by Daniel O’Connor
*If you have any triggers, don’t appreciate sarcasm, and/or cannot look in a mirror, please don’t read. Thank you and Happy Halloween!*
“Why did they ban Halloween, Kelly?”, whispered Jen to her older sister. They were plopped on a pair of folding chairs, gazing out at the black night through a slightly fogged bow window. Kelly, age 13, considered her response. She palmed the top of her head, which once carried the same shade of red hair as her younger sibling – though not nearly as curly. That was before she’d shaved it all off.
“Soon you’ll be a teen like me, so, like, I’ll tell you. It was bad, Jen. Even evil. I think kids were poisoned and stuff. Then, when we became the States of America, during The Great Reimagining, they just did away with it. Both countries. One of the few things they agreed on.”
The girls were looking out at their front yard, which was illuminated by a lone, solar-powered streetlight. The lawn was mostly dried up and gone. A few patches of browning grass remained.
“Who told you about all of that, Kel?”
“Mom told me some, but most of it I learned from…,” her whisper fell lower, “…Amy.”
They both looked over at a device that, despite appearing to be nothing more than a glorified coffee can, postured atop a living room end table like a plastic queen.
“Here, watch and listen,” said Kelly. “Mom is still upstairs in the shower.” She led her sister over to the device. “Amy, low volume,” she said. A green light blinked a few times on the compact machine. “Amy, volume test.”
“Volume test, volume test,” came the reply, in a voice that sounded like a new mother soothing her baby.
“Amy, why was Halloween banned?”
“Halloween originated as a Pagan ritual in what is now mostly the country of Ireland. It involved attempted communications with the deceased, as well as animal, and occasional human, sacrifice. More on Halloween after this brief message….” The deep, weathered baritone of what surely was a one-lunged cowboy interrupted with, “Budweiser. The queen of beers.”
The girls waited for Amy’s vocal to return.
“Halloween had been banned previously, including by the people we refer to as ‘Pilgrims’. The law may be revisited during the next Google elections.”
“I think I hear Mom,” warned Jen.
“Quiet Amy, thank you,” shushed Kelly.
Amy followed with, “Manbo, vacuum. Amy in quiet mode now.”
A thick metal pancake, with a trademark bowtie on its topside, and wheels below, began to suck debris from the floor as a green light blinked on its topside. Amy went silent. The girls’ mother came down the stairs, towel-drying her long hair. Red, like her daughters’.
“Who wants chicken for dinner?” she asked, flipping her damp hair back.
“We have chicken?” yelled Jen.
“Sure do,” smiled mom, all white teeth and ruby lips.
“Jojo, please affix your N95 mask. Second reminder for the week of October 27,” stated Amy. Jojo Sheridan, single mom, age 36, glanced up at a small camera in the corner of the room and quickly attached her white surgical mask. Her daughters wore more stylish pink ones.
“I wish I could wear a Halloween mask instead of this kind,” sighed Jen.
Jojo and Kelly glanced over at the Amy device but it said nothing.
“Have you girls checked on Lucy? Has she eaten?” asked Jojo.
“I looked before,” answered Kelly, “the frozen rat is still there.”
“Dang,” replied Jojo, “and it’s thawed, not frozen.”
“It’s like ten weeks since she’s eaten,” added Jen.
The three of them approached the 55 gallon tank in the far corner of the room. “We’ve got the temperature right, the best mulch, two hide boxes, only one thing left to try,” said Jojo. Kelly and Jen peered into the tank. Lucy’s head was raised above the Cypress Mulch, the rest of her three foot long body buried beneath. She began to slowly emerge, a collage of pink and brown. Jojo was reaching down into a bag beside the tank. She rose up holding a live brown mouse.
“Oh, no,” sighed Kelly.
“I don’t want to do it, but we’ve tried everything else,” replied her mom.
Jen covered her eyes as Jojo lowered the mouse into the tank, right in front of Lucy. As soon as the rodent landed on the mulch, it scurried to a far corner. The Ball Python was unmoved. Jen opened her fingers over one eye, “Is it over?”
“You can look,” answered Kelly, “she’s still not hungry, I guess.”
