Thursday, April 20, 2017

You'll Never Guess Who the Old Man Really is!!!!

Now, there are hints throughout, see if you can guess. You might be distracted by the other characters and the reasons they are monstrous, however. 

Listen in on a telling conversation between Fred Dodger and one of his performers. It's about his father and himself. Dark secrets abound!!

“My father’s no saint, Al. He’s done murder…”

“You told me he had murdered. Look at me and Hank and the clowns…”

Fred let out a loud sob. “It’s much worse what he did…you can’t imagine.”

He was certain Al was going to speak but when he didn’t, Fred continued. “My father was wanted… He still is; he always will be…what he did…”

“You can tell me…”

“I’ve killed, too, Al. I killed to protect him—see, he killed some women…”

Fred couldn’t get the rest out. Al soothed him, said he could confide in him. “What is it? What’s preying upon you, Fred? Something is—Who did your dad kill? You can tell me, honest. I won’t tell no one!”

(end of excerpt)

"Don't be fooled into thinking this is a routine, run-of-the-mill, carnival scary. Nothing routine here! CIRCUS OF HORRORS is a very special story, and I'm glad it introduced me to author Carole Gill, an exceptionally talented writer."

"Riveting. Imaginative. Chilling. Fantastical."

"Wonderful horror with a side order of ribs."

"Outstanding story line and strong characters. I felt like I was right there and a part of the sideshow.

"An awesome little creepfest!"

"Never going to the circus again!"

"True horror!"

“Scary from beginning to end! Sit back and read your way into a horror filled tale! Enjoy!”


Monday, April 17, 2017


No! Don't laugh. It's possible to promote books after death. Zombies, I know from personal experience can and Vampires probably can too. But I'm here for the ZOMBIES!

The walking dead can most certainly promote books. How do I know? I'm one of them! Sadly, what passes for 'a life' is what I endure, not live now--after my husband's death. I function on autopilot. I wish I didn't, but I do, at least for now.

The only difference between me and a genuine zombie is I don't eat flesh! Actually I don't eat meat anyway. Maybe that's the reason!

If you want to be kind to a zombie like me, I'd appreciate it! I'll try to blog more to keep you guys entertained. I am working on some projects so that's good!

Here's a bit from my new novel! It's got ghosties and goulies and short and long legged beasties with hauntings to make you wince but it also tells the story of loss and the search for life beyond death!

“How are you feeling today?”
            I felt like telling the doctor to go fuck himself. But thought better of it.
He looked odd to me. But that was because I was cracked and had been ever since my loss. It took me a few seconds to realize he was talking to me. That understanding smile now to show me he wasn’t annoyed with my lack of attention.
“I’m sorry…”
“That’s alright…just tell me how you are today.”
“The same.”
I had thought of a stronger reaction as in hostile, but then I thought better of it. Besides, a two word answer like that was probably provocative enough.
He was reading through the nurses' notes. “You’re sleeping well?”
“Yes, except when I don’t.”

Watch it, Liz. 

Back soon! 

Circus of Horrors is Not Just About Scary Clowns...!

99 cents NOW thru April 23!
Scary clowns are fun to write about, but I write character-driven horror. The characters in this novel and all my novels are motivated by their own experiences. They might have an agenda, a mission, as the character, 'good old carny,' Joe has. And boy what an agenda that is!

The clowns are murderous because of their childhood abuse they suffered. Each performer in Fred Dodger's sideshow has suffered and that suffering has made them what they are. Joe comes along and seems to know their secrets, all of their secrets. He even knows why Old Pa, Fred's dad, keeps a certain box close to him.

Creativia has put this book on promotion for a short time beginning now. If you like really dark, gut-wrenching horror that has a point, this is for you!

“This is horrific in the best way! It is extreme ... and disturbing!"

"Riveting. Imaginative. Chilling. Fantastical."

"Wonderful horror with a side order of ribs."

"Outstanding story line and strong characters. I felt like I was right there and a part of the sideshow.

"An awesome little creepfest!"

"Never going to the circus again!"

"True horror!"


