I’ve occasionally wanted to try my hand at writing some classic monsters, vampires and werewolves. When I indulge the impulse, things tend to get a little bloody. Also, for some reason, except for Raven, I tend to set these tales in historical periods.
Somehow, when these monsters are placed outside our modern era, they seem to gain some weight and credibility, a little gravitas to the darkness.
In the water, curled against the white side of the boulder, her back to him, was a naked woman.
Her name was Lucina, but she didn’t remember who had named her.
I stepped outside and I tried not to think of the Eucharist crumbs that dusted the doorway.
“Watch it,” The cop said, “ain’t pretty down there.”