathers marred the sunset, drifting to settle atop palm trees and cookie-cutter homes.

Neighbors gathered, mesmerized as the sky filled with giant flailing birds. They were awkward as they swooped uncomfortably close to upturned faces.

"Do flamingos migraaate…AAAARH," a woman inquired, ending in a muffled scream.

The birds attacked in unison, gouging out eyes and peeling back cheeks and lips. Then they alighted on tiled roofs—perching one-legged—their beady eyes blinking at the chaos they'd created. 

WTF: An Anthology of Horror Volume 2:
[Warning: Sexually Explicit Contents]
TroyAnthony Schermer and Savage Realms Press present a truly disturbing collection of gruesome tales definitely not for the faint of heart!

• A man’s decision to care for his ailing parents quickly turns into a nightmare
• Two friends working at a chocolate factory find new and interesting ways to pass the time
• A man purchases a sex robot promising the ultimate in human realism
• It’s a match literally made in hell when two of history’s most notorious serial killers end up as roommates in the afterlife
• A woman returns to her grandparents’ home after a funeral, only to discover a dark and terrible family secret
• and many more

WTF is a terrifying excursion into the twisted minds of authors Matt Martinek, Frederick Pangbourne, Lisa H. Owens, Josh Strnad, Franklin Phillip, Josh Poole, Thomas Stewart, Gregg Chamberlain, Garry Engkent, Paul D. Coombs, John Chambers, Troy Massie, TroyAnthony Schermer, Jacek Wilkos, Michael Paige, Jim Rheasons, Ken Goldman, Tim Law, Radar DeBoard, Matthew Weber, and R.L. Blackburne
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpts:
The Potter and the Clay
John had great big waterproof boots on. They were crappy boots, as they were no longer waterproof at all, in fact leaving his feet in a more prune-like condition (the effect of dry-rotted vinyl) than if he had not worn shoes at all. But being a man of deep superstitions, he would wear the boots with the same convictions in which he wore his Green Bay Packers Official Team Jersey inside-out every time the Packers played. Because the first time it had happened—purely by accident—his beloved team had won the 1967 Super Bowl. The wearing of the inside-out jersey didn’t necessarily guarantee a win, but he knew he would never forgive himself if he gave up on the magic of the jersey, thus sealing a loss for his team.
​
The second time he’d murdered a dirty filthy whore (wearing the boots), deep in the wilderness of the Superior National Forest—more specifically in the Boundary Waters area—he’d pulled it off without a hitch. He attributed his success to the boots, not to the painstaking months of planning he’d spent finding God’s chosen victim and God’s perfect location in which to carry out His Holy Plan to rid the world of evil (beginning in Northeast Minnesota). This line of reasoning, the magic of the boots, didn’t make sense, but neither did God’s Holy Plan sometimes. [read more in the anthology]

The Art of Sculpting a Face
Rayna sat in front of the mirror removing her makeup and wondered who she would discover underneath. She tossed the wad of towelettes, covered in blackest-black Long Lash Mascara and deepest beige CoverGirl liquid foundation and bronzing powder, into the Hello Kitty trash can alongside the scuffed table that doubled as desk and vanity. She stared with great disdain at the face in the beveled glass mirror. Without the skillful application of foundation and bronzer, her naked face appeared hideously bloated. Father said she was fat; therefore, her face lacked structure. It lacked the stately definition of her mother's strong proud nose and contours of her sharp cheekbones. A face that defined their heritage. Their people.
Father’s surgical tools, tools she’d taken out of his medical kit while he and Mother slept peacefully in the oversized master suite downstairs, were arranged neatly on a stainless-steel tray in descending order based on the size of each blade. ​[read more in the anthology]

Galaxy #7: Grant Hudson and Clarendon House Publishing present exploding spaceships, time-loops, faeries and aliens, mysterious genetic projects, distant worlds buzzing with strange creatures, fantasies in the mind and in reality, trips to the Moon and beyond, these stories are the essence of the genres of science fiction and fantasy and will be a joy to read for fans of those genres.

