From the shore, Jessie cups one hand to her mouth, gives a little wave with the other. “If you’re looking for your shirt, it’s just there,” she says, pointing to one side of the boat.

Slowly, Tom leans over, wincing at the pain of movement, and notices what Jessie’s pointing to.

One sleeve of his flannel shirt is tied to the base of the oar lock. The rest of it drags in the water.

The shirt is soaked in blood.

“Just chumming the water,” she says, smiling.

Tom stares back at her for a moment, as if confused, then realizes what she’s done. Broken face be damned, he bends himself over the boat and grabs the shirt, yanks it from the water. For a few seconds, he stares at the oily surface of the lake, the swirl of dark blood.

Below the surface, something rises toward him, black as ink, big as a bus.

A hundred eyes open wide.

A mass of long shimmering tentacles erupts from the water, wrap themselves around the boat, and around Tom, crushing him flat against the bench.

“Nooo! Oh God, no!” he screams as the boat is driven backward, shooting away from shore toward the deepest part of the lake. Spitting water overflows the stern of the small rowboat, washing over Tom as he grips the railings with white-knuckled hands.

Jessie yells more loudly this time, making sure he’ll hear her over all the noise.

“I hear that bitch is always hungry!”

There’s a loud CRACK and the bow of the boat shoots skyward. A great gush of water erupts upward like a fountain of blood. Jessie watches as something breaks the surface, something with too many eyes and an alien skin blacker than outer space. Hundreds of long tentacles wave wildly through the air—too many for her to count.

There’s one last scream, the bone-cracking sound of shattering wood, and then ….

Nothing.

For a few moments, the water churns, followed by an eruption of bubbles that break the surface before settling. A host of ripples make their way toward shore.

Jessie, weight on her good leg, continues to watch. To make sure.

Minutes pass. The crown of a golden sun appears above the treetops, and the lake turns smooth as glass once again, reflecting the world that surrounds it like a mirror; a great eye, staring, wet with wonder, at the sky.

The rising sun gives the shining surface an amber glow, bright as a jewel, rich as honey. It fills Jessie with the deep, hopeful splendor of a brand new day.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

All of my story collections are—to some extent—themed.

Behold the Void is filled with “gut-punch” horror stories. Old-school, dark, dirty, angry tales filled with violence and mayhem and a dose of the surreal.

The stories in Beneath a Pale Sky, to me anyway, are more along the lines of supernatural thrillers, with the book containing strong thematic elements of the afterlife.

For No One Is Safe!, I wanted to have some fun. I wanted to create a book that stretched across genres, that gave off strong pulp vibes and was just a bit more off-the-wall bonkers than the collections I’d previously released. I purposely curated a book of stories that blurred the lines of sci-fi and horror, toggled between humanistic dread and dark comedy; that rode the swirling dark line between fantastical and terrifying.

Or, if nothing else, that it entertained. I hope it did, and I also hope it tickled the nightmares hiding deep inside your mind, lured them forward, out of their caves and into your dreams.

While I’m here, I’d like to thank some folks.

My thanks to Steve Berman at Lethe Press for taking on another one of my books. Thanks to my literary agent, Elizabeth Copps, for all she does for me.

If you spent a few minutes staring lovingly at the cover of this book, you can thank Jim and Ruth Keegan for the original paintings that adorn the front and rear covers. It’s an honor for me to have worked with them.

Thanks to Ronald Malfi for the Introduction, for being a shoulder to cry on, a drinking buddy, and a pal. Appreciate you, brother.

I need to give a shoutout to Mitch Hull, Steven Duane Allison Junior, Joshua Poblano, and Jeff Terry, who are the founders and administrators of the Fracassi Freaks Facebook group, which has been so supportive of me and my work these last few years. They’re also stellar beta readers. Thanks, guys.

I want to say a big thank you to all my Patron supporters, and give a special mention to all those incredible Sabbath Residents, who drank the milkshake and lived to tell about it:

Erik Rios, Phil Haagensen, Anna Aquino, Mark Hazelden, Jeff Fischer, Joel Sundquist, Erik Mann, Zachery Long, Roberto Hull, Michael Runner, Juan Trilleros, Sean Ford, Cristina Mancini, Rob Dolan, Brandon Sharp, JJ Murphy, Jason McDonald, H Michael Casper, Anthony Farana, John Fahey, Twan Van Gastel, Frank Scott Valeri, Alexia Simms, Aaron D Barnett, Kyle Davis, Hans Curtis, Alex Berman, Kevin Heimann, Shaun Rosel, William Karl Stansell, Noel Badger, David Perry, Andrea Della Gatta, Roger Geis, Scott Griffin, Austin Carroll, Anthony Vincent, Steven Duane Allison Junior, Daniel Benoit, Chase Callaway, James Boyer, Thomas Finnegan, Christine Warwick, Alex Sierra, Paul Miller, Parker McMillan, Shawn Jones, Mike Hughes, David Swisher, Timothy Bedwell.

Lastly, I want to thank my wife, Stephanie, for all her love and support. Writers lead combustive lives, often windmilling madly between the very good and the very bad, between wild elation and crushing disappointment, with a lot of solitary time in-between. Having a partner in crime for this life has allowed me the freedom and the support to do what I do, what I love, and to create these stories for you to read.

I think that covers it, so I’m gonna get back to the grind. Until next time, friends, keep reading, be kind to one another, and don’t be scared.

PF

Los Angeles

March 2024

PUBLICATION CREDITS

“The Wish” first appeared in Assemble Artifacts #1, October 2021

“The Last Haunted House Story” first appeared in 13 Haunted Houses, March 2022

“Murder by Proxy” - Interzone Magazine 294/295 - January 2023