#The horse pissed right in front of his fruit cake

[sorrowandpride]

Anyone else's horse just randomly walk into their house and piss?

#My horse walked into my kitchen; stared at my sim; and pissed on the floor #He (the sim) became very uncomfortable once this horse pissed in front of him #Sims #Sims 4 #The Sims 4 #TS4 #It was Øystein #The sim was Øystein #The horse pissed right in front of his fruit cake #Simblr

[rigmarolling]

Historical Holiday Traditions We Really Need To Bring Back

Here comes Santa Claus, and also a bunch of annual holiday Things we do to ensure he commits a truly boggling act of breaking and entering and leaves goods underneath the large plant in the living room.

Because I’ve always got a hankerin’ for the days of yore, here are some historical holiday traditions we really need to bring back:

1. Everything that happened on Saturnalia

Saturnalia was the ancient Roman winter festival held on December 25th--which is why we celebrate Christmas on that day and not on the day historians speculate Jesus was actually born, which was probably in the spring. 

Saturnalia was bonkers. As the name suggests, it celebrated the god Saturn, who represented wealth and liberty and generally having a great time.

Above: Their party is way cooler than yours could ever hope to be.

During Saturnalia, masters would serve their slaves, because it was the one day during the year when everybody agreed that freedom for all is great, actually, let’s just do that. Everyone wore a coned hat called the pilleus to denote that they were all bros and equal, and also to disguise the fact that they hadn’t brushed their hair after partying hard all week, probably.

Gambling was allowed on Saturnalia, so all of Rome basically turned into ancient Vegas, complete with Caesar’s Palace, except with the actual Caesar and his palace because he was, you know. Alive. 

The most famous part (besides getting drunk off your rocker) was gift-giving--usually gag gifts. Historians have records of people giving each other some truly impressive white elephant gifts for Saturnalia, including: a parrot, balls, toothpicks, a pig, one single sausage, spoons, and deliberately awful books of poetry. 

Above: Me, except all the time.

Partygoers also crowned a King of Saturnalia, which was a predecessor to the King of Fools popular in medieval festivals. The king was basically the head idiot who delivered absurd commands to everyone there, like, “Sing naked!” or “run around screaming for an hour,” or “slap your butt cheeks real hard in front of your crush; DO IT, Brutus.”

Oh, wait. Everyone was already doing all that. Hell yes.

(Quick clarification: early celebrations of Saturnalia did feature human sacrifice, so let’s just leave that bit out and instead wear the pointy hats and sing naked, okay? Io Saturnalia, everybody.)

2. Leaving out treats for Sleipnir in the hopes of avoiding Odin’s complete disregard for your property

The whole “leave out cookies and milk for Santa” thing comes from a much older tradition of trying to appease old guys with white beards. In Norse mythology, Odin, who was sort of the head god but preferred to be on a perpetual road trip instead, took an annual nighttime ride through the winter sky called the Wild Hunt. 

Above: The holidays, now with 300% more heavy metal.

Variations of the Wild Hunt story exist in a bunch of European folklore--in Odin’s case, he usually brought along a bunch of supernatural buddies, like spirits and other gods and Valkyries and ghost dogs, who, the Vikings said, you could hear howling and barking as the group approached (GOOD DOGGOS).

That was the thing, though; you never actually saw Odin’s hunt--you only heard it. And hearing it did not spark the same sense of childish glee you felt when you thought you heard Santa’s sleigh bells approaching as a kid--instead, the Vikings said, you should be afraid. Be VERY afraid.

Because Odin could be kind of a dick.

Odin was also known as the Allfather, and like any father, he hated asking for directions. GPS who? I’m the Allfather, I’m riding the same way I always ride.

And that was pretty much it: “I took this road last year and I’m taking it again this year.”

“But,” someone would pipe up from the back, “there are houses on the road now--we’re gonna run right into them. We could just take a different path; there’s actually a detour off the--”

“Nope,” Odin would say. “They know the rules. My road, my hunt, my rules. We’re going this way.”

So if you were unlucky enough to have built your house along one of Odin’s favorite road trip sky-ways, he wouldn’t just plow right past you.

He would burn your entire house down--and your family along with it.

Kids playing in the yard? Torch ‘em; they should have known better. Grandma knitting while she waits for her gingerbread Einherjar to finish baking? Sucks to be her; my road, my rules, my beard, I’m the Allfather, bitch.

