Thursday, October 26, 2017

Thursday Clip

From Hell Hounds
(It's like Jaws set in hell - only with more blood and teeth)

“Come then, Satan, and face us,” the First called into the night, “bring your harbingers and show us your quality . . . if you dare?”
The Seven waited.
A resounding silence was the only answer to their challenge.
Stamping forward, the First of the Seven reversed his blade and stabbed its tip into the ground. Splinters radiated away from him across the tarmac like fingers of asphalt lightning. Lengthening, they spawned a series of fissures that rent the earth in one place after another, spilling conveyances and smaller buildings alike into widening chasms. The primary archway leading onto the bridge shuddered as bricks—stressed by unexpected shearing—exploded, showering fleeing denizens in a volley of lethal shrapnel. Small craft moored along nearby havens smashed together in freak swells, and damned souls cried their last as each hungry abyss silenced their protests in a final crushing embrace.
In that brief opening gambit, more than a thousand of the unworthy perished without recourse. Burst pipes spewed water and effluent onto sidewalks already slick with rain. Snapped cables lashed out blindly, spitting sparks and flames onto those too slow or injured to care. Nodding in apparent satisfaction, the First resumed his place.
The Second now strode forward to circle his brothers. Surveying the carnage about them, he cast his refulgent gaze upon those fools in the distance who thought they were safe. His eyes crackled with energy and suddenly, fleeing wretches were encompassed within a skein of electrified intent. Spinning like marionettes, they were helpless to resist the charged commands of their puppet-master and danced and jerked, coiled and writhed, until eventually they blackened and fell, gums bared in a rictus of death.
Erra noticed the moment his second cut the strings, for scores of spent bodies flopped limply to the ground; their final expirations marked only by wisps of oily gray smoke curling idly from lips crisped to ash.
Clutching his sword to his chest, the Third of the Seven stepped back into the center of the ring. He took a deep breath and exhaled a freezing haar high into the sky. The rain was instantly transformed; each drop becoming an icy splinter of death, cruel and sharp. Shards heavy enough to puncture steel and pierce flesh hammered down onto the arrested flow of traffic. Muted cries echoed out from those still trapped in their vehicles as each was impaled, again and again, by a verglas fusillade that gave no quarter. The Third breathed once more, and those wails cut off as shocked casualties were coated in a rime that frosted their blood lilac, then blue, and finally, unsullied white.
In conclusion, the Third waved his dazzling sword in an arc through the air. Even the river succumbed to his might as a glaze of ice clenched its way from one bank of the river to the other. Without waiting for the transformation to run its course, the Third turned on his heel and nodded to the next enforcer in line.
The Fourth didn’t even bother to lower his blade. Instead, he merely pointed with one finger toward those hiding in doorways or cowering within the ruined shells of the nearest buildings. Where his hand passed, boils broke forth, covering faces and exposed skin in a sea of blisters that swelled and popped as if the flesh on which they festered were melting. People fell to their knees, gagging and retching, helpless to prevent congealing fluids drowning them from the inside out. Eventually, they weakened, only to expire in a pool of their own filth.
His work done, the Fourth smiled, lowered his weapon to the ground, and ran that same finger of destruction across the pommel of his weapon with loving care.
So great was the press of those clamoring to get free across the bridge that people were hard-pressed to make headway. Tight packed, they pushed and they shoved and they jostled—falling more often than not—only to be trampled into a bloody pulp by those in too much of a panic to care about anyone but themselves.
Spotting their dilemma, the Fifth of Seven broke into a run. As he moved, his cloak fell away, revealing a churning, tumbling matrix of flickering death. Honed and needle sharp, he tore into the milling throng like a razor-edged tornado, lopping limbs and shredding sinews left, right and center. Having cut a swath through the main body of the crush, he whirled in a haphazard fashion from side to side, spilling guts and opening throats, and putting those who still possessed legs to rout.
As abruptly as it began, the whirling dervish stopped and a glowing Titan stood forth; sword shining, knee deep in severed heads, torn torsos and the spilth of intestines.
“It is fitting,” he declared, though to whom, Erra could not discern.
Now the Sixth moved forward to face the River Tombs directly. Taking position, the enforcer thrust his blade toward the heavens. The falling torrents turned into a deluge of biblical proportions, its leaden weight flattening anything that moved and knocking breath from the lungs of victims desperate to cling to whatever measure of unlife they had left.
When it came, respite was as sudden as it was unexpected, for a squall blew in from the west that swept all signs of the storm away and out toward the sea. Even from his position high in the cloud mass, Erra could hear the cries of release from those who thought the nightmare was over.
Their relief was short-lived.
Down below, the ground began to tremble and a distant growl lifted itself above the background din of a city under siege. A dark mass appeared on the horizon, roaring closer and higher with every passing second. In less than a minute it had clarified into a foaming frothing wave-cap of malevolence. Amazingly, the towering cliff seemed content to restrict itself to the confines of the frosted Tombs. But there was a reason for that. The Sixth reached out with one hand as if inviting an embrace from a long lost friend. Then he clenched his fist and the crest broke like an avalanche, thundering down out of the night sky to smash the ice apart and scour the banks clean of any sign of life. Jetties, docks, wharfs and quays; waterside developments, walkways and ornamental gardens. Anything and everything that once identified the river’s course as part of a throbbing metropolis disappeared amid turgid currents that scourged one of Olde London Town’s greatest landmarks raw.
And still it came.
The weight of a mountain struck Black Tower Bridge square on. Ancient stones thrummed and metal girders squealed. And as the ninety-foot high wall of glacial water sped by, the one thousand ton leaves of the center span went with it, tumbling over and over in an aquatic blender that gradually pulverized the tempered steel into scrap.
Only then did the breaker begin to subside.
Taking his time, the Seventh marked those that yet remained alive and shrugged his mantle free. Heroic in form, he looked magnificent as he hefted his sword in blazing arcs that fried the air and blistered concrete. Feral glee scarred his countenance and an abrupt concentration of incendiary focus caused all those within his sight to howl in pain. Some dived for cover behind walls and ramparts. Others threw themselves into exposed sewers or the river itself. Regardless, no matter where they stood or cowered, stragglers recoiled in panic as embers kindled deep inside their bodies.
That heat grew exponentially, sparking an expanding eruption that rushed through organs and airways alike until it burst from every orifice and exploded from every extremity.
Denizens ignited, careering hither and thither like phosphorous flares until they could stand no more. Flesh seared and cracked. Ululating screams choked off. Carbonized bones crumbled and fell.
And suddenly, all was still.

