Elizabeth Báthory (1560–1614) — often called the “Blood Countess” — was a Hungarian noblewoman from the powerful Báthory family. She’s infamous as one of history’s most prolific alleged female serial killers. Some may argue that she is not a true serial killer, but I would say read the evidence in this book TrueCrime #SerialKillers #SamWolfe #ElizabethBathory #Murder #Biography #Non Fiction, Elizabeth Bathory, Sam Wolfe, Serial Killers, True Crime
The newfound resources provided a small measure of comfort, but the shadow of suspicion and mistrust lingered, a constant threat to their already precarious existence. They had survived the attack, but the war within Rapid City had only just begun, a war fought not with guns and blades, but with suspicion, betrayal, and the relentless erosion of trust.
The Re Do Kindle Edition By W. G. Sweet (Author) Format: Kindle Edition The nightmare would begin insidiously, with the faintest whisper of a sound, a familiar vibration that would build, slowly at first, then with terrifying speed. It was the hum of the engine, the low thrum of the car carrying them towards an unseen precipice. He would feel the familiar press of the seat beneath him, the faint scent of Ann’s perfume, a scent that would soon be overwhelmed by the acrid stench of burnt rubber and fear. Then, the unmistakable sound, the prelude to chaos: the high-pitched shriek of tires desperately seeking purchase on asphalt, a sound that ripped through the fabric of the night and into the very marrow of his bones. #Horror #SciFi #Epic #Thriller #Drama #Kindle #audible
Tuesday once more. It is cold enough here to build a snowman, if there were snow, and it was 25 degrees cooler. Okay, so it isn’t overly cold, but it is barely 50 degrees this morning, and I think officially I can stop complaining about the heat of summer and switch over to the coolness of winter. Okay, I’ll wait a few weeks, and honestly it has been so hot and humid this summer that I don’t really mind this cold yet. I think that is my problem with the weather this year, it has been too extreme one way or the other. Not much, or enough of the nice in between weather.
Spent my day yesterday with family and the small children that result from family. If you have not spent time around small children in awhile I suggest you do. Nothing like the way a child laughs to loosen your heart up and make you appreciate life, youth, beauty, the world.
I think the goals for this month are to get all of the books that should be available available. With new writers and deadlines that is a job. That is what I will be sticking too today, getting listings done.
As for Dell he is stepping back a little further. I will take over all of the day to day stuff and that is probably where that will remain. So he isn’t gone, he just isn’t here. I think things are finally running the way he wanted them too and so he stepped back as he said he would to allow them to run.
There isn’t much else going on. We are working to get books out and listed, working on the websites. I see there are still old links that offer free chat. Does anyone even use that? So things like that will be cleaned up as I go through the links, other than that you shouldn’t see any major changes. I will write this blog from now on and so my name will be on the blog, a small change. I will continue to make the websites phone and tablet friendly.
I think one thing you will see is a more centralized website. In other words all areas easily reached from a main menu. Right now things are spread out and the information, reading, art or whatever else you are searching for is on multiple sites and not easily found. I’m making the consolidation of that sound easy, I’m sure though that it won’t be.
I am going to leave you with that as far as news goes.
New writers:
I hope your Monday is good, I will leave you with a short story from Paul Block…
BLACKNESS OF THE SOUL
Blackness Of the Soul is copyright 2014 Dell Sweet. All rights reserved.
This excerpt is used with permission. If you would like to share this short story, please point those you wish to share it with to this page. This material may not be copied electronically or digitally and or distributed without the publisher’s express permission (Writerz.net). Permission is granted to use short excerpts in critics. The publisher of record for this work is writerz.net & Dell Sweet. The copyright holder retains all rights foreign and domestic to this work.
Paul Brown settled the barrel of the nine Millimeter pistol against his left palm, curled his hand around it as if to hold it forever, and then released it finger by finger. A sob escaped his throat and a fat tear drop rolled down his left cheek and splashed against the butt of the pistols grip where the clip protruded slightly. He took his free hand, wiped the tear away and then reached for the beer that sat beside him.