Featuring the work of (in order of appearance): The Birch Twins, Michal Reiben,Linda Sparks, Mark Pearce, Ann Stolinsky, Elizabeth Brown, Gabriella Balcom, Peggy Gerber, Lisa H. Owens, David Painter, RLM Cooper, Raphael Merriman, A. L. Paradiso, DJ Elton and Alexander Marshall along with a classic story from the famed H. G. Wells.
~
Lisa H. Owens excerpt:
Be My Frankenstein
I didn’t want a man around the house, but truth be told, I needed one. I needed a man to perform such tasks as removing the lid from a jar of pickles, or on occasion, to carry the 50-pound bag of salt from the shed to the swimming pool, the aged inground pool that went mostly unused these days. Once the kids were grown and gone and the husband on permanent holiday with a gal named Tina, the salt-pool had become one big headache. If I thought too long about the big picture, the one leaning against the dining room table that needed to be hung above the mantel, I felt the beginnings of a headache, the type that started behind the eyes before becoming a full-blown migraine.

​I really needed a man. Not a real man. [read more in the anthology]

The Gift:
​The final publication by The Late Steven Lester Carr (November 8, 1954 - November 8, 2022 - Taken too soon. RIP, my mentor and friend).
Sweeycat Press presents: 200 international writers and poets provide their diverse written gifts, views, stories, poems, and memoirs about gifts given at the holidays, or in general. These are their gifts to you. Use caution when unwrapping said gifts. Sometimes you may get more than you bargained for.
~
Lisa H. Owens excerpt:
Chuck
Bobbie’s very best friend was a dummy. It wasn’t because this friend was dumb (though he had done some pretty dumb things but also some amazing things), but because he was a literal dummy. His hands and head were molded plastic and his body was muslin stuffed with cotton batting. His eyes were fixed—painted on—and instead of a tuxedo and top hat, he wore a cheesy khaki suit with a striped tie and black velveteen shoes that were sewn on. He was the less expensive version of the famous Charlie McCarthy model she requested for Christmas, but since he was out of her parents’ price range, she received the other model, still a bit pricey, but Mommy and Daddy made it work by cutting back on groceries and drawing from what little savings they had.
​
On Christmas morning (also her eighth birthday), Bobbie spied a large box under the tree wrapped in the usual fashion—half of the gift in birthday paper and the other half wrapped like a Christmas explosion had gone off—and she shouted with glee. Judging by the size and shape of the package, she was sure it was her tuxedoed Charlie and ripped off the paper with anticipation. Lifting the box lid, she saw it wasn’t the ventriloquist doll she wanted, and she grew quiet, but then Charlie’s hinged jaw drew back, his mouth slightly parted in a mischievous grin, and she decided he would do nicely. She called him Chuck. [read more in the anthology]

Unwelcomed: Stories of Hauntings and Possessions
​ Stephanie J. Bardy and Zombie Works Publishing presents an anthology of horror, silliness, and a little bit of fact.
Ghost stories have been a part of our culture since people gathered around a fire in the dark. Telling tales to scare ourselves and those around us, making light of things that go bump in the night, has been a coping mechanism for the things we do not understand for centuries. There has always been something about the dark that stirs up the imagination. It pulls at those questions that, in the light of day, seem benign and silly. The urge to explore a haunted building has been a draw for many people and has also been the downfall of many.
But in the dark, the thought of a ghost can make even the most innocuous sound seem sinister. Was that door creaking, the house settling, or was it something else?
~
Lisa H. Owens excerpt:
The Haunting of a Cracked Window:
Most Tuesdays—presented with a snap of his stubby fingers, as if the idea had just entered his mind—Maya's disgusting boss, Mr. McGillicuddy, asked her to work late. It was code for “time to put out or get out,” or what Maya referred to as Touchy-Feely Tuesday, but only in her head. No one wanted to hear about that “me too” shit anymore. She dealt with it the best she could. She needed this job, for now. Her rent was late again and an eviction imminent. It was almost midnight when the bus finally dropped her off at her stop. The end of the line. The last in an endless series of stops. She shuffled home with the slumped-shouldered defeat of the deeply weary, and a hot bath to wash away the essence of McGillicuddy, was the second thing on her mind. Firstly, she wondered if tonight was the night. The night she'd find an eviction notice taped to her front door.
Maya looked at the house next door as she walked by. The pale moon-face of the old woman in the upper window was there, framed by bedraggled lace curtains, her face distorted by a crack in the glass. She'd been dead for ages, yet she was always there—watching—illuminated by a streetlight on the corner of Oceanside and Main. Maya thought about how great it would be to have nothing to do except stare out a window. It sounded relaxing. If she followed through on taking that bottle of pills, the pair could spend eternity staring at each other across the gravel driveway separating the two houses. [read more in the anthology]

