Richard Schiver

Tag: horror

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 10/29/2025

    Weekly Writing Challenge 10/29/2025

    While working on today’s episode yesterday morning the purpose of the story presented itself to me. Quite frankly I can write novels easier than I can write short stories, hence the reason I started doing this challenge. To force me to buckle down and work on a short story until it was done. I chose to follow the alphabet format and have completed the first drafts of stories up to the letter G. As time allows I work on rewrites and edits of the past stories as I try to whip them into some semblance of a real story worth a read. One of these days I’ll release them for everyone to read.

    Without further adieu let’s get into the continuing saga of Jared and Eric in Hell Hole.

    Story begins where it left off.

    They didn’t look sturdy enough to support the weight pressing down upon them, and it appeared the wood had rotted away on the surface, making them half the size they had originally been.

    “You know why they call it hell hole?” Jared asked.

    Eric shrugged. “Rumor has it the mine went so deep you had to be careful which way you swung your pick.” He stopped as he maneuvered around an old coal car whose steel sides had rusted away to nothing, leaving a flat surface covered in debris.

    Eric pushed past the coal car, coming to a section of tunnel that appeared much older than what they passed through earlier. Here the jagged walls and ceiling were brown and in some places water leaked through the various cracks and crevices that covered the entire surface, filling the space with the incessant sound of dripping water.  It looked like the entire ceiling was about to collapse and he wanted to turn around right then and there.

    He was beginning to get irritated with Jared’s endless whining. If he didn’t need him as bad as he did he would never have spoken to him. He was no more than a means to an end, that of his continued survival. Promises had been made, so promises had to be kept.

    “Why?” Jared asked.

    With a deep sigh Eric turned back to face him and when he did he was struck by a deep anger at the lengths he had to go to. “Because you might hit the devils door,” he replied with a laugh.

    “That’s not funny,” Jared said, turning in a complete circle as if he were afraid someone, or something, were sneaking up on him.

    “Come on, let’s go, you said you wanted to see this room of crystals.” Eric turned and started walking into the depths of the mine. He heard Jared scrambling to get around the abandoned coal car.

    “Wait for me,” Jared said as he rushed to keep up.

    Eric smiled, satisfied he had set the hook firmly. Once they got deeper into the mine Jared would be attached to his hip, which was just as well, he didn’t want him wandering off until he’d gotten what he came for.

    The mine had operated from the mid seventeen hundred until 1890 when a cave in sealed off the lower portion of the mine, opening the passageway to the r0om of crystals. They called them the devil’s jewels, locked away deep beneath the earth.

    The miners of the time had been very superstitious, in addition to being God fearing men. But when the only exit from a mine collapses, and God does little to save you, promises made to others became sacred vows.

    Eric had learned all of this from his research into the mine when he first heard about the crystal room. Sure, he was an explorer willing to take chances, but they were calculated risks made only after he was certain about the facts. He had visited the crystal room himself, along with the mouth of the section of the mine where the collapse occurred. Someone had placed a plaque nearby listing the names of the men entombed within. It was rumored if you listened closely you could still hear panicked pounding coming from the other side.

    To be continued!

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    Four boys become trapped in their apartment building in the opening days of the zombie apocalypse. Together with a small group of survivors they struggle to survive. It’s not long before they learn their real enemy is in the building with them.

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  • New Release

    New Release

    Lilitu: Bloody Caleb by Jonathan Fortin

    Now available on Kindle, Kindle Unlimited, and paperback.

    Dante’s Inferno meets The Count of Monte Cristo in Lilitu: Bloody Caleb—a Gothic dark fantasy of murder, revenge, and the horrors of Hell.

    Caleb Schwartzenfeld, a 22-year-old vagrant violinist in the grim streets of Victorian England, is struggling to survive. But when his search for a patron leads him into the clutches of a sinister cult, he’s brutally sacrificed—and awakens in Hell, a nightmarish realm where death is impossible, and demons delight in torturing the living.

    Refusing to let eternal agony break him, Caleb vows to escape, reunite with the woman he loves, and exact revenge on those who murdered him. Yet the only way back to Earth may require becoming one of the very monsters who torment the damned.

