Tandem of Terror

Tandem of Terror

a collection by John Grover and Eric S.
Brown

LIBRARY OF HORROR PRESS PRESENTS

Published by arrangement with the
authors.

"
Tandem of
Terror"

By John Grover and Eric S. Brown

Copyright 2010. All Rights reserved

Smashwords edition

Without limiting the rights under copyright
reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in
any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written
permission of both the copyright owner and "Library of Horror
Press," except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. People,
places, events and situation are the product of the author's
imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or
undead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Exposing the Underbelly
by John
Grover and Eric S. Brown

Waking the Dead
by Eric S. Brown

Dreams
by Eric S. Brown

Clatter Bones
by John Grover

Dead Stop
by Eric S. Brown

The Tomb in the Stars
by Eric S.
Brown

Scritch, Scritch
by John Grover

A Sign of the Times
by John Grover

Messenger
by Eric S. Brown

Special Delivery
by John Grover

The Witch Killer
by Eric S. Brown

Dust to Dust
by John Grover

Storms
by Eric S. Brown

Jonah and the Dead
by Eric S. Brown

Drifter
by John Grover

Out of Fire...
by Eric S. Brown

The Wolf Boys
by Eric S. Brown

Shades Darker than War
by John
Grover

Unexpected Fun
by Eric S. Brown

The Tank
by Eric S. Brown

Man's First Child
by John Grover

Rogue Wolf
by Eric S. Brown

Emily
by Eric S. Brown

The Tie That Binds
by John Grover

Ground Zero
by Eric S. Brown

The Disembodied
by John Grover

The Wranglers
by Eric S. Brown

In the Shadows of the Lilies
by John
Grover

The Freak Squad
by Eric S. Brown

Immortal
by John Grover and Eric S.
Brown

The Eveningtide
by Eric S. Brown

Wendigo
by Eric S. Brown

Between Mother and Daughter
by John Grover

The Hunt
by Eric S. Brown

3:15
by John Grover

Warning Signs
by John Grover

Outbreak on Beta-Gamma-Twelve
by Eric S.
Brown

A Rage of Angels
by John Grover

Fur and Bullets
by Eric S. Brown

Monsters
by Eric S. Brown

After the Rain
by John Grover

Freak
by Eric S. Brown

Slipping in the Snow
by Eric S.
Brown

In Her Name
by John Grover

Unstoppable
by Eric S. Brown

Malarath
by Eric S. Brown

The Unclean
by John Grover

Caviler Arms
by Eric S. Brown

The Fear Monger Calls it a Night
by Eric
S. Brown

Empire of the Damned
by John
Grover

an introduction by

Scott A. Johnson

As a writer, I visit a lot of interesting
places. Horror conventions, schools, museums, you name it, I've
probably been there or somewhere like it. As my career progresses,
and I start to make the transition from "fresh voice" to "seasoned
veteran," I visit with groups and fans alike who all have
questions. "How'd you get your first book published?" or "Where do
you get your ideas?" are among the most common, but there is
another question for which I, until recently, didn't have a decent
answer. Sure, I'd make up an answer on the spot based on names I'd
read or heard, but the names always changed from answer to answer,
and I was never certain of doing justice to many of those writers.
Thanks to this collection, I now have an answer.

The question, incidentally, is "Who do you
consider the new breed of horror writer?" It's a tough question for
a writer, not only because people like me see literally hundreds of
books and manuscripts a year, but also because of what it implies.
Who, it asks, do you see standing beside you in the literary
pantheon? Who do you see taking over your seat? Most importantly,
who do you consider
worth
reading.

The book you're holding in your hands is
answer enough. More than a hundred-thousand words of fear,
moodiness, surrealism and horror. And to come from such unassuming
sources as these two authors, one might never guess the twisted
evil that lurks in their collective souls, and I mean that in the
best possible way.

Stylistically, the two authors of this
collection are as different as a pair can get. Yet, somehow, they
fit together like cogs in some great flesh-grinding machine. Having
been chewed between stories by Brown and Grover, the reader will
feel tender, broken, emotionally raw, and that's the beauty of it.
There are few writers today who can really move a person to tears,
or laughter, or terror with words on a page. Brown and Grover seem
to make easy work of such a task. I think they enjoy it.

What you hold in your hands is a bright
start, a bloodstain on white gauze. During the course of reading
these pages, you will see both authors in a perverse game of
one-upsmanship that neither really wants to win so much as to
continue the game. You will see the development of the writers as
they evolve in their style, and show themselves worthy of the title
of "Author."

As for me, I feel fortunate to have been
asked to write this introduction. And I feel fortunate to refer to
the two gentlemen whose stories wait like vicious animals between
the covers of this book as my colleagues. If you are holding this
collection, reading these words, consider that what lies beyond may
well be the future of horror, the next great writers to ascend.

