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 All text on this site copyright © Pete Mesling—affiliate member, HWA; graduate, Borderlands Press Writers
Bootcamp. Check out the Seattle Geekly podcast #14 for pithy coverage of the Devil's Own comic book series that I'm writing. For even more detail, peruse the Show Notes for that episode. Pete Mesling's Publishing Credits "Ridley
Bickett's Traveling Panoply" (early 2010): Side Show 2: Tales of the Big Top and the Bizarre Simon sensed a rustling movement amid the dark drapery to the right of Amelia’s cell. A disfigured monstrosity
emerged—a man, at a guess, but one who had suffered such horrible burns that his joints seemed fused tight the way he
ambled into view and took the boy by the shoulders. Ben put up a struggle and cursed a good deal, but his efforts were useless
against this creature’s stooped might and implacable will. It licked at the edges of its mouth before disappearing into
the drapes with its prey. "The Patience of Adam" (Jan. 2010): Champagne Shivers 2010 "Would it kill you to spend some time with the child? Maybe rock him once in a while?" ... "Kill
me? Oh, no. If it were that simple I’d have patty-caked my way out of this sorry affair long ago." ... The child
was looking at her, daring her to broach the subject that sat in her throat like a souring egg. "Silvertip"
(Jan. 2010): Champagne Shivers 2010 "This wasp will do your bidding," the old man had said, stroking his elegant beard. "It will
obey only you." Here he had smiled unpleasantly. "Of course everything has its price. Silvertip is no exception."  "Zombie Killer" (June 2009): Dead Worlds: Undead Stories Volume 2 (available from Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and Powell's)This one had been dead a while, no doubt about it. The reek of decomposition was strong. Marie’s lunch
of dry biscuits and bottled lemonade threatened to come up. She couldn’t deny that it would be satisfying to puke in
its face, but the action would weaken her, and her family would likely be doomed.  "The Worst is Yet to Come" (May 2009): Potter's Field 3But Lyndon didn’t buy it. He had a feeling the first thing out of Duffer’s mouth had been the truth,
and he suspected there were other children lying at the bottom of the pond, less fortunate than he was … feeding the
fish. His stomach churned at the thought that the water currently chilling him to the core might have microscopic bits of
human flesh in it.  "Welp's Tale" (issue #0.5 in the comic book series The Devil's Own, a collaboration with artist Brian Beardsley, March 2009): published by Night Rail Press as a Web issue. This story is currently running in installments and will remain online until it appears in a planned trade
paperback containing the first arc of the series.“Father of lies! It’s a second harrowing. I’ve
never been on the receiving end of a desecration before.”  "The Long Divorce" (issue #0 in the comic book series The Devil's Own, a collaboration with artist Brian Beardsley, Feb. 2009): published by Night Rail Press and available for purchase online at ComixPress and IndyPlanet, as well as at Seattle's finest comic book stores (Zanadu, DreamStrands, Comics Dungeon, and The Dreaming)."I want this jerk out of my life, Mr. Felsenstein!" ... "Trust me, it won't take an act of God. One more day of her bitching and I'm liable to lose my head."  "Fulfillment" (online until included in a print anthology sometime in 2009): Killer-Works.comThe vermin have arrived in great numbers. At first I only heard them chewing
beneath the floor, but they soon got into the walls and ceiling. Their scratching got so bad I went a week straight without
sleep. Now they've got into my living space. Not all of them yet, but I've seen five or six racing along the floorboards,
diving into shadows. He stepped into the vise-like heat of another southern Arizona day in midsummer, crossed the melting
parking lot to his sun-faded coupe, and started down the frontage road to the main highway. But after several miles, he skidded
the car to the shoulder at an angle, squirting pebbles and dust into the parched air. He slammed his fist against the steering
wheel. Again and again. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back sobs, even before his body began to shake. His haughty
pride melted into an open display of sorrow and grief. He threw his arms across his chest, hugged himself as tears streamed
out of his eyes, and rocked slowly back and forth. Any pretense of amusement fell away from Walter Comstock’s expression. He was all business now
as he pushed himself to the edge of the sofa, his toes barely sweeping the floor, and leaned forward to pop the thumb-operated
clasps of the briefcase. It opened maybe a quarter of an inch, and he seemed happy to leave it at that for the time being. Her hands shot to his throat. He tried to pry them away, but her grip was iron strong. He bowed backwards
over the railing as she applied more pressure and leaned into him. For a moment she wasn’t sure if she intended to strangle
him or send him over the edge for gravity to deal with. Nature stepped in to decide for her. Then, without warning, he rotated his head in my direction. His eyelids flashed open, revealing not eyes,
but orbs of blue luminescence. The blue light seemed to envelop me, but it also entered me—and not just through my eyes.
It poured into my ears, nose, and mouth, filling voids I didn’t know I possessed. The light gave me vigor and focus.
I was becoming … one of them. She drew in breath to begin hollering for help, in case a neighbor was able to hear. But she stopped
herself, remembering the dead. It was odd, but she didn’t want to disturb them, as if she were in a room full of slumbering
children and was fearful of rousing them. They left the coffee and tray behind and squeezed into a narrow pantry, where Michele paused to pick
up a large hammer before proceeding down a steep flight of stone steps. Vanessa followed. He has slaughtered the creature, / Not for meat, but for the thrill of it. / Blood lust is in his eyes
now. "The Desecration of Wintrose Abbey" (Nov. 2007): Black Petals #41 (final print issue) I saw a terrible thing some nights ago. And now, even after only jotting down a handful of words, I realize
that I will not be freed of the image.
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Pete Mesling * P.O. Box 27611 * Seattle, WA 98165-2611 * nightrailpress at gmail dot com