Calling All Minions, Flash Fiction Fanatics, Monsters, Freaks, Horror Hounds, Misfits, Hobbits, Trolls, Ne’er-Do-Wellers, Thieves, Witches, Demons, Timeless Evils, Grossly Incompetent Robots, Monkeys of All Shapes and Varieties, One Penguin Named Carl McFlappins the Third, A Handful of Impish Gnomes, Two Pickles, A Basket of Ham Sandwiches, A Very Large Blue Ox who Roams Around With a Guy Named Paul, and You.
How are you all doing today, my wonderful minions?
Have I mentioned how amazing you look? Top notch, I must say. Did you get a haircut? It looks fabulous.
Ok, ok, you caught me. I’ll stop sucking up now, even though you are awesome. Really. You are.
I need you. Yes, you. No, no, not the one in the back with his/her finger in his/her nose. On second thought: yeah, I’ll take you too. The more the merrier.
Let’s just get right to the heart of the matter…
Wicked Little Things (100 tiny tales of terror, volume two) is set to hit the digital book shelves on December 1, 2014. It’s actually even already available for Preorder.
So why all the schmoozing ? As if you didn’t know. I need your help in spreading the word, be it on blogs or social media or word of mouth or radio broadcast or advertisement on the moving picture box machine or major motion picture with a multi-million dollar budget or any other way you see fit. Get creative! That’s what I don’t pay you for. Have I mentioned you’re awesome? You could be a movie star, or a model, or both. Maybe even a world famous serial killer if you play your cards right.
Want to get involved but need more info? Below you’ll find an image of the cover, an Amazon link, a blurb, and an excerpt (plus a photo of me and my bio). Use them any way you see fit or contact me using this contact form if you would like to do something else (interview, guest post, séance to raise the dead and seize control of the world–which happens to be my plan for the weekend if you’d like to be part of it–whatever other ideas your succulent brain can think up) or need any additional info.
Also, you’re super great and I’m pretty sure there isn’t anyone better than you. Probably never has been in all of history. I mean that. I’m pretty sure you’re my hero.
Also, why haven’t you joined my mailing list yet? Seems like something you should have done already. Yes, I’m looking at you. Shame on you! Get to it! Chop, chop and all that jazz. Go on. I’ll wait before I get to the important matter at hand.
Ok, I’m done now, and I feel rather dirty. I think I need a shower.
100 tiny tales of terror gave birth to 100 monstrosities.
The time has come for 100 more tales of terrible things to haunt your dreams and drive home a healthy dose of fear of those horrible creatures that dwell mostly in the darkness, but sometimes in the light.
Devour these Wicked Little Things in one sitting if you think your fragile mind can handle it, or drink them in one at a time and let your fright strangle your sanity as the fear really sinks in and takes hold.
Excerpt: (2 of the 100 stories)
He’d sat on the same bench every day–hours at a time–for almost six months, watching, waiting. He wasn’t in a hurry. He’d known an opportunity would present itself eventually, and he wasn’t wrong.
One day, a little girl on the verge of tears came up to him.
“I can’t find my mommy,” the child said.
“That’s awful. Would you like me to help you look for her?” he asked.
The little girl nodded and wiped her budding tears away. He stood up and held out his hand. She took it willingly. Together they walked toward the parking lot.
Beauty and the Beast
The creature’s crooked claws stroked the severed head in its lap. The beast’s disfigured face studied the girl in the cage across the room. She cried thick, heavy tears and sobbed in the corner of the tiny cage. Her sobs made the beast’s ears ache.
It threw the head–that of the girl’s own father–at the cage to shut her up, but she only sobbed louder and screamed incoherent pleas. She begged for mercy, but mercy would not come at the hands of the monstrosity who called the castle home. Only death and misery were welcome within those walls.
Photo of me:
Adam Ickes is a writer who has made a home in central Pennsylvania with his wife and daughter. He is obsessed with releasing the horrors in his mind on an unsuspecting world. His stories live and fester in the twisted confines of his imagination before demanding to be released from their prison, usually at gunpoint.