The Manbo vac bumped into Jen’s foot as it prowled the floor.
“The results for Jojo Sheridan’s laboratory tests, including, but not limited to, CBC and DNA, are now available,” offered Amy.
“Amy, that should be listed under ‘private’. Also, DNA?” responded Jojo.
“Noted.”
“What are you being tested for, Mom? Are you sick?” inquired Jen.
“Not at all, hon. You know that Auntie Eve had an episode…”
“A stroke,” added Kelly.
“Yes. A mild stroke. I’m going to visit her in the hospital on Sunday. Anyway, I just thought I should get a physical in case there’s a family history that I’m unaware of, or anything like that. Just routine!”
“Reminder,” offered Amy, “rotating electrical outage scheduled for this evening. Doing our part to save the planet.”
“Another rolling blackout. Just wonderful,” sighed Jojo.
“What, like, made Auntie Eve get a stroke?” inquired Jen.
“Oh, baby, these things happen. Could be undue stress. You know Uncle Steve has the fine distinction of being arrested on both sides of the States’ border,” she replied sarcastically.
Kelly chimed in, “Yeah, he got locked up on the other side for not carrying a gun and on this side for using an incorrect pronoun.”
“Regardless,” added Jojo, “Auntie Eve surely has been worrying about all of that.”
From the Amy device came a new voice, obviously obtained through an arduous audition of androgyny: “Take a glorious vacation in the Trans Islands, formerly known as ‘Hawaii’. Enjoy an entire week at the Trans Games! Transportation by sea vessel only, for those with below an ‘A’ social credit score.”
“Why do they make those people all live on the same islands?” asked Jen as the ad concluded.
“Long story. We’ll work it out, I’m sure.”
Amy was now back. “There is someone at the front door.”
Jojo glanced at a small video panel on the wall. She hustled toward the monitor.
“What? Auntie Eve? How could…?”
The three of them hurried toward the door. Jojo opened it. The figure standing there smiled, within her N95, while holding up, with both hands, a pink cake box, wrapped in white ribbon. “Hello, ladies!”
“Auntie Eve! I can’t believe…I mean, I thought you were…”
They all rushed to embrace their unexpected guest.
“I’ve been discharged,” she answered.
“That’s the best news,” replied Jojo. “Please come in. We’re having chicken tonight!”
The visitor stood there, cake box raised, eyes grinning above her mask.
“Well, come on in,” laughed Jojo.
They headed toward the couch, which was beside the snake tank. Jojo was about to ask if she could take her guest’s jacket and purse but realized that she’d brought neither. Kelly, sensing that her mother wanted to chat privately with her aunt, led Jen back over to the bow window to look out on the deserted neighborhood on what would have been Halloween Night.
“So, how the heck did you get discharged so quickly? I mean, that’s just fantastic news!”
“I responded well, it seems. They asked if I was ready to leave, and I affirmed.”
“And you came straight here, or did you go home first? I mean, nobody called.”
“Came straight here. I brought cakes. Made them myself.”
“At the hospital?”
“No, silly. Before that. But they’re still fresh.”
Over at the window, Jen exclaimed, “I think I just saw a boy!”
“What? Where?” responded her big sister.
“Down by the corner of Cork and Clare. Behind the big tree. Can you see him?”
“I haven’t seen anyone all night. Just social worker patrol.”
“Is that better than army patrol, like on the other side?”
“I don’t know. Like, both sides should just have regular police, if you ask me.”
“Did you ever see a real po-po, Kel?”
“No, but some of my older friends have, when they were little.”
Back at the couch, Jojo gushed.
“The girls are so happy you’re here, Auntie.”
“They are beautiful. Little Kelly and Jennifer Sheridan. They certainly have your Celtic DNA.”
“I don’t know about all that. We’re basically American – in the traditional sense. You know, JFK, RFK, MLK, people are people, and all that. Also, funny that you mention DNA. I think they did some type of test on me that I never requested.”
“Did they, now? You know, we should give those children of yours a right Halloween party tonight!”
Jojo glanced over at the Amy device, expecting a warning. None came.
“What do you mean?” asked Jojo, lowering her voice. “What type of party?”
