Monthly Archives: January 2015

Hideous creatures and nightmarish situations abound in Malafarina’s “Malaformed Realities”

WERNERSVILLE, Pa.Sunbury Press has released thriller writer Thomas Malafarina’s latest short story compilationMalaformed Realities Volume One.

About the Book:
imagesHistory tells us that on October 3, 1849 the great master of the macabre, Edgar Allen Poe, was found wandering the streets of Baltimore, Maryland delirious and in grave distress. He was taken immediately to the Washington College Hospital, where he died at 5 a.m. on Sunday, October 7. Poe never became coherent enough to explain how he wound up in such an abysmal condition. There are a lot of theories about his death but no concrete evidence. Maybe he simply lost his way back from those incredibly dark places his writing took him.

Thomas Malafarina can only hope that his own numerous journeys into that land of darkness will not someday take its toll on him. “I would hate to think of myself thirty years from now in some home for the aged and infirm, cowering in bed with the covers tucked tightly to my chin. Would I be too afraid to leave the safety of my covers because the demons, which once only lived inside my mind, had since become as real to me as flesh and bone in my addled condition? I suppose we will have to wait and see,” mused Thomas.

In the meantime, please enjoy yet another journey into the darkest corners of Thomas Malafarina’s mind. This collection is calledMalaformed Realities, not just as a clever play on his last name, but because distorting and twisting reality into something it was never intended to be is what he enjoys doing best. “And if in the process, I manage to disturb and frighten you along the way then all the better.”

Stories included in this volume:

  • When They Come For You
  • A Love Best Served Cold
  • MegaSynth RP-1
  • Brass
  • Inspector 17
  • Hear No Evil
  • Big Frankie
  • Dinner With Andy And Meg
  • Cold, Cold Women
  • If Thine Eye Offend Thee
  • Homecoming
  • Passageways To Perniciousness
  • Storage
  • Cutaneous Horns
  • Icehouse
  • Single Panel
  • The Brands
  • Breathe
  • Tools Of The Trade
  • Zombie Party
  • And The Scales Fell From My Eyes (A Novella)

Cold, Cold Women
She had been the love of his life, the reason for his very existence. In fact, Dylan had considered her the warmest and most affectionate woman he had ever met. In his past, so many cold, cold women had hurt him so many times before taking all the love he had to give and then tossing him aside like so much garbage.

After years of dealing with this rejection Dylan had become wise to such deceitful women. He had experienced enough pain. He found he was never able give fully of himself in any relationship. He knew to watch for the signs. When he saw a woman turning cold, he would end it before he could be hurt again. After a while, he had begun to wonder if he would never find a truly caring woman.

Then he met Celia. She was everything he wanted in a woman and more. She was warm, compassionate and loving. She was the one woman who could break down the protective walls Dylan had built around himself. She taught him to give fully of himself once again without fear or concern and she had made his life complete—at least for a time.

But then he sensed that she too was beginning to grow distant and cold, just like the rest of them. These damned cold, cold women. She didn’t think he noticed, but he did. He knew the signs. After a time he realized she was no different than the others and soon she too would leave him. He was furious that he had allowed her to get so close to him, to break through his defenses, to get him to open up to her. Why had he been such a fool?

Now she lay quietly next to him in bed, her cold dead corpse growing stiff with rigor mortis. Her neck bore the blackened bruises from strangulation—her eyes bloodshot with petechial hemorrhaging. He was certain he could smell the stench of decay already forming about her and only after a few hours.

Life had made Dylan wise. He had ended it before she could hurt him any more than she already had. Why had she grown so cold? He didn’t know, but it really didn’t matter. Now she too would be buried in his back yard along with the many others who had tried to hurt Dylan. She had once been special but now she would become just another of the dozens of the cold, cold women now resting in the cold, cold ground.

About the Author:
01_24_15_Rabbit_Hash_KY_CroppedThomas M. Malafarina is a horror fiction author from the South Heidelberg Twp area of Berks County, Pennsylvania. He was born July 23, 1955 in Ashland, Schuylkill County, PA where he lived until moving to Berks County in 1979.

Many of Thomas’s stories take place in his native Schuylkill County and also in Berks County settings. Thomas’s books are published by Sunbury Press of Camp Hill, PA.