Above: Santa, but so much worse.

To be fair to Odin, he could be a cool guy sometimes. He just turned into any dad when he was on a road trip and wanted to MAKE GOOD TIME, DAMN IT, I AM NOT STOPPING; YOU SHOULD HAVE PEED BEFORE WE LEFT.

To ensure they didn’t incur Odin’s road trip wrath, the Vikings had a few ways of smoothing things over with Dad.

They would leave Odin offerings on the road, like pieces of steel (??? okay ???) or bread for his dogs, or food for his giant, eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, because the only true way to a man’s heart is through his pet. 

People would generally leave veggies and oats and other horse-y things out for Sleipnir, whose eight legs made him the fastest flying horse in the world and also made him the only horse to ever win Asgard’s coveted tap dancing championship. 

(Side note: EIGHT legs...EIGHT tiny reindeer...eh? Eh? See how we got here? Thanks, nightmare horse!)

Above: An excellent prancer AND dancer. 

And if Odin was feeling particularly charitable and not in the mood for horrific acts of arson, children would also leave their shoes out for him--it was said that he’d put gifts in your boots to ring in a happy new year.

If all that didn’t work and the Vikings heard the hunt approaching, they would resort to throwing themselves on the ground and covering their heads while the massive party sped above them like a giant Halloween rager. 

So this holiday season, leave your boots out for Odin and some carrots out for his giant spider horse or you and your entire family will die in a fiery inferno, the end.

3. Yule Logs

Speaking of Scandinavia, another Northern European winter solstice tradition was the yule log. Today, if you google “yule log,” something like this will pop up:

...which isn’t an actual log, but is instead log-shaped food that you shove into your mouth along with 500 other cakes at the same time because it’s CHRISTMAS, and I’m having ME TIME; so WHAT if I ate the whole jar of Nutella by myself, alone, in the dark at 3 am?

But that log cake is actually inspired by actual logs of yore that Celtic, Germanic, and Scandinavian peoples decorated with fragrant plants like holly, ivy, pinecones, and other Stuff That Smells Nice before tossing the log into the fire.

This served a few purposes: 

It smelled nice, and Bath and Body Works scented candles hadn’t been invented yet.

It had religious and/or spiritual significance as a way to mark the winter solstice.

It was a symbolic way of ringing in the new year and kicking out the old.

Common belief held that the ashes of a yule log could ward off lightning strikes and bad energy.

Winter cold. Fire warm.

Everybody loves to watch things burn. (See: Odin.)

The yule log cakes we eat today got their start in 19th century Paris, when bakers thought it was a cute idea to resurrect an ancient pagan tradition in the form of a delicious dessert, and boy, howdy, were they right.

In any case, I’m 100% down with eating a chocolate yule log while burning an actual yule log in my backyard because everybody loves to watch things burn; winter cold, fire warm; and hnnnngggg pine tree smell hnnnnggg.

(Quick note:  The word “yule” is  the name of a traditional pagan winter festival, still celebrated culturally or religiously in modern pagan practice. It’s also another name for Odin. He had a bunch of other names, one of the most well-known being jólfaðr, which is Old Norse for “Yule father.” If you would like to royally piss him off, or if you are Loki, feel free to call him “Yule Daddy.”)

4. Upside down Christmas trees

I just found out that apparently, upside down Christmas trees are a hot new trend with HGTV types this year, so I guess this is one historical trend we did bring back, meaning it doesn’t really belong on this list, but I’m gonna talk about it, anyway.

Side note: Oh, my god, that BANNISTER. I NEED.

Historians aren’t actually sure where the inverted Christmas tree thing came from, but we know people were bringing home trees and then hanging them upside down in the living room as early as the 7th century. We have a couple theories as to why people turned trees on their heads:

Logistically, it’s way easier to hang a giant pine tree from your rafters upside down by its trunk and roots. You just hoist that baby up there, wind some rope around the rafter and the trunk, and boom. Start decorating.

A Christian tradition says that one day in the 7th century, a Benedictine monk named Saint Boniface stumbled across a group of pagans worshipping an oak tree. So, instead of minding his own damn business, he cut the tree down and replaced it with a fir tree. While the pagans were like, “Dude, what the hell?” Boniface used the triangular shape of the fir tree to explain the concept of the holy trinity to the pagans. Some versions have him planting it right-side up, others having him displaying a fir tree upside down. Either way, it’s still a triangle that’s a solid but ultimately very rude way of explaining God. Word’s still out on whether anyone was converted or just rightly pissed off that this random guy strolled into their place of worship, chopped down their sacred tree, and plopped HIS tree down instead. Please do not do that this holiday season.

