Zombie Love for Morons, edited by Paul Williams Jr and Barney Bryant, Decade Publishing, 158 pages, $39.95.

reviewed by Sean Monaghan

Lately the "... for Morons" series has been tackling bigger issues and this has quite rightly led to a lot of criticism about their increasing level of complexity. The whole concept of the series is to take a difficult subject and make it clear and easy for even the most challenged. Recent additions have strayed from that formula - Daylight Vampiring for Morons stands out as one that really just proved too challenging (and deadly) for many of the readers.

Fortunately this newest book is a return to the roots of the series. Basic, simple, straightforward. The editors have selected comments and articles from numerous informed sources and then thoroughly dumbed them down so that anyone - zombies included - will understand the concepts. The volume is filled with illustrations and diagrams, step-by-step exercises, sidebars and pull-out charts (my favorite is the cheat card to take on a zombie date). Never have things been easier in the arena of zombie love.

The book begins with a clear introduction, which will reassure many zombies stuck for choice and feeling dejected by their plight (and truly, we all know that being a zombie is not a cheerful time anyway, let alone if you're single and searching). Encouraging facts abound. Did you know that at any one time between 80 and 90% of zombies are not in a relationship - "You are not alone!" the book proclaims, perhaps missing the possible double-meaning of the statement. Clearly, though, out there someone is available and this book is the way to find them.

The chapters progress logically, building from how to approach another zombie you're attracted to, right to the chapters on deeper longer-term relationships. Just like the living, zombies in long-term relationships do need to do work on maintaining their love. A two page set of bullet points on how to keep the pep present when you've been involved with a rotting corpse for more than a year is followed by similar spreads for five years, ten years and right on to the granite anniversary. Really it takes intentional action, rather than just cruising, and these pointers will tickle and inspire you.

Feeling stale? Try out the matrix array of combination ideas for livening up your crumbling relationship, such as (1) go to a "based on the book by Nicholas Sparks" movie, then (2) a moonlight walk near water, (3) finish up with home-cooked brains, then (4) off to bed.

My favorite chapter is number eighteen, specifically for lonely hearts who have tried again and again to establish a relationship without success. Remember the person you meet doesn't have to be a zombie already. If you find someone you think you might be attracted to, but they're still amongst the living, a couple of quick bites in the right spot and you might just have a new lover.

The book breaks everything down into a step-by-step process. The contents page is clear, the index abundant, and the price is just right. Recommended - ask your local bookstore now. Four and a half stars.

 

 

"Zombie Love for Morons"

Copyright: © 2010 Sean Monghan

-------------------------------------

Sean Monaghan's book reviews have appeared in various publications.  His stories have been published before in The New Flesh, as well as MicroHorror and Flashes in the Dark, amongst others.  More information at his website, www.venusvulture.com

I hold my sister's mottled and battered baby. There is a smear of blood on the tiny girl's forehead, her fists crumpled up like boxing gloves.

Sandra jostles me, trying to get a clamp to Kate's surgeon.

The baby gasps.

Someone in the corridor screams as security tries to manage the sudden flow of injured, and the surge of arriving families. Again I'm startled by how quickly after a wreck parents and husbands can make it to the ER.

Sandra grabs my shoulder. "Incubator," she says through her mask. "Deborah?"

I look, but I don't see it for a moment. I'm not used to these plastic bubbles in theater.

"Please Deborah," Sandra says, putting her hand on my arm.

"Sutures, quickly," Dr Ravi says.

"Let me have her," Sandra says, adjusting Kate’s respirator and passing the sutures. "Don't make me pry her from you." She begins prying at my arms anyway. "What are you even doing in here, Debs? Go home."

I turn to the incubator, see the big lid, the tubes and tank below. I reach out and put the baby girl onto the mattress.

"Where's the cart?" Ravi shouts.

Sandra tapes monitors to the child's chest, wipes away some of the blood, then closes the lid. "Go home," she says. "You're not any use here."