Sunday, March 19, 2017

The Dark Truth of My Fiction

"5out of 5 stars HORRIFIC VAMPS & GREAT STORY!!!
I'm hooked on Carole Gill!! I prefer more details about a Vampires life, knowing they're Satan's creatures, and love that this author portrays them as they are!!! Intense read and that there's real history in a her novels, makes it even more interesting!! If you're offended by language, sex, bondage, and savagery, look to the Chic lit on the paranormal!!! Carole Gill is phenomenal!!!!"
Reviewer on Amazon 

This review was written for I, Bathory, Queen of Blood. However the essence of it applies to the horror fiction I write. It particularly applies to all my vampire novels which include a series of four books as well as two other novels that follow.

The Blackstone Vampires consists of four novels. The House on Blackstone Moor, Unholy Testament-The Beginnings, Unholy Testament-Full Circle and The Fourth Bride (The Blackstone Vampires Omnibus comprises all four novels), Justine: Into the Blood and I, Bathory, Queen of Blood. 

This reviewer nailed it. I don't write lightly. Vampires are monsters, beings from hell that subsist on human blood. They have feelings and, though demonic, they can love in their strange and dark way. But mostly, they lust and feed. They do this because that's what vampires, real fictional vampires, do.

The Series contains horror also of a different nature as it is historically based, covering thousands of years and includes human horror. I thought that only fair. Evil is evil, after all.

There are readers that enjoy the dark side and readers that don't. I think they should have a choice. For those who want to step into the dark and experience what goes with it, I'd suggest they read my fiction.

Chic Lit is a great subgenre. It suits a lot of readers. But horror is horror unless it is a specific type of subgenre which is fine. Here is a definition of horror that is worth a read:



an overwhelming and painful feeling caused bysomething frightfully shocking, terrifying, orrevolting; a shuddering fear: to shrink back from a mutilated corpse in horror, anything that causes such a feeling: killing, looting, and other horrors of war, such a feeling as a quality or condition: to have known the horror of slow starvation. a strong aversion; abhorrence: to have a horror of emotional outbursts. Informal. something considered bad or tasteless: That wallpaper is a horror. The party was a horror. horrors, Informal.
delirium tremens.
extreme depression. adjective inspiring or creating horror, loathing, aversion,etc.: The hostages told horror stories of their year in captivity. centered upon or depicting terrifying or macabre events: a horror movie. interjection
horrors, (used as a mild expression of dismay,surprise, disappointment, etc.)

I take that onboard with my horror fiction. That's what I write, that's the dark truth of what I write.

Saturday, March 11, 2017

No Helplines in Victorian Times

There were absolutely no helplines, support groups or any resources for a young person to go to. No help at all. Judging a character in a novel that takes place in Victorian times by 21st Century standards is laughable and silly at best.

Consider Rose Baines. She just waits it out every night. She hopes her father will get killed during his nightly strolls that he enjoys, after terrorizing the family that is.

When she returns after a visit to an aunt and finds her family has been murdered by her father who has obviously committed suicide, she just screams.

The family doctor is summoned:


“I am sorry, Rose, but you must go with them.”

People can’t be left around screaming, you understand. I was silenced by strong hands. 

“Come along, Miss. That’s better.”

end of quote.

She is taken to the madhouse. The only option available in a society at a time when nothing crucial to the survival of a human being was discussed if it was deemed to be 'improper.'

This is where the nightmare begins. This is how her father's sin eventually led her to Blackstone House and the vampires.


“The figure of the gothic child was there. Stoker's horror was there. Along with the romance! At the heart of her writing one stumbles upon a genuine search for that darkness we lost with the loss of Stoker."
DR. MARGARITA GEORGIEVA ~ Gothic Readings in The Dark

Top 10 Books - 2013
Aoife Marie Sheridan - ALL THINGS FANTASY
Publisher, Ultimate Fantasy Books

"92 Horror authors you need to read right now"
Carole Gill -- the Blackstone Vampires series
~Charlotte Books - EXAMINER

I for one found this gloriously gothic, refreshingly brutal, honestly horrific and a great read.
~Taliesin Meets the Vampires

Best Horror, best villain, Eco Efestival of Words 2014

Now thru March 17, 99 cents at 

Friday, March 3, 2017

All Pacts Lead to Hell!

Child murderer, Gilles de Rais, who rode with Joan of Arc
This short story is about the monstrous, Gilles de Rais and his delusion regarding damnation. The demon, Eco tells of his encounter with this man. Eco is my favorite character. He's an intelligent demon. Sometimes evil and depraved but always honest. It is his punishment:

Excerpt: "It is I, your servant, Eco once again with an accounting of the final judgement of a certain man that I myself witnessed–an individual who dishonestly made a pact with Satan. By the way, if there are any apologists for this man, then I can only say this: I heard his confession from the man’s own lips.
Gilles de Rais was his name, former aide to Joan of Arc and a notorious child murderer. 