Eastern Europeans lay claim to the upside-down tree phenomenon with a tradition called podłazniczek in Poland--people hung the tree from the ceiling and decorated it with fruits and nuts and seeds and ribbons and other festive doodads. 

(God, who lives in these houses? Look at that. That’s like a swanky version of Gaston’s hunting lodge. Where do I get one? Which enchanted castle do I have to stumble into to chill out in a Christmas living room like that?)

Today, at least in the West, upside-down trees are making a comeback because...I don’t know. Chip and Joanna Gaines said so. 

Some folks say it’s a surefire way to keep your cats from clawing their way through the tree and then puking up fir needles for weeks afterward, which checks out for me.

5. Incredibly weird Victorian Christmas cards

So back in the 19th century, the Christmas card industry was really getting fired up. Victorians loved their mail, let me tell you. They loved sending it. They loved getting it. They loved writing it. They loved opening it. They loved those sexy wax seals you use to keep all that sweet, sweet mail inside that sizzling envelope. (Those things are incredibly sexy. Have you ever made a wax seal? Oh, man, it’s hot.)

The problem, though, was that while the Victorians arguably helped standardize many of the holiday traditions we know and love today (Christmas trees, caroling, Dickens everything, spending too much money, etc.) back in 1800-whenever, a lot of that Christmas symbolism was, um...still under construction. No one had really agreed on which visual holiday cues worked and which...didn’t.

Meaning everyone just kind of made up their own holiday symbols. Which resulted in monstrous aberrations like this card:

What the hell is that? A beet? Is that a beet? Or a turnip? Why is it...oh, God, why does it have a man’s head? Why does the man beet have insect claws? 

What is it that he’s holding? A cookie? Cardboard? A terra cotta planter?

And then there’s this one:

“A Merry Christmas to you,” it says, while depicting a brutal frog murder/mugging. 

What are you trying to tell me? Are you threatening me with this card? Is that it? Is this a threat? How the hell am I supposed to interpret this? “Merry Christmas, hide your money or you’re dead, you stupid bitch.”

Also, why is the dead frog naked? Did the other frog steal his clothes after the murder? WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS?

Victorian holiday cards also doubled as early absurdist Internet memes, apparently, because how else do I explain this?

Is this some sort of tiny animal Santa? A mouse riding a lobster? Like, the mouse, I get. Mice are fine. Disney built an empire on a mouse. And look, he’s got a little list of things he’s presumably going to bring you: Peace, joy, health, happiness. (In French. Oh, wait, is that that Patton Oswalt rat?)

But a LOBSTER? What’s with the lobster? It’s basically a sea scorpion. Why in the name of all that is good and holy would you saddle up a LOBSTER? I hate it. I hate it so, so much. Just scurrying around the floor with more legs than are strictly necessary, smelling like the seafood section of Smith’s, snapping its giant claws.

This whole card is a health inspector’s worst nightmare. It really is.

I gotta say, though, I am a fan of this one:

Presumably, that polar bear is going in for a hug because nothing stamps out a polar bear’s innate desire to rip your face from your skull than candy canes and Coke and Christmas spirit.

This next one is actually fantastic, but for all the wrong reasons:

I know everyone overuses “same” these days but geez, LOOK at that kid. I can HEAR it. SAME.

If you’ve ever been in a shopping mall stuffed with kids, nothing sums it up better than this card. This is like the perverse version of those Anne Geddes portraits that were everywhere in the late 90s. “Make wee Jacob sit in the tea pot; everyone will--Jacob, STOP, look at Mommy; I said LOOK. AT. MOMMY--everyone will love it.”

Actually, you know what? Every other Christmas card is cancelled. This is the only card we will be using from now on. This is it. 

Wait, no. We can also use this one:

Merry Christmas. Here’s a fuckin’...just a dead fuckin’ bird.

