Cover Art

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The cover art for my book, 100 Nightmares, was created by Dan Verkys where he made use of photographic manipulation. The model on the photo is Silvia Alessandrini. The work is entitled “An Ugliness Within.” I look at it and see every imaginable horror that exists– the sick, the possessed, the anguished soul, the undead, the predator turned prey.

These old photos also seem to have cover art potential, depending on the genre.

for a book of reflections, perhaps?

for a book of reflections, perhaps?

a love story

a love story

a scary shark story! :)

a scary shark story! :)

an eerie story that i'm calling "the replacement wives"

an eerie story that i’m calling “the replacement wives”… no?

AND THIS IS WHY I DON’T DO MY OWN COVER ART! ;)

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/cover-art/

Throwback Tales: Wooden Lips

Wooden Lips
By K.Z. Morano

The cellar door is a wound, a break on the earth’s skin. It is a gash in the ground where malignant thoughts trickle like blood into the cesspit of my filthy brain. The cellar door is a mouth… the wooden lips of a whore whispering obscenities into my ear, sticking her spectral tongue into my acoustic tunnels and to the roof of my skull to caress murderous designs into being.

She tells me what she wants me to do.

She tells me what I want to do.

She speaks to me even with her lips tightly shut, bolted with heavy metal.

The cellar door is hungry. And her cries follow me even to my sleep, soft fragmented sobs that swell into angry screams as midnight approaches and the moon’s fat face pales from the anticipated terror.

I try to fight her, I swear, every single time.

But then there’s the scratch… the sound of sharp fingernails raking against the door, creating deep cuts into the sensitive sheath of my sanity.

Feed me, she says.

I can hear the seismic growling of her empty belly, persistently reminding me of my duty. I walk towards the door… that other door. I turn the knob cautiously as if the monster were on the other side. The rusty joints creak to reveal the sacrificial lambs, their eyes floating towards me, terror blanching their faces.

I have learned to ignore their fright. It is merely a job that must be done. I pick one, a little boy, this time. As I free him from his shackles, a tiny whimper of protest issues forth from dry cracked lips. But he comes with me, nevertheless, the beautiful bleatless baby sheep, with his skin smooth and tight over his fragile skeleton.

I take him to the kitchen where I carve off that skin. I do it with a blank face, with studied precision. Then I stare into my work—that amorphous figure of glistening pink flesh. Peeled of all pretensions, he is nothing but meat—a sexless, lifeless substance, her evening meal. I take his flayed body outside where stars always over-sprinkle the sky… falsely festive, my co-conspirators, for they have witnessed me doing this for years and years.

I unlock the cellar door, cautiously, reverently. Now that her lips are parted, I can hear her voice more clearly, murmurous sounds of pleasure sliding back and forth in her muddy throat. Her malodorous breath reaches my nose—the smell of the earth’s intestines, the stench of digested matter, of pulped flesh, of decaying bodies.

The meat sticks to my flesh, clings to me as if seeking protection. I drop it into the cellar door, into that gaping mouth and into that throat… that tunnel stretching into eternity. It may take a while to satisfy her. Yes, it may take a very long time. And I have devoted my entire life simply for that purpose. I replace the locks on her lips… those wooden cellar lips, knowing that she’ll be quiet, pacified for now.

Often, I wonder what would come of this, sure that someday, they—all the children that I have fed her—will return, resplendent in their new skin. Will they come for me then? Will they be grateful? Or will they exact their vengeance? Only time will tell.

How long, I wonder, will the locks be able to hold the door?

How long before they come crawling out of her pestilential hole?

My sleep becomes plagued with all these thoughts, my pillows always bloody like butchered sheep. I wash my hands often, over and over, until they are raw. Right now, there is only one thing I know. I serve that voice in my head… the voice of whatever unutterable monstrosity that dwells beneath the cellar door.

Copyright: © 2013 K.Z. Morano

Note: First appeared in Cellar Door Volume II: Words of Beauty, Tales of Terror, JWK Fiction, December 2013 and
Reprinted in Best of Horror 2013, JWK Fiction, August 2014

Sooo… 10 days until Halloween and it just occurred to me that I don’t have any scary stories coming out this month! :( However, some of my stories will be appearing in various anthologies in November, December, and of course, early 2015. I’ve been receiving some invitations to write for various anthos and the themes are just so sooo awesome that I find it hard to resist! :) In the meantime, I hope you enjoy some of my previously published pieces. The rights have reverted back to me so I can now post them here on my blog for everyone to read. Thanks for reading the story! ;) xoxo

Pittsburgh Writer Best Horror Fiction

THE PITTSBURGH WRITER RECOMMENDS 100 NIGHTMARES

read the best fiction

http://pittsburghwriter.net/horror.htm

Don’t forget to view the other recommended indie books on their page. All recommendations are evaluated on the merits of originality, writing achievement, and entertainment value. Thank you. :)

K.Z. <3

Texas Terror Entertainment Author Spotlight

Hey everyone! I’m this month’s featured author on Texas Terror Entertainment!

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Thank you so much, NecroStein for the awesome interview.

You can read the interview here http://umag666.wix.com/texas-terror-ent#!october-2014/ch03 There’s also a story there, a new nasty little piece entitled “Sex and Stainless Steel” though it’s certainly not for readers with more delicate sensibilities. ;) Check out the page if you wish to read it. <3

xoxo