Tales of Modern Monster Girls

By Jonathan Evan Hudson

Girls of your dreams.

Or nightmares.

Maybe both?

Grab this spellbinding collection of urban fantasy short stories and enjoy mesmerizing monster girl fun!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Swordpulp Studios
• Release date: May 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393749134

Jonathan Evan Hudson

Widely traveled, Jonathan Evan Hudson spends as much time studying life as he does writing gripping tales of fantastic adventures. From the giant redwoods of California to the deserts of Israel, his thrilling stories all draw on first-hand experiences and expand them with the fantastic and his acclaimed creativity.

Book preview

Tales of Modern Monster Girls

TALES OF MODERN MONSTER GIRLS

A 5 PARANORMAL SHORT STORY COLLECTION

JONATHAN EVAN HUDSON

SWORDPULP STUDIOS

CONTENTS

Luv Bites & So Do I

A Lust of an Elven Chance

As You Wish

A Wasp Stomping Showdown

A Badass Platinum Blonde Vampire 2-Go

About the Author

Modern Fantasies by Jonathan Evan Hudson

LUV BITES & SO DO I

CHAPTER ONE

Sure, he had the rather awesome name Alucard — Dracula spelled backwards actually — so everyone just called him Al, and sure, the current hit tune Where there’s a will, there’s girls really did make a good point overall, but really, him wearing an I-love-wieners tee? Really?

Really?

As in a big fat hot dog smothered with mustard and sauerkraut, and the classic I-heart stuff plastered over a tee so bright glowing white it’ll show any stain a zillion miles away.

No wonder Al felt like a self-conscious dork.

Okay okay, normally, college guys get stupid after downing a box of beer, but Al was getting stupider just by carrying it.

As in one six bottle box.

(All six bottles full of vodka-enhanced beer and perfectly unopened, of course, for now.)

It was a scruffy colorful cardboard box. The box even had a dark dinky handle to match the dark dinky amber bottles.

Also normally, it was not normally a problem when it was the ass crack of evening.

Meaning it was so passed midnight that the moon was like a lone plump tittie in the sky. The clouds in the sky … like the moon tittie spilling its milky stuff everywhere and … why wasn’t Al drunk yet?

(His upcoming rendezvous of sexy certainly called for it.)

His thoughts were sure getting ready for sexual — no, oversexualized everything because … since … since when did a sex-crazed college geek start waxing poetic about how the moon resembled a single plump tittie without any beer to aid in the dumb-ass comparison?

Just blame the night.

Yeah. The night.

It was chilly enough to nip a guy in places never to be nipped. So what if it was due to wearing ruby swim trunks during a fine early-ass April spring that — sheesh, Al was such an idiot …

Wait … did that … by the curb, that lopsided cracked curb … did … did that patch of grass beside the sidewalk … the dew on it — was it freaking frozen over?

Shit.

It was.

Flip-flops, not a good idea either then.

(Obviously.)

Hell, it would be nice one day to feel his toes again. Maybe. One day … maybe?

If God didn’t hate him too much by now.

(What a guy did for his dick …)

(And how many idiots thought vampires were undead and invulnerable to the cold. No, that was ghouls and ick. ‘nuff said.)

This hill, fucking, it was more like a fat girl’s dimpled ass anyway, you know the type, so fat that a tracker trailer would be needed to move her fat ass if she passed out.

Al was forced to slump his lazy ass over this hill … this hill among many in a fucking row down this long ass block going higher and higher and higher … it was like the many folds of fat on a fat annoying brat of a fatso sister …

But … he was a broad chested slouch of a guy, with a broad (but beardless) chin, and ugh — buzz cutting his brownish blond hair — why God, why?

Al should of known better than to listen to his gramps’ fashion advise.

Of course, Al could of done the laundry sooner too but hindsight was always 20-20.

Thank God and all that was Holy that his thoughts were private out here or else … well … his ultra fatso sister Denise would so pound his face in for all of those fat-girl-to-hill comparisons.

(Telepathic little tween sisters were the worst.)

If only she’d lay off some of those hot dogs granddad kept stuffing in her. Being an immature tween girl was NOT an excuse for stupid, sheesh, as if she really needed all those packs of hot dogs because of her superpower.

She needed fresh monster blood but … no way little bratty tween would get to go out hunting herself. The whole bunch of pricey ass spells woven into their home’s foundation and to completely and utterly hide their utterly secret location from the monster menace, you know, their actual dangerous prey that would so fucking do anything to find their home and …

Sigh.

She should be thankful they weren’t Casters i.e. wizards and witches. Casters were so unethical they not only acknowledged they were villains to nearly every-fucking-one else, they tossed out any schmuck who was too decent.

Like the brilliant schmuck of a wet dream babe who wove those hiding spells into their foundation and, thus, earned herself free room and board for life.

Too bad her life was, technically, going to be less than twenty sweet years or else Al would totally try to girlfriend her haughty bitch ass.

(Yeah. Riiight. Keep dreaming, as Denise would say.)

(Or hurmphf, as that wet dream known as Vivian would, you know, and, of course, gramps insisted on no dating because blah blah blah …)

But Casters, they’d so force Denise to eat more sensibly.

Nightmare style.

Vivian even admitted it. More than once.

Not that the greatest of monster menaces, serpents, and their secretive industrial livestocking of humans in human farms (to say the least) wouldn’t do worse …

(Never mind it was serpents and their ilk who tricked the mundanes into thinking vicious stake-worthy ghouls were what vampires really were. Sneaky bastards.)

So vampires like Al, one of the few heroes standing between mundane helpless humans and the living hell monsters would inflict on them.

And his mission today … ugh. Guess what …

CHAPTER TWO

Of course, the only reason Al could even walk all alone so ass-crack late at night on this dark dinky sidewalk without fear of being ambushed by the ever-vigilant monster menace was, in fact, the spell the babilicous Viv had hidden as an awesome cross and bones tattoo (despite gramps