Are you a horror fanatic with kids?  You ever want to turn your kids onto the genre without giving them night terrors?  Here’s a list of scary movies that are (sorta) appropriate for the whole family! 

I’m going to tell you a story.  It’s about a long winding staircase, a long winding staircase into darkness.  Thick darkness.  You will have to step carefully, feeling each step beneath you with your foot, with your toes, to make sure it’s there, to make sure you aren’t about to put your weight on empty space, having missed a turn in the dark.  You might want to take your shoes off.  Taking your shoes off might help, and you don’t want to fall.  This is not a game.  There is no net.

If you haven't seen Omnibucket's first iPad book "The Ravens & the Rhyme," take a look in our store and download the free App. It's amazing. Our next iPad book will be a very different story - but once again we're going all out.  "Life of the Gallows," by Scott Lambridis, is the story of a court jester whose king decides to promote him to executioner.  

I have this friend. A writer of pretty good prose and godawful poetry (which even he would admit) A playwright in remission with the dramatic impulse re-emerging (he's always been a drama queen) And my friend? He has this little problem. Every October, he wants to write the ultimate horror story or ghost story or other Eldritch indulgence. But he can't. Not because he's blocked. Because he's afraid.

The fourth Action Fiction! performance, held October 18, drew a crowd of over 50 to San Francisco's Chez Poulet to see some amazing interpretations of some amazing stories.

We're working to get the video up so you can see for yourself:  in the meantime, text of all the stories is now up and available on our partner site Fiction365.com - to be read the old fashioned way.

She saw the cottage from a long way off, and wondered if this was a bad sign:  if she could see it, other things could too.  But it offered shelter.  If offered protection.  Maybe there would be something inside to use as a weapon.  She ran.  Ran over uneven forest ground, over tree roots and muddy patches, and didn’t dare fall:  fear kept one foot in the air at all times.  She reached the wooden door:  it was creaky, not very sturdy, but it was open.  She pulled on it, stepped in, and closed it behind her.  The first thing she saw was a latch.  She closed it.

In 1974, an F5 tornado hit the downtown of Xenia, Ohio, killing thirty-four people and injuring 1,150.  Tossed railcars obliterated the entire downtown and a school bus landed on the stage of the high school play.  The damage from this tornado, surveyed by Richard M. Nixon (and prompting him to pass the Federal Disaster Relief Act) is considered one of the most significant twisters in U.S. history.

The back door of my apartment opens into an alleyway covered in murals. On weekends, people flock to this urban tourist attraction, cameras at the ready. They photograph one another posing against the vivid colors, hoping to get an ‘original’ shot of the graffiti so many others have already developed. By Monday, litter is the only sign of the recent influx of visitors. Discarded spray paint cans, beer bottles, and snack food wrappers move like tumbleweeds down the street they can’t seem to escape.

I knew about the wallet.