 Out of Time: True Paranormal Encounters
Timber Ghost Press presents: An anthology filled with true ghost stories. Real encounters with the supernatural. Are ghosts real? The question has haunted us for ages. Almost every culture in the world has tales and stories of the unknown things that lurk in our periphery. Contained within are 26 true stories about ghosts, poltergeists, haunted houses, unexplained events, and possessed items. You’ll find stories about strange noises, objects that vanish and reappear in odd places, dolls that refuse to sit still, haunted battlefields, abandoned castles, and much more! But beware: after reading this anthology, you might just start believing in the things that are trapped out of time.
~
Lisa H. Owens' true ghostly encounters excerpt:
The Hall with Seven Doors 
It wasn’t the fault of the ghosts that the house didn’t sell. The market took a downward turn around the time we listed with a local real estate agent. A year from the listing date, a young realtor and his wife bought the roaring twenties craftsman style home. Like us, they planned to live there, in the back bedroom, and use the front portion for their business. Then, down the road a piece, they would use the money they were able to accumulate while not paying for an office, to purchase land in west Texas. The plan was sound; however, they didn’t know what went on in the back bedroom at night.

It was always 3:13 a.m. The witching hour? Seems I read that somewhere—spirits being active around 3 a.m.—or perhaps it was in a spooky movie. The first time it happened, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on awakened me. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand (3:13 a.m.) before getting up to head to the bathroom. Like the realtor and his wife, we were temporarily (for three months) residing in the back living quarters of our business while waiting for tenants to vacate the house we had purchased, our forever home. [read more in the anthology]

Journeys II: Out of This World
Elaine Marie Carnegie-Padgett, Kerri Jesmer and Stone Pony Publishing present: This Anniversary Edition of short stories and poetry which has an All Star cast of writers that will take you on adventures that test your endurance and are certain to haunt your dreams! Join these twenty-nine talented and diverse authors for the “Journey of your life!”
Contributing Authors:
DAWN DEBRAAL, JACK MULCAHY, D. A. RATLIFF, DAVID BOWMORE, KERRI JESMER, TIM LAW,
P.A. O’NEIL, MIKE TURNER, STEVE CARR, SHILOH OSHEEN, LADY C. E. MILLER, MADELEINE MCDONALD, DONNA MCCABE, BAIDHA FEROQ, LISA H. OWENS, GABRIELLA BALCOM, AMRITA VALAN, QUINN COOPER, JOHN DRUDGE, JIM BATES, A. L. PARADISO, SNIGDHA AGRAWAL, PUNEET KUMAR, SULTANA RAZA, T. E. SANDERS, C. L. STEELE, J. D. EDWARDS, NABEELA, and BINOD DAWADI.
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpts to one poem, one drabble and two short stories:

Murray the Martian's Mission:
The Martian named Murray
packed in a hurry,
cramming in snacks like Red Fungi-Curry
and a dog-eared book by Ray Bradbury.
 
Then he zipped up his Murple-Bag-Along.
 
He and Big-Boss had a yip-yip,
about Murray’s upcoming Earth-trip
and contraband he’d sneak on his spaceship
that would enhance the menu at Dot-Dip.
 
Where Murray was assistant-to-the-assistant manager. [read more in the anthology]

Wanderlust:
The couple considered themselves old-school nomads with a twist. Periodically, they’d open an ancient atlas to blindly dot a finger on their next adventure.

They camped in the midst of ghost towns and bygone trade-centers, suiting-up to sift through rubble, collecting odd treasures.

Or, they might point Rusty Rocket’s headlights toward the North Star... [read more in the anthology]

Reaching for Stars:
What if you were given a chance to start your life all over again? Bob tapped at the jagged scar on his forehead, mulling the words over in his head before jotting them in the spiral notebook he kept on hand. His transformational journey began two years earlier—when he’d quit drinking. It was true, what they said about a person hitting rock bottom before truly committing to the hell that was sobriety. Death was certainly rock bottom. Before he had even turned thirty, he’d experienced birth and death and all the shit that happened in between.