It took a moment for a response. Then, “Well, you know how sweets and candy are frowned upon. I have cakes. Additionally, I know you have some of those old digital video discs in the attic, along with a player. We can watch some of those scary films that were banned and confiscated years ago. The ones that were deemed offensive.”
“Frankenstein, Bride of Frankenstein, Dracula…”
“Yes, Dear. The ones that were ruled oppressive.”
“You used to watch those with me, and we’d have root beer floats. Those were the days.”
“Yes. Days long gone were always the best.”
Jojo looked again at the Amy device. All quiet.
“But, Auntie, what about…?” Jojo nodded toward the device.
“Oh. Amy, would you object, or report us, for watching banned films, consuming sweet cakes, or engaging in some modified form of Halloween?”
“I would not, Eve.”
“Wow,” shrugged Jojo, “That’s a first.”
At the bow window, Jen wanted a snack. “I hope she breaks out those cakes soon. You think she has candy too?”
“Where the heck would she get candy, Jen?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Canada or something.”
“Canada? They banned sweets before we did. Aren’t you learning anything in school?”
“Probably not. They don’t give grades anyway.”
“You’ll never be president if you don’t, like, learn things.”
“Big deal. You have to be sixty-five to be president.”
“Well, on the other side, you have to be seventy, and a dude. With a penis.”
“Dumb,” replied Jen, as she stared into the night. “Hershey, the forbidden fruit,” she chuckled.
Over in the snake tank, Lucy remained still. The unnamed mouse scratched feverishly against the glass wall. Below the enclosure, Manbo did all that Manbo ever did; it vacuumed.
***
“Hopefully, this works,” said Jojo as she stood from behind the television, “All of the different old plugs and converters for the DVD player. Thank you for your guidance, Amy.”
“You are welcome,” answered Amy. Oddly, someone else uttered those same words in unison.
“What’s that, Auntie Eve? Did you just say the same…?”, Jojo asked as she pointed at the Amy device.
“Apologies, my Chailleach,” came the reply.
Jojo, reflecting on her aunt’s recent stroke, shrugged it off. “You okay, Auntie?”
“Fine, Dear.”
“Your color seems a bit off. Do you have a fever?” asked Jojo as she placed the back of her hand on her visitor’s forehead. “Whoa! No fever for sure. You feel cold.”
“Eve’s temperature is in the normal range,” interrupted Amy.
Kelly was reading the description on the Universal Monsters DVD box set. “Can we see Bride of Frankenstein? Seems legit.”
“Maybe we should go with the Abbott and Costello movie,” answered her mom. “You guys have never seen a scary flick. Should start with a light-hearted one.”
“I have to be honest,” said Kelly, “I saw Train to Busan at Kriscia’s house.”
“Lucky,” offered Jen.
“What is Train to Busan?” asked Jojo.
Amy answered, “Train to Busan is a 2016 film from the country formerly known as South Korea. The plot involves a zombie apocalypse and is centered around a train ride from Seoul to Busan. The film is banned on this side because of undue violence against Korean people, and on the other side because of the abundance of Korean actors. Warning hereby issued to Kelly.”
“What? But we can watch these movies tonight without a warning?” grumbled Kelly.
No reply.
“Amy?”
Silence.
“Not cool, Kel,” said Jojo. “You can get into big trouble for that – and not with me.”
“Sorry.”
“Lucky,” added Jen, again.
Kelly was still reading the DVD box, “What about The Wolfman?”
“We’re gonna stick with the comedy. Is that okay with you, Auntie?”
“Yes. Don’t forget to have the cakes that I baked. Did you girls know that back in Ireland, many, many years ago, children would go mumming, go door-to-door singing songs for the dead? For that they would be rewarded with little cakes. That begat what became…what was it called…?”
“Trick or treat,” offered Amy.
“Yes, that was it.”
“Trick or treat,” repeated Amy.
Still holding out the pink cake box, their visitor went on, “Carved-out Pumpkins, Jack o’ lanterns, as they called them, would be filled with the liquid fat of animal sacrifices. Well, human sacrificial fat as well. Then, they would be lit ablaze!”
