The Final Meeting of the Moon Watcher's Club

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The Moon Watchers Club chased a herd of 12 does and one buck over in rural Kane County this past full moon cycle. Before they tired, Snorewort picked up the scent of a cow despite his fever. The pack soon settled for a cow asleep in the Brickslobber's north forty. Daisy had wandered out of the barn earlier that evening, according Sheriff Ivan Wilson quoted in the Daily Hopper.

Henry J. Snorewort collapsed after he severed the cow's jugular vein. Ira Brickslobber found him in the morning. Henry lay next to the bloody remains of the half-eaten cow. The autopsy later revealed he died of Covid 19. From that night's gathering, six members of the Moon Watcher's Club spread the Corona virus to three high schools where they infected fellow staff members. No students were affected due to remote learning. The club members each served as assistant principals. Three other Moon Watchers Club associates spread Covid to 150 co-workers at the factories or warehouses that employed them. Four Evangelical Christian werewolves spread the Corona virus to more than 500 worshipers due to these conservative churches' refusal to shut down or require masks and social distancing. For some reason God chose not to protect these congregants when the werewolf members attended.

Thanks to the werewolves, not only did a Kane County cow part ways with the earth, but also the Moon Watchers wreaked havoc upon their home county. DuPage County's death count set records that moon cycle for new cases of the pandemic disease. The death of the members of the Moon Watchers Club rid the DuPage County forest preserve district of one of its most vexing problems, the large amount of wolf poo left on the forest preserve trails during the full moon along with any number of partially-devoured carcasses of small animals and late evening joggers.

Mrs. Snorewort collected on her late husband's million-dollar life insurance. She quit her job at Walmart, sold her Naperville home (one of those big jobs) and moved to Florida where she died of Covid three weeks after her arrival. No one bothered to track the body count from her move either in Florida or at the many stops she made along the drive. Her two adult children plan to use the Florida home as a getaway for winter vacations. For some reason, the kids never caught Covid. Yet.

THE END

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Werewolves in the Time of Corona

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Henry J. Snorewort sneezed for the first time in 32 years, the time since a pesky DuPage County lycanthrope bit him at age 23. Now 55 but as spry as a twenty-something, he sneezed into his mask like he was supposed to but yuck. Fortunately, Mrs. Snorewort insisted he carry a spare mask. He stuffed the besnotted cover into the left back pocket of his bluejeans and slipped the new mask out of the right. Four clean layers of cloth, including an American flag design printed on the outside layer, protected others from his fevered self.

By the time he arrived home with the groceries, Henry felt hot. Mrs. Snorewort confirmed his 104 degrees Fahrenheit fever. “Flu or Covid. Your choice,” said Mrs. Snorewort.

“You don't sound worried, my dear,” said Henry.

“Why should I worry? We have a million dollar life insurance policy on you.”

“True, dear, but you never know. You might get lucky.”

“If you can rid yourself of that fever, maybe we both can get lucky tonight.”

“I better lay down before I pass out.”

“Soup for dinner?”

“I doubt I can eat anything. Besides I have a meeting tonight.”

“Not another one of your Moon Watchers Club affairs?”

“Sorry, honey, but the full moon will rise tonight. I'll return early.”

“Harrumph. Early for moon watchers means five in the morning.”

“I can return from our usual lunacy sooner than that.”

They say you need silver to kill a werewolf. Otherwise, you have to chop off its head. Henry found a third way that evening. He joined his lycanthropic friends shortly before midnight, never mind his fever or his mask. It's not as if you can convince a werewolf to practice social distancing or worry about a buddy who sprays when he sneezes in the time of Covid. Besides, what good is a mask when you have a snout nearly a foot long from eyeball to fang overbite?

THE END?

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Vampire Grass

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Every neighborhood of a certain age had one: the haunted house that sat empty for at least a generation. What spooky critters wandered the halls of the long dead house late at night? What goblins cast their shadows from the dilapidated porch in the moonlight? Why did the house whisper “Stay away” in the breeze? What prompted the front lawn to welcome you with its well trimmed, weedless demeanor? Who cut that lawn anyway? And why did it twinkle in the sunshine?