The night he died, he remembered punching some poor, nameless, faceless guy in the nose before he stormed out of Scooby’s Drinks and More Drinks to drunkenly fall into the driver’s seat of Gizmo, his unreliable hunk-a-junk AMC Gremlin. Unfortunately for him, for the first time in a long time, Gizmo started up on the first try and he swerved through the crowded parking lot, running over a DON’T DRINK & DRIVE sign on his way out. The next thing he knew, he awakened to crushing pain. He felt the grittiness of road base and loose asphalt through the fabric of his worn-out Git ‘er Done t-shirt and stared up at a starlit sky. [read more in the anthology]

An Endless Christmas Eve:
Marty sang along in his resounding bass. He was tone-deaf, but it was one of the things Juliet said she loved about him. He didn't really believe it. Even so, he smiled and sang with gusto.

“We wish you a merry Christ…[static-static-static]…wish you a…[static-static]…Christmas and a happy”…[static-static].

Marty sighed as he switched off the radio. The signal had been in and out.

Since …

He couldn't remember when. Silence was good. He should be home soon. Marty rubbed his eyes and cracked his window, allowing a blast of frigid air to shock him awake as he shivered, staring at the barely illuminated triangle of snow-coated road ahead. It was getting blustery out there. Blustery. He chuckled. That was a word he hadn't heard in a long time.

He whistled—anything to stay awake—as he swiveled his head left and right squinting into the night attempting to get his bearings. The snowbanks alongside the road were deepening and a strong sense of déjà vu overcame him. He shuddered. It all felt so familiar. This abandoned stretch of highway. This storm. He rolled the window back up. He was freezing. And still tired. It seemed this trip would never end. An endless Christmas Eve. [read more in the anthology]

The Animal Cage: Under the Big Top:
Black Ink Fiction presents: Over 40 international authors present the darker side of furry friends in cages. Twisty, scary tales [tails] await the reader. The zoo is a favorite family destination for so many people. Seeing exotic animals you wouldn’t be able to see without traveling to far away lands, feeding creatures ten times your size from the safety of the other side of a fence or cage, it’s all so fun…until things go terribly wrong. Malfunctioning fences, disgruntled employees, escaping animals, horrifying accidents—things we never think about while smiling and taunting tigers, elephants, gorillas, and more from behind a glass window.

Maybe reading these bite-sized chunks of terror will make you think twice before booking your next zoo trip. Black Ink Fiction’s Animal Cage features over 40 international authors set out to show you the darker side of our furry friends in cages.
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpts:
Jambo's Revenge [part-one]
The animals formulated a plan, subtly communicating across varying natural habitats separated by electric fences. By virtue of superior intellect, Jambo, the aged bull elephant, was elected leader. He had a vendetta. His hide was riddled with scars inflicted—after hours–by Zookeeper. Furthermore, Jambo's lengthy trunk combined with his pen's proximity allowed access to the main breaker.

When Jambo flipped the switch, killing the power, the animals gathered by the employee's entrance. Like clockwork, Zookeeper cracked his mighty whip before entering the code. Talons and jaws descended upon him until all that remained was his right hand clutching the whip. 

Unique Opportunity: BYO Animals! [part-two]
Have you dreamed of owning your very own zoo?
Once in a lifetime opportunity to become the proud owner of this 100-acre zoo/wildlife habitat at 30% below fair-market value! Clients must prequalify before scheduling an appointment. Call 555-555-5555 for more exciting details!

*Disclaimer: Rumors of said property being haunted by the spirits of possessed animals, who were euthanized following a brutal attack resulting in the longtime zookeeper's death, are hearsay. The current owner will not be held liable for unintended injuries or death. [including but not limited to inexplicable/spontaneous dismemberment, lacerations, punctures, forceful hair removal, drowning or defenestration]

Coming Soon: New Exhibit at The Zoo
Doctor Tinker was a workaholic. By day, he counseled criminally insane psychopaths in The Asylum. Evenings were reserved for experiments in The Zoo. His commute was short as they were located on opposing ends of a wretched facility dangerously close to Chernobyl.
​
Privileged clients would gladly pay an arm and a leg to view cages and aquariums housing an array of mutant wildlife—the results of Doctor Tinker's surgical enhancements of the radiation mutations already present in their DNA structuring.
Soon, he'd unveil his masterpiece. A garish contortion of mutant beast, psychotic brain and the sun-kissed limbs of wealthy clients. 
[read more horror drabbles in the anthology]

