Saturday, October 25, 2014

Hatch Girl of Hohne

Author and friend T. M. McLean sends us this story from Germany. A place possesses a spirit, and the spirit remembers. This spirit of place can dream as we do, and sometimes what we see as a ghost is really a re-occurring nightmare, time worn thin. The events echo, playing out again for us to witness. Like a person, a place can be traumatized. Tim sends us a story about such a place. You'll just need to read to the end to find out where. Thank you Tim. 

We've had some great true tales so far this season, and I've got many more waiting for me to post. Keep reading. I will be posting a story each day through Halloween.

Hatch Girl of Hohne 
Submitted by T.M. McLean
Germany 2014

The place where I work is apparently haunted. At times it even gives me the creeps, although I’m not as jumpy about it as some of the younger members of staff. It’s easy to see why people find the place scary, and there are many good reasons why it might be haunted. The place where I work is a swimming pool on an army base.

The manager’s office at the entrance to the pool complex has a hatch in its ceiling. It’s difficult to reach, but one day, when the manager wasn’t working, someone allegedly climbed up there. I say allegedly only because no one ever admitted doing it, but the cover was moved, leaving the hatch open a little. Ever since that day things have been strange, andsometimes incredibly frightening.

It started off mild at first. Sometimes things would turn up in places they hadn’t been left: a pen that was meant to be in a drawer was discovered on the windowsill, someone’s coffee mug was upside down on the floor in the staff room for no reason, that kind of thing. Just when people started to blame each other for the weirdness, something even weirder happened.

Two of my colleagues were in the staff room talking. About two meters away from them, near the room’s entrance, the kettle switched itself on. Just like that. Completely unexpected and completely impossible. No one was in the complex except the two members of staff in the room, and yet the water was boiling. Needless to say, they were completely freaked out and they babbled about it to anyone who would listen. I’m skeptical even now, but they assure me that it happened.

A giggling girl has also been heard, always when the place is quiet and there is no one around. It isn’t a disturbing sound, not in the slightest. I’ve been told that the laughter sounds completely genuine and joyous. The fear only comes into it when the person who heard it checks to see if anyone’s there, only to find that the main doors are closed and no one has been there for hours. I can only imagine how creepy that must be. This giggling girl, nicknamed Hatch Girl, is now blamed for the movement of stuff as well.

Strange bits of hair have been found around the women’s showers as well. You might think this is nothing strange, given that people are prone to losing some hair while they shower, but this hair is always in the exact same place and is completely raven-black. If it is the same person losing that hair every day then they would be bald by now . . . unless of course Hatch Girl has an endless, ectoplasmic supply.

It’s probably nothing.

Three times a day certain checks need to be performed by the duty lifeguards. It is incredibly important that the chlorine, water temperature and pH levels are checked. This is the most frightening part for most of the staff. Shadowy forms have been seen in the pump room. They loom between the three rooms that make up the pump room, flitting between doorways or dashing up and down the stairs.And, to make it worse, this place is set away from the offices, hidden from the rest of the camp by a thick treeline on one side and the structure of the indoor pool on the other.And it’s loud with the constant drone of the pumping equipment. People really don’t want to go there.

Some nights require people to check well after sunset. The walk to the pump room is completely dark; there are no street lights or any kind of illumination. This is the bit that gives me the creeps. A dull red glow is just visible through the pump room’s window (this comes from a control panel located inside), but to get there you have to walk the length of the 50 meter outdoor pool. You can’t see it, not really, but you hear it. The water sloshes about in the darkness. It’s an eerie sound and it makes you turn up the brightness on your mobile phone, just so you can see something. The wise thing of course would be to take a flashlight, but I’ve never remembered to do that. In the pitch black a little bit of light can be worse than none. By illuminating a small section, you make the rest extra dark and shadows dance and float as you desperately try to hurry along, not so fast that you can’t keep your attention focused, but fast enough so you’re not dawdling. You know—you hope—that there’s nothing there. The sounds you hear are probably just geese flying overhead, the water in the pool, trees rustling in the breeze…

Now and then you glance up to look at the red glow that shines like a beacon of safety against the darkness, but then… then you remember the stories: the kettle, the girl, the strange clumps of dark hair that always turn up in the same spot in the showers… the shadow people in the pump room. It dawns on you: you’re rushing away from the hell outside to reach the place where the shadow people dash around, where Hatch Girl’s shadowy form giggles in the red glow, the place where most of the other staff members don’t want to go during the day. But you’re there at night. It’s at that moment that you spot something skip past the red light, momentarily blocking it, and you want to turn around and run to the car, turn on the engine and get the hell out of there. But you don’t. You do the checks, just like you’re paid to do, and then you walk back to the office. You take your bag out of your locker and you go home. That’s it. Until tomorrow, when God knows what might happen to you.

