Bottled Abyss

By Benjamin Kane Ethridge

Herman and Janet Erikson are going through a crisis of grief and suffering after losing their daughter in a hit and run. They've given up on each other, they've given up on themselves.

When their dog goes missing, Herman resolves to find the animal, unaware he's hiking to the border between the Living World and the Dead.

Long ago the gods died and the River Styxx dried up, but a bottle containing its waters still remains in the badlands. What Herman discovers about the dark power contained in those waters will change his life forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Horrific Tales Publishing
• Release date: Apr 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507011331

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to thank everybody involved for the re-release of Bottled Abyss. This new evolution of the novel means a great deal to me, since this is by far one of my favorite books written. For newbies and for all who have read the previous version and will now be reading this updated and preferred version, I would like to thank you as well. New beginnings are indeed necessary for life and for art, and I am so very glad to have you, the reader, on this voyage across the waters with me.

PART I

THE COINS

CHAPTER 1

Herman watched the caramel colored whiskey flow down the neck of the bottle to Janet’s pressed lips. Her brown eyes filled and she set the Jim Beam down on the cigarette ash spotted TV tray. I’m going to kill myself today, she told him.

Herman had just put on his windbreaker to leave and had one arm stuck into a sleeve at a bad angle. You’ve said that before, he replied.

Janet’s eyes seemed near to shutting; it was difficult now to discern their normal weight from the burden of drink. They’d sagged that way for almost a year now, that slight thinning of the vision, like someone sleepwalking or struggling to read an eye chart. She placed a hand back on the whiskey but thought better of taking another tug.

Don’t drink any more today, okay?

It took him a moment to remember what he’d been doing before he gently wiggled his arm inside the sleeve. He was getting so damned fat. Soon, double-extra-large would be worn, not for comfort but necessity. Going back to the weight room might have been good for him, but he’d just not found the time between jobs.

Where are you going?

To the foothills. Lester’s out there somewhere.

Sure he is, Janet answered with a sick twist of her mouth.

Are you taking your pills?

All of them.

He waited for her to give herself away. Janet did not elaborate, however, and instead tapped listlessly on her yellow teeth. He remembered her bright white smile once upon a time and wasn’t sure when it had changed. She used to brush after every meal and floss twice a day. The teeth-tapping was something she’d started to do recently and it could last sometimes for several hours. She wouldn’t say anything during these events. Just tap, tap, tap, tapping; eyes wide and overflowing with emptiness, scarce moments taken for blinking; knees locked to her chest. A flashback normally triggered this fugue state.

Just last month, Herman had gotten her to finally tell him which haunted moment was paralyzing her. It wasn’t at all what he guessed. It wasn’t that awful first day, nor was it the day following the hit and run, when the doctor let them into the operating room to be with her.

The moment their Melody was gone forever.

No, the recollection was when they spread some of her ashes at Greenhill Pond, a benign event for Herman, but obviously one capable of serious damage to Janet.

He did have his memories of that day, though.

That duck stuck its head through the ashes.

It didn’t. I can’t take this. Just stop talking.

You didn’t see? It has her ashes on its feathers now. Why did it do that?

Herman shook away that thought. His daughter had been too much in his mind this morning. It wasn’t healthy. People still had to live, didn’t they? People had to carry on after a tragedy, not make it grow into some gigantic life-ending monster. There was work to do. Bills to pay. Air to breathe. And runaway Border Collies to find.

When was the last time you saw Lester? he asked.

Tap, tap, went Janet’s teeth.

Tap.

Did you let him out to pee?

Tap.

Did he already get his wet food? You know he’ll be back if he’s hungry.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

He probably isn’t much farther than the dirt bike trail. He never goes out that far.

Janet stopped tapping and Herman froze. He would take any break in pattern as a good sign. She looked at him squarely and the tip of her tongue glided over her teeth. In an instant, she took another sip of the Jim Beam.

Herman took his keys off the top of the oak entertainment center.

The dog’s gone, she said. Don’t bother. The coyotes were howling all last night. He’s not coming back. I know I wouldn’t.

