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Swamp Witch Sauce Piquante and Scream Queen Bisque
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ISBN-10: 1-55404-101-5
ISBN-13: 
Genre: Dark Fantasy
eBook Length: 214 Pages
Published: January 2004
OUT OF PRINT

From inside the flap

Two horrific tales to delight Korn lovers.

In "The White Trash Witches Coven", Keith Ogden accidentally meets a witch in a Super-Usav-Mart. When she invites him to join the coven, he accepts, thinking of evil sorceries and dances with the devil. The gaggle of chatty women he encounters severely disappoints, with their baby pictures, recipes, and addictions to trashy afternoon TV. Is this "coven" just a group of wannabes, or is something more sinister lurking underneath the chicken grease?

In "Pavane for a Scream Queen", Jeff Vincent, freelance writer for Filmland Magazine and as-of-yet-undiscovered novelist, has landed the interview of a lifetime with cult favorite Aurora Sterling, scream queen of the 1950's classic B-movies. But when Dame Aurora cancels and those who worked with her die or go into hiding, Jeff finds himself in the middle of a mystery. What is the secret behind this gorgeous, elegant woman? Is it just Hollywood hype, or something else much older and eternal?


Swamp Witch Sauce Piquante and Scream Queen Bisque (Excerpt)


The White Trash Witches' Coven

Chapter One


The main reason he remembered meeting his first sorceress in the Super-Usav-Mart near the old Mall was because she told him it was just one day before the New Moon was coming. She had told him it was good to pick Coltsfoot before the New Moon showed and then disappeared. She stolidly confessed to him that she always picked a bunch of Coltsfoot herbs for her head witch at just the right time, when she could remember. What did he know about it -- he was there getting his car fixed.

The Super-Usav-Mart was packed full of dull people then, Keith remembered, as it would be until the end of Time, in the industrial blight that was his town's industrial sprawl. But the store had a surreal quality in retrospect when he met her there that bizarre day:

He remembered how vaporously hot the air was that particular day a few months ago -- the Louisiana sun was brutally beating down more than usual on the sprawling lot. The vans, trucks, and SUVs were literally baking -- waves of thermal heat radiated from them. The sun seemed to melt the chuck-holed surface of the giant parking lot into a tar-ridden ectoplasmic goo from which no one would ever escape. Above, the stench-ridden halogen sky's edge, normally as clean and sharp as a cheap ice pick, was despoiled by scudding gray-brown clouds of stench -- pollution from one of the refineries that drifted above the mammoth structure. He could taste the stench on his breath -- it was the stench of the stuff that clings to the walls of Hell itself.

Keith despised going to these stores with a Holy passion. He felt that every visit he made was a piece of his own Death. He did have a fantasy theory in general about the Super-Usav-Marts that blemished the town's stygian landscape like giant mutated witches teat warts. He recalled the origin of this theory was borne in the parking lot that particular day as he squinted at the monstrous aberration that was the store across the vast expanse of the lot -- its giant sedges of windows giving it the illusion of a hideous face with multiple eldritch eyes. The old coot of a 'greeter' who gathered the straying shopping carts was Beelzebub himself. Keith heard him say to the poor souls entering the place -- "Welcome to Hell", "Welcome to Hell".

This wretched store could be atop an Occult hill he had read about, surrounded by mist, with a well of caustic arsenic underneath near a basin of fire from which rises a livid flame. This store is a water cistern in a vapid, arid wasteland. Something Arcane resides here. And also something that denotes moral and philosophical Alchemy. This store's ware revenues turn base metals into gold by the minute with each customer's purchase of diapers, shampoo, Britney Spears CDs, and forty-roll packages of "Super Cuddly Soft" toilet paper.

In general, when it came to the Black Arts, Keith was a chaste, new-frocked moron until he met Mistress Eileen, the lady with the Coltsfoot. He never expected to meet a full-fledged witch in a Super-Usav-Mart. He thought, maybe in a bohemian coffeehouse, or in an Herbal store, but not in that mundane atrocity of a building.

This was at a time when he was really reading up on Metaphysics.

He had been for some time, actually: thick tomes by James Churchward, E.A.Wallis Budge, Aliester Crowley, and the boss of them all, Madame Blavatsky.

He had to chuckle because when he did meet the sorceress, the first thing she had said was that she could tell he was a virgin to Witchcraft as much as she could tell a girl was a virgin by making her walk through a swarm of bees.

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