If you enjoyed that and are slavering for more, just follow the links in the bar at the top of this Blog.
or go to Daemon Grim's Facebook Page

And Remember:
Hell Hounds is now available to buy

Monday, October 23, 2017

Daemon Grim
(The Journey leading to Hell Hounds)

Hello again sinners, and welcome back to hell.

Over the past several weeks, we've journeyed through the trials and tribulations of the Devil's Chief Bounty Hunter - Daemon Grim - Satan's Reaper and mass executioner extraordinaire
And what a ride its been:

Grim - Hell Bound - Pieces of Hate.

And now, the week we've all been waiting for is here...

October 25th (A few days earlier than expected) sees the release of the eBook version of 
Daemon Grim's latest adventure:
Hell Hounds 

Here's the blurb to give you a little taster of what you'll find:

Feared throughout the many circles of the underworld, Satan’s Reaper – and chief bounty hunter – Daemon Grim, is known as a true force to be reckoned with.
Having eliminated a major player in the uprising eating its way like a cancer through the underbelly of hell, Grim is stunned to discover he cannot afford to rest on his laurels, for the rebellion runs far deeper than was ever imagined. New players have emerged – denizens with uncanny abilities – who seem determined to support Chopin and Tesla’s revolutionary agenda.
Ever keen to test their mettle, the Sibitti – personified weapons of the ancient Babylonian plague god, Erra – also appear eager to capitalize on the growing unrest, and set about maneuvering events in order to place themselves in direct opposition to Grim’s investigation.
And if that was not cause for concern enough, there’s an insane angel on the loose, a creature as hell-bent on creating havoc as he is to return home.
How do Grim and his rabid pack of bounty hunters respond?
Baying for blood – doesn’t even begin to describe it.

