Bøger udgivet af Perpetual Motion Machine Publishing

The guys following her home are bad enough, but when Jacalyn's Poppa comes to the rescue, things only get worse. After all, he's been dead for six years. There's no time to be relieved, because when she ends up back at Poppa's new apartment, nothing feels right. The food here doesn't taste how food should taste. The doors don't work how doors are supposed to work. And something's not right with Poppa. Guilt and sickness spiral Jacalyn into a nightmarish new reality of Lynchian hallucinations and grotesque body horror.

After getting kicked out of his anarchist art collective for defending McDonald's, Ephraim develops an idea to create a robot/vending machine with the ability to hug children. He is no roboticist, but through dumb luck manages to hook up with a genius--a like-minded individual who also happens to be the last living Neanderthal. Meanwhile, a former personal assassin for a former president is fired from the CIA for sexual misconduct with a couple of blow-up dolls. He becomes determined to return to the government's good graces by infiltrating Ephraim's anarchist art collective in the hopes that they are actually terrorists. What follows is a bizarre, psychedelic journey that could only take place in the heart of Austin, Texas.

From the author of Dead Men and Mister White, John C. Foster continues his odyssey through the horror genre with his debut story collection. Within these pages, you will board a train to Detroit on a route littered with the darkest monstrosities the mind can imagine ("Highballing Through Gehenna"); a man avenges his father's murder in a series of violent mobster slayings ("Burial Suit"); a mute ventriloquist and his chattery dummy seek a therapist ("Talk to Leo"); future soldiers summon forth an ancient evil to battle an alien menace ("The Willing"); body smugglers crash land on a world where sinister trees feed on flesh ("Meat"); an interrogation takes a strange, psychedelic turn ("Girl Six"); a special agent investigates a potential alien invasion ("Red"); the undead infiltrate the Whiskey-A-Go-Go ("Dead on the Sunset Strip"); a man is hired by a nefarious agency to witness prison executions around the country ("A Lamb to Slaughter"); and a pair of paranormal scam artists suffer when they confront true evil ("Baby Powder").

"Great powers comin' your way and you need to be prepared," Godmamma said, voice a papery whisper. "The harpies of the north manipulated a holy man into a great working but it's all fallin' apart. Men that was dead walk again. You know them, chile. You seen their work." Light slashed across the far wall. "Them in the black car?" She remembered the big man with icy eyes laying waste to her people. "Them in the black car," the old woman said, voice rising over the engine's growl. "Four of them. Tied to you." "I didn't want--" "They an insult to the natural order and so was that Hand of Glory you worked," Godmamma interrupted. "When you reached out with that dead hand," and here the old woman closed her eyes and mimed feeling about blindly, "they cleaved to each other's wrongness an' you grabbed their strings." Godmamma clenched her hand in a fist, knuckles bulging as if they would split her skin. "You worked a mighty hex and someone used your play for they own ends. Now them that was below is comin' up. The end of what we know and beginnin' of somethin' new. You gotta do your part, Hoodoo Girl."

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN HIGH HEAVEN AND LOW HELL Born in blood . . . the first breath and all that follow, tainted by original trauma, echoing throughout every thought, every heartbeat; blossoming into more profound pain, until breath and thought both cease . . . What we grow accustomed to...what we can endure: The days bleed into one another, as we do; hurt defining every moment. No more. Now, all instants are one; pulsing brilliant, ecstasy and agony, rendered down; experienced in a heartbeat. Every shame. Every sorrow. Humanity, history. This is what we are; the God we gave birth to. Better? Yes. Yes. Now, we all suffer the same; no more division; no privilege or powerlessness. We are the same; sexless, skinless, ex sanguine. And we celebrate, content in our disgrace.

THE SKY IS HUNGRY Glowing lights and figures in tattered robes force Sarah from her apartment. Outside, phosphorescent creatures infiltrate her every orifice. They want to know everything, especially the things she would rather forget. Featuring 20 black and white illustrations.

A collection of horror fiction that's both a love letter and a middle finger to the zombie saturation of our culture. It's the backlash to the backlash, as zombies are finally unfashionable enough to be cool again. Inside, you will rehearse end-of-the-world scenarios with the staff of a tourist trap, follow an undead love triangle struggling to survive a tipping point of post-modern, pop-culture references, and enjoy one small apocalypse after another as the living continue to adapt to a new world of the dead, where they'll finally discover who is hungrier. Don't let these poor souls dine in vain.