Chances are that it’s all nonsense. After all, any number of natural phenomena or simple imagination could easily explain everything away, right?

What if I told you that the place where I work is called Hohne? Does that mean anything to you? How about if I tell you that it’s an army camp in a little place in northern Germany called Belsen? What if I also told you that the town I live in is called Bergen? Would that change your opinion at all?

The army base on the grounds of the old Nazi camp

Ever heard of the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp? I work as a lifeguard in a swimming pool built by the Nazis to train for the Berlin Olympics… not even a mile away from the mass graves of the poor people that met their end at the hands of some of the most extreme cruelty the world has ever known. Do their spirits still wander the area?

The religious among you might hope not. After all, surely no God would force their eternal souls to forever be lost in the place of their torment. Maybe Hatch Girl is one of them…?

Follow author T. M. McLean on Twitter: @TimMcLean2

Noodledoodle Publication - Editor Tim McLean. Check out some of their anthologies, which include a couple of stories by Horror Writers Association member, T. Fox Dunham:
Twitter: @NoodleDoodlePub

Now available from Noodledoodle Publications, Fear's Accomplice, featuring a tale of horror from T. Fox Dunham. Editor T.M. Mclean

Some stories challenged the way I thought about a horror story, while others made me laugh out loud.
-- Nadine: Amazon Reviewer

Friday, October 24, 2014

Interview with the medium Alonnie Phoenix Milligan


Tara Hall has given us an update to her previous account, You're the One, and we are so excited to have it. Tara invited a medium to investigate her encounter then interviewed her for the project. The interview also expands on Tara's experience.

The medium is Allonie Phoenix Milligan, and she works with SPECTERS:

SPECTERS is our paranormal investigative group within Water’s Edge. The acronym stands for Study of Paranormal Events Confirmed Through Evidence, Research, and Science. We are a group of believers, skeptics and the curious. Always up for an investigation.


1. When did you first discover you had psychic abilities?

Very young, when I was five years old in kindergarten. Across from my elementary school was my babysitter. I would have morning kindergarten, go to her house in the afternoon, and she would take my little brother and I to some house with ladies dressed in black. One lady wore a pantsuit. The children would all go into one room where one of the women would watch them, and I saw a little boy come into the room with old-fashioned white clothes, holding a red rose. When he came in, they took me into the ladies who were doing a séance. They took me to the side of the babysitter and the woman in charge. The little boy went behind the lady in the pantsuit, and wanted to give her the rose. I told them what I saw, describing the boy, and the lady in the pantsuit cried. I did two or three of these séances, and then I shared what had been going on with my mother. Until that time, I thought that other kids could see the boy, too. That began the time of me being grounded over and over for “talking to dead people.”

2. How did you get in contact with Tara Hall?

I have an esoteric shop, Water’s Edge MarketPlace where Tara does book signings and readings. I knew of Tara for years before that through a mutual friend and it’s been 2 years now that we have done things at the shop.

3. What is everyday life like for you?

Its laundry and dishes, speckled with dead people. It’s boring for the most part, but I have regular readings that I do for people, so I’m consistently interacting with the spirit realm. And sometimes I can just be driving past a house and I can tell just from the vibe that that place is haunted. Probably three times in my life, I’ve seen a house on fire that eventually burned down.

4. Can you tell us a bit about your experiences and/or encounters?

As an intuitive medium, I get to talk to a lot of people that have passed, some that go back centuries. I can give you a recent example of a house party I did recently. I was doing the first reading, and a young boy in his early 20s popped in that had died in a motorcycle accident. I knew he was there for somebody but not who. I kept asking as the night went on, but everyone kept saying no. Finally, the husband of the woman who owned the house came home and into the room, l and she asked him if he knew the young man. He said yes, that was a friend of his. I told him that the young man just wanted everyone to know that he was okay. As soon as I told the gentleman that his old friend was here, and that he was okay, the young man disappeared.

