Real American Horror

By Mr. Deadman, Amy Grech, Bob McNeil and 5 more

America, a land of prosperity, wealth, and hope, but that's a fresh coat of paint on a system riddled with corruption, exploitation, and the disillusioned. Real American Horror exposes what lies under the facade: crib-side murder suicide, fear of zika virus, torture in the name of Jesus, Islamicterror, cannibalism, racism, and so much more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387221349

Book preview

Real American Horror

ISBN:978-1-387-22134-9

Deadman's Tome Real American Horror @ 2017

Deadman’s Tome is owned by Jesse Dedman

Editing by Jesse Dedman

Cover Image by Jesse Dedman

All of the content is either property of Deadman’s Tome, of other owners under an agreement with Deadman’s Tome or Jesse Dedman, or of other parties that have agreed to allow their content in the online and print editions of the anthology. Do not copy material from this published document without permission of its owner(s) and author(s).

Preface

Real American Horror illustrates the REAL American Dream. You see, hard work and a good heart isn't enough when heartlessness and laziness are rewarded. Prosperity surely isn't a mother bringing her daughter to slum in a dope house, unless you're the dealer. Success isn't normally measured by the amount the bloodshed in the name of religious extremism, unless you're a warmongering politician. Finding purpose in one's life doesn't normally consist torturing people, unless it's done in the name Jesus.

Real American Horror is brutal honest reflection of the grittiness of American life: zika virus horrors, murder suicides, religious extremism, dope houses, and much more. If you're looking for a easy cheery read, then don't go further. This is a sobering experience, but one that is important and has significance.

If you feel compelled to file a complaint against any of the authors featured in this collection, then please contact [e-mail]

Mr. Deadman

Table of Contents

Real American Horror

Preface

Hours before the Hateful Act

Bob McNeil

Each New Twist of Fate:

Bob Freville

Atonement

Shadrick Beechem

JINN

RD Cervo

Lonely Zika

RD Cervo

Mother of the Year

Mr. Deadman

THE GIRL IN THE GREEN DRESS

Jeff Dosser

Initiation Day

Amy Grech

FOR EVERY SOUND THAT FLOATS

James Harper

Hours before the Hateful Act

Bob McNeil

Four hours before the hateful act, a sand-colored man visited his sand-colored ex-wife. Each word shared by the couple came with heart-formed emotions. Contritely, as if speaking to Allah, the man wanted absolution for his pending abomination.

Three hours before the hateful act, he visited his sand-colored adult son. Again, compunction dove from the father’s tongue. Submitting to tears, the two waded through a reconciliation.

Two hours before the hateful act, he went to his parents’ graves. Aware that he was speaking to himself, the man thanked them for their love.

One hour before the hateful act, he thought about the clandestine explosive belt under his thawb while entering a secret al-Qaeda headquarters in Jackson Heights, Queens.

Thirty-six seconds before the hateful act, regret did not enter any door in the man’s mind. Content to assassinate terrorists who massacred many people in the aforesaid city and beyond, the man tried to imagine a time unfettered by terrorism.

Each New Twist of Fate:

4 Detached Vignettes from the

Death of American Politics

Bob Freville

I

Polite Society

Lindsey cracks a PBR and goes to take a slug off it, but something occurs to her. She removes the can from her lips. Did you put Tahini Goddess dressing in the hummus again?

The sound of chickpeas being shelled sharply ceases. Nooo, Jeff replies curtly.

A bowl slides across the counter top and the sound is quickly followed by the clank of a wooden cutting board coming down on the marble finish. The rapid fire succession of chops lets Lindsey know that Jeff has moved on to preparing the scallions for the main course. Moderately satisfied, she returns to typing up her latest blog entry on marijuana legislation.

After a beat, her fingers stop hitting the keys. It's still nagging at her.

Because you know the reaction he had last time.

Christ, Linds. Whose friend is he? I've worked with the dude for five years. I think I know about his anchovie allergy.

Didn't at last year's cookout, she reminds him.

There's a knock at the door.

Can you get that? Maybe it's the salad dressing police come to take me away.

Lindsey smirks and sets her iPad down, crosses the room and turns the doorknob. Before she opens it, she shouts, Forgot to lock the door again.