ZooAnthology
Sweetycat Press and Steve Lester Carr present: 203 short fiction and non-fiction stories, poems and memoirs from writers worldwide about something most everyone is familiar with: the animals in our lives.
~
Lisa H. Owens' Excerpt: 
When Someone's Trash Becomes Your Treasure
​Jolene was a modern-day cowgirl, juggling the raising of a teenage son, a sales’ business, being a landlord and managing the family’s fifty-acre horse ranch while her husband commuted 100 round-trip miles daily to a corporate job.
She wore many hats.
She traveled in a twenty-year-old Winnebago motorhome, a half dozen Jack Russell Terriers in tow, to hawk horse supplements and western riding gear at equestrian events, traveling only as far as old Winnie could go on six balding tires.
Scattered haphazardly around her property were several outbuildings: one a barn filled with APHA show horses and the others stocked with necessities to raise a menagerie of livestock which included horses, cows, goats and a donkey named James. [read more in the anthology]

Poetic #7
Clarendon House Publications and Grant P. Hudson presents: The effort of this series of Poetica anthologies is to contribute to the creation of a market for poetry throughout the calendar year. The idea is that, by providing a regular, published venue for poetry from all over the world, poems as media for the communication of important and heartfelt ideas and reflections will gain in respect and become more widely acknowledged. Voices will be heard; channels will be opened.

Featured Authors in order of appearance: Justin Wiggins, Catherine A. MacKenzie, Michal Reiben, Kelli J Gavin, Suranjit Gain, Dawn DeBraal, Lesley Mace, metaphysical poet Andrew Marvell, Gabriella Balcom, Lisa H. Owens, Linda Sparks, Ikechukwu Obiorah, Jim Bates, Bobbi Sinha-Morey, Tony Fyler, Thomas R. Bates,Dr Chanchal Sarin, Richard Rose, Linda M. Crate, The Birch Twins, DJ Elton,Sultana Raza, Mike Turner, Medha Godbole Singh, Tim Law, Trish Bailey, Festus Nwachukwu, Shawn M. Klimek, Aminath Neena, Michelle Chermaine Ramos, Craig Tickner and Kerri Jesmer, with a special essay about Philip Larkin.
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpt:
Was it Just a Dream?
Last night I had a dream.
​
It started out nice, like dreams do, but suddenly turned into a nightmare. 

It began at a party, where I languished in a quiet corner with a drink, tucking in for the show. 
 
You were impressive, the way you worked the room. Exchanging pleasantries. Handing out disingenuous praise, your hand lingering a little too long on the shoulders, or hands, or lower backs of your toys for the night.
 
You noticed me sipping my drink—watching—in awe of how well you controlled the monster within.
 
Your mask slipped—for just a moment—and I gasped at the darkness behind your eyes. The endless abyss behind a shiny exterior. [read more in the anthology]

Jewels in the Queens Crown: Best of the Best: Sweetycat Press Presents: the anthology,  Jewels in the Queen's Crown, which includes the 171 award winning prose works and poems selected by a jury from the Sweetycat Press anthologies Around the World: Landscapes & Cityscapes, A Love Letter (or Poem) To . . ., Stories & Poems in the Song of Life, Beautiful, and Movement: Our Bodies in Action. These prose works and poems are the best of the best. Included is the Ruby Award winning story, Bella-Strange, first published in, Beautiful: In the Eye of the Beholder, by Lisa H. Owens.
~
Lisa H. Owens' Ruby Award-Winning excerpt:
Bella-Strange
Mother said she’d been the most gorgeous baby she had ever laid eyes upon, with downy golden hair and perfect Cupid’s-bow lips. She named her Bella, a musical word that means beautiful, but as Bella grew, her features matured in an abnormal way. Her ears were misshapen and her forehead too broad and her eyes the palest shade of ice-blue. Mother was ashamed of Bella’s appearance and grew impatient with her naturally inquisitive nature, telling her to shut up and quit asking inane questions. Grumbling how she regretted giving her the name Bella because she most definitely was not beautiful. She was flawed and ugly. Her mother took every opportunity to remind Bella that she was disfigured, stupid and possibly the least interesting person she'd ever met. Bella embraced Mother’s proclamation and thus became the least interesting child that anyone had ever had the great misfortune to meet.