    Under the dark tutelage of the depraved incubus Salem Sotirios, Caleb is seduced into the twisted pleasures and deadly politics of Hell’s elite. As he navigates a macabre underworld of power, lust, and vengeance, Caleb must decide whether reclaiming his life is worth risking his soul.

    Perfect for fans of Gothic horror, supernatural revenge thrillers, and dark romantic fantasy, Lilitu: Bloody Caleb delivers a chilling, seductive, and unforgettable journey through Hell and back. It is the newcomer-friendly second volume in the Lilitu saga, and can be read either before or after the first volume, Lilitu: The Memoirs Of A Succubus.

    Explore the Dark Depths: https://getbook.at/Lilitu2

    Add it on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/240624391-lilitu

    Lilitu saga series: https://geni.us/LilituSaga

    Proudly represented by Crystal Lake Publishing— Where Stories Come Alive!

    About the author

    Jonathan Fortin is the author of “Lilitu: The Memoirs of a Succubus” (Crystal Lake Publishing), “Requiem In Frost” (Horroraddicts.net), and “Nightmarescape” (Mocha Memoirs Press). An unashamed lover of spooky Gothic stories,

    Jonathan was named the Next Great Horror Writer in 2017 by HorrorAddicts.net. He attended the Clarion Writing Program in 2012, one year after graduating summa cum laude from San Francisco State University’s Creative Writing program. When not writing, Jonathan enjoys voice acting, dressing like a Victorian gentleman, and indulging in all things odd and macabre in the San Francisco Bay Area. You can follow him online at www.jonathanfortin.com or on Twitter @Jonathan_Fortin.

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 10/22/2025

    Weekly Writing Challenge 10/22/2025

    Contd from last time,

    Approaching the opening, he looked up to see someone had painted the casing around the opening to look like the opened mouth of a skeleton with jagged white teeth prepared to crunch down on any who dared enter.

    He almost turned around right then, but didn’t, more afraid of what Eric might think of him than what might be waiting inside the mine. Unlike many of his other friends, Eric wasn’t into the whole macho scene. He was much more reserved and laid back, exuding this aura of relaxed invincibility that drew people to him like moths to a flame. A far cry from Jared who was socially awkward and lacked the charisma of his friend.

    At the entrance Eric stopped and had a good laugh at the sign someone had spray painted on the casing. The words made Jared want to turn around right then and go back home.

    Abandon all hope, all ye who enters here!

    “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Jared said.

    “It’s just someone’s idea of a joke. Come on man you need to loosen up.”

    “Have you been down here before?”

    Eric shook his head. “This is my first time.”

    “Then how do you know it’s safe?”

    “I just know it is, I’ve got a map. A couple of guys I know who do this all the time gave it to me and told me about the crystal room.”

    “How well do you know these guys?” Jared was searching for any reason he could to back out of this without losing face.”

    “Well enough, they wouldn’t steer me wrong, they’re good guys.”

    “I don’t know, I’d feel better if I could see the map.”

    “I forgot to bring it, but it’s okay, everything will be fine. The chamber is only a few hundred feet away from the end of the mine. It’s a straight shot, we can’t get lost.”

    Jared was about to turn around right then but stopped. This was the chance he’d been looking for. If he went in and word spread about what he’d done his whole life would change. He’d no longer be the afterthought, the last one called, if they called at all. He’d prove to the others he could be just like them.

    “The moment I don’t feel comfortable about this we leave, right?”

    Eric shrugged as he smiled. “You got it bro, the moment you feel afraid we’ll turn around.”

    “That isn’t what I meant.”

    “I know, I’m just giving you a hard time, man, come on let’s get going.”

    Still apprehensive, Jared followed Eric into the shadowy depths of the mine, glancing once at the clear blue sky above before it was replaced by the smooth concrete of the casing.

    Will I see the sky again? He worried as smooth concrete gave way to naked stone carrying the tool marks of those who once toiled in these depths.

    The comforting glow from the sun faded to a deepening gloom and Eric turned on his flashlight as they moved deeper into the mine. Every ten feet ancient timber formed arches that held the roof of the mine in place.