Thomas’s novels include “99 Souls”, “Burn Phone” and “Eye Contact”, “Fallen Stones”, and the “Dead Kill” series. His short story collection are “13 Nasty Endings”, “Gallery of Horror”, “Malafarina Maleficarum Volume 1″, “Malafarina Maleficarum Volume 2″,  “Ghost Shadows”, and “Malaformed Realities”. He also has a collection of single-panel cartoons called “Yes I Smelled It Too”. In addition, Thomas’s stories appear in many anthologies currently on sale on Amazon.

Thomas has had a life-long love of the horror and monster genre in all its form of books, movies and art. Annually, Thomas creates works of horror art, props and scenery, which he donates to a local non-profit Halloween Barn Of Terror.

Thomas lives just outside of Wernersville, PA with his wife JoAnne. They have three grown children and three grandchildren.

mrv1_fcMalaformed Realities Volume 1
Authored by Thomas M. Malafarina
List Price: $16.95
5.5″ x 8.5″ (13.97 x 21.59 cm)
Black & White on White paper
246 pages
Sunbury Press, Inc.
ISBN-13: 978-1620065327
ISBN-10: 1620065320
BISAC: Fiction / Thrillers / Supernatural

For more information, please see:…


What’s life like in a house full of beloved beagles? The “Beagle Bard” tells all!

STATE COLLEGE, Pa.Sunbury Press has released Bob Ford’s fifth volume in the Beagle Tales series, Beagle Tales 5.

About the Book:
BT5_fcThis fifth installment of Ford’s short stories mixes a love for the hunt and a thorough appreciation of the beagle as a cherished pet. Whether he is navigating the wild lands looking for rabbits or the wilder terrain of human relationships, the author is always looking for the important things in life, and casting them in a humorous light. Beagles and rabbit hunting are featured prominently in these collected assays, although the tales of the hunt are often a medium to tell a more profound story.  Laugh along with his nostalgic remembrances of childhood, unique perspectives on life today, and the joys of living with hunting house beagles.

“Beagle Tales” is a registered trademark of Sunbury Press, Inc.

Behold, the Rabbit

Well, small game hunting is still in season, and we can get out there and bust some bunnies. To be honest, I’m glad that the fevered rush of deer season is over. Many of the “hunters” that I know actually just go out to chase deer for the two weeks that we are allowed to hunt them with a rifle. Don’t get me wrong, I feel affinity with all hunters, but the crazed dash for antlers sometimes just makes me feel like not hunting. I try to get my deer meat in archery season, before rabbit season opens, in order to avoid the entire two weeks of rifled mayhem altogether. There is something about the sound of a half-dozen high-powered rifles rapid firing on a running deer a few hundred yards away that just makes me cringe.

Actually, I spend much of deer season walking around looking for rabbit tracks in the snow. I came home one day this year in cold weather just grinning. “Did you get a deer?” my wife asked.

“Nope,” I said, giving her a hug.

“Why are you so happy then?” She pushed her palms against my chest, ending the hug.

“I found a ton of rabbit tracks!” I said.

“Any deer?”

“Sure, there are always some deer tracks, but there were lots of bunny tracks in there.”

“Did you see any deer?” she yelled. “It isn’t rabbit season.”

“Sure. I saw deer. But man did I see rabbits. I can’t wait for bunny season to come back in!”

Ah, but rabbit season is now in full swing again, and I am enjoying the fields and woods. I prefer running in the open and the wild areas. I haven’t been to a beagle club to run dogs since the end of October, and I belong to two of them! There is something about the abandoned strip mines and the farmer’s hedgerows and the national forest that make my hounds look better than they are. The rabbits do not double back on their own trail so much, and there are no mowed feed strips for the rabbits to run. In Pennsylvania many of the clubs were formerly operated by traditional brace enthusiasts. The result is that there can be parts of the club that have more mowed paths than brush. I understand that, too, as a couple rabbits running down a mowed feed strip may be enough to run first series for the brace guys. Repeat the same path runners after lunch, and the winner can be declared. There are no mowed feed strips in hunting season.

