HorrorAddicts.net 179, Desiree Byars


Horror Addicts Episode# 179
SEASON 15 “Cursed, Cubed”
Horror Hostess: Emerian Rich
Intro Music by: Valentine Wolfe

desiree byars | her despair | dead ringer 1964

Find all articles and interviews at: http://www.horroraddicts.net

186 days till Halloween

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Time Travel Be Hard, Yo by Emerian Rich

Transmundane Press

banner.jpegEnjoy an exclusive guest post from Emerian Rich, author of “PODs,” featured in our upcoming anthology ON TIME.

When I first thought of the “PODs” story, I was more interested in the cool ability for us to be able to transfer from one city to another in the blink of an eye than time travel. I’m a horror novelist. What do I know about time travel and displacement of human cells? The answer, nothing. Although I love time travel movies and books, it’s only a fun pastime. I am not sciencey or mathy in any way.

Luckily, I have a lot of super-smart friends who do understand the intricate ins and outs of that space-time continuum thingy. So, I started asking around.

Several people wrote me long explanations, gave me graphs, drew me charts, but none of the info was particular to this new tech I had created, which basically “beamed”…

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Emz on Fandom, Fan Fiction and Fun Podcast

Listen to Z and Emz as they discuss fandom, past lives, and Beetlejuice!

Are you a horror fan? Do you dig the spooky side of fandom? Are you a writer? Do you just want to listen to two nerdy goth gals geek out?

Then join me as I interview the host of HorrorAddicts.Net, Emerian Rich. She is the author of the Night’s Knights Vampire Series and has been included in many short story anthologies.

You can find her work on Amazon as well as her website http://www.emzbox.com/

Join us as we talk about pretty much whatever comes to our minds.

Listen at this Fandom, Fan Fiction, and Fun.

Spring 2020 Update

Word counts, pubs, and catching up!

emz unplugged

Biters, Sweet Dreamers, Readers, and Listeners,

So, it’s been quite a while since I’ve updated this and I am hoping you’ll forgive a busy author. It’s so crazy that I’ve left this for a whole year, but although 2020 is starting with some crazy world stuff, 2019 was crazy, too! If you’ve been following my main blog, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, HorrorAddicts.net, or my romance blog, you will know I’ve been busy. Let’s get on with the news. There is tons of new reading and things to look out for in the upcoming months! 🙂 Hope you and your family are staying safe and well.

Thank you for your well wishes and for those of you emailing to ask about your favorite series, I hope this answers some questions.


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Free Reading: Angelus Rose by Loren Rhoads and Brian Thomas

“If Romeo had wings and Juliet a barbed tail, could they find happiness in the City of Angels?”

My good friend, author Loren Rhoads, gave us an exclusive excerpt of her new book, Angelus Rose.

After their escape from the ashes of Lost Angels, the succubus Lorelei and the angel Azaziel want nothing more than to enjoy each other’s company. Unfortunately, Asmodeus, the Demon Prince of LA, has threatened to devour Lorelei’s new-grown soul if she doesn’t bring about Azaziel’s downfall. Meanwhile, Aza is keeping secrets of his own that threaten the tenuous peace between Heaven and Hell. 

Three archangels come to town to try to set things right, but friendships are fracturing. The demon in charge of fallen angels is sniffing around. And Los Angeles is about to catch fire between a devil and the deep blue sea.

Lorelei & Tuan on Melrose, an excerpt from Angelus Rose by Loren Rhoads & Brian Thomas

Lorelei led Tuan down to the less fashionable end of Melrose, away from the designer boutiques and overpriced restaurants. When she stopped, the shop’s windows were smeared with dust, less as a decorative motif than as a philosophical statement. A mangy taxidermy chimpanzee crouched on a threadbare purple silk cloth. Beneath one of its paws rested a human skull, spade marks still visible on the dirt-scuffed cranium. Secondhand paperback books on ritual magic and serial killers formed a circle around the monkey. Their covers were marked with masking tape that quoted very reasonable prices.

“What are we doing here?” Tuan asked.

“Picking up a gift for Floria.” Lorelei swung the door open. The room smelled musty, with an undertone of unpleasant incense. Lorelei wound through the jumble of glass cases filled with charms. Tuan tore his eyes away from Lorelei’s juicy ass, only to meet the gaze of the guy behind the counter. He looked like a wax figure with watery colorless eyes. Then he blinked.

“Hi, Daniel,” Lorelei cooed. “I need to go through my stuff.”

The old man shifted his gaze to her. He manipulated the ropy muscles of his face into a corpse’s grin. “I’ve missed you.”