He raised the can to his mouth, drank deeply, and then continued to stare at the black pistol that rested in his right hand. Once again his left hand closed around the barrel, but lightly. Stroking it. Caressing it. He fished a cigarette from the pack beside him on the floor, thumbed the wheel of his old Zippo and pulled the harsh tobacco smoke into his lungs.
The smoke, or the beer, or both seemed to calm him, at least momentarily. His chest hitched but he stifled the sob this time. The sobs frightened him more than the gun. The sobs came on their own and there seemed to be no way to fight or stop them. They were a life unto themselves. The gun on the other hand only had to speak once. And technically he would never hear it.
“Probably never hear it,” he whispered into the semi darkness of the living room. He had pulled the curtains on the outside world. Blocked it away from him.
Probably never hear it. He wondered about the truth of the statement for what seemed to be an excessive amount of time to him, caught himself, and took another deep drink of the cold beer followed by a near frenzied pull from the cigarette. He waited on the sob but it came when he didn’t expect it. A flood of tears came with it, falling from his eyes, staining his reddened cheeks before he could think to try and stop it.
“Oh, God,” he moaned. He sucked in a deep breath, lifted the pistol to his mouth and bumped the barrel across his teeth and into his mouth.
Everything seemed to freeze. The taste of oiled metal flooded his mouth He gagged, and then nearly squeezed the trigger too hard because of it. Panicked, he ripped the gun from his mouth tearing open his upper lip on the gun site as he did.
He was breathing hard. He needed to calm down. The tears just continued to fall. His cheeks felt raw. His eyes full of sand. His head began to pound harder. It had begun to pound earlier. He thought about that too. No more headaches. None. No more worries. No more anything at all. He sighed and returned the gun to his lips. He could taste the oil and metal once more, mixed with the blood from the torn lip.
His lips did not seem to want to part. He eased the gun away, took a deep drag off the cigarette, his breath shuddered in and out. He tipped the can and took a deep drink to rinse his mouth of the tastes that had made him gag, then upended the can and drained it. He reached over and pulled another beer from the bag on the carpeted floor, took another deep drink to rinse the tastes from his mouth and then lit a new cigarette from the butt of the old one. He dropped the old butt into the freshly emptied can beside him. He pulled the smoke deeply into his lungs and then let it drift from his nose as he slowly exhaled, trying to calm himself. If he could only think this out, his mind jabbered. He took another deep drink from the can.
In a way it would be nice to sit down and think this through, but in another way he didn’t care if he ever had another thought in his life. He didn’t want to take the time to think it out at all. He had made up his mind earlier. In a few minutes, when he finished the cigarette and the beer he’d do it, he decided.
He didn’t want to die with a lit cigarette in his mouth and burn down the house. Anne had to live here… Well, maybe not, but even so she’d have to sell it or something… If she didn’t lose it…
He pulled hard on the cigarette as if rushing it to its end so he could rush his own end. He took a deep drink from the beer and felt the headache ease back a little.
He could feel the buzz from the beer. Maybe it would knock down the headache after all. Either way the headache was not long for this world, he decided.
Calm seemed to come over him all at once. The sob that he had been waiting for didn’t come. His chest didn’t hitch. His cheeks still felt irritated, his eyes full of sand, his mind weary and removed from him to a degree, but the hysteria he had been sure was going to grab him didn’t make another appearance.
Through the curtains he could see the late afternoon sunlight. Still gold in the sky. Heating up his part of the south. There was no noise except the steady rumble of the air conditioner. Whatever heat the sun held was lost on him today.
He pulled on the cigarette, noticed that it was all but dead and dropped it into the can with the last one. He upended the beer can and drained it. He waited, expecting the sobs to come back but the calm remained. He sighed once, was surprised to find that the gun was only inches from his lips, opened his mouth and slid the barrel in. The hysteria stayed at bay. He adjusted the barrel so it would be more comfortable, sighed at the absurdity of that thought, and then squinted his eyes down as his finger tightened on the trigger.
~2~
“How do you feel, Paul?”
Paul blinked and tried to look around him. He found that it was not entirely possible. He couldn’t really turn around to where the voice had come from no matter how he tried.
“It doesn’t matter though,” the same voice said.
And it didn’t. It became completely unimportant right then. Just like that.