#victorian #listory #christmas #holidays #mythtory #norse mythology #odin

[arielkrupnik]

in peacock victory

Yours truly,

parades your name around with good old wholesome prostitution in peacock victory peacock victory. At all sides, and whatever’s 'left' is 'right'fully yours Soon enough, all that will be left of us are the sacred souvenirs; the dreams Of all we had together, even now I still remember beyond what we had... I remember memories that we never created Thoughts so fresh as as'sault'ed vegetables and all 'pepper'ed fruit I miss it all because i know we're missing out I anticipate seeing it and always did when it was right it front of me: We would've sounded alike because we were always at each others throat We would've argued just to have our form of healthy revenge With exclusive repercussions We played with fire in order to dance like little biblical candles. And now when we are together we are never more apart But to be a part of you and not apart from you is truly great and grateful- the biggest secret everyone knows about. My only difference about who I was then and who I am now

is that you’re not around Our only difference was who each of us would love. My love will not age

The absence of it will sharpen it, but the presence will strengthen it And my affection for you will always begin to continue again with or without you; wither without you. You were the best gift you could have given me I respect what you cherished,

I honor what you treasured in peacock victory. The immortal wisdom, and theres more for all I saved the words you've spoken I rescued them and gave them shelter by quickly constructing temples over each sentence Giving rise and power to your calm concentrated charm I was not thinking, when I built you a playhouse from my mental blocks It had everything but the kitchen sink But the sink was shipping And now, the ship is sinking. Now the cows wont come home because they're too busy being milked for blood Now all the cowboys ride seahorses, and horses lay eggs

And I, have the heart to have a sweet tooth for sweet hearts... In here, in our rose-tinted world, our talk lives in candy-coated language We whisper sweet somethings in exchanges of sugar-frosted mutilation Ashes of ice-cream Revolutionary cremations left in peacock victory peacock victory peacock victory. My duck of several diamonds, my feelings for you are rarefied in you only Even though I have chivalry for all sexes and all walks of life, my feelings kneel before the wisdom of our truce Before a snake eye for a bulls eye, a tooth for a truth. The spacious truth you possess has great and gracious use of clues and hints of mint expressions The precious color hair is a renewal of a thousand heads nodding in approval The sewn stare is disguised as safe sugar white wedding cake eyes Encased in silk infant skin, and the flavored scent of white light You lay 'bear' traps you made,

by your bare 'honey' thighs. And the guys, are sharks that sharpen their share of sympathy within shimmering sheets of sheer teeth And the guys, are monkeys, that go "apeshit" over their egos and then and then go to heaven again and again And the girls, are young widows whom have never lost someone, that spin little cobwebs for little piss ants to get caught in And the girls, are kangaroos that hope to hop to abortion clinics. Although, the mermaids finally walk and the roosters cluck at night Although the elephants finally give birth to rats and the penguins take flight So when pigs can fly, we'll get a piggy back ride, in peacock victory peacock victory. Crabs responses are no longer being cooked in deadpans for anybody Giraffes control traffic without controlling anything And you, my blessed and beloved baby lamb, should tell me so i no longer have to guess: how in the hell is it that you could smell of so much yes?! Wanting answers

because all i have is questionable patience I want to speak in body language and truly feel our conversation, in peacock victory.

And I, will hug you so hard, that I will truly break your heart, just so you could dance me inside Like a little biblical candle inside peacock victory peacock victory peacock victory. Will you, wont you, will you, wont you join the dance?! All stuffed animals and stuffed noses will be but a far course heal away from this real world of clean germs, and stuffed cabbage for your stuffed rabbit All the fish in the sea are jealous of a pearl like you, and these fish will continue this jealousy until they drown Me, I walk on water because I cant swim. Although, this beaten and battered bat out of hell is now singing his swan song Singing it all the way, for all to hear Me, I have so many hearts on my sleeve that it leaves my own beauty so well-concealed, that I cant be proud You, give me enough pride to wear you like a shield, and I wear you out. You, have the beauty that will never allow you to be ignored You, my love for you,

is greater than what my heart could contain And in the midst of all of this, I thank you for being you And one of these days I will say all this,

all to your face And I cannot wait to be so brave Until then, silence now, for peacock victory sake And if I should die before you wake, let my words be at your grace. Calm. Calm Sshh slow... and... steady Slow... and... steady Let sweet somethings mean something sweet Hush a soft whisper on a soft cheek Close your eyes and be at peace. Sleep well I know I will if I know you will I know you well, and knowing you, how else am I to sleep at night But in peacock victory peacock victory peacock victory and peacock pride.