"What would I do at home?"

"Fine, wait in the hall."

I look at the maelstrom of people beyond the window. A truck crushed four cars in the tunnel. Half the city has come out. Nobody can separate those who can be reassured from the others. I'm not stepping into a mob. I have all the reassurance I need here.

"She's twenty-nine weeks," I say. I stare at the baby. So miniscule, so nearly formed. I look again at Kate. Her face is torn and taped. They work on her chest. I had bandaged her arm, but I think she'll lose it. One of her legs will be lost too. When she came in I saw the shin strung on at the knee by a few white ligaments.

"Deborah," Sandra says. "Out." She's in charge here. She's handing Ravi instruments. They're not interested in legs or arms, they just need to stem the flow of blood in her abdomen. Fumbling, I screw the oxygen to the incubator, but the girl is too early, I know.

"Dammit, Debs, you're not helping," Sandra says.

I can see Ravi slowing his work.

"Security," Sandra shouts.

Dr Miller darts in. He leans over my sister's body, discusses things with Ravi, who continues to work with Sandra. I barely hear anything, but the tone is enough. Miller turns to the incubator.

"Security," Sandra shouts again. She swabs for Ravi.

Miller lifts the incubator lid and puts his stethoscope on Kate's child's chest.

A security man slips in and grabs my arm. I don't move.

Miller listens for a moment and his head drops.

*   *   *

When I was twelve and Kate fifteen, blackbirds nested in the branches of the tall oak outside her attic room. She'd convinced Mom and Dad to let her convert the tiny space into a bedroom so that she no longer had to share with me.

Kate watched the birds hatch their brood. One day Kate's six-month old cat, Shambles, leapt across to the branch while the adult birds were out hunting. The cat took a hatchling, but slipped when Kate screamed. Bird and cat tumbled to the ground.

From the kitchen I heard the thump, out on the front walk. I was there before Kate. I did't know how a cat could land wrong, but Shambles lay bleeding and dying there on the concrete. The hatchling flapped, struggling, with just the last whispers of life in it. Shambles mewled, his eyes glassy, and I had to sniff back tears. I heard Kate pounding down the stairs, still screaming.

Then Shambles shivered and died, his body softening. The adult blackbirds clucked in the branches above.

"Deborah," Kate yelled from the steps.

I picked up the fledgling and put my hand on Shambles, stroking his soft grey fur. I was crying. Kate squealed beside me, falling to her knees.

I know what I did, though I didn't know I could. I took the last puff of life from the dying bird and passed it to Shambles. It was a little bit of magic, like something from one of my library books. The fledgling died in my hand and Shambles lifted his head.

Kate gathered him up, and Mom drove them to the vet, while I sat on the porch step with the dead chick in my hand listening to the birds chirrup and tweet in the tree, feeding their surviving babies. I sat on the step until long after dark.

*   *   *

"Call it," Miller says. Then he turns to Ravi. "Can I assist?"

I pull away from the security man.

"We've got others," Ravi says. "There's too much bleeding."

"Okay," Miller says.

The incubator lid is still open. I step over and lift my sister's child.

"Clear the theater," Sandra says. "We've got others." She pulls her mask down and comes to me. "I'll give you a minute," she says. She reaches up with a clean sponge and wipes my eyes.

"Wait," I say.

This baby girl is still clinging, and though she is very early I know she can make it.

"It's been called," Sandra says.

"Make him check again," I say. How can I do this to my sister? How can I chose between them? I put my hand on Kate's whole but bloody arm and I know what she wants, and she gives it freely, lets me pass it to the child.

"Come on," Sandra says.

The girl's thin heart lurches, once, then again and I hand her to Sandra. "Please," I say, not able to look away from Kate's damaged face. "Please just check again."

I hand the baby over and hear Sandra say "Oh my," then, "Doctor!"

Kate's face is serene.