“How do you feel?”
“I’m pretty upset. I…” He stopped. He had been pretty upset, but he wasn’t now. Now he felt… Well, at peace.
“That’s good, Paul. You should feel at peace.”
“It feels good,” he said. It seemed entirely normal that whoever was behind him could read his mind… Am I dead?
“I wanted to talk to you about how you got here, Paul.”
“How?”
“How.”
The time spun out.
“I stole about… I guess I don’t even know how much… I kept stealing and it kept adding up. And I knew they’d catch it… And they did… My boss must have called the cops,“ Paul said.
“Actually the company accountant… But I meant how you got here… To this point.”
“I… … I don’t know what you mean.”
“To kill yourself, Paul. I mean how did you get to this point where you decided to kill yourself… Take your own life… How did you reach that point, Paul?”
“Oh… I thought about it… I…” He stopped and thought about it. “I see… It’s just tough to understand… I don’t really know exactly… Are you God?”
“Do you think of me as God?”
Paul thought about it. “I think I do… I think so… I believe you are God.”
“Then I am.”
“You are? … Really? You really are God?”
“I really am, Paul…”
His voice was soft. Reassuring.
“I… I thought you would sound different… I… Am I dead?”
“No… Not yet… You have some little time left… I thought, since you asked, that before you do something that will change everything we should talk.”
Paul nodded. “I prayed… Earlier I prayed.”
“I know… You know, Paul, people sometimes think I don’t listen to prayer anymore… If I ever did. They tell themselves that and then they begin to believe it. I do listen though. I do. Every prayer. Every time. Do you believe that, Paul?”
“I do… I mean I do now. I do know that now. I’m ashamed to say that.”
“Don’t be. There is no shame here. You are used to saying words that really don’t mean anything true. They are there, you say them… In this case you say that you are ashamed when you are not ashamed.”
Paul examined himself. “You’re right… I don’t feel ashamed. I feel good still. At peace still.”
“So how did you get here. How did you come to be here? Who told you that suicide was a solution?”
“I… It was painful… My wife will leave me. We’ll lose everything… The kids… I can’t imagine what the kids will do… Feel… It seemed… It seemed right.”
“Did it?”
Paul thought about it. “Maybe not… It felt like the only choice I had.”
“Yet you called out to me. Why?”
“Because… Because I used to believe in you… I…”
He laughed. “And I am still here. Did you think I had died? Did you think I had stopped believing in you?”
“Some people think so… That you died.”
“You?”
“No… I guess the truth is I just stopped believing… I believed in other things… Taxes… Bills… Mortgage payments… Summer… Fall…”
“The things you see every day.”
“That’s a good way to put it.”
“I have a way with words.”
Paul laughed and then stopped. “I thought maybe that was a joke.”
”It was… Do you wish you had not stopped believing? Do you see how things could have been different?”
“I can see that now, but what good is it after the fact? I pulled the trigger… I remember that.”
“Did you? I think you asked me to help… Sometimes I help in unexpected ways… Thomas needed to see… To place his hand in my side… Peter needed to see me risen… Sometimes my people ask me for help and then don’t recognize the help when it comes.”
“Like now?”
“Like now, yes. It’s time to think. To breath… To make a decision… A different decision.”
“Then what?” Paul asked.
“Then? … What comes, comes… I know what it is to live. I have felt what you feel. Struggled with the same temptations. We take it as it comes to us, Paul.”
“So the problems would still be there?”
“Yes.”
“That’s help?” Paul asked.
“I will help you all that you will allow.”
Paul thought about it and realized it was true.
“So… How did you end up here?”
“I guess I just walked away… I guess I chose to do that.”
You still choose words that are untrue. Do you guess or do you know?”
“I know. I walked away.”
“You know, it’s a split second decision… Many times if you take the time to think you can get through whatever comes at you.”
Paul nodded, took a deep breath. “I see.”
