jwrites3

"Here is a collection of tales that may leave your mind twisted. Twisted Tails is an anthology as warped as any I have ever read. J. Richard Jacobs rounds a motley cast of writers, including, Peter Prellwitz (who has been an Eppie finalist), Marilyn Peake, Jeremy Davies, Biff Mitchell and many others who pool their talents to weave a tapestry of tales that you may be able to read from cover to cover...I could not. For me, it was like a rich dessert, just a little at a time worked best.

The collection of thirty-one bizarre stories will keep you guessing; you never know what to expect next. "Picture Postcards" is a wonderful story of the ultimate revenge gone awry. In "Veil" you will meet a hideous troll that will raise the hair on the back of your neck. There is even a "Big Red Gift" under the Christmas tree that is a great surprise. Check out the UFOs in "Return to Roswell" with Marilyn Peake and find out why Biff Mitchell is "In a Bad Mood".

Frightening, funny, and just plain weird, this sampler gave me a teasing preview of the great talent of these many writers. I will certainly be looking for some of the longer works by many of my favorites.

Beverly J. Rowe" -- myshelf

"Twisted Tails is a delicious, diverse collection of weird and wonderful short stories. You’ll find yourself dipping into this collaboration just to get away from it all between mundane tasks, like cleaning your house and doing mindless work for your boss at the office. Heck, you don’t even need a reason to dip in because you’ll be eager to read another one and another one and another until they’re all gone, leaving you wanting more like the proverbial bag of chips.

Mr. Jacobs promises a sweet, sour, bitter, tangy, titillating, tantalizing, torturous, terrifying, humorous, and horrifying blend of tales to satisfy every taste, and I assure you he keeps that promise.

Things aren’t always as they seem in these stories, yet you find yourself surprised by the ending every time. The tales keep you engrossed, each having originality I’ve seldom encountered in any compilation of its kind....

...The thirty-one short stories in Twisted Tails will keep boredom at bay—I promise!

Margaret Marr" -- Nights and Weekends

Twisted Tails, An Anthology to Surprise and Delight, isn't so much between the cracks as it covers all the cracks. In this mammoth tome (552 pages) every fan of fantasy, sci-fi and horror will find something to taste. It's like a thirty-one course gourmet meal.

Editor J. Richard Jacobs, introduces each story with a food themed metaphor. Of Steve Lazarowitz’s story "Dead Wrong," Jacobs writes, "Life is full of options. Like our menu. Some are of our own choosing. Some are . . . well, not. Some appear to be the work of destiny. This Lazarowitz offering is a tray filled with options. Hamburger or filet mignon? The choice is yours. Will the decision be yours, or will you be driven . . . by some other force?"

"Dead Wrong" is a sinister sci-fi look at what will happen when death gets a better marketing firm. Marilyn Peake’s "Tiger in the Plum Blossoms" is a chilling Japanese myth. "Throwing up Sashes" by Peter Prellwitz is a delightful tale of Christmas in a biodome. Jeremy Davies turns the kingdom on its head, when a dragon saves the knight in distress from an arm-wrestling princess in " . . . In Distress."

Each of these stories and the others in this anthology come with a jolt at the end.
Sometimes it’s a pleasant surprise, sometimes not, but it’s always worth reading to the end.

Twisted Tails is the first of three anthologies edited by J. Richard Jacobs and published by Double Dragon Publishing. Twisted Tails II, Volumes 1 & 2 are time travel themed stories with that hallmark twist ending. Twisted Tails III: Pure Fear is now open for submissions.

Kim McDougall

From VEIL by K. L. Nappier

   The mere sight of the troll as he lumbered down the road scattered the villagers. Children were scooped up, doors were barred and windows shuttered, so certain was everyone of terror.

   Hideous to look upon, was he, with skin green as scum water, as scarred as Satan’s soul, pockmarked and oozing with the stench of the dying’s last breath. Hearing him shuffle past their houses was enough to kill several villagers then and there.

From ...IN DISTRESS by Jeremy Davies

   It ended in a picture but it started with a map. And a boy.