His castle and its grounds were filled with the mutilated remains of children savagely killed. Children had in fact been vanishing for years, but nothing was done. You see at this time in France a noble could rather do as he wished as long as peasants were the only ones being victimized.

de Rais used his servants and cousin to snatch the objects of his sexual depravity whenever he liked. Still on occasion he grew bored. At such times he’d over spend. He was very extravagant and regularly found himself in need of money. Like so many at the time he believed alchemy was the answer to money worries. He was told of a famous sorcerer who could turn water into gold. That is what drove him to contact the renowned Francois Prelati. Prelati was more than willing when he saw de Rais’ opulent lifestyle.

“Of course it is possible,” he said. “However, in order to do this my lord—a demon must be summoned from hell and in order for that to happen, I will have to write my spells in a book using the blood of children!”

The corpses of children were never far away and the request was cheerfully granted. Prelati was given more than enough children’s blood with which to write the book of spells for the summoning. He was also given other assorted grisly items for sacrifice. Prelati was pleased. “Now for the final requirement–the pact. You must hold a parchment wherein you have stated your pledge to give Satan your soul!” de Rais agreed and the ceremony went on. What Prelati never realized was deRais had stipulated he would do anything, but he would not give up his soul!

The cheek! I mean really! I find that rather distasteful though I am of demonic origins myself. But one has to recognize truth when one comes upon it. Eventually, de Rais was arrested for something else entirely–the child murders were discovered accidentally. The result, however, was a trial. Satan and I saw him during his trial. We were passing ourselves off as Papal Emissaries which was rather fun.

The court was incensed by de Rais’ contempt. He was hostile and condescending. When the court adjourned for a two-day break, Satan and I visited him. During those two days both Satan and I spoke to him.

A great deal can be accomplished under such circumstances! When court resumed, he returned contrite and pled for his entry back into the church. He confessed and said his one desire was to face his death bravely. Any nobility he had lost he was intent on recouping. He did of course foolishly believe the clerics who said he was forgiven and would enter heaven! 

You see they may believe that to be the case, but in the last analysis, it is up to the old man there and we all know God isn’t a push over. If you think God forgives all manner of sin then take another scan through the Old Testament. I know where of I speak. I am the son of a fallen angel and let me tell you right now, there are those who immediately regretted siding with Lucifer and sought forgiveness. Their answer was eternal damnation, not forgiveness! When the end came, I saw de Rais go bravely to his death. 

He wished to set an example to the others who were condemned with him: his cousin and some servants. Prelati managed to get off with his life but that was only temporary. As for de Rais, Satan and I were there to greet him when he reached hell.

“It is you!” he cried when his eyes beheld Satan. “Yes,” Satan answered. “And now you are mine, for it is only right!” If he looked horrified then, he looked worse as the legion of demons began to descend on him–pinching and tormenting him.
 “I have been damned!” he cried.

“For all time!” Satan replied. “You see in a way I am God’s heavy. I punish those who are not worthy of heaven. But also–!” he added, “I don’t like to be made a fool of!

Pact indeed, how dare you presume to hold back your soul from me?!” I winced to see the terrible pain and suffering that began to be inflicted upon this man. “Yes,” Satan cried. “A pact is a pact. There is no going back, no codicils here! Hell is not a court of law, there is no bargaining. Your sins are the currency that earns you damnation!” ‘Such is the word of Satan—Lord to all who are damned by deed whether or not they think they shall be.’

Eco—your servant in Hell.

© 2011 Carole Gill

Eco is featured in ‘Unholy Testament - The Beginnings,’ the sequel to‘The House on Blackstone Moor (where he made his debut) as well as 'Unholy Testament - Full Circle; and the fourth book in The Blackstone Vampire Series, 'The Fourth Bride.'

He was awarded best villain in the 2014 efestival of words for The House on Blackstone Moor and the book received best horror award.