You should start tidying up. Evan and Faye are going to make us dinner tomorrow.

You aren’t working?

I can go into the shop late. They don’t care.

I don’t want to be alone right now. Stay.

I need to find our dog, Janet.

She gave him one of her recent inappropriate looks, layered in drunkenness. I… want you.

Herman snorted resolutely and went over for the bottle. Janet put it behind her back, crushing it between herself and the sofa.

Give it.

She looked away, far away.

He tried to work his hand around her body to get at the bottle, but she thrust herself back, reflexively poking her elbows down. Herman pulled back with a tired sigh.

I hate you sometimes, she whispered.

I don’t really give a shit.

He left her for the kitchen. He could hear her weeping softly in the next room. She responded fairly well to being comforted now, and although he might have taken a chance at mending her mood, he didn’t want to look at her another second. He grabbed Lester’s jerky snacks from the counter, a leash from the junk drawer, his cell phone and a flashlight from the cupboard, then from the fridge, a bottle of water.

Outside on the porch, Herman checked the door to make certain the lock really was engaging. Strange that he did this, for the most dangerous thing that could befall Janet was really in here already, with her.

He set out across the sun-bleached yard and left the gate open, in case his dog showed back up before he did. Sunlight funneled down a long break between the rocky foothills. The afternoon was growing older. Dusk would be here soon enough. He’d have to figure on turning back at a good time if he didn’t want a long nighttime stroll through the desert.

Lester’s coat was blacker than it was white, so distinguishing his shape out here in the Southern Californian wasteland would take eagle eyes. Herman couldn’t believe the dog hadn’t come right back after a couple of hours. But then he had no clear idea when Lester had gone missing because he’d been working. On a regular day he volunteered as a mechanic at the water treatment plant from four to about ten in the morning or so and then drove into Redlands for his shift at Jorge’s Burgers around noon. After a full eight hour shift there he’d return home for dinner, smelling like a six foot fried zucchini, and then he was off to the body shop from nine until midnight. But the shop only called him when they had large rush jobs for insurance companies.

Today wasn’t one of those days and he’d dreaded coming home to spend a full evening with Janet. Morbidly, he was almost grateful to get out of the house. He knew it wasn’t good to think like this though. Lester could be hurt out here. A snake could have bitten him, a coyote could have gotten at him, he could have broken his legs falling down a ravine. The world’s stage did awful things to its best players. Herman counted on that now. He figured anyone would, had their two year old daughter been run over by a getaway car. In a better universe, Melody should have been safe playing in the front yard with other children in her daycare. Those murdering immoral assholes should have found another residential street to speed through after they robbed that bank. They shouldn’t have taken that corner so sharp and gone up over the sidewalk—

Herman whipped his head from side to side.

This was what hanging out with Janet would get you. For even half an hour, it was like being tossed into a dumpster with every other nightmare he’d tried to throw away. Most of the images burned into his mind he thought would heal if he just ignored them long enough. The method was cowardly and overused, but Herman could not deny how effective it was, at least until his wife decided to have one of her tapping fits, and then his own bad images and ideas would start to surface.

What would it be this time? The spanking he gave Melody the morning of the day she died? Her bent, pouting lip and watering eyes as he scolded her for leaving toys in the bathroom when he’d told her three times before? The way he kicked her purple rubber ducky into a corner and startled her?

Or would it be the big unanswered question? When he dropped off Melody to daycare, had he still been grumpy with her? He couldn’t remember if he’d made up with her or not. That memory was gone.

He had held grudges in the past. He could remember times when he dropped her off and didn’t say a word. He could recall being stern, being sour. Melody would give him a hug and tell him goodbye and he would say nothing in return; he wanted her to understand the value of upsetting him. Had the day she was hit by the car been one of those days?

Or had he let it go?

Had Herman told her he loved her and to have fun playing with the other kids?

How long did a two-year-old harbor shame for disappointing a parent?

Did she feel, in those moments before passing away, that the car had been some sort of punishment?