“It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” She slipped into his arms, pressing herself against him, and pulled his head down to meet her kiss. When his tongue searched her mouth hungrily, Tuan turned away.

The old guy started to heave in Lorelei’s arms. Tuan twisted back to stare at them in shock. Lorelei was smiling against Daniel’s lips. With one painful lurch, he coughed up a key. Lorelei caught it between her teeth, then reached up to take it with her fingers. “Thank you, Daniel.”

In an old man’s emphysematic wheeze, he asked, “When will you come spend the night again?”

“Have you been missing me?”

He guided her free hand to the front of his trousers and let her find out for herself.

Tuan fought back a shudder, desperately looking for anything in the shop that wouldn’t freak him out on some level.

“I’ll work you into my schedule soon,” Lorelei promised. “Maybe I can swing you a whole weekend.”

“How long has that been?” He gave Tuan a death’s-head grin and waggled his enormous gray eyebrows. Then he came around the counter and used a key from the ring in his pocket to unlock a closet tucked into the corner of the magic shop. Tuan noticed that the book Daniel had laid down on the counter when they came in—the one he’d been reading—was called Killing for Company.

Lorelei ducked into the walk-in closet. Tuan followed her, more comfortable in her company than alone with the skeezy shop owner.

Lorelei knelt in front of an old-style steamer trunk. Standing on its end, it was more than waist high. She fit the key Daniel had coughed up into the trunk’s ornate lock plate and turned it three times. After the third twirl, the trunk unlocked with a thump. Lorelei pushed the two sides of the trunk apart. Each half was lined with heavy particleboard drawers.

As Lorelei opened the drawers and rummaged around in them, Tuan said quietly, “He doesn’t look good.”

“Who, Daniel? Always three steps ahead of death.” She shrugged but didn’t turn away from her chest of drawers. “He wanted to live forever. He didn’t ask for eternal youth.”

“One of yours?”

“One of the early ones.”

Lorelei pulled out a couple of dresses, some prescription vials, and a roll of bills.

Curiosity got the better of Tuan. “Is this everything you own?”

“I’ve got a couple of other trunks stashed here and there. Floria does, too.” She glanced over her shoulder for his reaction.

Tuan wasn’t sure if he was meant to feel jealous that Floria kept her past and possessions from him. To be honest, he was relieved not to have been drawn into it. He changed the subject back. “You are powerful enough to keep someone alive forever?”

“It’s a matter of separating the soul from the flesh,” Lorelei said offhandedly. “In the state I found Daniel in, it wasn’t as difficult as it sounds.”

“Is his soul in Hell already?”

The succubus shook her head. “It’s hidden.”

“Does Daniel know where it is?”

She laughed. “He can’t get it, give it up, or die, without my permission.

Tuan felt as shocked as he was fascinated. “What if he’s in an accident or something?”

“He’d just better hope he’s not in an accident.”

“Why does he live in earthquake country, then?”

She looked at Tuan like he was stupid. “ ’Cause somebody’s got to watch my stuff, Tuan. Daniel watches my stuff and I keep an eye on his soul and he gets to live until he begs me to let him die. Not an elegant arrangement, but I was young when I set it up.”

“How old were you?” Tuan asked.

Lorelei stepped out of the closet to ask, “How old are you, Daniel?”

He shrugged. “I was born the 19th of February in the year 1832.”

“Had enough?” Lorelei teased.

“Not yet.”

She grinned as she went back to searching through the trunk. “Eternal devotion,” she marveled to Tuan. “Hard to believe he really meant it.”

Tuan felt his stomach spasm in disgust. Every time he started to think that Lorelei was the better sister, the more compassionate one, he discovered something horrifying like this.

One of the drawers clattered, full of brightly colored laminated cards. “What’s that?” Tuan asked, grateful for the distraction. He had to get it together.

Lorelei slid some of the cards out, turning them over in her fingers as she handed them to Tuan: The Rolling Stones, David Bowie, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, The Doors…all the dinosaurs of rock. Most of the laminates said, “All Access.” “Me and Floria worked the rock shows,” Lorelei explained. “Back in the day.”

She closed that drawer and opened the next. A stench oozed out like the damp, dense darkness of a swamp. Lorelei pushed that drawer firmly shut and opened the next without comment.

This drawer was filled with diamond rings. There were easily fifty or sixty of them, each representing a broken engagement. Lorelei dug through them as if they meant nothing to her. Tuan felt ill.

“There it is!” Lorelei pulled out a crumpled-up newspaper and handed it to Tuan. Afraid of what he might find, he gingerly unwrapped the package. Despite the closet’s dim lighting, crimson gems flashed inside the nest of paper.