"Fledgling"

Copyright: © 2010 Sean Monaghan

-------------------------------------

Sean Monaghan's stories have appeared in print and online in numerous publications. His science fiction novel The Rotated" is serialized at Infinite Windows. More information at his website www.venusvulture.com.

_____

The pit monster's lair pt. 1

[director's commentary - on]

Hi, Sean here.  Thanks for joining me for the deleted scenes from our little film.

These shots of the dark woods, and the cave, were initially just to try to create more audience sympathy for the monster, show his home and, there, see that sad, lost look in his eyes as he comes into frame?  This just adds so much of the humanity and empathy I think we lost in the release.

_____

Tess and Gavin after the first attack

[director's commentary - off]

Exterior, twilight, in the woods.  Tess and Gavin run into shot and stop in front of a big pine.

Tess (breathing hard)

I think we lost it.

Gavin

But where are the others?  Melissa was right behind me.

Tess

God, did you hear that thing?  I thought it was going to tear your arms off.

Gavin

I'm okay.  It was just a scratch.

Tess (leaning over)

Let me see.

_____

Gavin and Melissa lost in the woods

[director's commentary - off]

Exterior, night, beside the stream, dense underbrush (the same place where Mike and Claire had sex earlier).  Gavin is sitting by the stream.  He hears a movement nearby.

Gavin

Tess?

Melissa

Gavin?

Gavin

Melissa?

Melissa

Gavin!

Gavin

Melissa!

Melissa

Where's Tess?

_____

The pit monster's lair pt. 2

[director's commentary - on]

Hi again.  Well this was a scene we decided to cut very late in the editing process.  It was a hard decision to make because again it reveals so much about the monster.  We really wanted to give that element of ambiguity and create more audience sympathy with the monster, but ultimately it slowed the action down too much.

There's the lair which we spent, I think, something like two weeks building and set-dressing.  We had these big smoke machines set up, pumping mist and smoke through the whole soundstage.

Oh, here's Billy as the monster, coming through the cave's entrance.  Billy did a great job, really brought so much character to the role, so it was unfortunate to have to cut.  Really one of his best sequences.

So, yeah, he comes in, steps into the bottom of the cave with Tess's body.  Suzie was awesome playing Tess in this scene.  You know, like, she's already dead, so she had to be limp and unmoving and Billy's just tossing her onto the rocks like that ... there you go.  Ow.  I think in one of the early takes she flinched, but after that she nailed it.  Oh, not real rocks, Styrofoam.

Then, oh yeah, this is the bit that really took the whole thing to a different level.  The monster kneels and seems to pray, as if giving thanks for his prey.  I wanted to linger on this, the lighting was great, the whole atmosphere worked.  Worked well.

Now watch, watch here.  There, see Billy lift his head a little, towards the cave mouth?  He can hear the others, the kids.  They're nearby.  But then he turns back to look at Suzie.  So subtle, but conveying so much.  He's going to devour her, but he's not as bestial as they all think.

To me this brings quite a different aspect to the movie, I'm a little sorry we had to lose it.

_____

Gavin's arm

[director's commentary - off]

Exterior, night, slow pan from the cottage to Gavin and Melissa.  Gavin is lying on the ground.

Melissa

We need to put a tourniquet on that.

_____

Tess's confession

[director's commentary - on]

Okay, listen to Suzie's lines here ...

Tess

I didn't mean ...

At this stage in the edits, Tess had already been killed off so it made no sense, but we couldn't slot it in any earlier either.  Suzie gave such an amazing performance though that it was a pity we couldn't keep it in.

Tess

... and Melissa.

_____

What happened to the car

[director's commentary - on]

Well, this was an obvious scene to leave on the cutting room floor.  In the storyboard stage it fitted, but didn't work for the release.  Okay, there's Gavin's old Taurus, parked at the road edge.  The pit monster stumbling around and injured now ... there's Billy ... and he bumps it.  The brake fails and the car rolls away through ... there it goes ... bounces through the trees.  I did like how we had a camera inside looking forwards ... then over the edge and ... there's the water.  Smack.  Right into the lair.  It sinks.  I'm glad we cut that, it just slowed the story down.  But thanks to DVD extras we can show you how we wrecked a perfectly good car.