5. Have you ever met any truly malevolent spirits? Please elaborate if so.

Yes. April or May of 1981, we were living out in the country, and were losing our rented home to the person who owned it. So we found a place out in Chenango Forks. My husband and I arrived there and got out of the car, and I knew at once that something was up. We went up on the porch, and looked through the glass panel at the side of the door. I could see the stairway. I saw a man in clothing from the Civil War area, in white shirt with rolled up sleeves, wool pants, covered in blood. On the stairs was a small woman, either 5’2” or 5’3” in a dress with long sleeves and hair in a bun. She looked at me with eyes that terrified me where I stood. It passed between us that she thought her husband had been unfaithful, she had killed him with that gun, pulled his body out back to where an apple tree stood, and hung him. Then she killed herself. She told me, “Don’t come in here.” There was the feeling that she thought I was after her husband. This was all before we’d even got inside. At that time, my husband didn’t know I was a witch, or that I saw things like this. I told him I would not go in the house, that I didn’t want anything to do with the property. So of course, we moved in.

He worked in Johnson City, and I was home20 miles away and alone much of the time with a difficult pregnancy. I would see her on the stairs all the time. There were threebedrooms upstairs, plus an attic. I would see the man in the attic all the time, and he felt peaceful. The woman would come into my husband and my bedroom, and stand there looking at me with hate every night.

The neighbors next door invited me for dinner. While there, they talked to me about the house, and how it was historically protected from the Civil War era. She offered to tell me the story of the house, and I offered instead to tell her the story, which I proceeded to do. The woman said,“How did you know this?” As I answered, lightning struck the apple tree.

My son was born in January. In February-March, he was in a bouncy seat on the dining room table while I was in the kitchen preparing his bottle, less than 15ft away. All of a sudden he let out this bloodcurdling scream. The woman was standing there in the doorway, and my son had pinch marks all over his body. We moved out in the spring, and I have not been back there to this day.

6. What can you tell us about Tara’s experience?

Tara is courageous, and looking for answers. I do believe that her grandparents are here, and looking out for her. I saw her grandfather in her bedroom, and I heard her grandmother singing.
Tara's cabin where she heard the voice
We set up a camcorder and laser grid to detect movement at night, lighting the bedroom I was sleeping in. One orb of light 3-4“in diameter appeared halfway between the bed and the door early in the evening, hovering 5-½ ft. off the floor. It appeared, moved to the left about three feet, and disappeared. There are no bugs here (bugs give off a certain texture, reflection and movement which can sometimes be seen as balls of light, but the bug would have to be abnormally large at 3-4” in diameter). Throughout the course of the night, there were a few unexplained bumps, two that happened by invitation as a proof of something asked to make a noise. I had also recharged the video battery and fresh batteries for the laser grid so both were 100% power, but was awoken at 1am to see that the grid was off, and the recorder was turning off, as both batteries were completely drained of power. Lastly, there was a huge hulking shadow with large arms which stood out from the darkness of the room in the same location as the earlier orb. Tara also heard a low guttural moan from my room, then my startled cry. After that large shadow made its appearance, I made blessings on the house, invoking Tara’s ancestors to protect its inhabitants.

7. Do you give private readings? How can someone get in touch with you to arrange one?

I do both private and group readings and events, and also house blessings, by appointment. That is through Water’s Edge Marketplace, 57 Washington Ave in Endicott, NY. Contact us via phone number 607-745-7727, and I also can be contacted via email at

And Facebook

See our website at

Thank you for this interview and for updating us on Tara's experience. I will continue to report any new developments.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

You're The One

You're The One
Submitted by Tara Fox Hall 
New York 2014

Tara Fox Hall is dear friend and comrade in the world of writing. We came into this together, and she's been a great supporter of The Fox True Ghost Tales Project. She's always been sensitive to spirits, so we can usually count on a story once a season.

We are more open to spiritual experiences during times of meditation, when our minds turn off the noise the world. Shamans have been doing this for centuries, and a good writing session, which Tara specializes in, is much like meditating. Try it sometime and see through this world.

