BBB Exclusive Coffin Hop Fiction Horror Original Serial

SERIAL: Part 6 by Jack Chaser

Posted on September 28, 2013 by Jack Chaser



Hi, this is Susan. I can’t come to the phone right now so please leave me a message and I will call you right back.


So, I’ve been just wandering around all night.

I have likely walked by your place a half a dozen times and I see your light is on so I know you,re home. I just can’t figure out why you don’t want to talk to me.

I thought things went pretty good. You laughed. You smiled. At one point, you actually shivered when you touched my hand across the table. We really had a good time.

I could just walk up to your door right now if I wanted to. I am that close.

All that time I wasted. Thinking I was anything but a piece of meat to you. Spending money I didn’t fucking have for you to just brush me off right after dinner like I meant nothing.

I am standing on your fucking door step right now and I know you can hear me. You hear me out here, you fucking slut!

I should just kick this fucking door down but no. I am going to wait. I will wait until you think you are completely happy and then I will destroy it. I will fuck you in every possible way I can think of. I will choke you while I fuck you until you pass out and are so near death you can see the fucking gates of heaven. Then I will bring you back because miserable cunts like you deserve to be rotting in hell.

I really thought I could fall in love with you but you are just like all the other whores I have ever went out with. I know I am not the best looking guy and could likely hit the gym more often but……

I can fucking hear you right behind the door, you bitch!

I can practically hear you breathing.

Open the door, Susan! I just want to talk. I promise.

Open the fucking door. You can even record everything I say. I just want to tell you to your face that you will never find anyone better than me.

Fine. You know what . Fuck you. I should have just waited here the other night and let you watch what I did to your cat. That pussy suffered. The fucking same way you will. Be seeing you.


Oh, now you open the fucking door.

You don’t understand…….

Oh, I get it alright. Its typical. Bitches like you never get what you have coming to you. That changes right now.

I didn’t want to hurt you.

Hurt me? You have to be fucking kidding. You honestly think you can hurt me?

Oh, I think I can.


What are you doing?

What the fuck are you doing?




Book Reviews Fiction Horror

THE SUMMER I DIED by Ryan C. Thomas

The cult slasher novel is back in this all new edition which features the original text as it was meant to be published! Dubbed one of “The Most Intense Horror Novels” ever written by many horror review sites, The Summer I Died is the first book in the Roger Huntington saga.

When Roger Huntington comes home from college for the summer and is met by his best friend, Tooth, he knows they’re going to have a good time. A summer full of beer, comic books, movies, laughs, and maybe even girls. The sun is high and the sky is clear as Roger and Tooth set out to shoot beer cans at Bobcat Mountain. Just two friends catching up on lost time, two friends thinking about their futures. . . two friends suddenly thrust into the middle of a nightmare. Forced to fight for their life against a sadistic killer with an arsenal of razor sharp blades and a hungry dog by his side. If they are to survive, they must decide: are heroes born, or are they made? Or is something more powerful happening to them? And more importantly, how do you survive when all roads lead to death?

The description sets this one up pretty well, and there isn’t a whole lot I can get into without spoiling the story. I’ll touch on what I can, but be warned…
Roger is home from college, spending time with his life-long best friend, Tooth, and both of their families. We bond with the characters without it feeling too padded or fluffed up. We get to read about a couple events that helped shape them, and their friendship, into what it is today. I think that bond is important, because without feeling how close they are – some things wouldn’t be *quite* as disturbing.
Their lives are beginning to go in different directions, so this is an important time for them. We’ve all had friendships deteriorate, slowly dwindle away until the person becomes just another unused entry in your cell phone. This is the summer that separates those two phases of friendship.
They head up to their ‘spot’ on Bobcat Mountain, the place where so many important childhood memories were made, to hang out, chill, and do some target shooting with Tooth’s guns. They hear what sounds like a woman screaming. They try to attribute the screams to anything else – anything other than what it is, it IS Bobcat Mountain! The screams form into ‘helpmehelpmehelpme‘, but from their vantage point, it is almost impossible to tell where the screams are coming from. Tooth wants to go search for the source, but Roger is hesitant. After some convincing, Roger relents, Tooth re-loads his gun, and they head off on foot. They hike further and further away from their car in search of the noises origin, until they finally see a house in the distance. What they find is something worse than they’ve ever imagined, even they’re late-night horror movie marathons couldn’t have prepared them for this!

I think I’ve ended that sufficiently, piqued your interest enough to have to read this story. DON’T RUIN IT!

