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eBook Category: Horror
eBook Description: Thirteen outre tales of horror from a morbidly brilliant author. Robert Bloch (author of Psycho) called Michael Arnzen's first novel "a White trash Dr. Phibes."

eBook Publisher: Wildside Press, Published: Wildside Press, 2000
Fictionwise Release Date: June 2002

7 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [546 KB], eReader (PDB) [188 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [173 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [152 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [218 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [214 KB], hiebook (KML) [408 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [210 KB], iSilo (PDB) [143 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [177 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [218 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [234 KB]
Words: 54407
Reading time: 155-217 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

"Michael Arnzen presents unnerving description..."--Publisher's Weekly

"Michael A. Arnzen ... the most interesting new voice this year. His style is a down-home streetwise slang, hard and blunt, a little reminiscent of Joe R. Lansdale's crime novels, but without his southern sense of gothic madness. His work is a strange psychological exploration of desperation and insanity..."--Locus

Shut up and listen. Quit your thrashin' and screaming. Just sit there and hear me out, and maybe you'll understand why I have to do this. I don't wanna hurt you. I just want to explain. And then maybe you and me can make nice and be partners.

Okay? Okay.

It goes all the way back to my last poker night, back in Reno. I knew I'd lose, even before Johnny started dealing the cards out at the table. It was that familiar feeling in my fingers--that cold buzzing omen that feels like my digits are falling asleep. You've heard about those tingling corns that some farmers have on their foot that says it'll rain--it's something like that, only in my fingers. I usually get it when I'm playing The Box--that's what I call my piano, ya know--and I can feel it with an audience who's gonna heckle. Only this night, it told me I wasn't gonna be a winner in the poker game with Johnny and his boys. But I sat there and played anyway. Because I had no choice but to risk it.

You see, I was in deep, real deep. I already owed Johnny a bundle on a loan he had sharked me for the surgery, and he kept starin' at me over his cards with that goofy green plastic cashier's visor of his like he'd come to collect my debt. I brought enough dough with me to the game that if I bet right, I could pay Johnny back in full. But that throb in my fingers told me otherwise. Stupid me, I thought I still had a chance. I shoulda got my ass outta there, but I didn't. You know how that feels, right? Sure ya do. Everyone does.

Anyway, halfway through the game I got dealt a hand that told me otherwise--four tens. Right off the deal--no need to even draw. I've never been so lucky in my life. And my fingers were buzzin' like Novocaine, shaking as I tried my best to hold on to those magic cards. I bet all I had--sky's always the limit with Johnny and his pals--and most of them folded. But Johnny thought I was bluffing. He matched my bet--with plenty of chips to spare on his end of the table--and called. I tossed my cards and grinned.

When he grinned back, I knew I shoulda trusted my fingers.