#happy valentines day

[swordarkeereon]

Guest Post: A Kingdom's Fall #horror #newreleases #newfiction

Author Interview

What genre(s) do you write and why?

My work resides in the horror realm and all its subgenres. A gross-out gag, splatterpunk shock, or spine-tingling chill makes us remember we’re alive. And knowing my work makes some people’s genitalia retract into their innards gives me wood.

What was the most difficult part of writing your most recent book?

Finding time to write the third book in The Human-Undead War trilogy proved a chore. I had to decline offers for short story contributions, deny requests to beta read and edit fellow writers’ work, ignore submission calls, and limit my social media presence for about 8 months. With my wife back in school full-time and unpredictable daily work hours at my day job, I was lucky to scrape by with 30 minutes a day for writing. It drove me to the brink of madness!

What do you feel your books offer readers?

An intriguing escape from reality, and a fresh take on vampires. Anyone tired of pussy-ass, sparkly vamps ought to see merit in The Human-Undead War series. I’d love to think I’m revitalizing the genre like Brian Lumley did with his Necroscope series, but sales and exposure beg to differ. Some day, perhaps…

What was the first book you ever had published? How much time did it take from writing your first book to having it published?

The first book was Dark Intentions, Book 1 in The Human-Undead War Trilogy. From concept to publication, it took approximately 8 years. That included some snags in the publishing process (infamous “kerfuffles”) which set me back almost 2 years.

What other careers have you had?

I’ve been a paper boy, grocery bagger, a fast food cook/cashier, pot dealer, phone operator for a taxi company and multiple telemarketing gigs, gas station attendant, obsessive plasma donor, pizza delivery driver, warehouse laborer, and I’ve held management positions at multiple businesses, including my current employer.

Many won’t admit this, but pizza delivery can be quite lucrative. I miss that cash-in-hand every night, and the crazy fucks you meet along the way are great story fodder.

How would you describe yourself if you were “speed dating” your readers?

A chubby bald guy who’s rough around the edges, likes to tease and titillate, and has a dark sense of humor.

Where are you from?

♪In northeastern Iowa, born and raised,

On the farmland is where I spent most of my days…♪

Okay, I’ll stop now. The tune’s stuck in your noggin now, though, isn’t it?

What do you do for fun?

Fun? Sorry, I don’t understand this foreign word. Please translate.

Has your life changed significantly since becoming a published writer?

I think I’m poorer now than I was before I started writing for publication! However, my soul has been enriched. I’ve made tons of awesome, supportive writing-minded friends, a few fans, and a few bucks. It makes up for the constant business expenses (books on hand, business cards, advertisements, bookmarks, contests).

Otherwise, no, not much has changed. I’m still just an introvert peon working for The Man.

Do you work on one project at a time? Or do you multi-task?

I must stay focused on one thing at a time. Multi-tasking often results in more white hairs cropping up on my chin and me needing several Snickers bars to calm the fuck down.

What kind of kid were you? Which social path did you take?

In grade school, I was the fat kid who compensated with comedy, but I was a loner outside of school. I lived on a farm, and even with siblings, I could often be found roaming our land alone, talking to myself and acting out scenes in my head. I usually had my nose crammed into a book’s delicious-smelling spine as well. Once I hit middle school, my introvert side kicked into high gear. Since then, I’ve maintained a small group of core friends and tend to avoid large (or popular) groups of people.

Do you have any pets?

Two cats, Tubba and Target, and a wiener, Spot.

If you could travel anywhere in the world where would you travel?

I took a few years of Spanish in high school, and I loved everything about it. Spain seems like a gorgeous, culturally rich place to visit.

Please tell us 5 miscellaneous facts about yourself.

-I’m a huge advocate for literacy and will drop spare change every time I go to The Dollar General.

-I once popped what I thought was an Ecstasy pill only to discover it was a horse tranquilizer. Good times.

-Nothing turns me on more than a clean, spotless home.

-When I awoke in my cell after being arrested for drunk driving a decade ago, every county inmate hassled me for my extreme overnight snoring.

-I once masturbated 13 times in one day.

Please share with us your future projects and upcoming releases.