Scott A. Johnson

Lost in the Deadlands of Texas

2009

Exposing the Underbelly

John Grover and Eric S. Brown

She knew that there was some scary shit in
the city of Boston. She knew that very well. Having been on the
force for over ten years she had seen a lot of strange things,
especially on the vice squad. But what Lindsey Braddish was about
to see tonight would change her life forever.

The tip came in while she was wolfing down
another one of McMenamy's famous burgers, the ones piled so high
that everything but the meat slid out the back of the bun as she
lifted it to her mouth.

Her snitch had said a big drug deal was going
down on the streets tonight and some key players would be in
attendance. This was a career-making bust, something that could
launch her into nice promotion or even better. There was no way she
could pass it up.

It was that ambition and a giant size ego
that found her out here alone, bucking procedure and taking matters
into her own hands. She wanted this all to herself. What would her
father think? His stone cold face drifted through her mind, hard
eyes, trimmed white mustache. He had always been so straight laced
and did everything by the book, right down to the letter.

He wouldn't approve of this, no sir. It was a
good thing then that he was dead, shot in the line of duty. Yes,
doing everything by the book really got him far.

Lindsey crept down the seedy streets,
slipping into alleys, avoiding the watchful eyes of the
streetwalkers that populated the area and finally approached the
cluster of condemned buildings where the deed would be done.

Her heart slammed against her chest,
adrenalin pumped through her body, as it never had before. She
loved the rush of it, the chase, the sting and the looks on their
faces when she took them down.

Most would think she was out of her mind. Her
co-workers thought she just had something to prove. She took on the
roughest cases, pursued the scum of the city and never once showed
any glimmer of shock, disgust or stress. She was a good cop, as
good as the good old boys. Hell, she was even better. And she would
make them all see it. See that she was no longer daddy's little
girl.

Pale moonlight christened the empty parking
lot as she scaled the side of the buildings. She dare not step out
into the moon's light; it would make her a sitting duck. She cursed
the moon, why couldn't a patch of clouds swallow it? It seemed to
be working against her tonight.

Lindsey held her gun tighter then she ever
had before, sweat drooled down her wrist as she flattened under one
of the windows in the first building. She listened carefully,
straining her ear to hear any sign movement or voices.

There was nothing.

A cool breeze slithered up her spine and
ruffled her honey blonde hair and it was then she heard the moan in
it. Carried on the breeze a faint moan caressed her ears.

Lindsey turned to eye the warehouse across
the street. It beckoned to her.

But that was not the building the snitch had
told her. Could he have been wrong?

It wouldn't be the first time.

A shadow wriggled in the warehouse windows,
illusive, liquid, gone. Something was happening over there. Lindsey
inhaled and cast herself into the street, skimming across it like a
fallen maple leaf on the night breeze.

She crouched behind the graffiti-splattered
garbage bins as a car rolled down the street. She watched it pass,
its muffler coughing loudly, its body dented, a tail light busted.
She wondered how far back her own car was and if it was safe. She
wondered if she was making a mistake and if she should call for
backup.

The moan caught her attention again.

No. It had made her choice for her. Her
colleagues would shake their heads and elbow each other in jest.
No, she needed to take this down herself.

She worked her way around the back of the
warehouse and ascended the fire escape. More wind stirred as she
climbed higher and higher to the pitch-black windows. She could
hear mumbling voices now.

With luck there were enough holes in the
window that she could slip her hand through and gently ease it
open. She crawled onto a ledge on the second floor of the
warehouse, letting the darkness swallow her whole.

She peered over the railing and took notice
of the dim light that radiated below her. In the light stood a bald
black man. What she could see of his face was scarred, gold glinted
around his neck and on his chest, and there were odd markings on
his clothes. There was a strange air around him. It made her
shiver.

What occurred next took Lindsey by complete
surprise. Into the light stepped four impeccably dressed men,
expensive Italian suits hugging their bodies, their hair sculpted
and slicked, perfect to the last strand. She recognized these men.
They were the infamous Vincetti family, the mafia that controlled
half of the city, men that were almost legend and didn't even seem
to exist in the sight of the law. Lindsey couldn't believe she was
actually setting eyes on them.

This was much bigger than she could have ever
imagined. What was happening here? Oh Holy God, if she were to nail
the Vincetti family, right in the middle of something she would be
unforgettable. Everyone would know her name. If only her father
were alive to see this, he'd have no choice but to finally be proud
of her.

She watched as one of the men stepped towards
the black man and handed him a briefcase. She was sure there was a
fortune in it. "Show us," the Vincetti member said with a
gruff.

The black man waved his right hand in the
air, gestured oddly and said something under his breath. There was
rustling in the back, a stirring, feet dragging on concrete,
footsteps stumbling in the dark. Forms appeared in the shadows and
shambled into the light. Body after body stammered to join the
other men and as their faces emerged in the light it was all
Lindsey could do to contain her scream.