~3~
The finger stopped. He remembered something… Something… Summer. A thousand years ago it seemed… Anne… When they had first met… The picture in his mind was so perfect, so intense. So real, and a flood of images followed it… But… There had been something else there for a moment, hadn’t there? He had been focusing on the trigger… The pressure… And there had been something else there… Just for a moment… It seemed so. It seemed as though he had been ready to pull the trigger and… And someone…
He pulled the barrel from his mouth and sucked in a deep breath. Whatever it might have been it was gone now. The sobbing came back with the fresh air. The pistol slid from his hand and fell to the carpet with a soft clunk. He lowered his head into his hands and let the tears take over…
I hope you enjoyed the story. Have a great Tuesday! Check out our sponsors, Geo
Steel and Dust Book One: The whispers began subtly, almost apologetically. News anchors, their smiles a little too tight, reported on an uptick in seismic activity around Yellowstone. The caldera, a slumbering beast of unimaginable power, seemed to be grumbling in its sleep. Geologists, their voices tight with concern, spoke of rising pressures, of magma chambers stirring from their millennia-long slumber. #ApocalypticFiction #Dystopian #Horror #Survival #Adventure #Saga #WendellSweet Wendell Sweet, Dystopian, Apocalyptic Fiction, Horror, Google Play
Steel and Dust Book Two: The wind, a mournful dirge, whispered through the skeletal remains of skyscrapers. What had once been a symphony of urban life – the rumble of traffic, the laughter of crowds, the distant hum of industry – was now a hollow echo in a world silenced by dust and despair. Survival, Dystopian, Apocalyptic Fiction, Wendell Sweet, Google Play, Horror, #Horror #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #WendellSweet #GooglePlay #Survival
Steel and Dust Book Three: The skeletal remains of skyscrapers, like broken fingers, clawed at a sky perpetually stained a bruised, lifeless grey. Each colossal husk was a monument to a forgotten hubris, a testament to a civilization that had gorged itself on progress until it choked, leaving behind only the lingering stench of its own decay. Dystopian Fiction, Apocalyptic Fiction, Horror, Wendell Sweet, Survival #Survival #WendellSweet #Horror #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction
Serial Killers: Elizabeth Bathory Elizabeth Báthory (1560–1614) — often called the “Blood Countess” — was a Hungarian noblewoman from the powerful Báthory family. She’s infamous as one of history’s most prolific alleged female serial killers. Some may argue that she is not a true serial killer, but I would say read the evidence in this book TrueCrime #SerialKillers #SamWolfe #ElizabethBathory #Murder #Biography #Non Fiction, Elizabeth Bathory, Sam Wolfe, Serial Killers, True Crime
Serial Killers: Ed Gein Ed Gein (1906-1984), also called the “Butcher of Plainfield” or “Plainfield Ghoul”, was an American murderer and body snatcher from Plainfield, Wisconsin. His crimes in the 1950s became notorious for their gruesomeness and heavily influenced horror fiction. TrueCrime #SerialKillers #SamWolfe #EdGein #Murder #Biography #Non Fiction, Ed Gein, Sam Wolfe, Serial Killers, True Crime
Serial Killers: Aileen Wuornos Aileen Wuornos (1956–2002) was an American serial killer who murdered seven men in Florida between 1989 and 1990. She was one of the few female serial killers in the U.S. to receive widespread media attention, and her case sparked debates about trauma, self-defense claims, and how the justice system treats women who kill. #TrueCrime #SerialKillers #SamWolfe #AileenWuornos #Murder #Biography #Non Fiction, Aileen Wuornos, Sam Wolfe, Serial Killers, True Crime
The newfound resources provided a small measure of comfort, but the shadow of suspicion and mistrust lingered, a constant threat to their already precarious existence. They had survived the attack, but the war within Rapid City had only just begun, a war fought not with guns and blades, but with suspicion, betrayal, and the relentless erosion of trust. #Dystopian #Apocalyptic #Zombie #KU #Audio #Readers #Listeners #DellSweet
A young man slowly spirals down into madness, but he takes his favorite book with him. The book about the end of the world…. The book he is obsessed with…
He started to see things. Faces in the shadows, whispers in the wind, the ghostly echoes of his victims. He’d initially dismissed them as the effects of alcohol withdrawal, but they grew more vivid, more menacing. He was no longer alone in his self-imposed exile; he was surrounded by the ghosts of his past, his own personal hell. #Horror #Readers #Amazon #Kindle #KU #Thriller
The newfound resources provided a small measure of comfort, but the shadow of suspicion and mistrust lingered, a constant threat to their already precarious existence. They had survived the attack, but the war within Rapid City had only just begun, a war fought not with guns and blades, but with suspicion, betrayal, and the relentless erosion of trust. The fight for survival, once focused on the undead hordes, had shifted to a more insidious adversary – human nature itself. Their journey toward survival was far from over; the road ahead remained treacherous, fraught with uncertainty, a path paved with the ghosts of betrayal and the chilling reality of their world. The scars of the conflict, both physical and emotional, would serve as a constant reminder of the brutal price of survival.