I was up at my family cabin this past September, putting finishing touches on the latest Promise Me Tale, Eye of the Storm. Per usual, I had worked well beyond dusk, lulled by the gentle breeze coming through the screens and the almost absolute silence, and my craft had taken hold, pushing me to finish.

As I hit save, and went to switch off my computer, I looked up from the screen and felt eyes staring at me. Nothing was visible through the windows surrounding me but pitch blackness. Spooked, I shut the windows, blew out the three candles I’d been using for ambiance, and locked up, bolting the door.

I headed upstairs and got ready for bed, telling myself that I was completely alone, that even if there was some peeping tom skulking around outside, there was no way he was getting in without making a lot of noise. But the feeling of something watching me remained. It was strong enough that I left a floor lamp burning in a bedroom down the hall as a nightlight.

Sometime in the night, I was awakened by the sounds of something moving about in that same room down the hall, something too big to be a mouse. Terrified, I reached up for my own light, fumbling at the switch. It clicked multiple times, but wouldn’t turn on. The sounds down the hall were getting louder, as something crept toward my door.

In panic, I reached for my cell phone, only to have it come alive in my hand, “You’re the One” scrolling repeatedly across the screen as static and a man’s voice talking in a low tone filled the silence. I took breath to scream and felt myself propelled out of bed by some unseen force. Unable to get air, I flailed, weakly croaking, “Stop it!” as I was moved toward the dark doorway and the remaining unlit bedroom.

With a gasp, I came awake, flailed for the light switch and turned it on. Drawing ragged breaths, I sat up and looked down the hall. Everything was as it should be, the light burning, no signs of anything disturbed. I got out of bed and turned on the other bedroom light, and everything was okay. Relieved, I got back into bed, and settled back to sleep. As I was drifting off, I heard faint sounds again from that same bedroom.

I dozed fitfully the rest of the night with all the lights on.

Tara's Facebook Page:


Friday, October 10, 2014


Another October of Fox Spookiness 

2014 marks my third year doing the Fox True Ghost Story Project, and I am both delighted and inspired by its success. I’ve gathered some new and soulful stories from international sources, which you’ll be reading over the next month. I’d still like to gather some more, so please, send in those true stories!

Everyone has a ghost story, they just don’t always know it or accept it. Still, we’re not looking to be a litmus of truth. Folklore isn’t a science about science: it’s about the human condition, its experience. It doesn’t matter if these stories can be verified or specified, weighed and measured then replicated. It’s not about the haunting; it’s about the haunted, how the paranormal experience changed the subject. If they believe it or not, it still changed their lives, their experience and perception of the living world. 

Our first story comes from the east coast of the United States, submitted by Tracey Slade, wife of author Mark Slade. Mark is a good friend, and I’ve written him a few stories for his myriad projects. Mark keeps fighting, creating that background of material that fills up the back-shelves of the pulp world—the vital bones and lifeblood of the industry. I am happy to initiate my monthly archive with Tracey.

Williamsburg, Virginia

A place steeped in human history is bound to be bounding with boogey-men (and women.) Williamsburg is a 75 acre restored village, representing early life in colonial America. Places have spirits. Buildings remember; pieces of our lives break off and stay in the places of our lives. A young soldier still lingers at the Payton Randolph House, walking the halls at night. Lucy Ludwell at the Ludwell-Paradise House takes her Sunday baths, even though she’s been dead for three centuries. An old wooden wagon still rides Hangman’s ride—the infamous location where they beheaded Blackbeard the Pirate. These remind us that our history is never far, lingering like a bright image burned into the eye. We can still hear our past echoing.


Thank you Tracey for starting us off!

T. Fox Dunham – 

Head Spookologist. 
It’s foxy spooky time! 

Submitted by TRACEY SLADE 
Williamsburg, Virginia - 2001

A few years ago, we rented a house in Williamsburg, Va. It was my husband, our 2 year old daughter, and myself who lived there. My husband worked overnight so it was just my daughter and I on most nights. I don’t know what it was but I never felt comfortable or at ease there. Our daughter wouldn’t sleep in her room. Instead, she slept in the living room on the couch and I would sleep on the other couch. At night, I didn’t sleep well and sometimes it felt like someone was watching me.