The succubus hooked the necklace with her forefinger and held it up to make it shimmer. Five square rubies burned like the deepest hearts of Hell among a constellation of diamond chips.

“Where’s the newspaper from?”

Lorelei traced the name at the top of the paper with her left forefinger. “Pravda. The headline says, ‘The Socialist Fatherland is in danger.’”

“What’s that mean?”

“The Nazis had invaded Russia. 1941.” She smiled. “That was a good year. People were lining up to get into Hell.”

Tuan recoiled in horror. “A Nazi gave you this?”

“No, a communist did. Floria ought to love it. It is totally worth me gangbanging a handful of boys that she doesn’t give a fuck about.” Lorelei held the necklace out to Tuan. “Do you want to present it for me?”

“I’m gonna meet up with her tonight,” Tuan said, staring, unseeing, at the gems. He had to play this very carefully. Floria had stressed repeatedly that Lorelei could not suspect a thing. “Wanna come along?”

“Might as well,” the succubus decided. “Probably better if I apologize in person.”

“Yeah,” Tuan agreed. He thought his agreement sounded unconvincing. Lorelei didn’t seem to notice.

Don’t miss out on a chance to chat with the author April 11th, 2pm PST on Facebook

Happy Book Birthday! Wicked Gardens by Rogue Planet Press

wg2Wicked Gardens

By Rogue Planet Press

Wicked Gardens
What a wicked place indeed.
Explore it, if you will.
Many stories of sheer horror.
Each room, another portal to hell.
Each occupant, another soul to claim. – D.S. Scott

Emerian’s story in Wicked Gardens “The Rose Garden” is the tale about a girl who lives with her grandmother. Both named after the Belinda Rose, they tend a garden in the spare room which is against lease rules. As the Super becomes more suspicious and more liberal with his fascination with the younger Belinda, he learns the garden is more sinister than your average rose garden. Gram is just tending her roses, what could go wrong?

Including the works of: D.S. Scott, Joseph J. Patchen, L.A. Sykes, Mark Slade, Thomas M. Malafarina, John C. Adams, E.S. Wynn, Emerian Rich, Mark E. Tompkins, Tom Pitts, Kenneth Gallant, Gavin Chappell, Stephen Hernandez, Pete Lutz, Suzie Lockhart, and Bruce Lockhart.

Available now!

Wicked Gardens

Pandemic Stories: If Poe had written Annabel Lee during a Pandemic

In the book, Quoth the RavenI presented my interpretation of Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “Annabel Lee” in short story form. In “My Annabel” I explored the theme from the perspective of an ER doctor and his wife in the middle of a Pandemic outbreak. Little did I know the theme would become so real to us today.

I now present you with an excerpt from “My Annabel” below.

My Annabel by Emerian Rich

They blamed me, but I couldn’t stop it. Annabel was going to die from the moment she hugged that poor sick child and I knew it. She knew it too, but neither of us vocalized it. It was more of an exchanged look, a silent message as she smoothed back the hair of that poor homeless waif.

The virus had been loosed on a plane flying in from London, but the passengers didn’t start getting sick until they left the airport. By then, they’d had time to infect others. Patients streamed into the ER faster than we could care for them. The rules? Stay four to six feet away, use the protective gear, and make no contact. We followed the rules…except that once.

Just like an unexpected pregnancy from casual sex, it only takes once.

I can’t explain why Annabel picked up the child whose sneeze infected her, only that it could have just as easily been me. Perhaps it was the child’s pleading blue eyes, too young to know the severity of what her innocent-seeming cold meant, or maybe it was those cute, chubby cheeks covered with tears. Maybe it was because we’d talked of having such a child, of finally being ready to give ourselves up to parenting, of allowing our lives to be taken over by the mixture of joy and stress of being parents. Diapers, late-night feedings, no rest. After all, if two doctors couldn’t function without a little sleep, what good were we?

And so Annabel allowed herself to be infected because of a sudden lapse in judgment, an urgent wish to ease a little girls’ suffering. Who could fault her for that? No one. But they blamed me.

She’d waved me off when a few of the interns in hazmats swooped in to handle the girl. The interns washed Annabel, too. They worked quickly, shedding her of her clothes and wiping her down as I watched from the other side of the glass.

“She can be saved,” they murmured. No way the great Doctor Lee—one half of the greatest medical team ever known to the West Coast—could succumb to the virus as the result of simply embracing a defenseless young soul. We were brilliant surgeons, but our bodies were still human. The physical laws of biology and virus still applied.