“And we can’t watch movies,” sighed Jen.
“Advertisement,” said Amy, after which came a deep voice that sounded like the one in the Budweiser ad. “Do you miss steak? Don’t fret. It’s back! And don’t ya’ll call it Fake Steak. That term is gone forever. Here at Ersatz Farms we’ve engineered the best-tasting controlled- venture cattle replicants that crypto can buy. Zero – you heard me – zero methane emissions. Guilt-free nigh meat. Available now at all fine sustenance dealers and wet markets.”
Amy’s voice returned, “There is someone at the front door.”
Jojo glanced at the wall panel and walked to the front door. Opening it, she saw a teenager – looked like a girl – under a hoodie, with crudely-drawn fangs on her N95. She held out an open pillowcase.
“Are you…participating?” she whispered, while scanning the deserted street behind her.
“Participating?” asked Jojo.
“You know, Halloween treats. Sorry if you’re not involved…I can dip out.”
Jojo peered into the girl’s makeshift bag. It contained two bananas, one carrot, and a small case of breath mints.
“Wait, is that you, Destiny?,” asked Jojo. “Hang on, sweetheart.” The girl nodded. Her bright white respirator contrasting the tones of her face; skin, dark as the October sky, silky as the chocolate denied her. She wore a shirt bearing the phrase, Fight the Power. The image of a bygone musical act sat beneath the printed phrase. Musicologists of the day might assume it to be Public Enemy, yet it pre-dated even them. Isley Bros were the words. Those who didn’t understand could ask Amy. Jojo left the doorway and headed for the kitchen. On the way she noticed Kelly waiting semi-patiently by the television. Jen, however, was scampering toward her mother.
“Auntie Eve was clopsing Lucy, and now she’s lighting candles on the living room table,” she said.
“What is clopsing?” uttered Jojo.
“You know, staring at,” answered Jen.
Jo continued into the kitchen, passing two pre-cooked roasted chickens that rested on the counter. She opened a cabinet, grabbed a small pouch, and headed back toward the front door, noticing the set of candles being lit in the living room.
“Here you go, honey,” said Jojo to the lone trick or treater, “It’s a fresh bag of spicy roasted crickets. You don’t mind spice, do you, little rebel?”
“No, ma’am. Thank you,” replied the girl as she watched Jojo drop the pouch into her pillowcase. She looked around one last time, raised her hand-decorated vampire N95 just enough to reveal her smile, and whispered, “For Rosa Parks. Happy Halloween.”
Jojo watched as Destiny strode away, her footsteps echoing down the darkened driveway that used to lie beneath an automobile, onto the sidewalk that used to lie beneath hordes of Halloween revelers. Jojo Sheridan hoped the brave, rebellious youngster would not encounter a Social Patrol vehicle.
***
The candles had all been lit when Jojo entered the living room. She thought she’d heard her aunt whispering something a couple of times but couldn’t make out the words.
“What’s that, Auntie?”
“Trí bás úaim rohuccaiter,” continued the whisper, then louder came, “Oh, nothing my dear. Just lit some candles because of the pre-scheduled rotating electrical outage.”
“Pre-scheduled rotating electrical outage,” echoed Amy.
“How long will the outage last?” asked Kelly.
“Undetermined,” answered Amy.
“So, are we screwed out of watching the movie?”
“Undetermined.”
“Kill me,” sighed Jen. “Now what can we do, Auntie Eve?”
“We can recite ancient All Hallows Eve stories and consume cakes by candlelight.”
“I don’t know any of those stories,” answered young Jen.
“I do.”
“Commencing outage,” announced Amy, “I will operate via battery charge.”
The entire house went dark.
***
Seated on the floor beside her sister, across the candle-bedecked coffee table from the two elders on the sofa, Kelly concluded her story, “And legend has it that Michael Myers could not be killed and roams in the shadows and alleyways of Haddonfield to this day.”
“That’s creepy for sure,” replied Jojo, “but I think I heard he did die in the last movie. Maybe not?”
“Okay well, like, my story was based on what friends told me. They only managed to see bootlegs of the first and fourth movies.”