How does that take your fancy?
Then why are you still vacillating - Press the buy link here:

And don't forget, you can find out more about unlife in hell by reading excerpts from Hell Hounds on this blog and Grim's own Facebook page later in the week. 

See you there...

Thursday, October 19, 2017

Thursday Clip

From Pieces of Hate
(Featuring Satan's Reaper of fools and gold)

Without further ado, I turned and started to make my way into the back of the atrium. After ten yards or so, the walls and floors became riddled by stalagmites and stalactites. Fortunately, I didn’t need artificial light to see in the dark, as my natural senses were acute enough to pick out the features of everything about me in minute detail. But the same couldn’t be said for my travelling companions.
I heard a sharp click behind me, and the beam of a torch appeared. Cutting crazy patterns through the air, it signaled Vane’s hurried approach, and by its illumination, I noticed how the frosted maze around us caught the light and glittered fiercely in reply, almost as if it were eager for its rare visitors to witness the splendor of its diamond studded structure.
I had to admit, it was a truly haunting sight.
A few moments later, however, and the spell was broken. Low and his dwindling posse had decided to join us after all, and of course, they were complaining every step of the way.
I ignored them, for the gallery narrowed, and ended abruptly at a blank rock wall. An entrance had been cut into it, adorned by large granite blocks. A simple message was inscribed across the keystone. Rendered in ancient Hellanese, it declared:
Fá entrig a-mhàile a’ cothreh-tah – Only the balanced may enter.
As the first in the crowd to catch up, Vane spotted the writing, and asked, “What does that say?”
Hearing Vane’s question, Low and his group hastened to close the gap.
“This is our way forward,” I replied, “and the message advises us, ‘Only the balanced may enter.’”
We all crowded forward.
Inside, a simple unadorned cell, measuring some four yards across in each direction, awaited our scrutiny. Although everything was covered in a fine rind of ice, I was able to discern the fact that faint lines had been etched into the surface of the floor. When I examined them closely, I realized they formed a grid of sixteen smaller squares.
Only the balanced may enter. Hmmmh?
Griffin tried to elbow past, and I placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“I’d hang on a second if I were you.”
“Why do you have to interfere with every single thing we do?” he snapped, clearly unhappy at my intervention. “Who put you in charge, anyway?”
“Actually, Satan did. This expedition is mine to run as I see fit, and it would appear I see much more than you do…”I raised one finger and pointed, “for example, shine your torch on the far wall. Choose the point halfway along, just above the deck.”
Flustered, Griffin did as I asked. His eyes narrowed in concentration.
“Now consider the similar places along the walls to the left and right.”
The others joined in, and by the light of their additional lamps, the chamber became bathed in golden radiance. The areas of my concern were lifted into crystal clear clarity.
“They look like scrape marks,” Griffin conceded, “as if…as if…”
I stamped my foot.
“And what are we standing on?”
He glanced down, clearly puzzled by my query.
“The sill of course? Granite from the look of it. Why?”
“But what can you tell me about this particular stone that’s different from the others?”
The beam from his flashlight played slowly back and forth across the blocks. Suddenly, it focused on the center slab.
“It’s cylindrical,” he gasped, “like a tube within….Bloody hell! The whole thing tilts in different directions.”
“Well done. The caption makes sense now, doesn’t it?”
I altered my perceptions, and allowed my astral sight to interpenetrate the ground beneath our feet. Directly below the chamber in front of us, sat another cavity, identical in every respect, save for the rows of pointed stakes jutting up from the floor. Upon those spikes, the semi-preserved remains of former adventurers who had rushed blindly to their fate hung, chilled to the bone, and adorned by thick gossamer cobwebs.
The entire construct had been cunningly arrayed upon a series of automated gimbals and pivots. From what I could ascertain, once the trap had been activated, it would allow a great deal of freedom to manipulate the deck in relation to roll and pitch.
I opened my mind so that everyone could take a quick peek at the horror show. Although Vane remained silent, Low and his men were quick to express their shock.
“Davey’s locker. I’d have lost another old salt, permanently from the look o’ it.”
“They’re still there. Why haven’t they faded?”
“Well, screw me blind.” Bug eyed, Griffin stared at me with newfound respect. “Tha…thank you, Reaper,” he stammered, “I...I don’t know what to say?”

