A bookstore that keeps more than dusty old tomes on its shelves. . . a phantom limb that can reach into the next world . . . a comic that colors people's lives with terror . . . graves unable to hold their wares . . . a collector of haunted artifacts who gets more than he bargains for . . . a deserted northern highway that brings back a man's worst childhood fears . . . an encounter with the bogeyman . . . and more . . .
This collection of chilling fiction and disturbing poetry from the dark mind of Mark Leslie includes previously published award nominees along side original works.
Genre: FICTION / HorrorOne Hand Screaming was originally published in 2004, collecting stories that had previously been published in small press horror magazines. Readers have generally commented that they enjoy the stories and the dark twists. I have also received consistent feedback that the "Author Notes" at the end of the collection in which I reveal "behind the story" details are an enjoyable experience for most readers.
The book currently has a 4.3 Star average on Amazon and a 4 star rating on Goodreads.
Two of the more popular stories from the collection are the dark humour snowman tales "That Old Silk Hat They Found" (see opening text from that story below) and "Ides of March." (Collected together in "Snowman Shivers" and free on Amazon, these two stories (with a 4.5 average star ranking) are consistently in the top 100 (http://www.amazon.com/Snowman-Shivers-Scary-Snowmen-Tales-ebook/dp/B006KF67GK)
Review quotes:
"Being creeped out was never so much fun" - Amazon review
"If you like horror that (for the most part) isn't too graphic, you should give this one a try. At the very least, I'm pretty sure you'll never look at snowmen the same way again" - Amazon review
"I will never build another snowman as long as I live." - Amazon review
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I work for Kobo and am likely able to leverage internal connections to get a bit of merchandising "love" in certain foreign languages
A cool wind kisses me.
Little by little the sensation rises, becomes more real. The soft light breeze becomes an intense, encompassing cold. But the cold doesn't hurt me — it soothes me. It feels good, comfortable.
Relaxed in the darkness, I realize that my eyes are closed. What am I saying? I realize, for the first time, that I have eyes.
I open my eyes to see the world through some sort of charcoal grey lens. But despite the blurry grey haze I can make out a white landscape and figures moving in the distance. Running and cavorting, their shouts are muffled. I can barely hear them.
I can barely see, I can barely hear.
But I do have life.
It's an incredible feeling — almost overwhelming.
I don't really understand who or what I am, but having life feels good. Knowing that I exist and that I can sense and feel is wonderful.
I try to move, but I can't. I look down.
No!
I don't have legs — just this big round mass.
I look to my sides. My arms are mere sticks. They flail uselessly in the wind.
Who created me? Who gave me this cruel life? Was it those kids who frolic so joyfully in the snow? It must have been. They are the only other ones here. Can't they see what a horrid creature they have conjured? Can't they tell what a torture this life is that they have given me?
"Hey!"
A deep voice calls to me. Who is it that addresses me? Certainly not the children, for they are still ignoring me. The voice sounds much different, much clearer and closer than the voices of the children. My eyes scan the landscape.
"Hey, you! Newcomer!"
Finally, my eyes spot the owner of the voice. He is one like me.
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Carmelo Massimo Tidona
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Author review: Carmelo was very quick, responded in a timely fashion, asked questions along the way and made excellent suggestions when it came to modifications that worked better in Italian than a straight and simple translation would produce. |
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Portuguese
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Vitor Mendes
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