By Ed Kurtz
Whilst Walt Blackmore strikes into an previous gable entrance residence at the outskirts of a small city, issues are particularly having a look up for him; he has an adoring female friend to whom he plans to suggest, a brand new activity educating English on the neighborhood highschool, and an altogether brilliant destiny. His outlook and future are irreparably replaced, although, whilst an strange darkish pink spot appears to be like at the ceiling within the hallway. little by little, the spot grows, first right into a dripping blood stain and finally right into a ugly, muttering creature. because the creature grows, Walt unearths himself a growing number of drawn to fostering its future health. at the start he merely feeds it stray animals in order that the blood-hungry monster can continue to exist, yet this quickly fails to meet the creature’s ghastly wishes. it really is steadily changing into human back, and for that to ensue it calls for human blood and human flesh. And as soon as Walt has crossed the road from interest to homicide, there isn't any going back.
"Page after attractive web page, Ed Kurtz will get it correct. This publication used to be like reminiscence lane for me, its luminous prose and unstoppable pressure taking me again to the nice small city horror novels of the '70s and '80s. I didn't imagine they made 'em like this anymore, yet fortunately, i used to be flawed. For, with Bleed, Kurtz has not just written an intensely frightening story, yet a undying one as well."
- Joe McKinney, writer of Apocalypse of the lifeless and Flesh Eaters
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Extra info for Bleed
There was nothing. The room was still empty. He looked around dizzily. What was that sound? A dull sound, like water rushing. 'Hey,' he said automatically. He turned to the door. ' he yelled, 'cut it out! ' He turned on weakening legs. The sound was louder. Mr Ketchum ran a hand over his brow. It was covered with sweat. It was warm in there. 'Okay, okay,' he said, 'it's a fine joke but -' Before he could go on, his voice had corkscrewed into an awful, wracking sob. Mr Ketchum staggered a little.
We see ourselves,’ he said, 'as an army of dedicated warriors marching on the strongholds of prudery. ' 'Amen to that,' a fervent Talbert said. They entered a large, cubicle-bordered room. Talbert saw men; some typing, some writing, some staring, some on telephones, talking in a multitude of tongues. Their expressions were, as one, intently aloft. At the far end of the room, expression unseen, a man stabbed plugs into a many-eyed switchboard. 'Our Apprentice Room,' said the Dean, 'wherein we groom our future His voice died off as a young man exited one of the cubicles and approached them, paper in hand, a smile tremulous on his lips.
It seemed a flimsy notion, but there it was. The food was superb. One thing you had to say for these New Englanders; they could cook like a son-of-a-gun. Breakfast for Mr Ketchum was usually a sweet roll, heated, and coffee. Since he was a boy in his father's house he hadn't eaten a breakfast like this. He was just putting down his third cup of well-creamed coffee when footsteps sounded in the hall. Mr Ketchum smiled. Good timing, he thought. He stood. Chief Shipley stopped outside the cell. ' Mr Ketchum nodded.