   “So it’s a treasure map?” The boy hopped and skipped beside the knight, his head bobbing up and down. You didn’t often see strangers from the east. From the big cities.

   “No it’s not a bloody treasure map, it’s a topographical map. Now bog off!” Sir Gareth Thinspot was not a normal knight. He didn’t like rape or pillage, single combat in dark patches of unknown forest, or drinking himself into a homicidal stupor. He was short and thin and wore glasses so thick you could crack walnuts with them, and what he did like to do was make maps.

From DEAD WRONG by Steve Lazarowitz

   “I want to die.”

   She sat across the table from him, eyes on her half-eaten dinner.

   “What!”

   “Don’t make me say it again, Charles.”

   “You can’t let go. We’ve only just begun.”

   Leila lifted her head and met his gaze. “It’s the right thing to do.”

   “Why? Because charities will donate money to a worthy cause of your choice? Because the incentives are so tempting? Because the goddamn government tells you it’s your duty? What about us?”

   “We’d still be together.”

   “How do you know?”

   “Holy scripture tells us—."

From THINGS by J. Richard Jacobs

   Verdan Shak had not spoken since they left the bloodied Field of Honor. He just sat slumped over in the saddle, rocking with the rhythmic movement of his mount as it ambled along the trail. He contemplated what seemed, for him, an impossible future. He dreamed the incredible dream of peaceful days and quiet nights with a pleasant and properly plump woman by his side, maybe even a child or two to help tend the garden he would plant. They would need trade goods for use as bargaining tools with the local village hunters to purchase meat and skins. The meat to keep his family’s bellies full and skins to shield their bodies from the cold of long Winter nights.

   Nonsense. What right have I to think such things? I was born to be a warrior and a warrior I shall be, till someone puts an end to it for me. I have been fortunate to have survived this long, I think. Besides, what woman, unless almost blind, would give a second glance at such a spent man as I have become? Look at me—bent, disfigured, scarred, and...old far before his time. Better to think of other things. But, still....

From SHANTY GIRL by Eugen M. Bacon

   Ivy Freeman felt invincible.

   Something taut and sweet spread adrenaline through every tip of her. Her heart pumped like a sprinter’s foot.

   It was more than enjoyment; it was obsession.

   She gazed at a shooting star cutting across a grey and indigo night. Standing in open moonlight, fireflies stroking her cheek, she knew she had claimed new heights.   Curled at her feet, the tortured body of Welfare, her first grown female, lay in slumber from which there was no waking.

From WITCHES' SEASON by Marilyn Peake

   Flames threw pools of light onto the darkened emerald grass. Bursts of sun before a gathering storm. Black clouds billowed, thickened, pulled tightly together, an angry mob of condensed, cold liquid sky.

   John leaned over and whispered furtively into Jacob’s ear, “She doesn’t cry out. That should ease your soul.”

   Jacob turned his head slightly in the direction of John, startled by the intrusion. Without looking at the other man, continuing to gaze intently at the fire, he responded, “Yes. Yes, it does. Witches often do not cry out or complain in any way. They don’t suffer as we do.”

From CASSEOPEIA'S TEARS by D. L. White and Peter Prellwitz

   Once upon a time there lived a mighty and gracious King who ruled over a distant and exotic land by the sea. The sea gods, knowing the King to be wise and honorable, blessed him and looked upon his ships with favor.

   The King had many sons and daughters, all wise and strong. His eldest son, who would one day rule the land, sought an additional measure of wisdom. So the King sent the Prince to go among the people. With his father's blessing, the Prince stole away onto one of the land's many vessels, disguised as an ordinary sailor.

From THE LIES WE TELL OURSELVES by Jamie A. Hughes

   “Is order 72914 ready for programming?” the young technician said into his headset.

   From the upload terminal, the computer applications manager replied, “Yeah, she's baked and ready for the stuffing. Let’s start with the princess files first. They always take the domestic tranquility ones more cleanly after that.”

