|“Nightmares are commonplace in my profession…”
Alone in a crumbling manor, an aging undertaker recounts a horrifying episode from the early days of his career.
When an unspeakable monster trespasses the border between life and death, the undertaker finds himself in a fierce struggle to save the village he has sworn to serve — even if it means sacrificing his own family and faith in the process.
From the reviews…
“Camp’s storytelling is at times reminiscent of the great macabre masters such as Poe, creating a mythology that is both philosophically engaging and original. This book is a poetic outlier, and transcends many of the trite conventions found in so many of its contemporary monster or horror genre counterparts with deeper themes including explorations of love, faith, and alienation.”
“This story is more haunting, and I have many questions for the author that I hope will be answered in later books. The idea of solitude in a small town is not completely lost on me, and the fact of this story taking place in the past, perhaps the far past, is something that really draws my attention. Hooray for T.M. Camp! Please write more for us to read and listen to.”
“Told in the first person, it hints and suggests the evil to come, letting you gather the evidence for the ending of the tale. I thought this well written. Mr. Camp is able to evoke good pictures in your mind with his words. The story and the characters were intriguing.”
“I’m highly impressed with the writing… You can see that he has a confidence in his own writing… I would read another book by this author without question. The level is very high.”
There is something deeply distasteful about the annual Black Friday rituals. Lining up hours (even days) in advance, sacrificing comfort, sacrificing time with family or friends, risking possible injury in the mad press of the crowds, competing against the rest of the mob for discounts on already-overpriced baubles and gadgets.
There is violence. There are injuries and even death.
And yet people still participate in the ritual, every year.
Others look down their noses and tsk-tsk over the madness of crowds. We’re so superior and above it all, above the vulgarity of the proles.
And above that, there are the plutocrats — a word taken from a god whose name literally means “The Rich One” — they watch their balance sheets and stock prices as the tithes of the faithful roll in.
What lives above them, I wonder?
I am not being metaphorical. When I speak of “ritual” and “sacrifice” I mean it. I believe this is literally true.
Because all of this is a ritual, an annual cult festival with all the trappings of religious observance performed to the glory of (and in the service to) some very dark gods.
From us they demand, and receive, their sacrifice: Our time and money . . . even our blood.
Just another sacrifice.
We get their blessing in return, of course. Of course we do.
We get the discount, the deal, the bargain.
But is it worth it? Is it?
Because, to those gods I mentioned earlier, it absolutely is.
- This day…
- “They said I’d gone south…”
- lost keys
- “I listened to your problems, now listen to mine…”
- “I go under the earth and listen to the dead people talk…”
- Driving to School
- “I wish I knew where to start, how to give what you dream…”
- “Where is everybody..?”
- “Fair lamp of Night, its ornament and friend…”