Snitch, the Harrison's bloodhound from down the block, could have cared less who trimmed the lawn or what made it twinkle. A well-twinkled lawn deserved a tinkle or two in the hound's mind. Those disheveled dogwood bushes by the leaning front porch worked for Snitch's micturation purposes.

Snitch tugged Daniel Harrison, attorney at law, who was attached to the other end of Snitch's chrome-plated steel leash. Daniel ignored the aged, weather-stained “Keep Off the Grass” sign as he followed his hound with plastic bag in hand ready to render damage control of the brown ball kind. While Snitch went about his business, Daniel stood by like a good master until he felt the snap on his shoes. A vise-like grip rooted him in place. He whimpered. Tiny pins penetrated everywhere. Blood drained from his body onto the bright green grass. The ground opened.

To the casual passerby, the lawn twinkled in perfection except perhaps for that swollen spot the size of a grave near the dogwood bushes in front of the dilapidated porch. Nearby, a hound dog waited for his master in vain. The driver of the lawn treatment chemical truck certainly qualified as a casual passerby as she stopped in front of the old house to admire the new mound in the lawn. She smiled a near toothless grin and cackled her best mwa-ha-ha.

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Why Marla Ansbury Peed in English Class

Abigail MacSnorter infuriated Marla Ansbury the day in April 1959 when Bob Saxon asked her to the prom. Abigail didn't know why Bob had chosen her. After all, she had average mousy brown hair, forgettable facial features and an ordinary body. She preferred to blend in rather than shine with the star quarterback.

Abigail asked, “Why me?”

“You're new this year and I figured you might not be asked, so I request your presence. Besides, you are far more beautiful than you look.” Bob smiled while Abigail contemplated what Bob could possibly mean by saying she was more beautiful than she looked.

Rather than make a fuss or draw attention to herself, Abigail accepted. Unfortunately, accepting a prom date when you're the new kid in school is just as likely to outrage the other girls as would a rejection. Accept and you discover the boy in question was already taken as far as the other girls were concerned. Refuse and you declare war on the rest of the senior class because the star quarterback with the movie star body somehow isn't good enough for you.

Marla Ansbury's fury derived from her position as head cheerleader, leading candidate for prom queen, and the class-designated future trophy wife of Bob Saxon. Marla believed these things but had some doubts since the night last summer when Bob dumped her. While Marla possessed most of the qualities a man could want from a girlfriend, he preferred girls on the college track which in 1959 actually required high performance in high school math, science, literature and several long dead languages.

Things quieted down until the Wednesday evening before the prom. Marla knocked on the door to Abigail's apartment where she lived with her grandmother. When Abigail opened the door, Marla fired both barrels of her dad's 12 gauge. The recoil knocked Marla on her butt in the hallway. Abigail flew back into her living room with a massive wound to her midsection. Blood splattered about the room and soaked the carpet. Without a word, Marla stood up and strolled out of the building.

The next day, Abigail sauntered into English class, smiled at Marla as if nothing had happened, and plopped onto her desk. Marla turned ashen. She peed through her skirt enough to form a large puddle under her seat.

If Marla had stayed longer the previous night, she would not have missed the show. Instead, she would have witnessed Abigail “Snipgridixz” MacSnorter's teenage alien hermaphrodite shapeshifter body reabsorb her blood. She may have seen Abigail's internal organs reshape into their proper alien form, which is somewhat different than human anatomy. However, she would not have observed much after Abigail's skin expanded to seal her massive wound.

Abigail never did figure out what Bob Saxon meant when he said, “You are far more beautiful than you look.” It was enough to make a girl wonder if ol' Bob knew more than he let on.

THE END

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When Tom Stone Failed to Impress

When Tom Stone failed to impress his chemistry teacher, Mr. Boron ordered him under the class emergency shower. Tom obliged, clothes and all. Within a minute he began to sing America the Beautiful. The usual wiseguys joined in until Mr. Boron ordered silence. “Rush to the nurses office,” he ordered Tom.

“It's okay, Mr. Boron. My hands are better.” Tom held them out for inspection.