I also like hunting season for the fact that there is no fence. Don’t get me wrong, I like having a fence at the beagle club when I am conditioning dogs, but it is sometimes a false sense of security. Fences get holes, and sometimes they get knocked down. It is roads, not fences, which I worry about in gunning season. The one thing I do miss about the club running grounds as the season rolls on to the end is the abundance of rabbits. In fact, it is for this reason that I simply do not shoot near as many rabbits as I once did. I still get over fifty in any given year, but I no longer feel a need to try and eat every rabbit the dogs chase. In fact, I have gotten to the point where I am not shooting rabbits. The old timers warned me about this. They said killing critters would get problematic for anyone that loved the hunt (continued)

About the Author:
beaglebardBob Ford has lived all but three years of his life in the hills of Pennsylvania. The three exilic years were spent attending seminary at The Methodist Theological School in Ohio where he lamented the lack of topography that characterizes the central portion of the Buckeye state.  He purchased his first beagle for $75 in 1985 with money earned delivering the Erie Sunday Times. This first beagle committed Ford to the company of hounds, and has resulted in a life that has gone to the dogs.  Ford has served United Methodist Churches in Warrensburg, OH; Elkland, PA and Houtzdale PA.  He is a PhD candidate in systematic theology at Duquesne University, and teaches philosophy and religious studies part-time at Penn State Altoona.

Bob has hunted rabbits and hare throughout the country, ranging from Northern Alabama to the Quebec border, and he is always looking for new places to hunt and new species of rabbits and hare for his hounds to pursue. He is an ordained pastor in the Susquehanna Conference of The United Methodist Church and currently resides in State College, PA.  Ford believes that American-made, double barrel,16 gauge shotguns from the previous century are the best firearms available to the small game hunter, and that few things compare to the sound of a pack of beagles chasing rabbits on morning dew in a foggy valley. He writes a monthly column for the American Beagler magazine and Hounds and Hunting magazine.  He has had more than 100 articles in Better Beagling, and currently writes an article each month for The American Beagler and Hounds & Hunting.

Bob Ford is an Excellence in Craft winner in humor for the Outdoor Writers Association of America (2012).

Beagle Tales 5
Authored by Bob Ford
List Price: $14.95
5.5″ x 8.5″ (13.97 x 21.59 cm)
Black & White on Cream paper
180 pages
Sunbury Press, Inc.
ISBN-13: 978-1620065419
ISBN-10: 162006541X
BISAC: Pets / Dogs / Breeds

For more information, please see:…

Nude body found in Letort Spring near Carlisle, Cumberland County, PA

Ernest & Edgar Literary Blog

CARLISLE, Pa.Sunbury Press has released J. M. West’s second installment of the Carlisle Crime CasesCourting Doubt and Darkness –A Christopher Snow and Erin McCoy Mystery.

About the Book:
cdad_fcIn the second Carlisle Crimes Case, Courting Doubt and Darkness, Homicide Detectives Christopher Snow and Erin McCoy tail a killer who stymies the police with multiple MO’s. While McCoy testifies at the trial of sisters who kidnapped her in Dying for Vengeance, Snow and Savage recover a  nude body from the Letort Spring. While tracking sparse clues, another killing surfaces  that rings alarms: the victims were connected. The chase leads to an active Marcellus oil rig. As police tangle with hostile suspects, they are courting doubt and darkness, leaving the comfort of Carlisle to the wilds of the Raccoon Mountain. When eight-month pregnant McCoy joins the case, she discovers her Native American relatives are involved…

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Catherine Jordan’s devilish series continues with “The Bookseller’s Secret”

MECHANICSBURG, Pa.Sunbury Press has released Catherine Jordan’s supernatural thriller The Bookseller’s Secret, the sequel to Seeking Samiel.

About the Book:
tbss_fcSome secrets are meant to be shared; this magic book is one of them, and it will haunt you for the rest of your life. Mason Barry is an American reporter who has risked his life writing and whistle-blowing. His last venture ended with his friend and photographer murdered, and a bounty on his head. Regardless, he dives into the deep web, searching for his next great story. He catches a blurb about the anti-Christ, a woman alive and well, living in South Africa. Supposedly, she has written a magic book. Readers claimed the author’s words not only opened doors to the supernatural, but also compelled them to murder and suicide. Mason heads to Llandudno, a wealthy suburb of Cape Town, to find the book, meet the author, and expose whatever truths he might find. He meets more than a few sketchy characters along the way, and becomes lost in a world he never knew existed.

Surprisingly, the magic shop was in a nice section of Cape Town, situated among upscale stores. A tall, formidable bank was across the street. A family restaurant, The Albert, stood on the corner by the bank.

No sign hung over the sangoma’s awning-covered door, but the storefront window was filled with sexless voodoo dolls, male and female candle figures, incense sticks arranged in color-coordinated piles, prayer beads, and faceted candles hanging from strings.