Jeff sighs. On this block? What's gonna happen? Some soccer mom high on yerba mate's gonna break in and steal your yoga pants?

Lindsey doesn't answer him, instead turning her attention to the tall black gentleman standing in the doorway. He greets her with a smile and she him.

Law, she purrs.

Lindzer tart, he cracks, holding out a Glad-wrapped bowl of greens.

Never heard that one before, she replies sarcastically. Lawson laughs and enters the foyer. Lindsey closes the door and eyeballs the bowl. Baby spinach?

Kale and summer crisp, Lawson says.

Summer crisp, she says. Sounds appropriate.

Had to steal the thunder from Reg. He's bringin' honey roasted summer squash.

Want a beer?

Yeah, whatever you got.

They go into the kitchen, Lindsey playfully smacking Jeff on the ass on her way to the fridge.

Hey! Jeff gives Lawson some skin. What's up, man? How was your vacay?

Eh, Law shrugs. What's there to say? A week at my mother-in-law's is like a month in Guantanamo.

Jeff laughs. Lindsey takes two cold ones from the fridge and hands one to Law.

Thanks, honey. Nah, can't complain. The country air was nice. Makes you tired though when you're not used to it.

Tell me about it. I was in a coma the last time we went to my pops' cabin.

Lindsey dinks cans with Law. So where's Reg? I thought he was coming with you?

No, Law says. Stupid bastard broke up with his boyfriend yesterday.

Jesus. Another one?

That ain't the least of it. Dude's cryin' in his beer at the club last night? Picks up some bridge and tunnel fuck boy, brings him back to my house. Sonya's trying to sleep after workin' a double and this motherfucker's grindin' in the guest room.

Jeff doubles over, wheezing with laughter. Reg.

I swear, man. Dude gets more mangina than me or you gotten blowjobs.

Nice, Lindsey says, swigging from her PBR and shaking her head.

What about you two? Manny told me you took sick leave.

Yeah, my back's been acting up something fierce the last couple weeks.

I told you stop liftin' that heavy shit in the warehouse. Ask a brother for help.

Jeff rolls his eyes and drinks from his beer. Yeah, yeah. Sometimes I think the two of you conspire to emasculate me.

Lindsey shoots Jeff a look. Babe, if you're that easily emasculated, maybe it's time for the hormone treatment.

Oh! Law chokes on his beer.

Jeff shakes his head and grumbles, returning to the cutting board.

After dinner, the boys are playing some pool in Jeff and Lindsey's rec room. You still thinkin' about buying one of those stupid drones?

Nah, Jeff says. Lindsey wants to start a college fund in case we ever have kids.

Little premature, Reg says.

Yeah, that's what I said. But who really needs a drone anyway? I'm not twelve.

I'm sure Lindsey would debate that, Law says.

Reg chimes in. Everyone needs a drone, dude.

For what?

For what? You jokin' my ass? For fucking spying on the drones that are spying on us. The government's got them all over the goddamn place. Some George Orwell shit's going on day and night all across America.

Hear that, Law says.

Guess you got me there, Jeff says. So much for Land of the Free.

Hey, don't give me that Land of the Free crap, Law snaps. This shit's been free for you a lot longer than it has for me and mine.

Law, you grew up in the 'burbs. Don't start that Kunta Kinte shit.

Lawson scratches on the eightball. 'Scuse me?

You scratched, man.

You just call me a slave?

You're the one that brought up slavery, dude.

No, I fuckin' didn't! You did with that 'Roots' shit. That ain't funny, Jeff. I know we're friends, but that don't mean you get a hall pass to drop an N bomb or no bullshit.

I'm just saying, man. Don't start the whole righteous black man thing. You went to college on a full scholarship.

Law tosses his pool cue down on the green felt. And what the fuck does that mean? That I forfeited my right to speak on behalf of the black community?

Law, we're in Riverdale. You are the black community.

You're crossin' the fuckin' line, man.

Law advances towards Jeff, but Reg throws an arm up in his chest, effectively blocking his path. Alright, alright, calm down. Law, chill. Guys, you're boys, okay? Let's stop this shit before it gets out of hand. C'mon, man. We've been pals forever. This is stupid.

I know, Jeff says. I'm not a racist or anything. You know that. I'm your kid's fucking godfather.

Law takes a