Herman closed his eyes, swam in the maddening sadness for a moment, and then shook his head until it made him dizzy. He staggered through the dirt and a pebble went inside his tennis shoe. Stooping, he fished for it with his finger.

The desert expanded before him in all its miserable beauty. Stumpy trees lined a couple ridges, their leaves bursting in full, trying so urgently to be vibrant, but instead possessed a chalky, lusterless avocado color. Shallow lavender puddles of wild flowers contrasted with long stretches of similarly self-loathing gray scrub, as though to reinforce the bone-deep ugliness in everything else.

The rock in his shoe had evaded Herman, but he couldn’t feel it digging into him any longer. It was like it wasn’t there.

He started off again in the direction he thought Lester might have gone, this time at a stronger pace. The land descended into a basin that came sharply together in a collection of weeds. He hopped over and through some of the thorny underbrush and continued out onto a new plateau of hard, colorless sand, only occasionally interrupted by distant brown sugar dollops of tumbleweeds.

The first paw print he found just at the base of a serpentine washout of pebbles and grit, the dirt rippling there like a freeze-frame shot of a dirty river.

Lester! he hollered.

He called again.

Herman searched out the direction of the paw prints, though the path wasn’t explicit like in the movies; the prints often disappeared, were half-formed, or extremely faint, causing him to second-guess whether some weren’t just random disruptions of earth. He went where he ultimately thought they might lead, in a direction that took him south, toward the foothills.

He tried to whistle, but had never been much good at it. Lester hadn’t ever been extremely responsive to high pitched sounds anyway. The vet said he had hearing loss, likely from some event in his puppyhood before Herman and Janet adopted him from the shelter. After Melody’s death, he felt like they never gave Lester all the attention he needed. This escape wasn’t the first and if they continued to shuffle about the house with their eyes always turned inwards, it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Herman made a vow to not let that happen.

Lester!

Only the slip-sliding wind again.

Herman hurried on, thinking of drinking from his water bottle, and then dismissing it as being fidgety. A mile off, he could see the procession of electricity transmission pylons marching into infinity, a gang of defunct robot warriors.

There was another paw print in an area where shadows crossed the earth in lengthy swatches. Herman followed the illogical trajectory of the prints for a few steps when he heard the call. The sound was goat-like and miniscule. He attempted to track its location, absurdly by pulling open his left ear. It seemed like it would work. The bleating came again and he quickly scaled a dune popping with soft, grainy weeds.

The bleating again. Once more. Louder? Closer? He wasn’t certain if he was getting anywhere near it.

He searched the land before him, wondering momentarily if his vision had deteriorated since his thirtieth birthday. He drew near an old rowboat half-buried in the sand. Some of its wooden siding had been stripped away, making its exposed end look like the ribs of some paleontology discovery. The darker sand surrounding the boat had the unsettling look of eyeless faces screaming silently. Lester’s paw prints tracked through the faces, blurring some of their misery.

The bleating sound bent into a yelp that was undeniably canine.

Herman raced up an incline slashed with brittle vegetation. Just at the other side, the earth fell away in moist clumps. His ankle twisted a bit, but he kept on anyway. The next call came out, a snapping, vicious growl-bark-yip.

The foothills slowly embraced him with their craggy arms, the sun completely hidden now. He could distinguish the large open mouth of an abandoned mine shaft he didn’t recognize. Hiking on the other side of the hills, he had seen a couple of older mining shafts where teenagers had bonfires, but it was odd to find one so isolated from the others.

Just as he began hoping Lester hadn’t gone into the shaft, another cry of animal pain registered from the other side of the hill. Herman felt his mouth go dry. That one was close. He wanted to convince himself the cry had not sounded like his Border Collie, but he couldn’t delude himself.

He crossed over to a series of snapping jaws and growls. Lester lay on his side, paws up, fangs bared. His black fur was shiny with blood. Two coyotes rounded him, only to then switch postures on hearing Herman breaking down the slope. The pair of scrawny fiends took off. He tried to kick one as it shot past him, but it was quicker than him by far.