   “I heard that,” the technician said as he cupped the robot’s soft breast in his left hand. With a smirk on his face he asked, “Wasn’t life a lot more fun when we could just go out to a bar and meet a girl? Now we have to special order. Gives new meaning to ‘mail order bride,’ doesn’t it?”

From AIN'T NO DOC FOR THE FALLING APART BLUES by Biff Mitchell

   Jason flicked the light switch, and his other thumb fell off. So much for opposable thumbs, he thought. Does this redefine me in some evolutionary sense as less than human? Probably not, he decided, but it had been a week for redefining his anatomy: two thumbs, one foot, half an ear, and one testicle. All gone.

   He was starting to worry in spite of Al’s assurances that it was just a passing thing as Jason spooned an ear lobe out of his coffee. “Bit of sleep, proper exercise, you’ll be fine,” Al had said. “These things have a way of righting themselves.”

   But eight hours later, his ear was showing no signs of righting itself, and the image of his left testicle plopped on top of a deodorant cake in the urinal was still disturbingly clear in his mind.

From EMMA'S DILEMMA by Margaret Whitley

   Earth whirled in its orbit; puffy clouds strolled across azure skies as Emma carefully swung the wheel of her Volvo wagon. She turned into the school parking lot just in time to hear the dismissal bell ring. Brooding on the myriad errands still to do, she watched the crowd of freed children surge through the doorways. There! She picked out the copper sheen of her twins’ braids as they clattered down the stairs and ran to the car. Madeline, the older and bolder, was already chattering full speed when she opened the car door. Jeanette, ten minutes younger and the more thoughtful of the two, gave her mom a quick peck on the cheek through the open window before climbing into the car.

   “Guess what, Mom? We’re going on a field trip to the museum and then we’ll have a picnic lunch in the park by the pond! Jeanie and I want to wear our new matching pony shirts!”

The water dimpled around the boat; lacy fabric overhead; fresh damp air brushed her cheeks. Waves lapped the side of the boat as a distant voice sang a lilting love song.

   “Mom! Are you listening?”

From EYE FOR AN EYE by Peter Prellwitz

   Five years…

   “Hey, Shannon! I can see the bottom of my bottomless cup!”

   I nodded heavily and picked up the pot. I trudged my way to the overweight trucker and refilled his mug. Heavyweight Steve everyone called him. Not because of the three hundred pounds he carried—mostly gathered in his middle and his head—but because he’d been a heavyweight boxing contender “back in the day”. From what I’d heard, Steve’s “back in the day” was before I was born and lasted just that: the day. Still, in a cliché world of truckers, diners, and rainy nights on long, black highways, even one “back in the day” would bring comfort no lot lizard could.

   He leered at me but said nothing. I’d been special forces military back in my day and would only take shit in the form of looks. No touchie, no talkie or I pull something off or out of you. Everyone called me Shannon, but everyone knew me as No-Shit Shannon. What is it with these nicknames?

   “Whatcha’ doin’ after you get off?” Steve asked me, God knows why. Must have had a death wish.

From DON'T WAKE THE DREAMER by Terence West

   The world seemed to fade in and out around him as though it weren’t entirely real. Familiar shapes seemed blurred and edgeless. His body and mind were flooded with the dull thump of pain and exhaustion. The room was dark, but he couldn’t tell if it was night, or just a consequence of his tired eyes. Running his hand over his face, he slowly became cognizant of a voice talking to him. “Sarah…?”

   “Yeah,” Sarah replied softly. “I’m here.” She took a slow breath as she looked at her battered and bruised husband. “How are you doing?”

   He ran his tongue over his dry lips and tried to blink his tired eyes. “I don’t feel so hot.”

   “After what you’ve been through, you’re just lucky to be here,” she said with an uncomfortable laugh. She was trying to keep the conversation light, but knew it was true.

   He tried to sit up, but a rush of pain slammed into his head like a freight train.   Quickly sinking back into the bed, he felt his temples throbbing as if the top of his head were about to pop. He wondered for a moment if his skull did indeed explode from the pressure if it would bring any release. “How long have I been sleeping?”