Book Signing on October 26th!

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The Rise and Fall of John Rizzerio
by; R. Richardsson, a local Topeka Author

The Boobie Trap
1417 SW 6th, Topeka, Kansas 66606
8pm -9pm free
Cover after 9pm: Adults $5 / Minors $7

There have been many faces of horror over the years; from authors such as Bram Stoker, to directors like George A. Romero. Each have rightfully earned their places in the land of Nightmares, but there are still those who seek to bleed their way in.

R. Richardsson, a hardcore fan of the genre, seeks to break in with his novella; The Rise and Fall of John Rizzerio; a story which follows a vampire hunter who loses everything, subsequently falling from grace. Its sequel, The Hunter Reborn, follows the frantic race of old friends and new as they scramble to rescue J.R. physically, as well as spiritually, while their enemies continue to grow ever stronger.

R. Richardsson has also written such works as; The Promise, an homage to The Twilight Zone, and ongoing webseries such as; She Has A Pretty Face Though and The Box, which can be found at his website.

Writing has been a suppressed passion, which like the Hunter, has only recently been reborn. He fills any of his free time working on upcoming novels, short stories and posts for his current webseries.

Once you’ve received your copy, stick around for some great music and entertainment!

(This post is for my online friends who have yet to hear the news, or have not seen the flyer.)

The Box (Part X)

Posted on October 14, 2013 by R. Richardsson

“…get a grip, rider…”

The elfin words rebounded off of the walls around him, forced backwards by the spell he had previously placed on his companion. The words trembled with fear, something that he had not known was possible in his companion, and were spoken by the lips of one who was no longer sure of himself.

It had been only a few moments since the gaping maw had been inches from his face. He could still smell the foul odor it had breathed onto him, coating his senses with its rotten promise of death.

He walked in long strides, the only sound from him being the soft whisper of his robes as they rustled with each step, following the path that the smaller creature had taken. The creatures were visibly agitated, but he had already expected that they would be.

“…gods…”

A sinister smile slowly placed the evil on his expression when he heard the single word prayer spit out by the elf.

It wouldn’t be long before the creatures swarmed in on the one he had scented as the intruder in their tunnels. The ruse had been easy enough. They had expected him to place wards against the dragon’s fire, but they knew very little about the nature of his magic. He had drawn the knife across his palm in the beginning of the ritual and spread his blood on the back of the elf’s armor.

Later, during the ‘show’ of silencing each of their loudest parts, he had enchanted the blood sigil with a scent that would drive any nearby predators mad with rage. It had worked sooner than he had expected, but then, he hadn’t thought of the Destrachan being the first creatures to come within range of the scent.

From what he knew of the creatures, they were more suited to the deeper regions of the underdark, where sounds were a precious commodity and smells got you killed. It was curious that they had wandered this close to the surface. More curious still that they hunted this close to a dragon’s lair.

“…give me strength…”

The desperation in the voice of the elf amused him. He had seemed so strong, so capable. And yet, the panic in his words betrayed him. It was the sound of one who had just realized how utterly alone he truly was. The words were of one who knew that he had little chance of winning.

He reached into a small pouch hanging from his right hip and produced the hourglass he had shown his companions earlier. What he had told them was that it revealed the remaining time on the Ward vs. Dragon Fire spell he had cast. What it showed him was the time remaining on the silence spells, for which was its only purpose.

As before, when he opened his hands, it drifted a couple of feet away where it would float until he willed it to return. There were very few grains of sand left in the upper portion of the device and his grin grew to demonic proportions. Had either of the two seen his expression just then, they might have had more than a second thought about the sorcerer.

He left the enchanted timer to float where it was, it would continue maintain its position even when he was moving. He didn’t often do this, for it drained the enchantment much faster when it was out, but he wanted to watch the last grain of sand fall to the small pile on the bottom. There was a grim satisfaction in knowing that he would soon be the only one who would know the secret of The Box.

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXVIII)

Posted on October 13, 2013 by R. Richardsson

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog. While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience. Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections. Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author. Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

For the next several hours, he slowly slipped in and out of consciousness. Because he had no physical state, it was nearly impossible for him to get any solid length of sleep. He had no eyelids to block out the light.

Was it even possible to sleep here? What was happening felt more like he was withdrawing into himself to regather his strength. The manipulating of his own body, as well as drawing himself closer to the portals that were his eyes, were both very taxing. He felt very much a static image of himself and it frightened him.

His coming and going reminded him of the time he had stayed up an entire week working on his project in the den. The work was tedious, but very easy to lose track of time while doing which is exactly what had happened. Because his mother spent most of her time at work, she didn’t notice his absence and his bitch of a sister couldn’t have cared less. Surviving on only bottled water and crackers…

“…follow the…crumbs I’ve left behind…”

He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of the voice. But, had the ‘other’ spoken, or was he merely remembering? No, if it was, he would have felt the words as they coursed through him. So then it was the latter, but, he wasn’t sure what this was supposed to mean. In this prison, inside of his mind, he only saw what the other wanted him to see. At first, he had been haunted by his dreams. But the longer he spent here, the less he dreamed.

He began to grow angry. It welled up from deep inside of him and empowered him with its raw energy.

How dare this ‘other’ take control of him and force him to watch through his own eyes as it enjoyed what was his!

His anger poured into the infinite cup that was his soul, slowly filling it with an all too familiar rage. Though he had no form, he felt his temperature beginning to rise as he focused on thoughts of the usurper.

Who does this thing think its dealing with?!

It was a feeling he had recently experienced, one which he had focused on the family dog, and it had once again consumed him. Though he would never know it, the ethereal form of his consciousness had lost all of its translucent properties and had begun to swell inside of his prison.

Suddenly, the vast reaches of his his mind were more confining. He could see its walls around him and they reminded him of the time he held a pen-light against the tip of his finger.

“I’m taking back what’s mine,” he projected as he approached the inside of his eyes.

“Wai-what,” came the sleepy response of the other, but it was too late. Scott’s soul slammed home and he smiled with grim satisfaction as he felt the violent ejection of the other from its perch.

He was laying down and the ceiling above him was unfamiliar. Something heavy pressed against his his right side, and for a brief moment he panicked when he couldn’t move his arm, until he realized what it was that had him pinned.

Her hot, fetid breath blasted his newly regained senses, causing to first groan in disgust and then recoil away from her.

“Ohhh, gross,” he moaned as he carefully slid out from under her. When she didn’t stir, he silently got out of the bed and began gathering his clothes from the floor. It took him only a few minutes to get dressed, and once finished, he glared at her sleeping mass while rubbing his sore cheek.