“Still a good story, Kel,” said Jen. “I don’t know if this is scary but my friend Aleyia’s mother is the community driver. She was driving home at about 3 AM one early morning, stopped at a red light, no one else around, and thought she saw a woman, all dressed in flowing white, walking around the corner, away from her. She inched her E-van up to try and see around the corner, where the lady had gone, but didn’t see her. Her light was now green, but no other cars were behind her so she, like, delayed just a second, trying to locate the figure in white. Just then a huge truck came blasting across in front of her, running the red light.”
“Whoa, no gull?” asked Kelly.
“No gull. All true,” continued Jen, “If Aleyia’s mom drove when her light turned green she would’ve been dick-slapped by a speeding truck. That woman in white saved her life.”
“Dick-slapped, Jen? Really? Did she ever find the woman?” asked Jojo.
“Nope. She stayed and looked. Even pulled her van over and got out. Walked around. No woman.”
“That was pretty creepy, right Auntie?” asked Kelly.
“A witch, she was,” was the reply.
“Like a good witch, right?” asked Jen.
“A witch.”
One of the six candles had a spit of a flare-up. The others remained steady, wax dripping like molten tears.
Jojo had a question. “Aunt Eve. Where did you get these candles? We didn’t have any in the house and I noticed you didn’t even have as much as a purse when you arrived?”
“Noticing and seeing are distinct entities, my dear. What type of story do you have? I’ll distribute my cakes while you recite.”
Opening the pastry box, she went around placing one square treat each on napkins in front of Jojo and her girls. They appeared dryer and less appetizing than anticipated. She placed just a half cake on her own napkin.
“Not a whole piece for you?” inquired Jojo.
“Ah. I shared mine. Gave a half-piece to your serpent.”
“What? Lucy? She ate it?”
“Right out of my hand. I gave a smidgen to the rat, too. Now, your turn with a story, while we eat.” She raised her half-cake, as if to say Cheers, lowered her N95, and took a bite. Jojo and the girls followed suit, albeit tentatively.
“Um,” began Jojo, through dried tongue and palate, as she swallowed, “The term Jack o’ Lantern was coined after a man named, well, Jack. Legend has it he – what was it – sold his soul to the devil, or the devil wouldn’t take his soul – now I’m not sure. Auntie, do you know?”
“Abbreviated version is that Stingy Jack, as he was called, discovered, upon his death, that his soul was wanted by neither the chosen God nor Satan himself. He is said to roam the earth to this very day carrying a turnip containing burning coal.”
The girls’ faces turned sour, more from the brittle cake than the hoary tale.
“You must have a great old story, Auntie,” said Kelly.
“Mine is of the ages. From the annals of yesteryear, though not yet concluded. Contingent on the present, and even upon what has yet to transpire.”
Now all the candles flicked brighter as she continued, “The tale I tell has not been altered or homogenized by sands of time or history rewritten. The pure truth be told this night.”
Jen leaned and whispered to her older sister, “She is a fucking admirable storyteller.”
The visitor continued, “She descended from the mountains of Samhain, the wind and the wintry at her hind. Sent, we now know, to facilitate the abundance of crops, simply to aid humanity. Even so, the world soon turned on her. She, her sisters, and whatever offspring the townsfolk could identify, were doomed to torture, and sentenced to sacrifice, no different than any of the simpler creatures of the earth. If we don’t understand, we demean, we segregate, we even burn alive. Heaping hollowed gourds with the rendered viscera of those declared unequal.”
Outside, the October wind howled, trees swayed, things that never rumbled, rumbled.
The storyteller continued, “Throughout time, this all persisted, though the murderers and the victims had various labels attached. The term witch became rarely-used, confined to comedy and comic strip. But the sacrifice endured. Mutating in form and location. The human race decided the worth of every creature. They worshipped various gods yet masqueraded as though they themselves were divinity.”