Lester rested his head and wagged his tail as Herman approached.

He dropped to his knees. No, please, no…

The dog, tail wagging, mouth gasping for air, didn’t seem to mind its predicament. Herman took out his water bottle, twisted off the cap, and poured water over the bloody fur around its neck. Water and blood mixed pink on the badge of white on Lester’s cheek. Carefully, Herman lifted up some of the fur. It was too messy to really see any wounds.

The dog tried to raise its head and whined.

It’s okay, buddy. I’m going to help you. Hang in there.

Herman took out his cell phone and dialed Janet. He was only getting one bar of reception out here, but that should have been enough to call home.

Janet picked up.

Her voice was a radio transmission from Hell. The phone reception garbled and flexed and fauceted sound in torrents. Herman attempted to talk through it, but then the call was lost.

He called back.

Lester yelped and Herman pulled his fingers away from his wounds.

The next call didn’t go through.

Could you call 911 for a dog?

In the face of escalating doubt, Herman dialed and waited. His phone returned a signal transmission error. He squeezed the phone hatefully before shoving it back in his jeans.

I’m going to have to carry you, buddy. Herman went down on his haunches and slid one hand underneath Lester and at once felt a surge of blood around his fingers. As Herman drew his hand back, Lester snapped with a fierceness he’d never seen from the dog before. He scooted away in a rustle of dirt. It’s okay, boy. It’s okay.

His mind raced so fast it took a while to even define the problem. Lester was still alive, but his breathing was shallow. He was losing a lot of blood. If he left to go get help, there would be no saving the dog.

Lester whined again, as though sensing the same thing now. His eyes were wide and frightened, though his open, panting mouth betrayed him with a smile.

Herman slipped off his windbreaker and bent over the dog. He pushed the sleeve under Lester’s mouth, then took both ends and drew it around the neck. Lester snorted but made no other attempt to snap. Herman tied the sleeve together with the other sleeve, to a point where he felt it was secure but not strangling. After he was done, he looked disparagingly at his vermillion hands.

It always looks like there’s more blood than there is – isn’t that what they always say? Herman wondered if they weren’t just chockfull of shit, but he hoped not.

He stood and the world blackened. His heart quaked and thundered and pounded and slammed inside his chest. Should he try to move the dog again? What if that made him bleed faster? Maybe he could just run until he got a better signal on his phone?

Lester’s breathing came slower now; it wasn’t as wild and labored, it was more deliberate, it was a last call for oxygen.

I’m going to get help, Les, said Herman. He could hear a tremor in his voice. God, he was so tired of the man he’d become this past year.

He took a couple timid steps away and Lester started whining deep from the gut. Herman closed his eyes and took another step away. This life… oh this life… all of this in a year. In a fucking year. This wasn’t really happening, was it? People don’t suffer this much, do they?

A rustling came from behind him.

Is there trouble here?

Herman turned. Parting the weeds with a dark walking stick, a gaunt middle aged man with long strawberry blond hair came into the clearing. He was dressed in a black sweat shirt and jeans that almost appeared to blend into one another like a robe. His dirty boots crunched the gravel softly and the sound stopped when he saw the dog.

My, he said, pyrite eyes studying the scene.

It was coyotes – do you have cell service out here? asked Herman.

The man hesitated, then pulled his eyes away from Lester. I’m afraid not.

Can you go for help? I don’t want to leave him.

Of course. I was a medic once, a long time ago. Would you care for me to have a look first?

Oh God yes, please, thank you.

The man dropped his walking stick back against the weeds, which kept it standing. The stick came down into a thin paddle at its end, almost making it resemble an oar. Herman had never seen one like it before. Must have been handmade.

He shook the man’s ice cold hand as he walked by. Thank you for helping. I’m Herman Erikson.

The man mumbled something that sounded like Charleston and then got down next to Lester. You mind gripping behind his neck, keep him from biting me?

Herman knelt and grabbed a wad of Lester’s dusty black fur.

