Hi, I’m Kellie…
I’m an Independent author of New Pulp short stories and novels. I once dreamt of writing the great American novel. It was with pouring through second-hand bookstores as a youth, that I found my “calling” and settled on writing Pulp/supernatural horror and never looked back.” I was born in Detroit Michigan, having moved and still living in the small city of Ashland, Kentucky. I have a deep affection and avid appreciation of the written word, including but not limited to reading as well as writing stories reminiscent of old dime store paperback books, featuring science fiction, pulp, horror, and the supernatural. I’m fifty-four years old and have studied film and television, psychology, ancient myth, cryptozoology, criminology, and world religions, with college degrees in Criminal Justice and Business Marketing. I enjoy archaeology and the paranormal as well, tv and film, comics, collectibles, and antiques which gives me infinite inspiration for my written work.
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From The Paranormal Case Files of Bishop Kincaid:
The Rembrandt Stratagem
“We are all born equal until such time as one decides not to be equal, thus bringing forth my mighty hand of vengeance.”
“He will burn this world to destroy the one who gave him life.”
A WORLD FILLED WITH PARANORMAL GENETICS – THOSE WHO BECOME CREATURES OF ANCIENT MYTH AND THOSE WHO REMAIN TRUE HUMAN. A WORLD FILLED WITH DARK AND VILLAINOUS PLOTTING, PAIN, AND DESPAIR.
Paperback Edition
Pulp Reality
No. 1
This is Pulp Reality. A collection of seven short stories from today’s top authors and artists in the genre of NEW PULP.
Take a seat, as we pull back the curtain on days gone by – with heroic escapades of yesteryear and edge of your seat adventures in the vein of the old pulps from the golden-age of storytelling.
Pulp Reality
No. 2
From the Paranormal Case Files of Bishop Kincaid: “The Warwolves of London”
From the Paranormal Case Files of Bishop Kincaid…
…January 2nd in the year of the Cosmic eye of creation. I’m tired. Nothing unusual there, of course, just the weary eyes struggling to focus on a world through a foggy lens. The uncertainty of my future or theirs, those souls of whom I will never know. The ones who live in the great metallic towers, or colored brick cesspools that many of the poor call home here. Keeley is gone now, almost close to three months since our encounter with my natural son, the despot seed of Lilith’s madness and my wanting lust. Draco couldn’t be saved, and the tears remain ever overflowing, and as I sit here in thoughtful recollection of those events. My son’s body was never recovered from murky depths, but the recovery brigade did locate his shredded cloak. It’s currently housed at the church along with other “dangerous” artifacts.
It’s twistingly funny, how a cloak could be dangerous to all life on this earth, but as my dear friend Flask has mentioned, “Nothing about Dracula can be taken at face value.” My thoughts hark back to those jumbled images of his last words, “Do it proper this time.” Flask, the Cosmic spiral, my friends and associates have all muttered the same words to me, “It had to be done, for there was no other way.”
Was there another way? It scatters the reasoning in all directions like a rock producing ripples in the water. Could I have done better in the early times of his young existence? I remember the lecture at Stoker school when I taught a class on “Infinite recursion and the effects of cosmic numerology on evolutionary creationism.” Professor Otto Oppenheimer, old and frail, but sharp of mind reminded me afterward that “every decision alters the future of not just one individual but alters the universal dynamic of the group and the effect the individual has on said dynamic, thus creating multiple ripples tearing throughout time and space.”
Humanity could go crazy thinking about that but my mind wanders thinking about what I might have done to save Draco. Perhaps, even I could have saved his mother from her madness. My selfishness caused my son’s inevitable demise. My selfishness, my sinful lust gave way to those who had fallen from the sky like an airburst of green lights slamming into the earth…no, the effects were more akin to “Thor’s” majestic hammer ripping the ground apart with his mighty blows. The memories haunt my soul yet reaching for the answers is the tasty desert the child never gets as one step forward equals one step back into disappointment or despair.
However, humanity moves on, and I have also taken up the challenge of placing my salty emotional waterfall in the glass jar. Dani is still recovering from her true Vampirism, but the struggle within her continues to plague her mind. Dani is no longer craving meat, although her lust for blood is disturbing and dangerous. Her pain is hard for me to see, and her husband Dan has entrusted me to help cure her of what ills her gray soul. Dan doesn’t fully trust me with Dani, and I don’t blame him. I’m not sure I trust myself. We’ll have to see which chapter of some future book volume these emotions come to a head and blow like a steam engine on the locomotive.