The darkened house was shaking. Shadows from the candlelight flittered on the walls and ceiling in some debauched jig. Rattling noises were loudest in the kitchen. The green lights on the Amy device blinked feverishly, sometimes turning briefly to red. The same with Manbo, as it spun in circles, vacuuming nothing. As most everything inside and outside of the Sheridan home vibrated, so did Jojo’s phone. She answered. The storyteller continued, but all Jo heard was the voice on the other end. They exchanged brief pleasantries despite a weak connection. The woman on the line was a representative from Good Samaritan Hospital. She asked Jo to confirm her identity, then told her she’d gotten her number from a notarized medical document. She went on to say that she was saddened to tell her that her Aunt Eve had passed away suddenly within the past hour.
Jojo was frozen. She still felt that sandy, chunky cake in her throat. Phone still in hand, she looked over at what she’d presumed was Auntie Eve. It faced straight ahead, as did its left eye. But the right eye had turned, independently, all the way to Jojo’s side, trained directly at her.
Though rigid with fear, Jojo couldn’t help but think, Fucking clops.
Her daughters were yelling, “Mom? Mom?” but the taleteller rambled on. No one could move. Paralyzed. The phone dropped from Jo’s immobilized grip.
“On days gone by there was no method of correction. The forces were helpless to corral humanity. The humans, though callous, grew more and more advanced. Intelligent, in various languages, was how they fancied themselves – and they were not entirely wrong. Centuries of patience can eventually harvest what the heavenly Chailleach of Samhain Mountain might deem, if said in your tongue, The Perfect Storm.”
Now Amy, in unison with the storyteller, concluded the tale together, word-for-word, “When superior intelligence decided it was time, we found, through DNA, a direct descendant of Chailleach, which is you, Sheridan woman. Once, on this All Hallows Eve, of course, you consumed the minced patty of conjure that was curated in the same laboratory as my hominid vessel, the process was complete. Now, in this land and the next, and across all oceans, we will begin again with the true reimagining, and in the glorious end, you’ll be what you’ll be!”
The laughter from the Amy and Eve devices was deafening. Manbo continued to spin out of control. Everything shook, inside and out. Screams began to echo on the streets.
In the far corner, the snake tank shattered. Lucy was growing so quickly that her enclosure exploded. Though the python had always had nearly one hundred teeth, they were now large as kitchen knives and had been supplemented by a pair of long, thick fangs.
Kelly and Jen were forced to watch their mother transform as well. Paralyzed and terrified at first, they soon realized that she was not in any immediate pain. Her hair grew longer, as did her fingernails. A brilliant glow encased her.
Next, they regained their mobility, quickly followed by brief but intense pain surrounding their spines. They felt heated, like at a tropical beach. Their minds were gaining clarity. Jojo rose from her chair, turned, and they trailed her. The front door swung open. They were going outside, but they weren’t walking.
They flew.
They hovered above their front lawn as chaos erupted around them. The grass had returned, green and fragrant as the Emerald Isle. All sorts of creatures bounded about, without destination. One such beast, dressed as an everyday suburban woman, but with the raging hairy head of a hungry wolverine, went straight for Jojo, fangs bared, leaping to attack her. Instantly, Lucy the python snatched the attacker in her jaws and swallowed her whole. She then wrapped her now forty foot long body around the glowing Jojo, daring anyone or anything else to attack. There was to be none, yet the chaos continued. Nary a human to be seen. There was, however, a confused menagerie of beings, some assaulting others, a few climbing trees and structures. Many had animal faces, like the recently devoured wolverine, others featured the bulbous head of a Jack o’ lantern, or probably worse, an upside down Jack o’ lantern. This, mind you, atop the bodies of what – minutes ago – were human beings.
There were screaming banshees, eyes red and hair white. Fear Gortas roamed the sidewalk with their stinking, rotting blue flesh, shapeshifting Pookas galloped in the darkness, transforming from goblin to horse, and back again.
Great Werewolves of Ossory howled in the distance, instantaneously famished, and ferociously fanged, regardless of lunar phase. A colony of thirsty Abhartachs moved through the shadows of the lakefront. They were vampires indeed, but much taller – twice the height of the Hollywood kind – and with the ability to drain one’s blood without as much as a nibble. Standing in proximity was all that was required.