The man leaned over, blond ponytail hanging off his shoulder, and slowly stripped away the hasty windbreaker tourniquet. When he saw the blood he blew out of the side of his mouth and his eyes worked back and forth for a minute.

What? Herman asked.

There’s a bulging here, and here – I think maybe that’s internal issues. I don’t know with dogs. He’s pretty well chewed up. This needs to be shaved, cleaned up and evaluated. Have you tried to move him?

He’s wounded on his side too. I felt… something there.

Charleston’s eyes fixed on him a moment and it was a little unsettling. Can I see?

Yes, go ahead, said Herman.

The man gently lifted the dog’s hind quarters. Lester made a miserable squeal. After a moment’s study, he let him gently down.

That’s even worse than the throat. He’s keeping himself together by laying on it. Too bad; such a beautiful, beautiful hound. How much did you pay for him?

Herman shook his head, taken back. We got him at a shelter.

Charleston looked at him for a moment as though he hadn’t understood, but said, I see.

So what can I do? Anything?

The man took a long breath of air in through his sharp nose and pursed his lips in thought. This one’s suffering… well enough, and dragging him a mile or two will probably be worse. You could chance it, possibly.

My wife can’t see him like this.

I understand. Charleston got to his feet and dusted off his knees. I’ll go ahead and head out to the main road over there. I’m not a fast traveler but I can probably make it in less than an hour or so.

That won’t do. Maybe I should just go. Thank you for helping.

It’s no problem, friend.

Herman faded back a little bit, shaking his head. Lester’s eyes were glazing over. Herman couldn’t watch this anymore. He took one more step back and bumped into Charleston.

Pardon—

The man’s gold-flaked eyes stared into him, hard. There’s one more thing. Not proud to say it, but I have some… liquid poppy with me.

Morphine?

"Of course, of course. I will give some to the dog, if you like."

Herman’s first instinct was to say no, but his merry-go-round head could not find a good reason for it. He’s not going to make it. I guess that would be okay. He’s in pain. It’ll help, right?

It will help, Charleston said.

From inside the front pouch of the man’s sweat shirt, he pulled free an obsidian bottle. Its patina suggested a metal composite material, although the long flutelike neck ended in a flat, circular opening which revealed the interior as glass. The bottle, without a doubt, was an archaic looking item for a hiker to carry. Herman didn’t want to ask what the deal was at this point, for fear of embarrassing the man, but he was beginning to form an impression of Charleston. He’d met a man who was likely an oddball coot that wandered the wastelands out here, as high as Benjamin Franklin’s electrified kite.

That’s a beautiful bottle, remarked Herman. He meant it, too. What he didn’t say was the bottle was also equally troubling for some reason.

Thank you. Charleston took a knee once more near Lester. It’s all I have of my old home. The poppy helps my back pain and the bottle helps me remember everything that used to be good. Do you have anything like that, friend?

Reviews for Bottled Abyss

[davidlday-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Bottled Abyss weaves an intricate story around the resurrection of Nyx, Greek goddess of the night, and the reemergence of her river Styx in the California Badlands.

The tale is told through the eyes of several characters, at times using stream of consciousness as a device to bring the reader in close during high points of tension. The primary characters, Janet and Herman Erikson, tell their own struggle over the untimely death of their daughter, and become unwitting catalysts for the manifestation of a new underworld and the reestablishment of an old god in the modern world.

While searching for his dog in the badlands, Herman discovers a bottle containing a few drops of the old River Styx and attempts to use it to save the life of his despondent and suicidal wife Janet. The bottle eventually comes into Janet's possession. Upon discovering the bottle's power, she sets in motion a plan of revenge upon her daughter's killer, unaware of how her actions will eventually lead to the rise of the ancient river Styx and her own transformation into a new Ferryman in service of the river's ancient goddess.

Bottled Abyss is a worthwhile read and does a fine job of combining genre with technique to give the reader a unique experience in modern horror.