“Then don’t say anything. Just do what I tell you, when I tell you. That way, you might avoid joining our decaying friends down there.”

If you enjoyed that and want to find out more, just follow the links in the bar at the top of this Blog.
or go to Daemon Grim's Facebook Page

And Remember...
The Pre-Buy link for Hell Hounds is now available

Next week, we go onto excerpts from Hell Hounds itself.
The hunt is on! 

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Daemon Grim
(The Journey leading to Hell Hounds)

Hello again, and welcome back to hell.

If you've been following the unlife of Satan's Reaper of souls, Daemon Grim, you will know our journey so far has taken us through his introductory adventureGrim, which formed part of the Doctors in Hell anthology, and his amazing lead role in his very first novel length feature, Hell Bound.

Today, we introduce you to how events unfolded after Hell Bound ended, for the roller coaster ride continued in
Pieces of Hate

where Grim is sent on a quest of the utmost urgency on behalf of his Infernal Majesty.

Forming part of the Pirates in Hell anthology, you can expect the trials and tribulations of the underworlds most prolific killer to increase. After all, this IS hell. And where pirates are concerned, every day is a good day to stab someone in the back...

Here's the blurb to give you a little taster of what you'll find:

Hell is under siege. Shorelines, in one circle after another are falling into the sea. Elsewhere, land sprouts up where there has only ever been open water before. Hellquakes, plague city after city, throwing Hellion society into turmoil.
His Infernal Majesty demands action. But that’s easier said than done, for the Sheolspace continuum has destabilized, making interdimensionhell travel extremely perilous. Therefore, the Devil is forced to turn to the pirates for aid.
However, the marauder fleet has also suffered crippling losses, and those with ships can name their price.
Into this cauldron of fomenting trouble comes Daemon Grim, Satan’s Reaper, and go-to guy in times of crisis.
Acting on a tipoff, Grim has engaged the services of Edward Low and Charles Vane, two of the most despicable buccaneers you could ever wish not to meet.
Together with their crews, they travel to Skull Isle, an isolated pebble in the middle of a vast and complicated ocean, where it becomes apparent things are not as they should be. The island has been sunk, two hundred feet down into the seabed, but remains exposed to the air. Now encircled by a bulwark of thalassic malevolence, it is clear the entire island is a trap waiting to be sprung.
And yet, they have no choice.
Grim and his team are forced to traverse an impenetrable jungle full of man-eating insects, vegetation, and monsters; a booby trapped ice bridge spanning a magma filled gorge; a dark and mysterious mountain, beset with a series of lethal puzzles and deadly foes, each  designed to test their resolve, and sort the wheat from the chaff.
And then, just when the bedraggled survivors think their goal is in sight, they discover a terrible truth.

The real test has only just begun.


And don't forget, if you want to find out more before the Halloween release of Hell Hounds, excerpts from this week's story, Pieces of Hate, can be found on this blog and Grim's own Facebook page later this week. See you there...