Gant, Dani, and I have been in London for about a week now. Meeting with the local Constable Cavalry, we’ve been on the elusive trail of young Keeley. His “Jekyll’s Disease” has by now taken hold and newspaper reports seemingly point right to his favorite murderous playground, the fog encrusted, water entrenched and antiquated Victorian England. Keeley needs help. He needs to be captured before he commits any more murders…his carnivorous appetite and vile sexual perversions must be stopped. Two sides, one good and one bad, Jekyll’s disease is not fully understood by academics and there are those who believe patients with this infliction should be lobotomized. I will not allow that to happen to Keeley, nor anyone.
I’m bringing that kid home. However, there is also the other problem continuing to gain steam, and that’s the Warwolves. The downpour has been unrelenting for a couple of days and the air here is brittle and cold. Yes, with the mind of a “Moriarty” and his strong “Werewolf” frame running amok. I wonder which one is worse, Keeley or the Warwolves, and will London be burning at the end of the last chapter of this story?
I see a bad moon on the horizon, and trouble is on its way…
Goodnight case file.
Atomic Stories #1
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From The Paranormal Case Files of Bishop Kincaid:
The Rembrandt Strategem
Chapter Three
“A Trip to the Morgue and an Exchange of Information”
It was half past seven when Bishop, Keeley, Gant, Orrin, and Dani arrived by rocket car at the Medical Examiner’s office. Freshly patched up with shower and clean clothes, they all walked down the halls of the old building. Lime green walls and stained, dark brown floors made up this place, and the mood there was always depressed and creepy. The Chief Medical Examiner was no exception to the rule, for she looked twenty-five, but in truth, had lived for a couple of thousand years.
“In trouble again I see.” the girl said, opening her arms wide for a hug to which Bishop responded. Bishop kissed her on the cheek, and replied, “just another day in the trenches, “what’ve you got for me?
“It’s a mess, I can tell you that. There’s a bunch of stuff going on here that I’ve never seen before. Remy Tober was a true work professional. She was a “sun worshiper”, one of the rarest of Vampiri who could walk around in direct sunlight and total darkness without consequence. Her skin, a beautiful pale white, and her green eyes made her very special and sought after by both humans and paranormal. She was very aggressive when attacked, and quite strong when needed to be. Remy had long since been awarded her permit to live and work within normal city parameters. An avid student of Buddha, she also held various scientific degrees on paranormal DNA distinction and the human genome matrix. She had led a quiet but fulfilled life.
Explain, please,” asked Bishop. Remy led them into the exam room.
“Take this one, you know, the one that almost killed you in your own sanctuary. After whatever process was used to make it invisible, you can all see that the deceased is Moraturi. Moraturi normally has human-like pupils, yet this one did.” Remy motioned for everyone to surround the table. Gant, scared of death, stood back.
“Look at the chest. Moraturi have two hearts and two livers that provide better support for the vast amounts of blood they need to survive. This cadaver isn’t any species of Vampiri. This body is human. Now, however you cut along the lower back, you can see no trace of the typical blood clotting that Moraturi species always has here in this region. This human was made up to look like a member of the Moraturi clan.
Remy covered up the cadaver and walked over to another table where the body of a Cowlin man-bat had been examined the day before. The others followed. Dani began taking notes on Remy’s explanation of inconsistencies in the bodies.
“Not for publication until this is finished, understand? No repeats, okay, darling?” Bishop looked at Dani with serious intention and she silently nodded her head in acknowledgment. Remy uncovered the corpse.
“The heart that you ripped out of this one’s rib cage doesn’t contain any extra valves or bone tubing that would lead up from the heart into the lungs. This body is human, and somehow both were infected or altered, but how is beyond me.” Remy looked at Bishop who asked, “We all know that Moraturi can’t spread or infect unless they breed within their own people, so are we dealing with a new kind of Vampiri, maybe one that keeps itself in disguise?”
“No, doubtful. They would have been discovered by now. It’s the human-like pupils, plus, this one here has green eyes. Very, very strange. I’m the last of the Silent Ones. There isn’t any more of me, I’m sure of this. Genetics aside, I don’t see how any human with green eyes could possibly shapeshift or turn invisible. One maybe, but two? The Silent Ones were never able to infect human DNA, they were like the Moraturi in that aspect. “Suggestions or opinions?” Remy asked.
“Are you sure you’re the last one?” asked Keeley.
“Yeah…are you?” asked Orrin. “The Vampiri who attacked me inside the Livingston Museum yesterday had the same kind of pupils. Even in my camouflage mode, it still was able to see me. I barely escaped.” Bishop glanced at Orrin for a moment. His eyes squinted in a look of bewilderment. He then turned back towards the table.
“I’m sure there’s a connection between Gustav’s original formula and what’s happening now. Trouble is, how does it connect?” He mused to himself for a moment, before asking Orrin, “Tell me again how your camouflage works.”
Orrin began telling the group about how he had found Gustav’s original papers and applied his best knowledge in chemistry to create a “low spectrum light refraction”.