[macygma · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

In this novel we find a lot of mythology, human beings not exactly in their right minds – at least some of the time and a lot of gruesome mental pictures of the endings of most of them. If you believe in Greek mythology Charon (aka Ferryman) is the dude who takes dead folks across the river Styx and takes a coin from their mouths as payment. It seems the Styx has dried up somehow and Ferryman and his double, Fury are left (pardon the pun) high and dry. There is a beautiful obsidian bottle with a bit of the Styx left in it and it can heal – for a time – leaving each of its tasters with a hacked-up gold coin and certain death. Unless they give the coin to someone else…..The Erikson’s lost their daughter a year ago and basically became strangers in the process. Not much else can go wrong until Lester, the family pooch, disappears. Knowing Janet’s attachment to Les, Herman sets out to find him. He does but Les is past caring as he’s been attacked by coyotes. Enter Ferryman/Charon who Herman thinks is named Clarence. Clarence offers to save Les and does. Thus it all begins.A tale that you might not should read at night unless every light in the house is on of horror, murder, crime sprees and people showing what they would do if left to their own devices is well worth reading. And, I have to say this: How could you not read a book from a publishing house called RED RUM HORROR?

[ritakhavich · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

At first, I wasn't too sure about this book but as I kept reading, I got into it. It wasn't the most brilliant piece of writing ever and it made me feel sad, but it was interesting. It definitely gave me something to talk about when I told people what I was reading. The idea was interesting - Nyx, the River Styx, the Ferryman/Ferrywoman, Fury, the coins - all of it was pretty cool (and this is coming from someone who's not generally interested in death related legend type stuff) and the story while imperfect, had believable characters. I found I didn't end up caring too much about them, but I did want to know what would happen. I wouldn't recommend this to EVERYONE but it's definitely worth reading at least once.

[urbanaudreye · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I thought this was a great book. Towards the end when chapters got short it left a little to be desired though.Bottled Abyss is a story about a resurrection of Nyx and her river. Beginning with a couple, falling apart nearing a year after the death of their daughter, and the discovery of a bottle containing water with life saving powers. The apex sees the destruction of the end of the first era of Nyx, and the pinnacle shows the beginning of a new era of Nyx. The story is full of suspense.*I received this book for free in exchange for an honest review.

[drds-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This was the second Ethridge novel that I have had the privilege to read, though I will confess, it was definitely the most confusing of the two. The plot revolves around elements of Greek mythology, of which I know very little. Thus, coming from this perspective, I found the book difficult to fully grasp, as the author clearly assumes that the reader will have a working knowledge of this unique background. Now, having said that, I still found the book enjoyable, as it was clear that substantial effort was expended to ensure the content was reasonably accurate. The author introduces us to the major characters, though I must state I felt they were somehow underdeveloped-- too little was said early on, and I did not feel a connection to their plight. I also felt that the author did not adequately describe the various settings to help create that ever important 'mental image' of the scenes. I have often felt that one of the joys of books is that they offer the reader a chance to imagine the world in which they are set-- and in this instance, I felt the book did not afford the reader enough content to draw that connection. However, despite the concerns, I do feel the book is worth trying out, especially if one is familiar with their Greek mythology, and is ready to delve back into the world where the supernatural can wreck a profound influence on modern day.

[chutchi-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Bottled Abyss is a whirlwind of a story that took a huge twist right in the middle. I started reading it and wondered which direction the plot was going to go. Will the storyline follow the first two characters? Will it follow the coin? The melodrama was set and created an atmosphere for the entire book. This is definitely a book I would not buy for a school library, but it is no more morose than a good Stephen King novel. I especially enjoyed how the book goes off the deep end into an existential world towards the end and incorporate some old mythology.