_____

Alternate ending

[director's commentary - on]

Ah, so this is the gruesome ending we would have had, the one that set things up for a sequel more seamlessly.  Okay, here are Gavin and Melissa ...

Gavin

Just over the rise.

Melissa

I can hear people.  We're nearly at the mall-

And there's the pit monster.  This is where we really would have lost that PG rating.  Swing, swing with those claws and ...

Melissa (screaming)

No, no.

Gavin

Run I-

I like this moment though.  The monster slices Gavin apart and howls at the sky ... then turns as if he's heard those other people.  Sequel here we come.  Roll credits.

_____

Return to main menu

"Deleted Scenes"

Copyright: © 2010 Sean Monaghan

-------------------------------------

Sean Monaghan's films have appeared frequently in his dreams and been described to bored listeners.  Sean's stories have appeared online and in print in The New Flesh, Deep Space Terror and Flashes in the Dark, among others.  More information at his website www.venusvulture.com

Introduction

.

Serial killers have been around for centuries. It is only over the last twenty-five years that it has been an accepted, if underground, means of artistic expression.

Often diminished through entertainment (TV shows, movies, etc.) such artist serial killers are deeper and more considered than popular media would lead us to believe.

Most artist serial killers operate in isolation and their achievements viewed by only small, often unsympathetic audiences. Their exhibitions are frequently cordoned and inaccessible, then quickly broken down by belligerent authorities.

This series of brochures seeks to inform the wider public of the aesthetics of these elusive artists and, we hope, to bring a broader understanding of their efforts.

.

Fitch Micklin

.

Born in 1971 in Gainsfield, Nebraska, Fitch Darnell Micklin and his three siblings were raised by an alcoholic prostitute mother. While many believe that such an upbringing is a precursor to artistic endeavours, none of Fitch's siblings pursued careers in the arts: one is a lawyer, another a foreman and of the third there is no trace.

Fitch was known for his art from an early age - elementary teachers frequently displayed his works on classroom walls. Fitch excelled at high school, of particular note was his bone folio - coarse paintings of skeletons, using ground and dyed bone paste as the paint base.

Following high school, Fitch was expelled from the Kent Art School in Gainsfield in 1990. The faculty disapproved of his installation piece "Badger dismembering a pure-breed show cat". In the documentation it was noted that the taxidermied family cat in the piece belonged to one of the faculty members.

.

First independent foray

.

During 1992 Nebraska police discovered three of Micklin's pieces in Omaha and Lincoln. Similar to his Kent piece, two of these involved modelled attack scenes: the pieces entitled "Mugger with 90-year-old" and "Woman eviscerates rapist". The third, "Male nurse self-injects morphine" was a separate commentary and caused a stir through the Nebraska medical community. The pieces were removed and buried. Photographic records remain sealed in the Nebraska police files.

Later co-ordination with Iowa officials suggested that a fourth piece found in Walnut soon after was possibly also Micklin's. Titled "Transitory man stabs woman", the piece was less aesthetic in its arrangement. Photographs of this are easily found through internet search - and it is clearly not Micklin's work. Micklin himself vehemently denied having been out of Nebraska (at the time) and was understandably furious at the damage to his reputation caused by such sub-standard copy-cat work.

.

Second phase work

.

In 1998 Micklin began to actively pursue the exhibition of his works. Rather than leaving installations to be found he had the new works delivered to galleries. His approach changed radically and this sets him apart from the usual serial killer artist.

From 1998 until 2002, Micklin removed a single bone from each of thirty people and created unique and individual works on these tibias, ulnas, tarsals, mandibles and so on. The remains of each body was left in situ - be that in a park, a car or their own bed.

