Nailed Movie Trailer

written by Gothic Net

You can watch this trailer for Nailed here and check out the Nailed movie site for more.

Want to Win a Rob Zombie Halloween Screening

written by Amelia G

Gothic.net and Blue Blood would like to bring you all the opportunity to win a screening of the Rob Zombie re-imagining of one of the original gangsters of slasher flicks, Halloween. The grand prize is a screening of the film for the winner and twenty of their most intimate friends, as well as a Rob Zombie grab bag including a limited edition T-shirt, CD's, the Devil's Rejects DVD, and the House of 1000 Corpses DVD. Four runners up will also win their own grab bags.

You know how sometimes you and your friends like to smear yourselves with vanilla-flavored corn syrup with a lot of red food coloring in it and take pictures? Well, if you are familiar with the Halloween series, go ahead, bust out those mask and knife collectibles, and take the most Halloween iconic shots you can and submit them over at the Rob Zombie's Halloween Contest site to win.

Fine print: real murders void eligibility to participate.

Penny Dreadful Party

written by Brian Parsley

Four months after seeing “Penny Dreadful,” I have decided to theme my next Halloween party around this movie. All I need to do is get an old BMW, wedge it inbetween two trees in my back yard, and let my friends take turns crawling inside to be the Penny character, with perhaps the rest of the party guests skulking around outside to terrorize the victim within. Just add beer, maybe some skewers with some raw meat, and that’s a hell of a party.

“Penny Dreadful” was shown in limited release in theaters last November... More...

Roadkill by Christa Faust

written by Christa Faust

Lucy flew along the 5, raw, humpbacked silhouette of the San Gabriel Mountains already in the Nova's rearview and ahead flat endless nothing as dark and hopeless as she felt. She pushed the protesting automobile up to 120, hot dusty wind pulling bleachy-green strands of hair loose from her sloppy ponytail and whipping them across her face. Her lower lip was chapped and she chewed at it till it bled, scraping her teeth across the ragged edges over and over. The cute sparkle blue lipstick was long gone. More...

Coming Home by Maria Alexander

written by Maria Alexander

My mouth is sour with whiskey and the loaded shotgun lays heavily across my lap in my sofa chair. This is my Christmas Eve ritual.

I hate Christmas. The holidays. The time for families to gather to share love and good cheer. Bullshit. I try hard every year to forget there is a Christmas precisely because it reminds me of my family, but this fucking world won't let me. They've romanticized a nightmare. More...

Bagged by David J. Schow

written by David J Schow

We kicked in the door of the crypt with an aluminum battering ram and did the sweep-and-spread you usually do when trying to cover unknown space. No bloodthirsty monsters attacked. Our own blood was up from the first bag of the day; maybe I should tell you about that first. More...

Love Me Tender by Thomas S. Roche

written by Thomas Roche

They hurtle south on 15, the desert sands raining upon them like a plague of locusts. They blast the radio through Cedar City and St. George, Fado singing harmony on "Blue Suede Shoes" at the top of his lungs. Outside of Mesquite, they pause for ref reshment, Senor Fado leaning back in the seat and chuckling while Andre does his job, for which he will be paid in artistic and spiritual coin. Afterwards, Fado puts the Caddy in gear and floors it, sending a bewildered Andre sprawling in the seat, cursi ng in three languages as he wipes his chin. Andre calls the Senor a foul name. Senor Fado responds in kind, laughing, and Andre pouts fetchingly. Afterwards they stop for blue-raspberry slushes at Mesquite's only Meat Market and Convenience Store. More...

Black Roses and Hail Mary’s by Maria Alexander

written by Maria Alexander

As he awoke under the cement overpass, Jonathan heard the distant growl of cars, his own raspy breath, and the old woman’s gentle weeping. The last thing he remembered was Kiro and Sushime cackling over the squeal of tires, although those sounds had escaped into the smog hours ago. Wiping the long, grimy strands of his dyed dark brown hair from his face, Jonathan opened his eyes blearily, gravel biting his back through a beer-stained t-shirt. Steel-tipped black boots, leather pants ripped at the thigh – Fuck! – and a head full of heroin dreams, rolled by his best “friends”… More...

Two Cents Worth by David J. Schow

written by David J Schow

GARAGE SALE, read the sign. I saw the chromium-yellow tagboard, with its big black cartoony arrow, on my way back from the bus stop, stapled to a much-stapled phone pole. The address on the sign was dead between my building and the phone pole. Ever since de-zoning, re-zoning, or whatever other catastrophe acceptable to the City Council's bribed lackeys had befallen this former "neighborhood," the residential blocks had been carved, sliced and diced to please the developers until some bloated fat cat with a cigar in his mush, incipient cancer and a string of embezzlement acquittals had pronounced it "good," like Frankenstein's Monster sucking watery soup. More...

The King of Shadows by Maria Alexander

written by Maria Alexander

“Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.”
-- Puck to Oberon,
A Midsummer-Night’s Dream, Act III, ii

The funeral was today.

I wrote a film some years back about morgue workers. I watched tape after tape of interviews, the mortician’s assistants telling frightful tales about bodies unrecognizable from their wounds, which they dressed and coated with layers of cosmetics. They had learned to make Death rosy-cheeked and peaceful. More...