Mr. Boron checked Tom's hands, front and back. “Impossible. You spilled sulfuric acid. Your shirtsleeves are half eaten away so should the skin on your wrists and forearms, but they're not. You splashed sulfuric acid on your shirt and pants. Your clothes have the holes to prove it, yet you have no burns. How is that possible?”

“Somebody watered down the acid?” Tom suggested.

Mr. Boron issued the final word on spilled sulfuric acid. “Nonsense. Head down to the nurse's office this instant, young man. Tell her what happened. Go.”

It was the final word for Tom Stone. He padded down the hall out of the science wing headed for the front entrance of Claymore High School in the tiny town of the same name located a few miles northeast of Madison, Wisconsin. The year was 1952. Tom preferred to stay until graduation, but he knew from experience that Miss Atkins, the school nurse, would ask too many questions. She was inquisitive that way. Meanwhile, Mr. Boron would research the possibilities for the instant healing from acid burns. Sooner or later he would run across rumors of shapeshifters walking the earth and men in black.

Back home, Snipgridixz removed his wet clothes and shifted his Tom Stone body in the female direction. Small teenage boobs popped out on his chest. Strange things happened down below. Since she lacked clothes appropriate to a teenage girl, Snipgridixz changed into one of her “Grandma” outfits and morphed into her sixty-something Grandma persona. Her boobs sagged, her hips spread, her knees bent low and her old lady clothes fit. Her hair turned gray and frizzy, her face wrinkled. “Perfect,” Snipgridixz said.

On the way out, she couldn't help but notice the black 1951 Dodge sedan cruise into the parking lot. Four tall thin men stepped out. They wore black suits, white shirts, black neck ties, black shoes and black hats. They had covered their eyes with sunglasses. “Excuse me, ma'am,” shouted one of the men. “Have you seen this young man. He lives in this apartment complex.”

Snipgridixz Grandma stepped close to the men. She smiled to reveal cracked teeth and receding gums with many gaps. “I know the boy. He should be in school at this time of day.” Her words included enough spittle to spot the closest man's sunglasses.

The men gagged on Grandma's breath. “Thanks, ma'am.” The men shuffled into the apartment building.

Snipgridixz Grandma drove off in the direction of the afternoon sun. She glanced at the empty seat next to her. “Don't worry, dear, you're so pretty and Grandma will buy new outfits for when you begin high school in our new hometown in Arizona.”

THE END

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Middle-Aged Teenage Alien Hermaphrodite Shapeshifter

The young male strapped naked to the autopsy table widened his orange eyeball. He followed with his green one. “You'd really remove my brain and replace it later?”

The doctor's breath carried the aroma of Milwaukee's finest beer combined with Wisconsin bratwurst. The medical practitioner waved a scalpel over his victim. A long female face appeared next to him.

“Fred, my name is Doctor, well, we don't reveal our names in the laboratory of the black dress code, but I don't suppose your name is Fred either. Much too earther. I'm delighted to confirm our plan to borrow your brain. We'll store it in a large glass jar filled with formaldehyde to preserve it. As I mentioned before, you don't have to worry. I'll replace it when I'm finished with my studies.”

The doctor and his female companion backed away as “Fred” reshaped his body to free himself from his restraints. The doctor and his assistant continued to step back when Fred morphed into his normal blue-gray alien body with the giant eyes and tiny mouth on a triangle shaped head. When he stepped toward the physician and his assistant, the doctor tripped over his feet. He landed hard on the blood-red enamel-painted concrete floor. His assistant tumbled down with him.

“He's knocked out,” said the assistant after she checked on the physician.

Fred approached her. “Please give me your clothes.”

“Pardon me?”

“Su clothes, por favor. Now.” Fred placed a hand on the assistant's shoulder. She either fainted or faked it. Either way, Fred caught her in mid-collapse. He stripped her before he strapped her naked on the autopsy table. After dressing in her clothes, underwear and all, he morphed into the exact likeness of the female assistant, except for an oversized butt, third boob and six bellybuttons. He adjusted his chest but failed to notice his very noticeable butt. Fred, now Frieda, placed a surgical saw in the physician's hand before she left the building.

