Brian Jaime - Writer

Featuring Brian's short story First Born.

from the Book Cover

Zombies. Vampires. Revenants. Undead things that should not be. Now the undead share their tales, with over two dozen stories and poems of brain-feasting, blood-sucking, revenge-seeking terror. Follow the walking dead through playgrounds, shopping centers, deserted towns, and corporate complexes as they continue their relentless quests.

from ENWorld.org

Can zombies be reformed with support groups? Does 'til death do us part' include undeath as well? Can you really escape the dead's thirst for revenge? Find out the answers to these questions, and many more, with this gory, frightening, and sometimes funny collection of short stories and poems honoring all things undead.

Dead Men (and Women) Walking features over two dozen tales of zombies, vampires, revenents...and even a guest appearance by the Grim Reaper. Also includes some original artwork by up and coming genre artists.

Visit the official Dead Men (and Women) Walking homepage for the complete line-up and to learn more about the authors and artists involved.

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First Born (Sample)
by Brian Jaime

from the Dead Men and Women Walking anthology

A muddy foot, blistered, bruised and bleeding, stumbled across the forest floor. Tattered britches made way to the worn body of a withered man. He exhaled and inhaled rapidly, doing his best to keep going. Frequently, he would look back behind him as if he was checking up on an advancing predator. He was thin, worn and dirty. His filthy hair clung to his sweaty unkempt face.

He struggled to remember who he was, where he had come from and why he was running. His mind raced with empty thoughts. All he knew was that he had to run. He had to keep going and get as far away from the direction from where he had come. He didn't know why. He just knew that he had to.

Somewhere behind him, a flock of disturbed birds flew out from a thicket of trees. Had he been followed? He paused, only for a second, to study the dense forest. It was quiet. Sunlight crept in from the loose canopy above. He hesitated and then crept back slowly, the chill of a cool breeze swept across his bare neck.

The pain came instantaneously; beginning on his neck's left side and working its way across his chest and down his spinal column. His body surged with discomfort and he fell to his knees. grunting, he gnashed his teeth and searched for the origin of the malaise. His ears rang and his mouth grew cottony and bitter. He stood up, arched his back and continued further, passing through thin trees and low brush.

The forest gave way to a clearing, a meadow of wild flowers and tall grass. He dashed out into the sunlight and staggered across the field until he came to the side of a narrow, dirt road. His feet flopped under him and he hit the rocky earth head-on. His vision swirled and, all at once, everything went black. [...]

©2006 by Brian Jaime.

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Featuring Brian's short story Bring Crosses.

[...] a collection of works spawned by a particularly talented group of horror writers. [...] in time, as a reader of this sort of genre, you'll notice each of their names resurface here and there, in very grand ways [...] after you've read this book thoroughly and set it down before bedtime and after the nightmares inspired by the visions herein have left a reasonably sizeable scar on your psyche, and the names of those responsible for those nightmares that this book has left with you will haunt you forever. I'm talking talent here. Talent enough to scar that psyche, talent enough to make you remember these writers' names and the stories they have to tell.

Embark to Madness was started as an online web group [...] and the group has attracted an assortment of ambitious personalities that can be heard as a combined voice only here, amongst these pages. As the genre of horror ebbs and flows [...], this anthology is proof that there exists among us a culture of serious writers that have within them the power to bring the entire ravenous beast that is horror literature back in full swing, for all to read and all to read in awe.

I dare you to take a look, take a visit to George Raymond's house or the Whisper Tide Inn or a haunted hotel. Beware of the Dust Creatures, demons disguised as priests, or an eerie soul selling special watches. Feel the need for human hearts besides your own? Cheating on your wife, perhaps? Find a dead baby in the trash? A serial killer who thinks he's Dracula? Imagine a girl who doesn't exist, and you have to look for her. Can't get over the death of your dog? Too bad. Have to get a hold of someone who has the answer to all your problems but just can't reach him? Terribly twisted tales, and these are just a taste of what's in store.

Now, the thing is, I know you'll enjoy these tidbits of the darkly fantastic. But after the enjoyment wears off, the black dreams will begin to truly attack, and for that these writers offer no life insurance, no back door, no way to erase what you've already read. You're stuck with the visions, may find yourself reciting them to your grandchildren in years to come, once they've come of age and can take it. [...]

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Bring Crosses (Sample)
by Brian Jaime

from Embark to Madness the anthology

He was only seven when he first discovered he was a seer. His aunt had called them "visions". He called them attacks. He'd never found a way to control them when they came. He learned there were signs to watch for when one or many would soon plague his psyche. His hands would ache and he would lose his ability to move.

The day after an attack, he would feel ill. His head would spin and he'd vomit.

He hated the sickness of the attacks. It was something he had endured for twenty years of his life. And, probably be forced to endure it until he was purged from this world.

The first day was the worst. It usually was.

His hand had been in his mother's as they departed the funeral.

"Calvin, your father, he loved you. Don't forget that." His mother looked down at him, tears flowing from her red eyes. They had stopped only feet away from the gray coffin, which was slowly being lowered into the fresh ground. He studied the coffin for a second before it disappeared from sight.

"I Promise," he said dolefully.

"I'm sending you to your aunt's for the summer. I need time to...to..." His mother dragged him along searching for the right words to say.

The first thing he remembered happening was a dull ache, which crept up his wrist into the hand that his mother held.

"...to fix things, make things better...for us."

He snapped his hand out of hers and held it to his chest. The searing pain came in waves before moving on to the other hand.

"Calvin? Sweetie? What's wrong?"

Thick beads of perspiration ran down his forehead, burning his small green eyes.

Run, was all he could think.

Run away. Get far away from here. Go!

He couldn't think straight; the voices came from all sides, from everywhere.

Just go! You mustn't stay here. You must run! [...]

©2005 by Brian Jaime.

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