Twisted Realities: Of Myth and Monstrosity from Sirens Call Publications…
What would happen if myths and monsters collided in today’s world? Would they take a backseat to the mayhem that humans create on a daily basis? Explore the twelve tales crafted by twelve talented authors who asked themselves those very questions. The answers may surprise you…
Myth or reality…
Explore the twelve tales of horror and intrigue in Twisted Realities: Of Myth and Monstrosity and ask yourself, what would you consider a fair price to pay for life immortal… or the chance of life at all?
Would a young woman pass up a shiny bauble if she believed it to be nothing more than a harmless trinket? What transpires once a year in a peaceful and remote village that no one will ever speak of? What better way for a broken man to honor a crippled existence than with a memorial of blood and vengeance? How could a disfigured woman ever dream of chancing across an object that would restore her beauty – and at what cost?
Follow the twists and turns of each writer as they delve into the legends of days gone by, as well as the consequences that are wrought when myths and monstrosities collide with our world.
Contributing Authors include:
Thomas James Brown, Nina D’Arcangela, K. Trap Jones, Amber Keller, Lisamarie Lamb, Edward Lorn, Alexa Muir, Kate Monroe, Joseph A. Pinto, J. Marie Ravenshaw, Julianne Snow, and Jonathan Templar
Twisted Realities: Of Myth and Monstrosity is available in print and digital forms from these find retailers:
Print: Amazon, CreateSpace
eBook: Amazon, Amazon.uk, Amazon.de, Amazon.fr, Amazon.it, Amazon.es, Smashwords (Nook, Kobo, Sony and Kindle eReaders)
Excerpts from three of the twelve magnificent stories contained within Twisted Realities: Of Myth and Monstrosity. For a preview of all 12 stories, please go to SirensCallPublications.com
Memorial – Joseph A. Pinto
“What I do…what I did…never constituted a job. A job does nothing to stir the soul. Only passion achieves such a state of grace.” The man inhaled deeply—of the bourbon or the proposal, left to dangle in air—Anthony was not sure. But he did not appreciate the smooth impassiveness across the man’s alabaster face. Did not appreciate it in the least.
“Yes. A job is measured by hours. But passion’s hours are timeless.”
“It seems your passion has nearly left you a cripple, while my job has left me a wealthy, wealthy man,” Anthony sneered.
“You are my brother, Anthony. And had you not been, I’d find your gaffe of words truly insulting.”
“At last, bravado found at the bottom of your glass. Is that the residue of passion, Nicholas, or merely passion’s inspiration?”
A thread’s breadth parted Nicholas’ lips as bourbon drizzled tongue. Eyes danced but to the song of another day, transfixed by noiseless, ghostly chords. “Some people wish to choose their vice. But for others, the vice chooses them.”
Voices – Kate Monroe
No one believed in the gods of old. Maeve blamed the internet for the birth of the new wave of cynicism that had pervaded throughout the world she restlessly roamed. No one accepted anything at face value these days.
Magic was once widely acknowledged and respected; witches and warlocks were a common feature of every village that she cast her net over. Now it was no more than a child’s fairytale and literary escapism for those who quietly rebelled against the skepticism of the twenty first century. Even the lore of old was dismissed as old wives’ tales and uninformed mumbo-jumbo. What chance did the gods stand when to almost everyone they were intangible, inexplicable; and, in the truest sense of the word, incredible?
Maeve, though – or the being that wore the name of Maeve Regan – was a goddess. She had reveled, once, secure and resplendent in the soothing embrace of unfailing belief in who she was and what she stood for. Entire armies would fall at her feet and sing her praises, lifting their voices to the heavens in exaltation and fear. Oh, yes; fear! She shuddered in delight as she allowed herself a moment’s somber recollection.
Drakul – K. Trap Jones
My name is Drakul and I have become a lost cause, a faded shadow of my former self. I was once a loyal follower of Dionysus, the God of grape harvest and wine, until the others discovered my weakness. Immortality flows through my veins along with the wine, but only one of them actually helps me to erase the memories of my past. I turn to my friendly liquid for acceptance and for denial of what I have become. I am a satyr; half-goat, half-man, but a full drunkard. I am immortal, but death can greet me from the hands of any God.
The wine has become my only friend, for it is that within the goblet that I truly consider my companion; but alas, even he is not above betraying me on occasion. I had an unfortunate event that pushed me away from the glory of the Gods to where I find myself today. Before I wallow too deep in the present, allow me to reflect upon the past. For it is within the sands of time that my prosperity truly reigns supreme. It was within the protection of the Gods where I truly became gifted, but it was within the winery orchards where I found my betrayers.