The lab was housed in the basement so Frieda had to find the stairwell. She exited the stairs on the first floor where she came out at the back of a large office of black-suited bureaucrats. Several people greeted her as Mona. Frieda changed her name to Mona to accommodate. She felt an urge that she couldn't identify until she noticed the Ladies room sign. What the heck, she thought, earthers might prefer privacy when they eliminate.

Later, Mona tried the female assistant's car key in every automobile in the building parking lot before she decided the woman must have parked in another location. Besides, she had no idea how to operate an earther vehicle. The stranger meandered down the street with a grin. It was a brisk, sunny November afternoon in 1946, and it must have been payday on earth for the stolen purse contained a large wad of greenbacks. “I simply must learn my human anatomy,” Mona said aloud to no one as she set out on her next adventure on a her new planet.

THE END

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Brainless Alien?

Four tall, thin men dressed in black suits and fedoras arrested the quiet stranger teenager Elizabeth Stockmeyer and her mother called “Fred.” Sheriff Winslow Tate sipped Mrs. Stockmeyer's fresh coffee with his back to the arrest by the outsiders. He stared at the kitchen counter as the four agents from who-knew-what federal agency handcuffed and hauled the young man out to their black late model Ford sedan. As far as the sheriff could tell, the only crime the lad committed, other than his odd looks, including a left arm that was a foot longer than his right, was to pop out of the woods buck naked earlier that morning and thereby expose himself to an innocent young Wisconsin teenager on a cold November morning. The year was 1946. Sheriff Tate knew if it was up to him, he'd haul the young man to the state line and turn him loose with the warning never to show his butt in Grant county again. He couldn't even look Mrs. Stockmeyer in the eye when she moaned, “What the hell.” Sixteen-year-old Elizabeth explained that the boy was a fugging Nazi spy. Her mother scolded her for her language.

The four agents drove “Fred” to Madison where they parked in back of a nondescript four-story office structure that could have been a state government building or something else. Within minutes, the men had taken “Fred” to a basement laboratory and strapped him down on an autopsy table, but as a stranger from a far distant place, Fred did not recognize it as such.

The four black suits left the room. Another few minutes passed when a middle aged plump man entered accompanied by a woman, also middle aged. She was tall and thin, an apparent sister to the black suits. She and the man wore black lab coats, surgical masks and head coverings.

“Do you understand English?” the big man asked.

“Si,” replied “Fred.”

“What's your real name?” the woman asked.

“They call me Fred.”

“But your real name is?” asked the rotund man as he rolled a cart filled with surgical instruments up to the autopsy table.

“Fred.”

“Well, Fred, your name is of no matter. Welcome to earth, to America, the land of the free and home of the brave. We would love to interview you in depth about your advanced alien science, but we simply don't have time. Our superiors want us to learn everything about your biology and they want to know immediately. Something about not wanting to unleash alien bacteria and such on America. We're delighted to see that you look like us, with a few weird exceptions like your orange and green eyes, purple hair and one arm longer than the other. It'll make our living autopsy easier. I'll begin by removing your brain for examination. Don't worry, I'll put it back when I'm finished. You don't mind, do you?”

The man and the woman both bellowed their best rendition of an evil mwa-ha-ha laugh.

THE END

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Elizabeth Stockmeyer's Most Unusual Morning

Through her glasses, with lenses thick as a soda bottle bottom, sixteen-year-old Elizabeth Stockmeyer spotted a flash of bare human flesh through the woods about 20 yards down Stickle Road from her family's farm. Snipgridix, the teenage alien hermaphrodite shapeshifter, wandered out of the forest. Unfortunately, he hadn't yet mastered the art of being human. His sky blue left foot was a size 6 and his right sky blue foot size 18. The right side of his body was white while the left side was black. Otherwise, he appeared average height, weight, brown hair and forgettable face. He had one purple eyeball and one orange.

The most interesting thing, of course, for young Elizabeth was she now knew what gentleman kepthidden beneath their khakis. She suspected the weather on this November morning in 1946 may have affected the young man's, uh, “equipment” which the stranger made no attempt to cover. She had heard from the other girls to expect the young man's thingie to be much larger.

“Buenas dias,” said the youth. “You wouldn't happen to know where I could obtain some of those outer coverings you creatures wear, would you?”