**********SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT!!**********
The first thing they see are the Rottweilers, random holes dug in the yard, and bloody paw prints on the back storm door. As they’re contemplating those prints, two people come busting out, a naked, bloody, and gagged woman followed closely by a mad-man with an axe, running straight towards them.
Roger and Tooth end up chained in the basement, with the body of the (almost dead) woman on the floor near their feet. The man with the axe, well, to be fair… the ax is now in the woman’s skull, so… The man that has them captive proceeds to torture the boys in such graphic & horrific detail, down to the smells, that you feel like you’re in that basement with them.
The depravity shown in this book is kept from being mere ‘torture porn’ by the characters. The pain they feel from seeing what happens to each-other is almost as bad as the pain inflicted on them. The game that the man plays as he’s choosing who to hurt, and how to do it, is maddening. A pair of dice that was taken from Rogers pocket is what chooses the recipient of each round of torment. A game of chance. If you were in that situation… what would you hope for? ‘Please don’t hurt me anymore’ is essentially wishing that your best friend gets hurt.
Now, when you think things couldn’t possibly get any worse for these two, the author throws a twist in that takes things to a whole new level. It goes from a level of physical violence that is hard to handle, to a level of mental torture that tries to split your mind in half. The switch from witnessing the torture to having to imagine what is happening in the next room – just by listening to the tools & screams of someone you love – is painful. The author describes things in such excruciating detail, you’ll remember this story forever. Even though I’ve warned of spoilers, I’m not giving away the end.

BORN TO BLEED – The Sequel

Born to Bleed is the exciting sequel to the cult classic, The Summer I Died! It’s been ten years since Roger Huntington suffered through the bloody events in Skinny Man’s basement. Ten years since the game of chance, the dismemberment, the torture, and the grisly deaths. Roger has moved to California where he now works as a painter and pines after his co-worker, Victoria. It’s a seemingly bland life, which is how he likes it. But just as he can’t forget his past, he is about to discover that his future may hold far more terrifying events than anything he could possibly imagine.

The official home page of Ryan C. Thomas
Visit his Amazon author page

If I don’t get BORN TO BLEED soon, I have SCRAPS AND CHUM queued up and ready to read, so watch for my discussions on both!!
P, L, & N


HATE: A Love Letter

*Oysters? Diamonds? Conch Chowder? Spanish Fly? Amateurs.
Poetry? Flowers? Lingerie? Perfume? Pretenders.
The truest, most powerful aphrodisiac isn’t any of these – it is hate. Sex does not live in our heads or our hearts, sex lives in our bowels, in the dark spaces within and below. Sex resides in our loins where hate festers, masticating us from within until we explode in a rage of passion. I am hate. I was not born of God’s heart or spirit, but emerged from his mighty taint to expose the power of hate, to show that it is the envy of love. To love someone is to think of them three times, five times, ten times a day. To hate thim is to never have them out of your thoughts. To hate someone is to be smothered by them, overwhelmed by feeling, made alive by their very existence. Love can be cured by a slight, by gossip, by rumor, by a pair of socks left unhampered or a slip of the tounge at a dinner party. Love is fragile. Love is the lie we tell ourselves to make all the other lies manageable. Hate is pure, though. Hate endures against all logic, against all arguement, against any attempted reconciliation. Send me chocolates, I still hate you. Say you’re sorry, I still hate you. Fix what you have broken, I still hate you. And what is a more powerful, complete and devastating expression of hate than sex? Is there a better way to focus hate than to purify it in the places where it is most comfortable? Have sex with someone you love and then have sex with someone you hate, and then tell me which is more satisfying. Tell me who you would rather see vunerable, empty, weakened to their most base and animalistic, a lover or an enemy? I pity those that love me more than those that hate me because the haters feel what I feel. The haters see me as I see them. I am bound to the haters by experience. To hate me is to understand me, to understand me is to love me – and to be loved by me. My experience of what you call love is limited, and that love is poisoned by pain. Hate, though? I’m lousy with hate. Hate is where I live. Those that claim to not hate might as well claim to not breathe or eat or think. To exist is to hate. To be alive is to understand that “you” is the truest word and that the only way to join another is to connect with their hate of you and your hate of them. I hate because I seek connection with the world. I seek understanding, a shared experience, a brotherhood with man. I yearn to be hated, so please, hate me my loves. Hate me with all that you are. Climax with hate at the very thought of me and together we will see the world.
~the carver

BBB Exclusive Original


Another day, another mask. Do they really hide anything anymore? Those who care enough to look surely can’t be fooled, can they? The masks are wearing thin, the scars and tears are starting to show again. And, she just can’t hide the pain in her eyes.

So, maybe no one is really looking.

This one is for tomorrow.
A great big smile on the outside. While she’s broken and dying on the inside.

Permanently Scarred
BBB Exclusive Original


banging my head against a mythical wall…
scattering emotional drops of blood all over the place…
creating a mental crime scene…

it’s like i’m screaming but no one can hear.

silent screams