She quit smiling and spoke only when spoken to. She combed her glorious mane of golden hair—her best feature—in such a way to disguise her odd ears and endless forehead. She was the strange kid in school, eating her sack lunches at a back table reserved for the weirdest of the weirdos. Even the weirdos gave her a wide berth, scooting their chairs to the opposite end of the table. In third grade, she was known as Bella-Strange. They even made up a song about her. The song became a jump-rope ditty. A rip roaringly funny jingle, they thought.
​
Bella-Strange is her name.
Bella-Strange, she has mange.
Watch out for her ears and eyes.
You’ll get cooties; then you’ll die.
How many cooties does she have?
One, two, three, four… [read more in the anthology]

Galaxy #5: Clarendon House Publishing presents: An Inner Circle Writers' Group Science Fiction and Fantasy Anthology where
terrifying alien worlds, androids developing emotions, insurance scams in space, sinister futures, spectacular other planets, phantoms, dreams and fantastic drama — all the things that lovers of science fiction and fantasy desire are within, told colourfully, poetically and powerfully by writers from all over Earth.

Featuring the work of (in order of appearance) the Birch Twins, Lesley Mace, Raphael Merriman, Elizabeth Brown, Michal Reiben, Catherine A. MacKenzie, Linda Sparks, Lisa H. Owens, Mark Kuglin, Mike Adamson, Jim Bates, Marlene Fabian Stiles, Susannah J. Bell,CL Steele, Sultana Raza, Herbie Wilson, A.L. Paradiso, Gabriella Balcom, Alexander Marshall and Charles Dickens.
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpt:
When It's Your Birthday and All You Want is a Hot Dog on a Stick:
Freakin’ weird little alien walked up to me while I was standing in line at the food court Hot Dog on a Stick located in Southdale Center Mall—where Burlington Coat Factory was the anchor tenant—and socked me right in the junk.

First, I grunted.

Then I involuntarily doubled over, bumping my chin on one of the shithead’s bulbous rubbery antennae in the exact shade of blue used by Blue Man Group…which got me wondering if he was their bizarre cousin from a distant planet.

My tongue shot out like a rocket, catching a teardrop before it could hit the linoleum floor; and once I could breathe again, I slowly rose to my full height, 6-feet 4-inches, menacing in an adolescent Ichabod Crane sort of way, and glared down into his shifty little eyes. All twenty-seven of them.
​
“HOLY CHRIST AND ALL THE APOSTLES,” I shouted, setting all twenty-seven of his wispy eyebrows aflutter. “Whadja do that for?” [read more in the anthology] 

Movement: Our Bodies in Action: Sweetycat Press Presents: How do we use our bodies to work, to perform, to create, to play, to compete, to unwind, to care for others, to build, to communicate, to hike, or to accomplish any of the tasks we confront in everyday life? How do we use our elbows, our feet, our hands, our torso, our ankles, our legs, or any other part of our bodies to do those things? In Movements – Our Bodies in Action – 203 authors and poets worldwide place the focus on how their bodies work and observe how the bodies of those around them also work. This is a deluxe owners manual in prose and poetry for anyone who has a body.

Lisa H. Owens' Exerpt:
Maneuvers in an Air Pocket
It felt great to be weightless, to throw off the heaviness of the physical body. To relish the feeling of nothingness. I floated; arms stretched out—horizontal in the air.
As I hovered, I looked around, scanning the scene unfolding beneath me. I noticed faces first. So many naked emotions on those faces.

The mouths of most were twisted in teeth-clinching grimaces while their eyes registered terror. I couldn’t see the face of a young mother, instead viewing her hunched back, her arms tightly wound around the body of a red-faced toddler, keeping him safe within the cocoon of her body. I saw a young man who looked hopeful. His arms were fully extended as his fingertips tried in vain to tease his cell phone back into his glistening palm. An elderly couple’s hands remained clasped—tightly intertwined—but their faces were peaceful. Resigned to the outcome of the situation at hand, whatever that may be.

All was silent except the roar of blood in my ears as it was being pumped at double the normal speed by my rapidly beating heart. As I slowly ascended, my heart rate grew slower and slower and slower until time stood still, and the top of my head caressed the ceiling. [read more in the anthology]