And to get you in the mood,
The Pre-order link for Hell Hounds is now available:

Hell Hounds Pre-order link

Thursday, October 12, 2017

Thursday Clip

Here's today's longer excerpt from the novel: Hell Bound 
WARNING:Adult Content

I pushed myself away from the wall, strode across the sidewalk, and headed toward the gently undulating wall of mystery. Passersby checked their step as they realized where I was heading. Cars screeched to a halt.
Seizing on the lull, Nimrod called, “Can I have first dibs on your apartment when you die? I’ve always wanted rooms with a view.”
I gave him the finger, stepped in . . .
. . . and froze.
I’d expected a gradual transition from light to dark, a sense of being progressively enveloped and transported in some way to a new location. But I didn’t get any of that. In an instant, I was someplace else entirely.
A thick gray soup surrounded me. I couldn’t see the ground beneath my feet, and when I extended my arms, my hands were swallowed whole, as if they didn’t exist. Peering about me, I searched for a focal point on which to establish a plane of reference.
Not a goddam thing. Has the trial started already?
Suddenly wary, I realized it would be best to clear my head, so I took a deep breath, calmed my nerves, closed my eyes, and listened.
Thump — thump, thump — thump, thump — thump . . .
The sound of my heartbeat dominated, its steady rhythm providing an anchor around which to ground myself. I didn’t need a cardiovascular system, of course, but I’d always found the sensation soothing, as it made me feel something I’d never been: normal.
For some reason the enfolding brume exacerbated that beat. It grew louder, and then more distant, as if my heart had suddenly been transposed beyond my flesh.
Thump — thump, thump — thump, thump — thump . . .
Now I was puzzled.
It sounds like it’s getting louder. Drawing closer in some way. But how . . . ?
I opened my eyes and was startled to realize the vapors had folded back to reveal an open tourney field, carpeted with thick, lush grass. White marquees formed a parade on either side of the meadow, each of them bedecked in red and gold pennants. In front of them, equipment racks had been arranged so that unseen champions might chose from a wide assortment of lethal-looking weapons. I completed a quick three-sixty and discovered there was even a fully decorated pavilion behind me, resplendent in the sunshine and festooned with ribbons and bows in the same heraldic colors.
The entire arena lay within a surrounding cocoon of milk-white fog, and despite my best efforts, I couldn’t detect any other unliving soul.
Thud — thud, thud — thud, thud — thud . . .
I spun toward the sound, and a massive shadow detached itself from the mist at the open end of the field. My jaw dropped, for there, not fifty yards away, was an armored warrior atop a midnight-black charger.
Dressed from head to toe in steel, and with the distinctive scarlet and gold inverted long cross emblazoned across his surcoat and shield, I knew without a doubt that this was a Knight Tempter. The horse itself was huge, a courser; its broad chest and powerful body likewise protected by barding, spikes, and leather.
Armor and tack were coated in fine beads of moisture which glistened like diamonds in the imaginary sunlight. Staring at them, I imagined for a moment what it must be like to face such a daunting team in battle.
My thoughts were definitely jinxed lately, for no sooner had I contemplated the notion than the knight lowered his visor and raised his lance in salute. He then put his heels to his mount’s flanks, and the horse jumped forward into a trot.
Mesmerized, I stood rooted to the spot and tried to fathom what it all meant.
Forty yards.
Their speed abruptly increased to a canter.
So, is this part of the process? Am I supposed to react . . . or not?
I chose to react and rolled to one side. As I came up, I unbuttoned my coat and threw back my hood.
Thirty yards.
Rider and steed altered trajectory, and the earth trembled beneath my feet. I gamboled again, and drew my scythe. By the time I had dropped into a fighting crouch, my weapon was extended and primed for combat.
Does he really want me to hamstring his horse? Or worse still, confront him directly?
They accelerated into a gallop. The beast snorted, its nostrils flared. Muscles bulged and the vibrations increased as divots flew. Like a portent of doom, the spear tip lowered.
Intuition kicked in.
No matter what’s taking place, we’re on the same side.
Twenty yards.
We’re on the same side, we’re on the same side, we’re on the same side . . .
Despite the danger of the situation, my gut was telling me not to resist them. They were here to do a job. I had to work with them.
Ten yards.
Oh, bugger! I need a raise.
Against my natural instincts, I collapsed my weapon, stood tall, and threw my arms wide. At the very last moment, I squeezed my eyes shut and yelled, “I am no threat to you, or to the treasures under your protection.”
It seemed like a good idea at the time, but my voice sounded as feeble as a wet fart flying in the face of thunder. As their shadow blotted out the sun, I decided I wasn’t so sure anymore.
Shit! Shit! Shit! Sh-iiit!
The tip of the lance struck with the power of a runaway freight train. Piercing leather, fabric, skin and bone, it lifted me high off the ground and carried me through the air as if I were nothing but a rag doll. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. Nothing else existed except the pain of impalement.