The house had a deck on the back of the house that ran from the dining room all the way to our bedroom. One night my husband and I were asleep in our bedroom. Well, my husband was sleeping but I was wide awake. I heard a noise outside on the deck. It sounded like one of the plastic chairs was being dragged down the deck form the dining room to our bedroom. I woke my husband and asked, “Did you hear that”? He said, “No, what did you hear”? I told him what it sounded like and he said, “It’s probably a squirrel”. A squirrel? A squirrel! In the middle of the night?! Okay, I kind of blew it off but it definitely was not a squirrel.

I have always had an open mind about ghost and spirits ever since I was a child. On a night when my husband was at work, I definitely felt like this house had a ghost. My daughter was in the living room asleep and I was not. It was very late maybe 1am. I’m lying on the couch with my eyes closed. I hear music coming from my daughter’s room. It’s the music from her toy steering wheel. The kind that only plays the music only when you are turning the steering wheel. I lie there, petrified, knowing what this means. Someone or something is turning the steering wheel! I know what I have to do. I gather my courage and get up. I start walking down the hall toward my daughter’s room. The music is still playing. I get to the doorway. I reach around and flip on the light. The music stops. I look where the toy steering wheel is on the bookcase. The toy is perfectly sitting on the bookcase. It’s not turned over and not touching anything. It was so weird that the music stopped as soon as I switched on the light.

We ended up moving out of that house. We had a one year lease. But we only stayed nine months. The owner didn’t put up a fuss about us leaving early. He wanted to sell the house and tried to sell it to us. But we were not interested. Speaking of the owner, my husband and I thought the owner was kind of strange. But that’s another story.

Monday, August 11, 2014

No Really, True Story

Our first story for the campfire edition comes from an old friend and World of Warcraft partner. Azure brings us a story from her children. Children still have the eyes they were born with, innocent eyes that see the truth of the world before they become distorted by all the nonsense adults believe. Take a look at the natural world through the eyes of her children, and remember. . .


No Really, True Story!
Azure Shade

We were watching the movie Casper when the first incident happened. Now I can already see from your squint and raised eyebrow that you think this is crazy or stupid, or maybe both, well you aren't the only one. I can hardly believe it either, and I'm the one it happened to.

My niece Cherry and I were extremely bored one evening and decided to watch a movie. My kids were still small, only four and six at the time, so our choices were limited. Cherry held up a VHS tape of Casper, “How about this?”

I shrugged, “Well it's better than watching Rolie Polie Olie for the hundredth time.”

She put the tape in the VCR and tossed the movie's plastic dust cover on the top shelf of the bookcase. It landed on it's side next to the a fore mentioned and disparaged Rolie Polie Olie. We sprawled on the couch to watch Casper. Time crawled by leaving us feeling lethargic. That's when it happened.

Casper was telling someone “But I'm a friendly ghost.” on the TV. At that exact moment the VHS dust cover for the movie shifted itself to an upright position. It wobbled back and forth a few times before it stilled.

Cherry and I looked at the plastic case, then at each other. “Did you see that?” she asked, her eyes wide in disbelief.

I nodded, my own eyes a mirror of hers. “Yeah. That really just happened.” We blinked at each other a few times, movie and boredom entirely forgotten. I know it seems silly and if this was the only thing that happened that summer, we would have decided this was just our imagination playing with us, but it was only the beginning.

A few weeks later my four year old son Orion came to me. “Mommy, I don't like her.”

“Who don't you like baby, your sissy?” I asked as I gave him a hug.

“No, momma, I like sissy. I don't like her.” he said with a pout.

“Who is her baby?” I asked, being patient with his four year old explanations.

“The clear girl, she pinches me.”

“Clear? Is she a girl from daycare?”

“No momma, she in my room.” He said as he pointed down the hall. Whaaaat? I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Prickles began creeping up my neck. Could he mean a ghost? Maybe it was just imaginary play. I really had trouble believing what I was hearing.

“Orion, when you say clear do you mean you can see through her?” I hesitantly asked.

Orion nodded, “Yes mommy! She's clear!”

The prickles continued spreading. “Baby, is she the only clear person you see?”

He shook his head, “I see making friends and glass people too. I see her mommy too, her momma is nice. I tell on her and her momma makes her stop.”