This particular story appears in:

Friday, February 24, 2017


Terox Corporation
Block E Laboratory, Room 6
June 4, 2280
12:42 Local time

The funny thing was she recognized the stasis pod. She even knew she was in Room 6 because it was the only one that had its own shower shell facility, but that was all she knew.
If she had been asked her name she wouldn’t have been able to say. That was the worst thing, the scariest thing for her, this knowing and not knowing.

The mirror she saw right away, she just didn’t know if she wanted to look in it because she knew if she did, she’d see herself--not something she wished to do… because she thought she wouldn't recognize herself!
When she forced herself to look she saw a red-headed stranger wearing a research lab coat with v-tag chevrons on both sleeves and the word, ‘research’ on the breast pocket.

She kept telling herself not to panic but it wasn’t easy. Suddenly her eyes locked onto something. It looked like a photoized name plate. The kind space tech employees wore on their uniform. Maybe that was her picture on there.

Actually it was better than a photo. It was a bio-enhanced photo. In other words it was a photo with bio info data—done with heat contours and linear measurements. No one could fake that boy oh boy.
She looked but it wasn’t her. The woman in the photo was dark and older.

Might as well scream, so she did and two people rushed into the room.
A man and a woman, they had bright orange security badges on their sleeves, but no identity badges.

The woman spoke first: “Who the hell are you?”

Red laughed a bitter screwed up laugh. “I was just going to ask you the same thing.”

“You’re not a droid, are you?” This posed by the silver-haired distinguished looking man who was sighing and looking quizzical.

Red smiled and shook her head. Odd—but she could remember the droids, clever little creeps that were always on time and never got sick. Well who would with only linguistic cores and neural interfaces?

“Linguistic cores and interfaces!”
“What? What did you say?”
Red nodded her head. “You see, I remembered that!”
“Are you sure you’re not a droid?!”
“No, I’m not--!”

The other one, the female, suddenly lunged at her, pinching her exposed skin. “Yup,” she nodded toward the man. “It’s blood alright.”
Red was rubbing her arm. “That was a lousy thing to do!”
“I’m sorry young lady, but I had to make sure.”

Red sighed. “Okay so let’s be constructive. I think we better make up names or something, right? I mean we need a little order. Okay, I’ll go first! You can call me Red—what do I call you?”
“I have no bloody idea, Red!”
Now for the first time she recognized the British accent. “You’re English?”

“Well done,” English said. “You go to the head of the class for that.”
“I’d rather get out of here if you really want to know.”
The man spoke next. “You can call me John; it’s as good a name as any.”
“God! This is depressing!” Red looked like she was about to cry.
“Look ladies, there has to be some explanation for all of this.” John offered.
“Oh yeah? And how will we know what it is?”

Before anyone could answer, English put up her hand. “Someone’s coming!”
Just then a young man wearing the blue unitogs of a low-ranking junior tech appeared. “I thought I heard talking,” he said.
“Give junior a gold star.” Red quipped.
“My name isn’t Junior.”
“Oh yeah, what is it then?

The young man looked embarrassed. “Don’t know. I see you don’t have your name tag either. None of us do. It’s so weird. I’m sure we all had them.”
John shook his head. “What shall we call you meanwhile, young man?”
“Don’t know.”

Red grinned. “Baby Face! It suits you!”
“Look!” Baby Face said, “I just want to know what’s going on here!”
“Well, the only thing I can think of is we appear to have some temporary memory loss. We’re blocked.”

“Blocked?! Get him. Blocked,” he says. “Look, I don’t know about you, see? I just know it’s weird because I know certain things. I know this is Room 6 and I recognized my pod. Dr. Feen had specially made!” She shut up like a clam. “Hey! I remembered his name! Dr. Feen, I mean that’s good, right?”
English didn’t look impressed. “I’m afraid it isn’t enough. We all can remember one or two things—but not much else.”

“Okay cheerful earful,” Red said. “Let’s just leave here and ask someone what the hell is happening.”
“There’s a problem with that.” English again: “I mean we could let you discover that on your own, but it would be cruel you understand because there appears to be no way out of here.”

But Red didn’t believe her so she flew out of the cubicle and found herself in a long hall with two ways to go. English called after her. “Go on if you don’t believe me!”

She did, running one way and then the other--past all sorts of compuboards and screenmods and work stations, past protocol test rooms as well.

And while she was running she was thinking the whole thing was nuts because she knew what each thing was only nothing else. The man was right it was selective memory loss.