By the time I’d been installed in a hazmat suit, my Annabel was naked and shivering, more from fever than cold. Unembarrassed by being on the patient side, where modesty was nothing compared to wellness, her teeth chattered as she fell into my white-shrouded arms. I embraced her, gripping the body I knew as well as my own, wishing I could smell her hair, wanting nothing more than to rip off my mask and succumb alongside my love. But when I moved to do so, she pleaded with me to protect myself, that it was she who made the mistake and she who must pay the price.

“You must live on,” she said. “You must live this life for us both.”

In those last hours as I held her on my lap—me in my hazmat, she in her hospital robe—Annabel reminded me of our life. Not the life we lived then— each trying to be strong for the other, trying to concentrate on the love not the loss—but our life before. When we moved to San Francisco fresh out of medical school, against her parents’ wishes, to be interns in a new city on the West Coast. She spoke of the little apartment we could barely afford. Of lovemaking between shifts, or on breaks, or whenever we could. In the car, in the on-call room, and sometimes in our own bed, exhausted but craving each other’s touch. She reminded me of those rare days off when we’d take a picnic to the park and roll in the grass, enjoying the sun on our pale, indoor skin or running along the beach letting the freezing water tingle our toes in the sand.

“We loved with a love that was more than a love,” she said, her weary, red-rimmed eyes looking up at me from her curled spot on my lap.

“That we did and will always, forevermore,” I replied.

After the light was gone from her eyes and her heart stopped for good, I held her still, willing my love to revive her. You’d think it would. For why would the heavens give us such a gift of love if not to make it powerful enough to bring back life?

To read more of My Annabel, download Quoth the Raven.

The works of Poe were dark and often disturbing. From dismembered corpses, rivals bricked behind cellar walls, murders in back alleys, laments for lost loves, obsessions that drive men – and women! – to madness, his stories have had a profound impact on both the horror and mystery genres to this day.

In Quoth the Raven, we invite you to answer the call of the raven and revisit Poe’s work, re-imagined for the twenty-first century. Here, the lover of mystery and Gothic horror will find familiar themes in contemporary settings, variations on Poe’s tales, and faithful recreations of the author’s signature style.

Contains stories and poems by Aryan Bollinger, Brian Ellis, Chris Abela, Donea Lee Weaver, Edward Ahern, Emerian Rich, Frank Coffman, Gregory J. Wolos, Hugh J.O’Donnell, John Kiste, Kara Race-Moore, Karen Robiscoe, Kenneth C. Goldman, Lauryn Christopher, Lawrence Berry, Matthew M. Montelione, Melanie Cossey, Penelope Paling, R.C. Scandalis, Sarah Murtagh, Scott Wheelock, Sidney Williams, Sonora Taylor, Stephanie L. Harper, Steven R. Southard, Susan McCauley, Tiffany Michelle Brown, Tonia Kalouria, and Vicki Weisfeld.

Available Now!

New Book from Emerian Rich: The War Letters of Henry C. Brewer

The War Letters of Henry C. Brewer
Now available from Amazon.com.

Henry C. Brewer is my grandfather-in-law, but I never met him. Neither did my husband or his mother. We only know him through this book of letters and what we’ve been able to glean from public record.

Henry Carroll Brewer, was born in 1918 in Simpson, Louisiana. Henry was a Sgt. in the 30th Infantry for the USA in WWII and died in 1944 in France fighting for his country. Henry fell in love with an Oakland girl, Madeline Aguiar, about 1940. These letters not only tell of their love affair, but of the life he wanted to have with her that was unfortunately cut short due to war.

~An excerpt from a letter just after he was told they were going overseas to war.~

January 19, 1942

My Darling,

I will write although I haven’t got any letter but I can always write the one I love. I know it’s hard for you to pass away these lonely Sundays. God only knows how much I would like to see you.

Madeline, gosh, they are killing themselves around here. Two soldiers killed themselves last night. Too bad. I may be crazy, but Darling, you need not worry about that. Long as you are waiting for me, Darling. If only I could hold you in my arms. Little Bit, kiss me. If I could only see your hair when it’s combed out.

Just think, Madeline, our little curly-headed boy. Darling, life wouldn’t be worth living without you. I go to sleep

praying that we can be together. Darling, they say by the last of this month we can get off. So be ready because I’m sending after you.

Love always, Mannie

PS. I will send for you so don’t worry and be sweet as ever and keep your chin up for me, will you, Darling?


Experience Henry and Madeline’s lives through their letters in The War Letters of Henry C. Brewer. Book includes letters, postcards, and other correspondence from 1941-1944, a timeline for easy reference, pictures, and hand-drawn maps.