Suddenly, the spear impacted against something hard behind me, and shattered. The shockwave ran along the length of the splinter still embedded in my body and multiplied the agony a thousandfold. As I slid back down onto the wet grass, the knight disappeared, and an ethereal voice hissed, “Impressive . . .”

If you enjoyed that and want to find out more, just follow the links in the bar at the top of this Blog.
or go to Daemon Grim's Facebook Page

And Remember...
Next week, we go onto excerpts from Pieces of Hate - as featured in Pirates in Hell.

Stay tuned for more sinful shenanigans.

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Daemon Grim
(The Journey leading to Hell Hounds)

Those of you who have been following the adventures of Satan's Reaper of souls, Daemon Grim will know he was unleashed on the underworld in the short story, GRIM, which formed part of the 
Doctors in Hell anthology.

Following that tale, he went on to take the leading role in his very first novel length feature, 
Hell Bound.

What happened?

Ah, to find out that, you'll need to read the book itself.
But here's the blurb to give you a little taster of what you'll find:

In hell, none of the condemned believes they deserve to be there. And that’s fine, so long as they’re not foolish enough to try and do anything about it. For those that do, there’s always Satan’s Reaper–and chief bounty hunter–Daemon Grim.
Feared throughout the many layers of the underverse, no one in their right mind dares to cross him.
However, when Grim discovers that someone has attempted to evade injustice, and seems hell-bent on gaining access to ancient angelic artifacts, proscribed since the time of the original rebellion in heaven, circumstances point to the fact they may be doing just that.
The question is...why?
Thus begins an investigation that leads Grim throughout the many contradictory and baffling levels of the underworld, where he unearths a conspiracy that is not only eating its way like a cancer through the highest echelons of Hellion society, but one which threatens the very stability of Satan’s rule.
How does Daemon Grim Respond?
Rest assured. It’ll be bloody, brutal, and despicably wicked.


The great thing about Hell Bound is that it follows on after the events revealed in Grim, providing a continuity that allows you to keep pace with the ever changing conditions within hell.
It also allows you to keep up to date to what's happening to Daemon Grim himself.
As you'll go on to see, there are things about him that hint at the unexpected and unexplained.

And don't forget.
If you want to find out more before the Halloween release of Hell Hounds, excerpts from this week's book, Hell Bound, can be found on this blog and Grim's Facebook page later this week.

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Thursday Clip

Here's today's longer excerpt from the short story Grim
As seen in Doctors in Hell