Inside was like most of the other sangoma shops I’d wandered into: old and a little run down. It seemed tacky and clichéd; exactly what I expected. Strong patchouli and clove scented the air. An old man reclined on a yellow couch in the middle of the room. He was clothed in a full-length, white robe. His feet were bare, yet remarkably clean. The couch looked like something discarded and rescued. His long, gray, beaded hair hung in braids across his shoulders and past his chest. I assumed him to be the bookseller I was looking for, the sangoma. I felt his eyes on me while I quickly toured the room.

V0025811ETR Witchcraft: witches and devils dancing in a circle. Woodcut,Glass display cases lined the walls. Price stickers asked enough money to be afforded by tourists and suckers. All kinds of thoughts bounced inside my head, and each bizarre thing reminded me of another. Tarot cards made me think of a magician’s pack I played with as a child, performing card tricks for friends, spreading them out to show a normal deck, then flipping through the deck to reveal all aces. Dried herbs reminded me of my pot-smoking, college days. Crystal necklaces brought to mind a necklace I had bought for a girlfriend. Muti—wet guck contained in various glass jars with handwritten “medicine” labels—looked like plasma from a science-fiction movie I once saw called The Blob.

The blogger warned the book would be authenticated by its odor when opened, and I would need the key to unlock it. “Excuse me,” I said to the old man on the couch. “I’m looking for a book.”

“I have books,” he said. “Over there.” He pointed toward a curtained-off room.

“Can I go in and look? It’s a magic book, written by a local woman. It’s banned, so I don’t know if you’ll have it.” The sangoma raised his brow. “The book is supposed to have weather spells and alchemy,” I said.

He stood, more quickly and agile than I thought he was capable of doing.

“Waza nami,” the sangoma said. “Follow me.”

His bare feet slapped across the floor, and I followed him. He swept his hand through a part in the curtain, revealing a room filled with shelves of books.

“Must be heavy,” I said as the sangoma struggled to pull the thick, leather volume off the shelf, his hands lost in his robe’s billowy sleeves. The beads in his hair clicked every time he moved.

“Not for me,” the sangoma said. “Books are heavy for the ignorant, for the strangers, never for their loving owners. And this is my book.”

I screwed my forehead into a frown. “I’m a book collector,” I said a little too defensive and loud for even my ears.

“Do you read all the books you acquire?” he asked.

“Some aren’t meant to be read,” I said. “They’re to be admired.”

“Do you ever wonder what secrets lay between those covers?” the sangoma asked, one eyebrow cocked as he gave a hint of a smile. “What omniscience is inside and what benefit will be conveyed upon you?”

“No,” I said. “They look nice on my shelf. I appreciate them for their value.”

He lowered his eyebrow and widened his smile. “Value is what you are after? Then this book is for you,” the sangoma said, making the next approach, asking for the open offer, the old, tricky, Mesopotamian way to trade, hiding the price, testing the customer’s desire. “If you really want it.”

I reached out.

The sangoma turned slightly to avoid my hand. He caressed the book in the most sensual way and seemed to be in love.

“It is signed,” said the sangoma. “Inside by the author, Eva van Hollinsworth.”

I hadn’t been able to find much information about the author. The book itself was so clouded in mystery, I began to wonder if she even existed. At best, I figured she was some sort of a scientist who attempted to transform the alchemist’s dreams into reality. But according to the missionary who tried to kill himself, she was more than that—a witch.

About the Author:
IMG_6913-WMCatherine Jordan is a Pennsylvania author of paranormal thrillers. She is a wife and mother of five children.  Born in Indiana, she lived many years in the South, and was raised in Northeastern PA.  A native of Mountaintop, PA and a graduate of Penn State University with a BS in Finance and Statistics, she has been writing stories since she learned to hold a pencil.

Catherine is a member of the Thriller Writers Association and the Horror Writers Association. Her short story, The Green Eyed Monster, was published in the anthology, A Community of Writers. She writes in different genres and strives to write thought-provoking, consequential stories. Blurring the line between reality and fiction is a goal she hopes to indulge in the near future with readers through interactive fiction.

The Bookseller’s Secret
List Price: $16.95
5.5″ x 8.5″ (13.97 x 21.59 cm)
Black & White on White paper
262 pages
Sunbury Press, Inc.
ISBN-13: 978-1620065389
ISBN-10: 162006538X
BISAC: Fiction / Occult & Supernatural

For more information, please see:…