A Kingdom’s Fall, the conclusion to The Human-Undead War Trilogy, will be out later this year. I’ll also have a story in VS: Extreme, a charity anthology pitting US against UK horror writers. I was in the inaugural VS last year and took home some accolades, so I hope to defend my title in style this year. David Owain Hughes and I are also co-editing an anthology titled Fuck the Rules, and that should be out late this year or early 2018. It’s our way of throwing up the middle finger to rules while still exposing raw talent and crisp, finely tuned stories.

After that, I don’t know. Time to pursue my writing endeavors has been limited and will continue to be for several more years. I may disappear for a bit. But I’ll be back.

Please share any links you would like listed in the Interview. Website, blog, Facebook, Twitter, Patreon, Instagram etc.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/JondrashekAuthor

Twitter: @jondrashek

Website/Blog: www.jondrashek.com

Instagram: @jondrashek

BRIEF AUTHOR BIO:

Jonathan Edward Ondrashek loves to spew word vomit onto the masses. He’s had an array of poetry, reviews, articles, and interviews published in the past decade. His short stories have appeared in the anthologies Fifty Shades of Slay, Rejected for Content 4: Highway to Hell, Crossroads in the Dark II: Urban Legends, and the highly acclaimed VS: US vs UK Horror. The first two books in The Human-Undead War Trilogy, Dark Intentions and Patriarch, debuted in 2016, along with two co-edited horror anthologies: What Goes Around and Man Behind the Mask. If he isn’t working at his day job, reading, or writing, he’s probably drinking beer and making his wife regret marrying a lunatic. Feel free to stalk him on social media. He loves that shit.

A Kingdom’s Fall (The Human-Undead War Trilogy, Volume 3)

After staking his claim as the rightful Undead patriarch and returning to the United States, Barnaby has sent his followers on missions to eradicate humankind once and for all. He still plots to cast the world into darkness and reign supreme. But to ensure the Undead’s ascent to godhood, he will need to destroy the Human Army and confront his nemesis, Brian Koltz.

However, President Strajowskie understands the stakes involved, and he’s heading to the front line to go all out against Barnaby and his hordes.

Meanwhile, an insurgent army led by the former Undead general, Scott Hammers, approaches Haven. Brian and his people are prepared, but he discovers a traitor in their midst and dark deeds being done against his knowledge. Can he and Haven survive the ensuing battle without being torn apart from within?

As all sides vie for victory, a confrontation between Brian and Barnaby appears inevitable. And both now understand one kingdom must fall if the other is to survive.

BOOK EXCERPT:

“You’re a pilot?” the woman asked.

Lester blushed and ran a hand through his red curls. “Yeah.”

She stared at the center of her shoddy table. Candlelight flickered. Dark bags beneath her eyes devoured her high, protruding cheekbones. “Scar told us wasn’t none of them left,” she said with a slow honey-dipped drawl. “Said no one took to the skies anymore. That’s why he was sailing ‘cross water, before his ship wrecked.”

Lester almost snorted but held his derision in check. Barnaby sure did choose a lame nickname while he was here. He found it unnerving how the Vampirons revered such a devil. Then again, they didn’t know what he was.

Hell, even God doesn’t know what he is.

“Very few still exist,” Roterie said. He meandered away from the humble open-spaced kitchen and plopped onto the chair opposite Mrs. Deekins. He rested his hands behind his head and kicked his feet up. Dirt and sand sprinkled down from the soles of his shoes and cascaded across the table. “That’s why your husband was wise to follow Scar and find us.”

“Well, I can’t thank you enough for coming here and telling me how Zeke’s doing. Me and the kids’ve been worried sick.”

It shows, Lester thought. Mrs. Deekins was bone-thin, though canned goods and somewhat-fresh fruits lined the makeshift countertops inside the kitchen. Grime caked her skin in an oily sheen. Bloodshot, yellowed eyes protruded from their sockets, and her fake fangs jutted out below her upper lip. With thin, frayed hair sticking out at every angle atop her scalp, she looked like a buck-toothed, emaciated vampire hippie.

And the stench was horrendous. The quaint mud hut reeked of rotten eggs, spoiled milk, and decaying meat. Worse still was Mrs. Deekins herself. Even from the front doorway, he could smell the layers of sweat, shit, and piss emanating from her body in sickening droves.

That reminds me. It’s been a week or two since I took a bath, Lester thought, avoiding the urge to sniff his armpits and test his own scent.

#A Kingdom' Fall #dark fantasy #horror #Jonathan Edward Ondrashek #new releases