Writing is not always a solitary experience. Sometimes you get to meet interesting and talented people who inspire you.
I have met many interesting writers and Rebecca Besser is one of them. A very talented writer with and honest and outspoken opinion, who writes dark and bloody stories, that could make you want to hide under your covers at night.
I had the fortune to read the Hall of Twelve, and it is not for the fainthearted. The concept of this story fascinates me.
So, everyone, meet Rebecca Besser, and enjoy her story the Hall of Twelve
Rebecca Besser originally wrote Hall of Twelve as a flash fiction story (1000 words or less) for a contest on the Collaboration of the Dead forum. Although she didn’t win, she and a few others were in love with the concept of the story – beings for an alternate realm that had flesh craving monster pets. These Beings captured those who didn’t serve as immediate meals for the pets and took them to the Hall of Twelve, where each captive was given the chance to win their freedom by a roll of dice.
This version – the short story version – is much expanded past the original one that didn’t even reach 1K, and she plans to expand Hall of Twelve into a full length novel sometime in the future.
The short story in ebook form usually sells on Kindle for $.99, but she has decided to give Hall of Twelve away for free March 15-17th (2013) so you can “taste” her brand of horror. I hope you enjoy the story and look up more of her writing. You can find out more about Rebecca Besser by visiting her website: http://www.rebeccabesser.com or by searching her name on Amazon to find more of her work. (She recently released a novel entitled, “Nurse Blood,” for Kindle.)
To “wet” your appetite for Hall of Twelve, enjoy this brief excerpt!
Excerpt from Hall of Twelve by Rebecca Besser:
“Lying on the bottom step was his daughter’s tennis shoe with a bloody bone protruding out of it, pointing into the corner. Blood dripped from the leg to the step and onto the tile of the foyer; strips of muscle and skin hung loosely from the bone, slouching limply against the red, saturated carpet.
Jack bent over as he lost the contents of his stomach, adding color and acidity to the already wet floor. He fell to his knees, and that’s when he saw Regan’s head; it was sitting in the potted fern by the door.
Her eyes were gone, leaving dark hollows where the windows to her soul had once been, and all the flesh was missing from her face. Her cheekbones were still pinkish red from the blood that was trickling down over her small, exposed white teeth to drip into the dark soil beneath her jawbone, which hung at a drunken angle.
Slowly, he crawled over to her, envisioning her beautiful face and her bright smile. Held in his vision of the girl he loved so much, he lifted his hand to caress her hair, but when his hand came in contact with slick, rough skull, he knew the carnage was indeed reality. He cupped the head of his daughter in his hand and drew it close into the crook of his arm – his mind and body were numb with shock and grief.
Jack’s hand absently caressed the top of the bloody skull and his fingers became entangled in the few scraps of scalp and clinging hair that still remained on the bone. With disgust he shook them off, and as they landed in the blood and vomit mixture with a plop, he noticed for the first time that there was a hole in the back and the brains were missing. Around the hole were deep groves that looked like they’d been made with something long and sharp. The only thing his brain could come up with was tooth marks, but he couldn’t think of anything that large with teeth that big. Now curious, he looked over at the leg bone laying a few feet from him; he could clearly see similar grooves on it.
Suddenly, his brain cleared a bit and he remembered his wife. He’d been so shocked at finding the severed pieces of his daughter, he’d forgotten all about her.
“Maggie,” he whispered, and looked around frantically, but he didn’t see any of her laying in the entrance way of their home.”