[eric_j._guignard · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

REVIEWED: Bottled Abyss
WRITTEN BY: Benjamin Kane Ethridge
PUBLISHED: June, 2012

This is an epic novel that furthers Greek mythology by bringing it into modern times. Fascinating and thoughtful explanations as well as a rich plot and diverse characters. This is not the kind of book that you can skip a few pages and think you're going to understand what's going on - there's a lot of information and sub-plots the author has woven together, and it takes some endeavor to keep up with the reasoning for events. There were several points that I thought the book would have closed nicely, but then it kept going, taking the reader down deeper and darker levels until the final fantastic conclusion. I personally enjoyed some of the background characters more than the leads, but that is a strength of Ethridge, in that every character is so different and well-rounded.

Four-and-a-Half out of Five stars

[carl_alves_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The best way to describe Bottled Abyss is dark. Benjamin Kane Ethridge in his sinister and brooding style weaves a spellbinding tale that uses the mythos of the River Styx in a way only he can tell. He does this by exploring the psyches of his main characters, all of them flawed in some major fashion. The novel's two main characters, Janet and Herman Erikson suffer the ultimate tragedy of losing their daughter in a tragic hit and run accident. As expected, they don't cope with it well. Herman tries to get himself lost in work while staying emotionally unattached to everything around. Janet finds her solace in the bottle. When Herman's dog is lost, and he goes to find it, he meets the ferryman who transports people to the land of the dead. The Ferryman's world is slowly disintegrating and he needs a way to recapture it, seeing Herman as the solution to his problems. He heals Herman's dog with water from the Styx, and in exchange produces a coin. When the coin is given to someone, it unleashes the Fury, who has amazing destructive capabilities.This sets in motion a series of events that dramatically transforms the lives of Janet and Herman and those around them. Ethridge uses his polished prose to capture the reader in a journey into the darkness that awaits them. He travels into areas most writers won't and does a great job of putting the reader into the minds of his characters. The novel is tightly written with few wasted words. Bottled Abyss is often times brutal and graphic, and anything but light reading. If you would like to explore the darkness of the human mind, Bottled Abyss is a great place to go.Carl Alves - author of Blood Street

[annabananajonjon · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Very unique and entertaining storyline. Gradual character and story development helped things not to drag on

[misses_london · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

First I should say that I don't know my mythology at all, and that puts me at a disadvantage in writing a review of Bottled Abyss. Since I am unfamiliar with mythology, I'll assume this book incorporates the stories of Nix and Styx effectively. I found the first part of the book, which just so happened not to steer much into the supernatural, interesting. All the main characters are introduced, as well as a relevant account of their histories with one another. The mystery regarding the bottle lured me into the story, and I wanted to know more. About the final third of the book lost me. The relationships between the characters seemed to unravel, and it seemed the main characters' personalities were sacrificed in order to accommodate the plot. As a result of that I almost felt betrayed as these were characters I'd grown to care about. The story itself was interesting -- but again -- I'm assuming it ties well with the mythology it's largely based upon. The author wrote quite vividly, and I was able to visualise the metamorphoses, as grotesque as they were. Overall it was a bleak and depressing tale, but that, I believe, was the intention.I would probably read more of this author's books, and I would recommend this one to fans of fantasies and, of course, mythology.I received this book in exchange for a fair review.

[erose207 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I feel like I just jumped out of a plane to find myself unexpectedly in a weightless environment. This book was good initially and then dove way off the deep end, as though once revenge for Melody's death had been achieved, the author felt the book was too short and simply kept writing without aim. The irony here is that the title becomes that much more appropriately. I love truth in advertising. I did enjoy the stream of consciousness writing style whenever a character found themselves in the grips of a coin though. That at least was well done.

