When a young serial killer asks Siri, politely, for some help, he gets more than he bargains for.
(click the image to listen)
if you have a kindle, my first novel is FREE ON KINDLE RIGHT NOW, for a limited time! although, it’s always on kindle unlimited for free, right now anyone can get their paws on it.
it’s not the sort of story that i ordinarily tell (as is known, i’m usually all about the horror or fantasy, & this one is more psychological), but it’s a story that i told. & it’s free until (unintentionally) midnight, on valentines day. 🧛♀️
cover design by Mitch Green at radpress publishing.
apparently, i’ve made a podcast of fictional stories as a side, creative hobby, just to explore the idea of it. but WARNING: i have no idea what i’m doing. i have adopted a motto that alfred hitchcock once coined, “always make the audience suffer as much as possible.” i’m sure that he personally meant suspense in a story, but for anyone who tunes in, the suffering will mainly come from having to listen to my voice.
click the image to listen.
a city map is sewn in the scalp;
looped in the goat-milk, or spit out,
tongued in silky blades of stomped
i’m crowned with high-pitched fingers
clenched in fur.
in octaves only shades can bear, i simmer
in their holy cradles.
i become the roughened corner of a mouth
grinning at its own joke.
there, the receding home in ranch-style polaroids of a dirty blond stranger and my mother squinting in the sun; some home not mine or yours.
in a woman’s left grows tiny,
and in a man’s more supple.
i keep alive by milking goats.
some like lifelines, some like ulcers
the city streets are braided in my hair.
samantha lucero 2018 ©
i was in a dirt hole or clasped on
a napping road-trip road.
palpitating thru the lines or bones
on the ground, or underneath.
i found her heart in a rat pile
flapping like loose mother-skin
grieving with the last milk oval
on the whelps tongue.
are above me, like you
in a circlet of whore-stars,
teeth for deep space.
a belligerent isolation embraces
me and i am born in bright black.
i stare into the sun and when i
shut my eyes, it winks back
and it will never leave.
my love was a thousand shells
in salt on earth. i was the killing jar.
the beat of sunflower wings
in cement initials.
samantha lucero 2018 ©
time who kills:
time who kills
View original post 149 more words
A recent story one of my BFF’s and I wrote together. A publisher for an anthology passed on it (and my other ghost story, too. I finally found the email. which means I’ll be posting that one up eventually, too.) it’s written in two perspectives, Adelina and Vera, two single moms (and characters we used to role-play on journals in a World of Darkness setting, I TOLD YOU I WAS A NERD.) both first person. It’s about 15k words, so it’s kind of a commitment. It was partly inspired by a weird place in the hills of NJ.
And yes, it’s horror. Do you even know me?
Two single moms leave their lives behind
and start over, but …
you began under the skin,
a squeezing-hug swanning
in the dark red.
you dreamt in amniotic blankets
shifting sinuously in white noise,
soaking into your veins and
you can still hear it whisper.
sewn into her smell,
the woman you dreamt in,
holding you tight, yet letting
you keep slipping
ringing in your ears like the lunar
mewl of stars.
do you remember
your mother at 2am squinting
at the kitchen table. a skirt full
of aged milk leaking through
a face that touches
the walls of your mind.
she was silk back then,
not the splintery thing she became
when too much life, like too much
smoke, or too much wine
had tunneled underneath her
had bore a hole and let in
you were a note in the ribs
perfume on paper,
the charmed sense to wake up
with the sun, and lie down
with the moon.
she hears you down the hall
in her heart and jolts awake.
it’s your melody of a scent that
never leaves her head.
your hair that traps her.
when you’re asleep, through
walls and dirt and
ringing in your ears.
© samantha lucero 2017
When I looked into your eyes that time not long after we first met, I told myself that if I was given the chance, I would go ahead and do it. And such a thing would really impress you and make you want me even though I was just a zero.
Because the black light has been here since the beginning.
When I first discovered what you were in the early hours of the morning while drunk and on the brink, you reached inside of me and brought me back. Sounds melodramatic, I know, but before I found you it was as if I were the only one and that being a zero was all I was good for.
And it’s been burning a hole for so long.
When I swallowed what you had to say, I found a truth that had been denied me my entire life by those…
View original post 1,160 more words
© Samantha Lucero 2017
It’s no comfort knowing that you’re buried,
deep down, taking earth around you
like blankets that fall apart and crawl.
But seasons still disrobed like actors
backstage in a play, in front of
everyone. Even with you
gone, the world moved on.
And I watched. We all did.
Forced to watch, without you,
with seasons pouring the years
between us in vanishing old flannel,
smelling like Salem filter kings,
Spring grew through us both
like a blade.
And you died in the summer.
A diamond in that box
they buried you in, deep down,
where you fall apart and crawl, too,
by now. Still waiting to be proposed,
like the plan to go back to Santa Fe.
Sometimes I wait for you to show,
maybe at the movie I go to alone,
sitting next to me when I peek over
in the flickering dark.
You could come around a…
View original post 104 more words