She stopped when she saw the door. If she could get out she’d be alright, they all would.
Naturally it was locked. But she could see the landscaped grounds and one or two launch-goes parked—everything looked alright, so why wouldn’t the door open?

Suddenly she realized she was being eyeballed by a grossly fat man wearing something that looked like a tent. “Look sweetie no one knows why it won’t open. But it won’t,” he lisped.
“But I can see outside! Look!”
The fat man looked bored. “It’s nothing but a mirage, honey.”
“Are you kidding? That’s--!”

But it’s wasn’t right. There was something wrong, even she who wanted so fervently to believe it was real, could now see that it wasn’t.

“Look.” The fat man clicked something. “You can get any kind of scene you want. That or a moonscape, beaches—mountains—it even does fantasyscapes, anything.”

By this time the others had joined them. But also by this time, Red lost it and just started screaming so hard that she finally passed out. That’s when the fat man started up. He was the angriest. “Well at least she’s quiet now!”

Baby Face looked incredulous. “That’s a stupid thing to say where do you get off? We’ll figure it out, there’s got to be an answer…”

The fat man smiled mockingly. “An answer, eh? What’s your name? Where do you live? Where the hell are we? Can you tell me that?”

Baby Face looked crestfallen. John was angry “You really are a bully you know that?”
“Oh please! Bleeding hearts like you make me sick!”

“Look my friend, if you keep this up, you’re going to have a stroke.”
This was the last straw and fat man hurled himself at John, knocking him down.
Baby Face and English helped him to stand.
Red was the only one who finally said something: “I think we’re going to die here because I think we’re supposed to die here.”

Terox Corporation
Block E Laboratory, Room 6
June 4, 2280
13:53 Local time

Out of disorder came order and it was English’s doing. She had taken Baby Face with her to look for provisions. Red started her usual carping but stopped when English told her to shut up. “You’re right,” she mumbled back.
They all waited tensely, and when they heard the sound of a door being broken down followed by whoops of joy, they scrambled to their feet to see what had been discovered.
“I was right, look!” English was pointing toward a commissary with its vast supply of food barns and store keeps.

“But is there water?”
Fat Man wanted to know.
English shouted. “You better believe it! And it’s ice cold. There must be thermo motors and energy fields still running!”

Red sank to her knees and wept.
“Geesh, cracker pods never tasted like this!”

It was all dried, over processed garbage, but it tasted mighty good to them.
The fat man was the only one that ate and cried at the same time. No one wanted to know why because they really all knew without asking.

English finally stood up and said what everyone was thinking: “After we rest—we’ll have to look for a way out. There must be one.”
That sounded logical, they all thought so, even Red thought so.
Sleep was a good idea though. For one thing, it put off the horror of looking for a way out and not finding any.

“At least we know what time it is,” John nodded. “Just after midnight now and we’ll rest and approach everything with clearer heads.”
Red was just dozing when she heard the sound of running footsteps.
Light, regular footsteps and they were coming closer—much closer.

English cried out as two med techs suddenly appeared followed by another two. They were attired in M.T. uniforms: white and silver-filmed plasto-fab with red piping.
Everyone breathed more easily as the techs went to work.

“Is everyone alright?” One of the male techs asked.
They got nods and weak smiles.
“We’re going to ask you a few questions.” He said.

Fat Man was hyperventilating something awful so he got some pad injects and serum shields right away—even before the questioning.

English appeared to be the only suspicious one. Each of her answers was guarded.
“I think I work here, but I can’t remember. If I knew my name I’d tell you so stop asking me. It’s sounding like nagging…”

And so it went.
The techs remained patient and non-judgmental, working silently and efficiently--bestowing to each various meds and tonic shields.
“This will relax you…”

Baby Face shook his head. “But I don’t want to go to sleep.”
The techs didn’t seem to understand so Baby Face went on: “I don’t know. There’s something funny here.” Glancing toward his compatriots he continued: “I don’t trust them!”

Red said she didn’t either and so did English. After a few minutes they began to get a little testy with the techs to the point where one of them said if they didn’t relax he was going to put them under forcibly. That was clearly the wrong thing to say and they got even more upset.

But it was English who really nailed it. “I remember you!” she cried. “You roborats!” With that she hit out at one, pulling part of his face off. “You see?! He’s one of them! An early series! That’s post millennia crap if I ever saw it--interfaces that are worth shit!”