My head swirled. Making friends and glass people?! What the hell is going on? I started to feel like I was in some sort of twisted version of Poltergeist or The Sixth Sense. This made me want to grab the kids and run away. I needed to calm down and find out more of what was going on without scaring Orion.

“Baby, what are the making friends and glass people?” I asked nonchalantly, and he began to tell me. Through many slow and pointed questions I learned that the making friends where shadowy figures that floated around and that even the ceiling fan could make them shift and move. The glass people were more defined and looked like humans, only mostly transparent. The shadowy making friends were nice and almost puppy like in demeanor, but the glass people terrified Orion. He said they didn't do anything to him, but they felt scary.

I had to ask myself some hard questions with this. I never let my kids watch scary stuff or anything meant for older kids. I was very strict in what I let come into their world. We as parents are their only defense against the world, and I took my role seriously. So I knew he didn't have anything to base these making friends or glass people on. That left me with only one answer.

They were real.

I was at a loss. What do I do? Weeks past when I carefully monitored Orion. His laughing and talking to himself took on new meaning. I'd always thought he was just babbling, like small children often do, but with the new information the things he would say started to make more sense.

Nothing bad happened though, no static TV's or possession. No sinking house or thumps on the walls. I began to relax. No, it probably wasn't normal for your son to have ghostly playmates, but what could I do?

The last thing that happened, was rather soothing, and also validation in it's own way. It was around ten PM in November, I was on the phone to my mom, chatting about nothing in particular. It was a beautiful night and I had the lights off and the windows open, letting in the soft cool breeze.

“No mom, I'll be over with the kids this weekend, I—wait . . . I just saw something in the hall, hang on a sec.” I leaned over the couch's arm rest and peered into the hall, craning my neck to get a better view. “There's a light in the hall.

What the eff? Mom, I thought the kids had got the flashlights again, but they're not awake and the . . . it's balls of light?”

“It sounds like orbs, hun’.” My mom said. “Cool, I've never seen them what do they look like?”

Leave it to my mom to think it was cool! “They're just sort of glowy and kinda . . . ugh I don't know how to describe it, Mom!”

Mom continued to talk to me but I sort of lost what she said in the background as the orbs continued to float closer. One was chest high and the other was about a foot and a half lower. The smaller and shorter of the two was slightly in front of the other.

The glow didn't illuminate anything around them. There was no reflection on anything else, but it wasn't a dim glow either. The orbs turned the corner moving through the edge of the living room and dining room, to stop in the kitchen.

There was no way a flashlight could have made those orbs. No windows could reach where the orbs stopped. Suddenly I remembered what Orion said months ago about the mom and daughter ghosts. Somehow it felt as if this strange energy was parent and child. I'm not sure why I felt that way, it just was. The orbs sank and disappeared. I was left with my mom on the phone, patiently waiting for me to respond. I explained what I'd seen and how it felt. Her response, “Sounds like the kid wanted something to eat.”

We moved a few months later. Orion stopped talking to himself and stopped talking about the making friends and glass people as soon as we moved. There was no more talk of the mom and her little girl who liked to pinch. Things went back to normal as if none of it ever happened. I sometimes talk to my niece Cherry or my mom about it, to reassure myself that we genuinely were haunted in that old house we rented when my kids were small.

Sunday, August 10, 2014

Campfire Month

Campfire Ghost Stories
From Collector T. Fox Dunham

We gaze into the hypnotic flicker of campfire flames, and our minds dream—campers and fire-goers, enjoying the ancient fire medium as we gather in the forest and fields. We gather our moss to spark, smolder and fallen limbs to burn, fighting the oldest battle of humankind: to expel the darkness. And when we seek a weapon to join in this physical battle of survival—a nourishment for the mind and spirit—we wield the story. This ritual is not just one of entertainment. The story is survival.

What kind of stories are told around campfires? Traditionally, we turn to ghost stories or tales of darkness to scare. These yarns imbue the circle with a means of taming those forces beyond human control and create wonder by testing the perceived limits of the physical world. There is a power in storytelling, and I share this power with you. I have long enjoyed the magic of telling ghost stories around a campfire, and when the stories are true—as all folklore possesses an element of truth—they can possess you.