[brucegargoyle · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

If you’re a fan of Greek mythology, particularly stories featuring Charon and the Furies, then this book will seriously float your boat. Sorry, had to get that pun in. Bottled Abyss is a contemporary urban fantasy/horror tale that features elements of these myths in an original and genuinely creepy way. The opening scene, in which Herman bumps into an evasive (yet supremely helpful) Charon, drew me straight in and I found Etheridge’s writing style to be pretty engaging throughout, despite the fact that towards the middle there is a good deal more violence and unsavoury goings-on than I’m used to in my reading.The blend of reality, myth and fantasy will certainly appeal to a lot of readers who enjoy the feel of urban fantasy with an edge. I quite enjoyed the character development of a number of the main players – particularly Janet, who certainly makes a change from the grief-stricken drunkard that she appears to be at the beginning of the book – as events become stranger and the worlds of the living and the dead start to blend together. There are a number of characters that readers will no doubt love to hate also – my unfavourite being the odious childcare teacher who isn’t what she appears, closely followed by the thuggish and brutal Vincent. I found it satisfying that many of the characters are linked in ways that aren’t immediately apparent, even to the characters themselves. I felt this was the mark of some clever narrative planning and added to the reading experience overall.While tending toward more violence and visceral suffering than I generally like to see in books, Bottled Abyss certainly delivers on both the fantasy and horror elements of the tale. I found myself still thinking about the story a few days after finishing, so obviously this is more than just a blood-splatting, clichéd yarn, so if you are stout of heart (and stomach) and enjoy a bit of mythology and horror in a contemporary setting, I’d definitely suggest trying this one out.

[graeme.reynolds · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

When Herman and Janet Erikson’s young daughter, Melody, is killed in a hit and run accident, their lives quite literally fall apart. Janet is consumed with suicidal thoughts and seeks solace in alcoholism, while Herman finds himself increasingly unable to cope with his wife’s inability to move past her pain, to the point where he begins to despise her. When their dog goes missing in the coyote infested desert near their home, Herman sets out to find the animal. When he finds the dog near death, a stranger appears and miraculously saves the animal by giving it a drink from an ornate bottle, Herman, and later, Janet, become obsessed with the bottle, and its power to bring things back from the brink of death. An obsession that will have dire consequences for them and everyone around them. Especially once Janet’s thoughts turn to revenge against those who caused the death of her daughter.Bottled Abyss is a very different novel from Ethridge. His Bram Stoker winning debut, Black and Orange, was a tightly written action horror that strayed into dark fantasy. Bottled Abyss is a much more introspective offering, looking at the darkness within each person and the fragile nature of the human condition and the relationships between the main characters.That is not to say that this is your standard dull literary horror offering. Far from it. The prose is often lyrical, almost poetic in its nature, which contrasts the bleak nature of the narrative in a very effective manner. When someone drinks from the bottle, they cough up a coin, which, when passed to someone else, exchanges the death meant for that person with the recipient. When this happens, the narrative switches to a stream of consciousness first person perspective which works incredibly well, heightening the tension of the victims impending encounter with The Fury, a monster straight out of ancient Greek mythology, that seeks justice and dispatches the unfortunate in some original and gory ways.Bottled Abyss is a remarkable novel. One that stayed with me and played on my mind long after I’d finished reading it. It cleverly mixes ancient myths with modern society, and populates its pages with interesting and complex characters that I could not help but relate to, and in many ways, empathise with. The pain that Herman and Janet go through at the start of the book stayed with me, and meant that I was still hoping that they could escape their fates, even when their actions begin to cross from “moral grey area” into “downright wrong”.Benjamin Kane Ethridge has matured as an author, and I would not be in the least surprised if he ended up winning another Bram Stoker award for this book. It’s thoughtful, clever, heart-breaking, horrific and bleak. I can’t wait to see what he comes up with next.

[epweil · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A fascinating tale of the creation of the new goddess Nyx and her river Styx, find out just who is the new Charon the immortal soul who ferries the dead for a coin, meet the new fury who enacts his own brand of judgment on those who may or may not be guilty.

[amkj-1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

A dark and depressing tale. Too many innocent individual have devastating things happen to them, logical deductions have unexpectedly deadly consequences, and there seems to be no point, resolution, or meaning to the story.

[antares1_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Bottled Abyss by Benjamin Kane Ethridge is a very dark variation on the Mythos surrounding Charon and the Furies. After a devastating loss of their child the protagonists both suffer greatly. There's not much more I can add without giving away some of the plot. The characters were believable and somewhat 3 dimensional. The variation to the Underworld wasn't exactly to my taste, but it was well written.