The silence that followed was a heavy thing, pressing down on them like the weight of the snow accumulating on the rooftops of Rapid City. The air, thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of death, seemed to suffocate them. Even the rhythmic drip, drip, drip of melting snow from a broken pipe felt amplified in the oppressive quiet, each drop a morbid metronome marking the passage of time in this ravaged world.
Gary stared at his hands, the calluses and grime a stark reminder of his own brutality. He’d killed men before – the undead, mostly – but these deaths felt different. These were men he’d once considered friends, colleagues in the desperate struggle for survival. The faces of Silas’s followers haunted him – the wide-eyed terror of the young man, the grim resignation of the older ones. He had taken lives, and the weight of those actions settled heavily on his conscience, a crushing burden that no amount of practical necessity could ever fully alleviate.
Anya, her face pale and drawn, leaned against a crumbling wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The crude spear she clutched, still stained with blood, seemed to tremble in her grip. The strength she’d displayed during the fight, the unexpected surge of primal fury, had deserted her. The reality of her actions, the stark brutality of killing another human being, was beginning to settle upon her like a suffocating blanket.
Robert, ever the pragmatist, began to systematically gather the remaining supplies. He moved with an almost ritualistic precision, collecting the weapons, ammunition, and the meager rations Silas had stashed away. The efficiency was stark, almost clinical, a stark contrast to the raw emotion that consumed Gary and Anya.
The journey back to Rapid City was arduous, the weight of their shared experience heavier than the snow under their boots. The landscape, once simply a hostile environment, now felt imbued with the ghosts of their actions, a macabre landscape mirroring the turmoil within their hearts. The wind howled, a mournful keening that seemed to echo their own inner struggles. Each step was a testament to their resilience, but also a painful reminder of the moral compromises they had made.
The relative safety of Rapid City’s makeshift walls offered little solace. The community, once a beacon of hope in a desolate world, was fractured, the sense of shared purpose and collective survival threatened by suspicion and fear. The news of Silas’s betrayal and the bloody confrontation spread like wildfire, each whispered conversation adding fuel to the already raging fire of distrust. Long-held alliances were questioned, loyalties tested, and the very fabric of their society began to unravel.
Stephen King is a master of horror, renowned for his spine-chilling tales that have captivated readers and viewers for decades. Born to a Scots-Irish ancestry, King developed an interest in horror and science fiction at a young age, fueled by his readings of classic horror authors like H.P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe. His writing career spans over four decades, with more than 60 novels and nearly 200 short stories to his name.
Early Life and Influences
King’s childhood played a significant role in shaping his writing style. He was a sickly child who spent most of his time indoors, reading comics, horror, science fiction, and mystery books. This led to the development of his imagination and storytelling skills. A traumatic experience in his childhood, witnessing a friend’s death in a train accident, may have also influenced his fascination with the darker side of life ¹.
Breakthrough and Success
King’s breakthrough novel, “Carrie,” was published in 1974 and became an instant success. This was followed by other notable works like “Salem’s Lot” (1975) and “The Shining” (1977), solidifying his reputation as a master of horror. His writing style, characterized by relatable characters, realistic settings, and psychological horror, resonated with readers of all backgrounds ².