So, in the two year tradition of The Fox True Ghost Story Project, I bring seven paranormal tales to fuel your campfire narratives, collected from international believers. Again, I do not seek to validate these stories, because that is not the purpose of folklore. I am here to collect, catalog and archive. So please enjoy my special campfire tales which I will be posting through the month of august.

And don’t forget: Get your Foxxy summer spooky on!

T. Fox Dunham is an internationally published author, member of the Horror Writer’s Association and story teller. He’s been published in multiple magazines, journals and anthologies. His first novel, The Street Martyr, is being produced into a motion picture by Throughline Films, and he’s finishing edits on his third novel, Mercy, a horror-medical thriller for Blood Bound Books. He’s a cancer survivor. His friends call him fox, being his totem animal, and his motto is: Wrecking civilization one story at a time. Site: Blog: & Twitter: @TFoxDunham

From Horror Author T. Fox Dunham:

“I am the blighted one,” the voice spoke with its own flesh mouth, before the warriors came and ripped it from him. 
-- Digging Sandcastles by T. Fox Dunham

Available now from editor Florence Ann Marlowe and Noodledoodle Press, Terror at the Beach, featuring stories from many excellent horror authors and my short story. 

 TABLE OF CONTENTS: John 20:29' by Delphine Bosswell 'Meltdown' by Daniel Breitenfeldt 'Undercurrent' by David Court 'By the Light of A Drowning Sun' by Matthew R. Davis 'Digging Sandcastles' by T. Fox Dunham 'Under The Boardwalk' by Robert Hart 'The Sand Whirl' by David Longshore 'Salt Water Taffy' by Florence Ann Marlowe 'The Best Honeymoon Ever' by T. M. McLean 'Canned Crab' by Nick Nafpliotis 'Ride the Devil' by J. T. Seate 'Tourist Trap' by A. P. Sessler 'The Dare' by Gregory St. John.  

Thursday, October 31, 2013


Guy Anthony De Marco

I'm honored to have such a prestigious and talented storyteller like Guy sending me a ghost story. If you hear wild giggling--it's not a ghost. It's a Fox. -- Editor.

Here's a threesome of weird events. All are true.

When I was a very young kid growing up in New York City, we lived in an apartment over a restaurant. I remember being sick, probably with the influenza, and how I couldn't sleep on my little bed because it was so hot. I noticed a large shadow on my wall, like a man in a trenchcoat. The shadow would have come from someone standing at the foot of my bed.

I looked at the curtains to see where the light was coming from, and the curtains flew open. Outside the window I saw hundreds of hands waving at me, even though we were on the second floor. I held my breath, and the curtains shut, then opened again and repeated. I screamed bloody murder for my Mom, and she came in and held my sweaty body in her arms, pressing a cool washcloth to my forehead, until my fever went down.

When I was in my teens, I had a friend stay overnight. We had a spare bed in my room, and we were both chatting. Dewey was standing near the door and I was across the room by one of the beds. In the middle of our conversation, we both saw something appear, then drop from the ceiling between us. We tracked its descent in sync, but when we went to look for whatever it was, there was nothing there. It fell into an open area of the room, so it wouldn't have had a chance to hide away before we looked.

In one of the houses I've owned over the years, we've had an entity we called Un lurking about. The animals could all sense its presence, and they would track things scurrying around the ceiling and hanging around the corners. The dogs would bark at it, including the dogs we would watch for friends. There was one room the dogs refused to go in. We'd always get a creepy, spine-tingling feeling before the animals reacted to the presence. My oldest daughter used to talk about a ghost of a small boy who would visit her late at night. We assumed that's who Un was. It followed us to the next house, but it didn't make the trip when we moved to a different state.


Guy Anthony De Marco is a speculative fiction author; a Graphic Novel Bram Stoker Award finalist; winner of the HWA Silver Hammer Award; a prolific short story and flash fiction crafter; a novelist; an invisible man with superhero powers; a game writer (Sojourner Tales modules, Interface Zero 2.0 core team, D&D modules); and a coffee addict. One of these is false.

Guy is a member of the following organizations: SFWA, HWA, SFPA, IAMTW, ASCAP, RMFW, NCW. He hopes to collect the rest of the letters of the alphabet one day. Additional information can be found at and