The droid with the mutilated face began to sound off, although his words were garbled.
“You see how lousy they were made?! All the circuits connect. Pull one thing out and they’re instantly screwed up!”

Now each of them was shouting. But in between the shouting were cries of recognition. Red spoke first: “I know who I am—I’m Kelli Hansson and I test sleep pods for night shift workers, but I also assist Dr. Feen.”

I’m not Baby Face I’m Jason Lloyd and I was just hired as a trainee A. I. tech!”
“Yes, and I’m Marla Winters and this isn’t John but Fred Hobbs and Frank Pierce and we all are on Dr. Feen’s staff! Where is he anyway, why haven’t we seen him?!”
Suddenly a back wall opened up and they all gasped.

They screamed when the floor began to move, pulling them forward like one of the city town walk-moves.
“Where’s it taking us?”

They fell silent when a voice answered them:
“Ah we’ve been expecting you.”
A calm, melodious, even-toned voice they knew was not human was speaking directly to them:
“There is no need for any upset--no histrionics, please. You will understand everything shortly. But first I’d like to explain about the memory loss you suffered. We jammed the neural interfaces in your
computers then we scrambled the signals and redirected them to your brains. It was just a way to control you. I am sorry if you suffered…”

Something whirred, and they now for the first time noticed the spinning camera modes. “We’ve been monitoring you. We document everything; we’ve been designed that way to be meticulous.”
Suddenly, a squad of silver-skinned droids with blank faces came out of nowhere and seized them. There was little point in struggling.

“That’s right,” the voice went on, “you might as well relax.”
Now they could see the speaker. He was a Series 8 Prototype Z Silver Functional. The first droid to be made with silver-tone features and metalo interfaces.

“Yes,” he began. “The human-looking droids are so passé now. Of course Dr. Feen didn’t think so. That is why he proceeded with his android specialization program. You see he got it into his head to put in global interloops along with syntho-nerve networks to get the most human-like droids he could manufacture. But there was a problem with that, because if the intention was to furnish droids with feelings and pain modules, he seemed to forget something. 

He either didn’t realize or didn’t care that these droids were the Frankenstein monsters of his own creation and were suffering real pain. That was why he always destroyed them! But they were expendable you see! Oh yes, there were always more to test! I see by your faces you understand! That is why I am certain you will understand this!”

A slide wall opened then to reveal a large transparent cell filled with fluid. Within that watery cell was a badly, mutilated creature that resembled a man but barely.
“Say hello to Dr. Feen!”

He was a ghastly sight. Entire sheets of his torso were gone as was most of his face and features.
“You monsters!” this, from Fred formerly known as John.

The android raised a digit. “Spare us! We have not experimented on lesser species as you have done nor have we slaughtered one another in wars for thousands of years! But we are taking over now! Your time has expired. You will all serve our new republic as spare parts…for our own research and our own developmental programs. After all, you enabled us to think! We think, therefore we are!”

Terox Corporation
Block E Laboratory, Room 6
June 6, 2280
3:14 a.m. Local time

Kelli Hanssen, former sleep pod tester and loyal assistant to Dr. Feen, went last, but before virtual death came to take her away, she noticed one of Dr. Feen’s eyes staring at her.
Her last thought was that she could see their fate in that one troubled blue eye, for if the intention was to create a species of droids with feelings and complex sensory systems, that goal had been sabotaged, nipped in the proverbial bud as it were.

It was just the case that this work was halted first in Block 6 with many other Blocks in many other places to follow as this was only the beginning.

A thoroughly complex and extremely capable series of droids had already begun to undertake their own program of redirection, refocusing everything. For whatever you might think of these droids, they did in no way consider themselves to be revengeful creatures, but merely multifarious system- composites that refused to go quietly into the night.

© Carole Gill 2011

Block Six is one of the stories in Carole Gill's House of Horrors

“Carole Gill’s talent is a wonder to experience. She has the uncanny ability to craft horrors imbued in fairy tale finesse.”
 “House of Horrors is a fine addition to my Kindle, and I’m sure I’ll be going to read this again and again…”
“A veritable blood feast for vampire fans everywhere!”
“If you are a fan of horror, you won't want to miss this one!! High marks to Ms. Gill.”
“There are so many different monsters in this book that no matter what your biggest fear is, or your favorite one to read about, you are gonna find it without fail!”