Micklin intricately decorated these bones with a mix of scrimshaw, carving, painting and inlaying. These astonishing works are amongst the finest examples of Micklin's creativity.

The works usually arrived by delivery service at a gallery some months after the bone's removal. Most gallery owners did not display the works, but contacted authorities who immediately confiscated the artwork. A few fortunate people at the Cottonwood Shade Gallery in Pine Forks were able to view the piece "Bird Flight over Glacier National Park". The gallery owner was expecting a ceramic piece with a similar title from one of her regular artists and so Micklin's piece was displayed, if mislabelled. When the expected piece arrived, Micklin's work was unfortunately switched out (though to all accounts the other work was inferior and did not ultimately sell).

Perhaps the best known work from this period is his "Green River, River" - the femur from a woman in Green River, Wyoming, decorated from right to left with a flowing river which traces its way from the watershed through to the sea, including very detailed and technically correct pictures of many fish and invertebrates which populate the rivers of the western states. The bone was mounted horizontally on a stainless steel plinth and encased in a sealed cylindrical jar. The bone, at the request of the woman's family, was unfortunately destroyed.

Third phase - "The Silver Strangler"

.

From 2002 until 2008 Micklin was on hiatus. Many have suggested that his creativity was exhausted. Others say that investigations forced him to keep a low profile.

From June 2008 new pieces began arriving regularly at New York galleries. These bones were inlaid with silver leaf. The bone donors for these most recent pieces had been strangled and so, as is the penchant for the most popular serial killers, Micklin was given the somewhat auspicious name "The Silver Strangler".

His most notable artwork from this period was "Telluride mining riot", a piece which tells the story of the 1899 mine disputes progressively through a continuous silver image, which can be followed along the bone from top to bottom, rotating as a helix.

Despite some cleverly timed deliveries, none of the pieces were ever actually shown. There are photographs in New York Police Department records, and some of the bones are in the vaults. Families did not wish them returned.

.

The Future

.

Micklin's future activities remain uncertain. The last of the Silver Strangler pieces was delivered in May 2010, three weeks after his incarceration (his delivery routing was complicated, in part to avoid authorities, which explains the delay).

Micklin was awaiting trial for close to one hundred murders, but escaped and is currently described as being "at large". We can only hope for some more brilliance from this gifted artist before he is recaptured.

"Guide Number 3"
Copyright: © 2010 Sean Monaghan
----------------------------------

Sean Monaghan's guides to serial killers have been published on numerous websites. As well as writing guides and brochures Sean tutors in creative writing and reviews books. More information at his website www.venusvulture.com

Iaim tapped Bridgid's goggles. "Can you hear okay?"

"My ears are just fine. We're alone."

Iaim looked along the pipe. Even with his own goggles dialed up to 120, it was still as black as if he had his eyes closed. He wished he had hearing as good as Bridgid's. He'd worked hard to get her some radargoggs, even if she didn't like them much, at least she could see sometimes. "Okay," he told her. "I'm going to put out an IR flare and we can get to the spigot. Let me know if you hear anything."

"Roger."

Iaim cocked the launcher, felt the dial and let it self-level. "We good?"

"Roger."

Iaim touched the trigger. The launcher spluttered and jerked. Invisible for a moment, the flare spun along the pipe, even Iaim could hear the whine. Then it ignited and his goggles automatically clipped back down to five, then three.

"I see the spigot," Iaim said. "Forty-five metres. You on the tether? I'm running now."

"Right with you."

Iaim splashed through the sluggish ankle-deep waste along the bottom of the pipe. Mostly it was offal and blood, slightly diluted from the residues of the purges. He had nose-clips and his suit was triple-rubbered, the boots hefty with celermet overshoes. They would still have to spend an hour in the shower when they got back.

"We've got alarms," Bridgid said as she splashed along behind. "I think three or four levels up."

"Bad?"

"Just a double-check, but something's picked up the flare as an anomaly. They'll do a sweep, but they don't have an intruder warning yet."

