Alright, sickos, here’s the state of play.
First up: The Millfield Terror is coming at you October 28th—just in time for Halloween. Ecological madness, creeping dread, lots of gory death-by-centipede. Before that, on October 14th, I’m dropping a little splatterpunk nastiness called Fatso—a novella that’s mean, bloody, and not afraid to go places polite horror won’t touch. Both will be out in paperback, and I’ll have signed copies for anyone who wants something filthy to put on their shelf.
Now, about the other beasts: Vermin House and The Witches of Blackmoor High are still alive and gnawing in the dark, but I’ve pushed them back. Burnout hit me hard this summer after cranking out book after book, and I’d rather delay than serve up something half-baked. They’ll have their day, trust me.
In the meantime, I’ve got something new clawing its way out of the pit. An as-yet untitled horror novel—experimental, weird, heavy on surreal body horror and psychological decay. Picture a grungy, nameless city, all rust and rain and broken neon, pulled straight from the worst corners of 1990s New York. At the center: a dark love triangle between a transgressive sculptor, his junkie video-artist girlfriend, and a femme fatale who may not be entirely human. This one’s been festering for a while—about 25 years, if you start counting from my initial notes, and if I get it through edits in time, it should slither out before year’s end.
So that’s where things stand. October’s about to get nasty—two releases, signed copies, and more madness waiting in the wings. Thanks for sticking with me through the blood, grime, and delays. The grindhouse never stays quiet for long.
—John