Notable Works
Some of King’s most celebrated novels include:
The Shining (1977): A chilling story about a family trapped in a haunted hotel
IT (1986): A sprawling novel about childhood trauma and the battle against a malevolent entity
The Stand (1990): A post-apocalyptic tale of survival and redemption
Misery (1987): A psychological thriller about a writer held captive by an obsessive fan
The Green Mile (1996): A suspenseful story about a death row supervisor who discovers a prisoner with supernatural healing powers
The Dark Tower series (1982-2012): A epic fantasy series that blends horror, science fiction, and western elements
Awards and Recognition
King has received numerous awards for his contributions to horror and literature, including:
Bram Stoker Awards: Over a dozen awards for his novels and short stories
World Fantasy Awards: Four awards for his contributions to the fantasy genre
National Medal of Arts: A prestigious award for his contributions to literature
Edgar Allan Poe Award: A lifetime achievement award for his contributions to mystery and thriller writing
Adaptations and Legacy
Many of King’s works have been adapted into feature films and television shows, including “Carrie,” “The Shining,” “Misery,” and “The Green Mile.” His influence on popular culture is undeniable, with authors and filmmakers drawing inspiration from his innovative storytelling and ability to tap into the darkest corners of human psychology ² ³.
Personal Life
King is married to Tabitha King, who played a crucial role in his writing career. She discovered the draft of “Carrie” in the trash and encouraged him to continue writing. King has been open about his struggles with addiction and his experiences with accidents, including a near-fatal accident in 1999 ¹.
Favorite Films
King has shared his love for films, revealing his top ten favorite movies, which include ⁴:
Les Diaboliques
Duel
The Autopsy of Jane Doe
The Blair Witch Project
Crimson Peak
Late Night with the Devil
Stephen King’s legacy as a master of horror continues to inspire new generations of readers and writers. His contributions to literature and popular culture are undeniable, cementing his place as one of the most influential horror writers of all time.
Some horror writing for you to check out:
Whispers in the Hollow
The email arrived on a Tuesday, nestled amongst press releases about a new city ordinance and a celebrity chef opening a pop-up restaurant. Its subject line, “Assignment: Blackwood Creek Disappearances,” was bland enough to be ignorable, but Clara’s editor, a man who subsisted on a diet of caffeine and sensationalism, had flagged it with a rare “URGENT” and a single, emphatic exclamation mark. Just another ghost story peddled by a town desperate for attention, or perhaps a clever cover for something far more mundane, yet equally grim, like serial killings or human trafficking… #Horror #Readers #KU #DellSweet #Thriller #Mystery #Kindle
Witches Bend
Seven friends break down on Witches Bend. An area spoke of in whispers because of the horrors that are believed to be there. But horror cannot touch you if you don’t believe in it… True? Maybe not in this horror thriller that celebrates all of the horror genre. The car is dead. As of now, they are not. But the coming hours may change that completely. It may, in fact change that forever… #Horror #Paranormal #Thrtiller #Splatter #Gore #BHorror #Readers
The Wastelands series – Prophet X
The Wastelands are the ruins of America after the biggest extinction event in 75,000 years hit the planet Earth. Billions of people died, those that didn’t had no help because the governments, military all crumbled and fell apart.
But a virus was born during the destruction and bred in the billions of bodies. A virus that reanimates the dead. Some believe the world governments released it, some believe it was developed and nurtured by nature, just an occurrence that was bound to happen. It wouldn’t be the first time that the human race was nearly toppled by a virus, after all. Meet the survivors and their daily struggels to stay alive as they make their way through the destruction in search of other survivors, food, and water… #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #Readers #ProphetX #SameWolfe #ZombieFiction
Earth’s Survivors Apocalypse follows survivors of a worldwide catastrophe. A meteorite that was supposed to miss the earth completely, hits and becomes the cap to a series of events that destroy the world as we know it. Police, fire, politicians, military, governments: All gone. Hopes, dreams, tomorrows: All buried in a desperate struggle to survive.
The end has come for most of the world’s population. Small groups of survivors are picking up the pieces… Learning to live again…
When the sun began to peek over the top of the ridge on the opposite shore of the Black River, everyone filed out to the two remaining trucks. It had been decided that Mike and Jan would stay behind while the others went in search of the stolen truck. They switched on and tested two sets of F.M. radios.
The end has come for the Earth. The forces of nature have aligned, echoing the cataclysms of the past, and a devastating event looms, one that will leave only a fraction of humanity.
