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Albert Camus

Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

The DAWN OF DOOM...- The Blood of Wolfbane by Joann Harris

Once they bayou was thick with it. The buttery yellow petals. The delicately veined green leaves. The seductive scent of wolfbane.
The DAWN OF DOOM...

Description:

Once they bayou was thick with it. The buttery yellow petals. The delicately veined green leaves. The seductive scent of wolfbane.

The DAWN OF DOOM...

Philip was happy now that he had his pint of old character and decided to take a shortcut through the graveyard toward home. He paused every now and then to speak to the headstones or crypt of some poor departed soul he had known it better days. Then he heard a moaning. He looked around, spotting a huge mound of earth that he did not remember being there the last time, he took this short cut. Philip decided to look. He staggered toward the mound of earth, stopping as he heard a snarling sound. It was muffled, as it came from the grave itself.

SATAN’S WORK 

The cats lay silent in their hidden places, waiting out the storm…and watching, as strange, misshapen creatures rose from out of the ground, cooing out of the dark swamps. The Beasts stood in the rain; they were not fearful of this rain, for they knew it had been sent by their Master. They stretched their arms and loosened their muscles. They had been asleep for a long, long time. And now they were free. 

Huge, clawed hands waved through the wet air powerful jaws that dripped stinking saliva snapped at nothing. The fangs of the Beast were four to five inches long, and yellow. The creatures, well over six feet tall when erect, weighed between two hundred and fifty and three hundred pounds. Their eyes were small and evil, with Hell-sent hate shining bloodred. Their bodies were covered with thick, coarse hair. 

The cats lay concealed and watched the Beasts as they stretched and growled. And the cats knew that the devil’s work had just begun….

About the author:
Joann Harris was born in Durham, North Carolina and from an early age, she always wanted to write horror. What is it about horror that she finds so tantalizing? For one she finds terror a thrill a minute. Even when she was a teen she taunted her friends and relatives with stories about blood and gore, embellishing on the sordid details as they squirmed and cringed. Harris currently resides in Baltimore, Maryland.


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