"Good. Slowing down now." They were nearly at the spigot. Iaim pulled the bladder from his satchel as they pulled up. He tried to breathe shallow to let Bridgid hear.

"It's gone quiet," she said. "The alarms are shut down."

"They've just decided it was false, perhaps?"

"We hope. Are we there?"

"Yep."

In the guttering light from the flare Iaim read the patinaed legend on the plate above. Cerebral Drain. He lifted the opening on the bladder to the spigot. He turned the handle and the gloopy flow started flopping into the canvas container.

"Something else," Bridgid said.

The brain fluids slowly drained into the bladder. He could feel the weight increasing.

"Something's happening," Bridgid said. "I can hear movement above."

"I think this is a good load," Iaim said. "Franco will pay well for this." The more viscous hauls were always more concentrated and more valuable.

The container already felt about half-full to Iaim. If the spigot kept pouring at this rate, then they would have enough for Franco's neuron vats for weeks. Perhaps they could buy Bridgid the eye operation.

"Oh," Bridgid said.

"What?"

"They've ..."

But then Iaim could hear it too. Liquid in the main pipe.

"We don't have long," she said.

"Just let me-"

The roar was growing, increasing in intensity.

"Only moments," Bridgid said. "How much do we have."

Iaim shut the spigot off. "Come on, let's get to the hatch." The bladder lurched in his hand as he took a step back. The sound blasted down, as if there was a building collapsing above them.

"We've gotta go."

In the distance, right at the edge of the flare light, Iaim saw the flood of waste rolling at them.

"Where's the hatch?" Bridgid said.

"A hundred yards."

Bridgid slowed. "We won't make it." The tether went taut.

"Bridgid."

The air passed by like a gale now.

"Too late."

Iaim yanked the tether and hauled her along. She stumbled after. He reached the ladder and clipped the bucket to his belt. "Start climbing," he said, stuffing the rungs into her hand.

The first wave of liquid hit their legs, rushing across and dragging at them. Iaim pulled himself up, one rung, two. Bridgid followed. The viscous liquid tugged at their legs.

Then the main volume struck, immersing them. Iaim hung on, pulled up, pulled up again. The liquid kept tearing him away. He couldn't breathe.

It was probably a week's worth of funeral home vat purging. Stored just to flush neuron thieves like them. But they would make it.

He touched the hatch. The pipe was full, there wasn't even any air space above. Iaim twisted the handle. He pushed the hatch open.

The edge of the concrete was firm and dry. Iaim pulled himself up, sodden and dripping. He looked back at the hole and pulled at the tether. The end snapped up and slapped the rough concrete.

He stuck his arm into the subsiding flow.

"Bridgid!" he shouted, knowing it was too late. Bridgid was gone.

He leaned back, staring. The bladder wobbled, still clutched in his other hand. What a waste, he thought, crying, and he hurled it away. Striking a curb, the bladder split and the contents drained out and away through a grate.

"The Neuron Thieves"
Copyright: © 2010 Sean Monaghan
---------------------------------

Sean Monaghan found a spigot in his yard, and has dug and dug, but has yet to find an end to the pipe. Sean’s stories have appeared before in The New Flesh Magazine and also in MicroHorror, Static Movement and others. More information at his website www.venusvulture.com.

Jennie heard them pounding on the front door. "Sid," she said. "They're here.""I'll be up soon," he called from the basement.

The pounding stopped for a moment. "We've got a new drill," someone shouted. The pounding started again.

"All right, all right," Sid hollered up.

"Come on," Jennie called. "We've got that last house payment to make and ..."

"Like it?" Sid said stepping into the kitchen.

"Oh. You think that will work?"

"Well, I heard them say that they've got new drills, but this should do the job." He was wearing a modified helmet from the museum raid. It was bronze, so heavy he could barely keep his head up, even without the modifications. He was wearing a neck brace. Pointing out around the helmet like frizzy hair, were dozens of springs, epoxied to the bronze.

