Sharpen your pencils and limber up your fingers for this one. There is no entry fee and you can enter as many limericks as you want. Funny? Horrific? Horrifically funny? There is no official deadline yet, but we will give everyone a “heads-up” (or a “heads-off” for all of our zombie readers) when we begin to reach the saturation point. The contest will definitely run through July 2012, but don’t wait too long. The author of the winning entry will receive a $50 grand prize, second pl...
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Days and years come and go, but the world outside remains ancient. Undead creatures roam the earth as they have since the beginning of time. Monsters still lurk in shadows and haunt our dreams. They fill our nightmares and flow from the pages of Dark Moon Digest like fresh blood. And Issue #6 is no different. Well, maybe a little different as not only will you find ancient horrors come to life, but future horrors as well. This is our biggest issue to date, and is packed with short stories and...
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It's true that few of us would choose the life of a zombie, mindlessly consuming every moving thing in sight as we rot and shrivel with decay. It's also true that few of us would choose to become a ghost, dolefully watching the comings and goings of the living, unable to touch, to breathe, to feel them in a physical way. But, if given the chance to become a vampire, I think most of us would bite. Vampires make our pulses quicken: whether they are the velveteen figures of Anne Rice or Bram Sto...
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We are not sure how many body pieces Victor Frankenstein used to create his "monster," but it is likely he used a lot less than Dark Moon Books did in stitching this creation together. It was pointed out during the proofreading and editing process that the table of contents included more words (nearly 800 at last count) than any of the individual stories. It was an interesting observation, but it proves a point. A well-written, complete story can be told with very few words. So, here it is in...
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We are the ones who still believe. In our periphery, we see them dancing darkly in moon beams, flickering like ghouls in the candlelight, and braying like witches to the wind that flutters the branches in the trees. We turn to look, but the specters sway just out of our line of vision, always behind us like our own shadows. Sometimes we feel them brush against our cheek while we sleep. Cold, clammy palms weep against our shoulders before we turn with a start. A chill sweeps over us. Sometimes...
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