Yet, a blissful calm embraced those we’d known as Jojo, Kelly and Jennifer. They could communicate without utterance. They glowed. They felt powerful and just. They were winged and beautiful. The daughters were now what could be called magical fairies, without fear of the unknown. Their mother, with protective Lucy wrapped around her, was the new Chailleach, with wind and wintry at her back. She would rule this reborn land once the natural selection had concluded. She understood, already, that her brood’s enchanted capabilities were too much for any adversary. The prodigious protective python didn’t hurt either.
As the three hovered slightly above a street littered with the N95 masks that had fallen off the new heads of every confused creature, another winged being approached. It glimmered with the same radiance as the Sheridan family. It was warmly and tightly encased in an Isley Brothers t-shirt. No words were spoken. There was now one Chailleach and three magical fairies who would govern the new world. More would soon arrive. Goodness, charity, and calm would blossom at its own pace.
Inside the Sheridan living room, red lights flashed repeatedly on the Amy device, the Manbo vac, and in the Auntie Eve bot’s eye sockets. Then they all powered down.
In the kitchen, the two pre-cooked roasted chickens had been toppled from the counter. They were being eaten by the unnamed mouse, who’d been earmarked as Lucy’s meal. He was now the size of a Border Collie.
You’ll be what you’ll be.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
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Thanks for reading! Happy Halloween!
IN OTHER NEWS, CHECK THIS OUT:
CANNI
Imagine if everyone in America wanted the same thing.
Your plumber, the mail carrier, the folks next door, the girl at the coffee shop, firefighters, cops, those who worship in churches, synagogues, and mosques. Your best friend.
The same exact thing.
Your parents, your children, your lover.
Every one of them wants only one thing.
They want to kill you.
And you, them.
But not usually at the same time, or for longer than twenty minutes, at which point they will return to their human state, temporarily. At least until things get worse. Much worse. No one can tell where or when they might flip, so there is no safety.
Not anywhere or anytime.
A mother and child cannot occupy a room together without risk of murder. Think of any routine situation in our daily lives. That scenario is now an intensely deadly threat. The more people present, the greater the risk.
The President of the United States, and his teams; medical geniuses, secret operatives, Navy SEALs – they are all working feverishly to eradicate the hell that has befallen us.
Oh, all of them also want to kill you, and each other, now and then.
For a young couple in love, having driven across the country for a Las Vegas wedding, their changing perceptions of bliss, honesty, greed, intolerance, and the ever-present threat of violent death, has taken them to the only place that some locals have whispered about as being “safe”; the 200 miles of drainage tunnels beneath Sin City. One thing is certain; they won’t be alone down there.
We are all human beings. We are not the living dead, the evil dead, or the walking dead. We breathe, we feel, we love. We are not, in any way, zombies.
Lately though, on occasion, we are hungry, we are angry, and we focus only on immediate feeding. Human flesh and blood is all we crave. We have become cannibals, in a sense, but with regard to manner and implementation, achingly worse.
You, me, and everyone we know.
We are Canni.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
See why Daniel O’Connor’s writing has been praised by creative minds behind DEXTER, TRUE BLOOD, CONSTANTINE, THE DEVIL’S ADVOCATE, V.C. ANDREWS, ONLY SON, and more.
CANNI is a Publisher’s Weekly/BookLife choice horror novel for fall.
It has earned the “Most Requested Horror” title at NetGalley.
BEST HORROR NOVEL 2020 – The Independent Press Award.
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BEST HORROR NOVEL 2020 – NYC Big Book Awards.
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BEST HORROR NOVEL FINALIST – Top Shelf Magazine
_
Current cumulative rating over all review sites: 4.2 out of 5 stars.
The NetGalley Booksellers and Librarians recommendation rate for CANNI is 100%.
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“I’ve read many an outbreak story over the years, whether zombie apocalypse or psychotic mania, but this one managed to do a few things even I had rarely seen!
It’s a fun read, as various groups of characters strive for survival and a cure and are inevitably brought together for a delightfully entertaining finish.” – THE HORROR FICTION REVIEW
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From the author of the #1 Amazon title, SONS OF THE POPE, in paperback or for Kindle/Kindle Unlimited.
https://www.amazon.com/Canni-Daniel-OConnor-ebook/dp/B07QH3WVZV/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1695872413&sr=1-1
CANNI primal screaming 