    To be contd!

  • Fridays 5 with David A Simpson

    Fridays 5 with David A Simpson

    When did you first consider yourself a writer?

    Hard to say. Even though I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a little kid and I went full-time for about a year until Covid hit, I’m still not sure if I consider myself a “writer”.  So far all of my releases have been self-published. I have a New York literary agent and a Hollywood film agent, and I’ve sold 100,000 copies but I still don’t consider myself a writer. Is that the imposter syndrome, I’m pretending to be one although I know I’m really not?

    What is the hardest part of writing?

    Finding the time and still having the energy to pour into it.

    How did you feel upon publication of your first completed project?

    It was fantastic. I loved holding it in my hands. For me it was a lifelong goal and I didn’t care if I sold books or not. I mean of course I wanted to but to hold that paper back was a great feeling. I wrote it for me and told a story I wanted to tell. There were no considerations about what others would think or tailoring the story to a certain market.

    In addition to writing, what else are you passionate about?

    Cars. I have entirely too many and I want entirely too many more. I do a bit of racing and have held a couple of world records. I seem meet up with car community guys a lot more often than I do the writing community folks.

    If you could ask any author, living or dead, one question, what would it be?

    John the Revelator on the isle of Patmos shortly after he had his visions. I don’t think I have a specific question, I would ask him to tell me more. As a 20th-century man, I think I could understand what he saw better than he did.

    David A. Simpson is an Amazon bestselling author of the Zombie Road and Feral Children series. He loves to travel and has a long list of places to visit on his bucket list. He likes weird things and will drive a hundred miles out of his way to see a weird sculpture made from junkyard parts or a Bonnie and Clyde museum.

    David A Sinpson Author Photo

    David’s Amazon Author Page

    David’s Facebook Group

  • Overcoming Self-Doubt in Writing

    Overcoming Self-Doubt in Writing

    Anyone who is seriously perusing a career as a writer is familiar with the ups and downs that is the writer’s life. Some days you’re riding the top of that emotional wave as the words just flow from your fingers. Hanging ten from that proverbial surfboard of creation as the ocean of ideas washing through your mind batters itself against white beach of the blank page leaving in its wake the basis of what will become a powerful story.

    For every peak in the creative process, where it seems nothing can stand in your way, behind or beyond lies a shadowy valley of self doubt. When that creative wave dashes you against the unyielding stone of cold reality, you tumble from that peak to land in the valley of the shadow of death for the creative process.

    Suddenly the words that had flowed so freely dry up and one is left staring at the blank page as blood begins to form upon their forehead. Who wants to read anything I write? Why do I waste my time doing this? Who really cares anymore?

    Self doubt has silenced the muse. It has thrown a monkey wrench into the machinery of creation, clogging the gears, and stopping them dead in their tracks. Everyone who dares to believe they can create something another person wants to read faces these moments from time to time.

    The greats have carried on their own personal battles with self doubt. Struggling in the years of anonymity before they became an overnight success. Stephen King threw away the original manuscript for Carrie believing no one would want to read it. His wife rescued it from the trash and convinced him to carry on. Great writers from the past were known to agonize over the placement of every word, never really believing that what they were doing would ever be widely accepted.

    How many unknown greats have given up entirely, trashing their greatest works, and turning their backs on their dreams to accept second best? How many Lovecraft’s, Shelly’s, or Stokers have given up even before they started?

    More than we will ever know. One thing we’ve all learned when embarking upon our writing career is that we are our own worst critic. In my opinion what happens when we turn our mind to writing is that we begin to read as writers. We forget how to read as readers. We dissect every story, searching for clues to how the writer put the tale together. In doing so we forget the one thing that drew us to reading in the first place, the excitement of discovering a brand new world living between the covers of a book.

    Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.
    – E. L. Doctorow

    If you can tell stories, create characters, devise incidents, and have sincerity and passion, it doesn’t matter a damn how you write.
    – Somerset Maugham

    Any man who keeps working is not a failure. He may not be a great writer, but if he applies the old-fashioned virtues of hard, constant labor, he’ll eventually make some kind of career for himself as writer.
    – Ray Bradbury