“His work called for the bones of a jade dragon. I never found any kind of evidence of one has ever really existed. Sure, the myths spoke of them and their humanoid counterparts, but not all myth is an actual depiction. I was satisfied with just achieving what I did. I’m not sure how Gustav created his invisibility. All I’m able to do is refract my environment so I fool those who are staring directly in front of me. You know, Boss, that I can be seen if someone looks at me from the side. If they look hard enough, they see my form. Luckily, people, these days don’t pay enough attention to what’s in front of them to notice me. I play a sleight of a hand card trick with a person’s line of sight.”
“We know, Orrin. I was just wanting Remy to understand your ability.” Bishop turned around to Dani and asked, “There was one human other than Gustav who had created invisibility. Didn’t he go crazy and jump to his death a couple of years ago?”
Dani responded, “Winston Powell was his name. He was a chemist who managed to become transparent. The story was that he hadn’t solved the issue of “no light in the eyes”, due to the aura around him. He killed his girlfriend and caused extensive damage to a local inn. His body was found weeks later at the bottom of the cliff.”
“Sir, if I may?” asked Flask. “If I’m not mistaken, don’t the Silent Ones all have green eyes as they are related to Remy’s ancestors? If we are to assume the simplest explanation to be the correct one, regardless of its improbable nature, or calculation of such theory not existing due to its plausibility, how can we then assume that we are overreaching our thinking by not going with our instincts and applying Occam’s razor theory of simplicity?” Flask, who would rather be back at the mansion performing his housing management duties, was at times quite creative and brilliant. His uncanny knack for reading his environment earned him his place within the Bricklayers.
“Shouldn’t we investigate the illogical and from that, find the logic behind the absurdity?” he added, spying Gant, who had spilled some ink onto his vest.
“He’s such a barbarian,” he whispered to himself.
Keeley interrupted. “If I’m not mistaken, the stories, taken from old religious texts mention that the Silenced or the Silent Ones were the offspring of the jade dragons and that they were one of the first paranormal genetics on the earth,” Remy interjected.
“Let me explain.” According to my clan’s history, the Silent Ones were the first Vampiri to appear on this planet, that much is true. Unlike the myth that has become distorted and exaggerated over time, the truth is that the Silent Ones eventually become Nosferatu. Once that happens, due to immense passage of time, what they once were becomes something else entirely. Once you become Nosferatu, you have no desire to do anything but linger in the underground sewers and caves and contemplate your past lives and experiences. I’ll be like that someday.” Remy sighed, then added, “I’m not looking forward to it”.
She continued, “The creation myth taught to me ages ago spoke about how the universe spewed forth the green spirals which spread outward, creating all that came to be. The tales of the fallen ones who left the sky and mated with human women and men and their transformation into the jade dragons…even I don’t know how true or false all that is. I was told as a child that my ancestors hated their creation and like others before them, namely the titans, giants, succubus and the mermaids. My ancestors never had a clan name but took the name of “The Silent Ones” after taking a vow of quiet repose. They were a religious order and over time, took to the task of hunting down one dragon after another. Vengeance would become their god.
“All I can say is that you take this with the smallest grain of salt. you can muster. Once there were one hundred seventy thousand of us, but we quickly dwindled down to seven thousand, and then to our present-day extinction. Well, minus me, I suppose. My clan let themselves become extinct. Reproduction was against their belief, but I was born out of sin. I don’t remember my mother as she disappeared, but my adopted father took me away when I was just a child to live with a human shaman named Merlyn, who dwelt in a mystic kingdom located near the holy waters of the majestic sirens. I was just in my early life when the last of my kind fought alongside Arthur at the fall of Camelot. They took a last stand against the only two dragons left. Arthur and Mordred died next to each other on the banks of Avalonia, where Morgana the witch tried to release the one called Lilith from her eternal cycle of reincarnation, which over time was her prison…her birthright and her memory dwindling as a dream, a longing never to be.”
“If you’re related to the dragons, can you also turn invisible?” asked Dani.
“I was born with the gift but lost the ability over time. I used to play hide and seek with the local trolls. I was never good at it, so I stopped using it. The jade dragons were mystically aligned and had fantastical powers. If the stories are true, then it would be logical to assume that aspects of those abilities would still be prevalent in the DNA preserved inside the bones of such creatures. Hence, it would be possible to gain invisibility if you had the knowledge to isolate the DNA strand.”
Remy walked over to a counter and took a drink of what appeared to be blood.
“Type O, synthetic Gazelle blood, really good stuff,” she said, giving a smile towards Gant who scuttled his body back a few steps further behind the group.
Images from Atomic Stories #1
Artwork by Brian Rodman and Joao Paulo