Suddenly, I realized I wasn’t alone. A young couple, high on chemicals and hormones, exited an alley near the apartment block. Goths from the look of them, and dressed to the nines in photonegative chic. Even with mundane sight I couldn’t miss them. Dripping with metal, they chimed and rattled with every step, and had obviously decided to end their festivities early. From the way they gnawed each other’s faces and necks, they were oblivious to my presence as well as the rain, and were clearly intent on taking their personal party home.
Nice one, kids. A part of me—just a tiny part—responded to their lust. Enjoy yourselves while you can. You never know when death will come calling.
Passing close by, they spotted me at the last moment. You’d have thought there’d be some form of camaraderie with the way I was dressed. But oh no! Recoiling as if my mere proximity would guarantee their demise, they quickly crossed the road, all thoughts of passion forgotten. Glancing repeatedly back to see if I was following, they didn’t regain a measure of their former exuberance until they were almost to the end of the street.
I didn’t take it personally, and let them go. I have that affect on others, which is why I live a life of self-inflicted solitude and cold-hearted service. Whenever I get lonely, I pay Strawberry Fields a visit. She’s always accommodating, and so far she’s the only one who seems to appreciate my distinctive tastes.
The shower became much heavier. Drumming a relentless staccato across the asphalt and parked cars, it seemed every drop was desperate to tell me its story. I found the beat hypnotic, one that would easily soothe me to sleep if it went on for too long.
Fortunately, the light flicked out in the window opposite.
At last.
As if on cue, a mystery sedan materialized from out of nowhere. Purring sedately, it glided to a halt right outside the apartment block. The engine was so quiet I could barely hear it above the tympanic greeting of the downpour.
I heard a brief hum as an electric window edged down.
Moments later, both front doors opened. Two hoods adorned in tan cashmere overcoats emerged from the climate controlled interior. Their stony expressions creased slightly under the assault of the weather. From the way they ducked their heads and muttered, you’d think they were being stung by hornets. Their not-so-tough-guy reaction to a bit of water didn’t earn any sympathy from me.
The driver carried a long black umbrella. But it’s wasn’t for him. Shaking it loose, he quickly walked to the other side of the car. Opening the rear door, he held the umbrella high and waited for the main attraction to emerge. When she did, I could appreciate why she wouldn’t want to get drenched.
A goddess uncurled herself from the seat. Even from the shadows, I could see the luster of her raven-blue hair. It cascaded down her back, a shimmering satin waterfall of purest silk. Like me, she was dressed from head to toe in black, only her ensemble was embellished by bright red nails and full scarlet lips. She had green eyes, like a cat. Piercing and predatory.
Tucking a clasp bag under her arm, she nodded her consent, and the entourage began to move slowly toward the main door. As they approached the lobby, her escorts scanned the street for any signs of unwanted scrutiny. Their hands hovered within the opening of their jackets, telltale bulges signifying what they carried there. The woman’s heels clicked sharply. Echoing down the street like a metronome, each measured step was designed to navigate her safely across the slickness of the sidewalk.
She was beautiful, but like me, she was deadly. A black widow of unholy appetites. Within moments, the spider had ushered her lackeys into the building where I had no doubt she’d begin weaving her web.

If you enjoyed that and want to find out more, just follow the links in the sidebar or go to Daemon Grim's Facebook Page

Daemon Grim

And Remember...
Next week, we go onto excerpts from Hell Bound.

Stay tuned for the dark and diabolical delights to come.

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Daemon Grim
(The Journey leading to Hell Hounds)

Have you been following the adventures of Satan's Reaper of souls, Daemon Grim?

The devil's chief bounty hunter was first introduced in the short story, GRIM, part of Doctors in Hell. In that tale, the Reaper is sent to retrieve a wayward soul who foolishly thinks he can get one over on His Infernal Majesty with impunity...Think again!

To help prepare for the Halloween launch of Hell Hounds, I thought it would be fun to recap his exploits each week, up until the day of release, so you get an idea of how his character has evolved.

So here we go:

Doctors in Hell – Grim:
Purgatory’s physicians have lost the plot. As a result, plague and pestilence run rampant.
Satan seethes and the underworld’s denizens cower in fear as anarchy ensues.
If that wasn’t bad enough, some damned fool thinks he can capitalize on the chaos by stealing from the prince of darkness and escaping with his ill-gotten gains to the world above!
Yes, the devil is in need of a balm to soothe his growing agitation.
What does he do? 
Why, he prescribes his cure-all remedy: The Reaper, Daemon Grim.
(1) Use with caution.
(2) Apply liberally to all major irritations.
Side effects: Always fatal.

Daemon Grim – a tonic the doctor would never recommend.

And don't forget.
If you want to find out more, excerpts from Grim can be found on this blog and Grim's Facebook page later this week.