"I wondered why you'd bought up all those pens," Jennie said.

Resting on the springs was a ball of clear plastic, nearly surrounding his whole head. "As soon as they start drilling, it'll just bounce them back."

"I wish we'd thought of that last time, then you wouldn't have those silly wounds and those odd higher function losses you've been experiencing."

"Yeah, but how were we to know?"
The pounding escalated. "Come on people. We're on a schedule out here."

"Coming," Sid called. "Sheesh, tell me again how much this one is worth?"

"Six months of the mortgage. In one hit. Then we're clear."

"I never thought we'd get this desperate." He wobbled along the hallway and opened the front door.

"Good evening," the foremost of three black-clad men said, staring at Sid's helmet. "We are from 'Penny for Your-'"

"I know where you're from. Let's get on with this."

"Make sure you get the check," Jennie called from the kitchen.

"We have your money." The last member of the group was hauling their clanking machine up the walk.

"Before they start drilling," Jennie called.

"You heard her," Sid said.

"Of course, of course." The lead member pulled out a billfold and slipped the check over to Sid.
Sid checked the amount, then put it on the hall table. "Okay, we're all set." He stepped out onto the porch. "Where's your gurney?"

"Oh," the head man said. "As I mentioned, we have new drills." He picked up the heavy tool from the top of the machine. Cables and wires dangled back.

"Where's the bit?"

A murmur of quiet laughter went around the group.

Sid stared at the blue and black unit. He was used to the machine that was like a cross between a dentist's implement and something from Home Depot. Rather than a Black and Decker tool, this looked like a retro-device invented by a movie props team. It gleamed with chrome and bright plastic coils. There were glowing indicator lights and circular gauges with thin red needles.

"No bit," the leader said. He lifted the apparatus. The tip began glowing and the box whined with a growing intensity.

"This is bad," Sid said.

"Nothing more than you agreed to. This is your final extraction anyway."

"The Perspex headgear is a nice touch," one of the others said. The rest laughed.

"Brings out his eyes," another said.

"We're fully charged," the one standing by the machine said. "Anytime you like and we can do a full drain."

The leader smiled. "It was nice to meet you, Sid." He lifted the tool up to Sid's forehead. "Most people are imaginative for the last visit, but I've got to say, you're one of the most intriguing I've met." He put his finger on the button.

"Wait!" the one at the machine said.

A bolt of green lightning leapt from the point of the tool. The lightning connected with the Perspex and skittered around, dividing into myriad sparks as if it was a horde of bugs. The springs glowed for a moment, then the lightning recondensed and jumped back across to the drill and along the shuddering cables. The machine exploded.

"He's got a brass helmet," the one who'd called 'wait' said. They all stood staring at their broken and smoking machine.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I tried."

They hauled the machine back to their van.

"So," Jennie said coming up to the door. "I guess it worked."

"And you doubted me," Sid said, lifting the helmet off.

Jennie smiled, holding the check. "Not for a moment."

"Bored Out of My Skull"
Copyright: © 2010 Sean Monaghan
-------------------------------------

Sean Monaghan’s thoughts are often extracted after dark by unknown entities while he sleeps and when he awakes he finds them transcribed into stories. Sean’s transcriptions have appeared before in The New Flesh Magazine and also in Flashes in the Dark and 365Tomorrows, amongst others. More information at his website www.venusvulture.com.

The Journal of Paranormal and Supernatural Research

Highland Springs

Virginia 23075

November 15th 1998

Dear Mr Monaghan

Thank you for submitting your article "The enslavement of ghosts for monetary gain", but we will not be able to use it in our journal. While the article was interesting and it's clear that you are a keen amateur, we are a research-based and peer-reviewed academic journal and your piece may be better suited to the popular press. We wish you luck with it elsewhere.