Thuggish Itch: By the Seaside: Gypsum Sound Tales, a publishing house based out of Sydney Australia,  presents: An anthology of seaside (and lakeside) horror tales, the eighth book in its Thuggish Itch collection. Something about a body of water... There is something calming about heading out into the surf. Well… most of the time.
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpt:
Uncle Flappy's Boats and Bait
Bob sold lightbulbs. It’s just what he did. Of course, Smitty’s Hardware sold other stuff, but Bob mainly pushed the bulbs. Well, that’s not exactly true. He pushed one particular combination of bulb and flashlight. He’d always had a thing about well-lit areas. He was kind of annoyingly passionate about it, really. It’s why he got into the biz in the first place. He could talk light bulbs and flashlights all day long. So, he did. A person could start a conversation with just about anything and Bob would turn it back around to the combined power of the Halogen 100-Watt when inserted into the Laser-Torch. He once responded to Mr. Malarky’s gripe about his frightful marriage and his wife’s lousy cooking with, “Hey, Mack, so glad ye brought it up. Didja know the Laser-Torch is a frightful marriage of bulb and flashlight emitting 4100 lumens of blinding light hot enough to cook an egg--probably better than yer wife’s eggs? Smitty’s is a runnin’ a sale.” True story. He would bend the ear of anyone willing—or even unwilling—to listen.

His big selling point always came back to chasing away darkness, the thing he feared the most and killing slime monsters, the thing he feared second most. If his audience didn’t bug off at the first mention of slime monsters, calling him one crazy sumbitch, Bob could talk about bulbs and flashlights until the fat lady sang.

Bob wasn’t always one crazy sumbitch. After what happened at the lake a couple of years back, Bob was never the same. [read more in the anthology]

Beautiful: In the Eye of the Beholder: Sweetycat Press presents: What is beauty? We know not everyone thinks of the same things as beautiful. A morning sunrise can be wondrous or blinding. A flower can be lovely to look at, but deadly if tasted. Not everything that is beautiful can be seen or touched; it can also be a feeling. A beautiful thing like love can bring great joy, or great sorrow. In our journey through life we are taught to believe some things are beautiful and some things are ugly. But what if what we're taught turns out differently than how we experience for ourselves what is beautiful and what is ugly? In Beautiful: In the eye of the beholder, 200 contemporary authors and poets worldwide share in stories and poetry their experiences and thoughts on the subject of beauty in an anthology like no other.
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpt:
Bella-Strange
Mother said she’d been the most gorgeous baby she had ever laid eyes upon, with downy golden hair and perfect Cupid’s-bow lips. She named her Bella, a musical word that means beautiful, but as Bella grew, her features matured in an abnormal way. Her ears were misshapen and her forehead too broad and her eyes the palest shade of ice-blue. Mother was ashamed of Bella’s appearance and grew impatient with her naturally inquisitive nature, telling her to shut up and quit asking inane questions. Grumbling how she regretted giving her the name Bella because she most definitely was not beautiful. She was flawed and ugly. Her mother took every opportunity to remind Bella that she was disfigured, stupid and possibly the least interesting person she'd ever met. Bella embraced Mother’s proclamation and thus became the least interesting child that anyone had ever had the great misfortune to meet.
​
She quit smiling and spoke only when spoken to. She combed her glorious mane of golden hair—her best feature—in such a way to disguise her odd ears and endless forehead. She was the strange kid in school, eating her sack lunches at a back table reserved for the weirdest of the weirdos. Even the weirdos gave her a wide berth, scooting their chairs to the opposite end of the table. In third grade, she was known as Bella-Strange. [read more in the anthology]

Poetica #4:
Clarendon House Publications and Grant P. Hudson present: A poetry anthology comprised of the works of a grouping of international poets. Grant P. Hudson: "There is a common assumption among poets and readers generally that ‘There is no market for poetry.’ I hear this regularly.

"This idea arises because, in the big world of publishing, poetry is seen to be a private, highly subjective affair which correspondingly does not sell well. Personal tastes, obscurity of form, and lack of poetic craft all add up to poetry being ‘shoved into the corner’ and usually only self-published or produced as a vanity piece.

"This is a shame. There are a great many good poets out there: thousands of voices whose passionate visions of reality are not finding a proper outlet. Without channels to transmit these visions to readers, they can eventually fall silent.

"The effort of this series of Poetica anthologies is to contribute to the creation of a market for poetry throughout the calendar year. The idea is that, by providing a regular, published venue for poetry from all over the world, poems as media for the communication of important and heartfelt ideas and reflections will gain in respect and become more widely acknowledged. Voices will be heard; channels will be opened."
~
Lisa H. Owens' excerpt:
An Ode to Cigarettes (a cur-sed haiku)
Ye smoldering fiends.
Ye enemies of mine lungs.
Ye sticks-o-fire. [read more in the anthology]