Yours

E.J. Hall

Editor

_____________


The Journal of Paranormal and Supernatural Research

Highland Springs

Virginia 23075

January 28th 2000

Dear Mr Monaghan

Thank you for submitting your article "Entombed and reborn: a personal journey", but we will not be able to use it in our journal. While the article was interesting I would remind you that we are a research-based and peer-reviewed academic journal and your piece may be better suited elsewhere.

Yours

E.J. Hall

Editor

_____________


The Journal of Paranormal and Supernatural Research

Highland Springs

Virginia 23075

October 14th 2000

Dear Mr Monaghan

Thank you for submitting your article "Venusians on Mars, Martians on Earth: evidence for extraterrestrial visits to the lower 48", but we will not be able use it in our journal. Again I would remind you that we are a research-based and peer-reviewed academic journal. Please do not send us any further articles of this type. If you wish to submit again, please query first and include your academic qualifications.

Yours

E.J. Hall

Editor

(ps. we deal in the paranormal not extraterrestrials, do you even read the journal?)

_____________


The Journal of Paranormal and Supernatural Research

Highland Springs

Virginia 23075

November 21st 2004

Dear Mr Monaghan

Thank you for submitting your article "Addiction to Ouija: how spirit contact becomes like chocolate", but we will not be using it in our journal. I note that it has been some years since you sent us a piece and while your completion of a degree is useful, at this stage in your academic career it would be good to collaborate with post-graduate/post-doctoral researchers in the writing. This will give your pieces more credence with the committee and peer reviewers.

Yours

E.J. Hall

Editor

(Please note that this is my last year as editor, duties from next year will be taken over by Prof. Jim MacRuddy).

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The Journal of Paranormal and Supernatural Research

Highland Springs

Virginia 23075

January 7th 2006

Dear Mr Monaghan

Thank you for submitting your article "Extended sleep deprivation and spirit contact", but we will not be using it in our journal. The photographs, however do seem to be something worth pursuing. Perhaps if you developed that line of research, and, importantly, could verify the authenticity of the photographs with a co-researcher then I think that is an article we would be interested in. We note that you have very quickly completed your Masters degree - perhaps your supervisor(s) would be willing to work with you on the research and an article.

Yours

E. J. Hall

Editor

(I know I was telling everyone that I was ending my term as editor, but it turns out I love it too much to give it up).

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The Journal of Paranormal and Supernatural Research

Highland Springs

Virginia 23075

August 27th 2008

Dear Dr Monaghan and Dr Gilligan

Thank you for submitting your article "Insanity and possession: an evidence of a two-way street", but we will not be using it in our journal. We are glad that you have completed your PhD, and the topic area - possession -certainly seems the kind of thing that would interest us. However, of greater concern is our doubt about the veracity of Mr Gilligan's qualifications. We suspect that the name was just added to the manuscript to try to impress the review board that you have a collaborator. We were unable to locate any other publications by him in our databases, and the university named as awarding his doctorate was shut down in 1927, making him well over 100 years old, if he in fact exists. This is an abuse of our trust. Please cease sending articles.

Yours

E.J. Hall

Editor

(ps. actually I found the article entertaining and would like to see more, but please address anything "private and confidential" so that it comes directly to me).

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The Journal of Paranormal and Supernatural Research

Highland Springs

Virginia 23075

September 25th 2009

Dear Dr Monaghan

Thank you for submitting your article "Possession and determination: how spirits manipulate through persistence". This is an excellent piece and we will be publishing it in the January 2010 issue. We look forward to future research from you (and some collaborators?)

Yours

E.J. Hall

Editor

(ps. I would be interested in collaborating with you personally - I remember some research you did on sleep deprivation some years back. I will be in your area on business next month and I'll drop by, if I may).

"Submissions"

Copyright: © 2009 Sean Monaghan

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Sean Monaghan loves the smell of forests and enjoys walks in the abandoned plantation pines disappearing into the expanding dunes at the beach near his hometown. Sean has recent stories in Static Movement and Flashes In The Dark. He tutors in creative writing and works in a busy public library. More information about Sean and his writing at his website – www.venusvulture.com.