“You must be freezing. Here, cover yourself with my coat.” Elizabeth removed her navy blue wool A-line jacket and handed it to the stranger.

“Thank you.” The newcomer attempted to put the coat on upside down. Then he twisted it sideways to wear like a wrap. He smiled at Elizabeth. “Ist gute, ya?”

“You'd think you never in your life wore a coat before. Let me help you.” Elizabeth moved behind the man and held up the jacket. “Slip your arms in these holes.” From this position she missed seeing the young man conform his body to the size of the A-line. “Oh, my, a perfect fit, but how is that possible? Come to my house where you may borrow my father's clothes. They'll be way too big on you, but you can't go about naked and half frozen to death even if you are a Nazi spy.”

While her Mom assisted the young visitor with his apparel needs, Elizabeth waited in the kitchen with a well-sugared and creamed cup of coffee by the wood stove. She sauntered down the hall where she called the sheriff's department on the telephone to report the arrival of the odd-colored naked stranger. The sheriff ended the conversation by suggesting Elizabeth make a fresh pot of coffee.

Within a short time, her mother returned with the young man behind.

“Your father's clothes fit,” Mom said.

“But that's not possible,” Elizabeth said. “My coat fit him before. Besides he lost some of his color and now his feet match. What's going on here?”

“We can worry about that later. I'll drive you to school, but first, let me pour Fred a cup of coffee.” Mom picked up the coffeepot.

“Sorry, Mom, but I called the sheriff. We should wait.”

“Don't worry. I'll make breakfast for Fred in the meantime.”

Thirty minutes later, Fred, or Snipgridix as his home world folks named him, watched out the window of the kitchen as Sheriff Tate liberated his oversize mid-section from behind the wheel of his Chevy in the driveway. An unmarked black Ford sedan parked next to the sheriff's Chevy and ejected four tall, thin men dressed in black suits, black neckties, white shirts, black hats and black shoes. They wore black sunglasses.

THE END

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Fred Freeborner's Alien

In the years that followed, farmer Fred Freeborner told anyone who would listen about the alien visitation in his deer blind at daybreak on November 15, 1946. He took pains to point out this was the deer blind on the west end of his southwest Wisconsin dairy farm, not the one over near Bob Perkins' blueberry farm.

What he thought was an unusual three-horned black bear lumbered down the deer path in front of him. Later he learned the creature was likely the legendary Mudvarian Primbobber. Whether horned bear or legendary creature, it morphed into one of those scary space aliens. You know the kind. They’re blue-gray, have a teeny, tiny slit for a mouth and have a triangular-shaped head with no hair. Their eyes are super large and twisted at an angle down from their oversized brains. They communicate by mental telepathy.

These aliens kidnap weird people to conduct painful experiments. They stick long needles into their bellies and steal their mojo before they return them to the world like a fisherman playing catch and release. Their victims then travel anywhere they can find listeners who want to hear about their alien abduction, but nobody believes them. Would you? Well, the Mudvarian Primbobber turned into one of those aliens.

The strange visitor, strolled to the bottom of the hill by the creek. He glanced up the trunk of the big oak, noticed Fred in his deer blind and said, “Good morning” without moving his mouth.

Fred, who at this point realized he had snatched the 22 longs instead of the .30-06 cartridges he needed for his Remington 1903/A3 .30-06 Springfield when he left the house, began to fumble around for the hunting knife that at the time resided under the seat of his red 1945 Ford pickup parked 100 yards south by the side of road.

In his best clear American, Snipgridixz the newly-arrived teenage alien hermaphrodite shapeshifter, said, “Oops. Das vas nix gute.” He morphed into a naked young man. “Is this better?” And it would have been if Snipgridixz had morphed into a normal human instead of his blue-footed version with a left foot size 6 and a right foot size 18. If both sides of his body had the same color skin, well, that would have helped also.

Fred nodded but the words simply would not form in his mouth so he grunted and groaned as the strange nude figure wandered into the woods on the other side of the creek. Fred took a gulp of java embellished with his home brewed Wisconsin cheese liqueur but spit it out. He always ended the tale by mentioning the men in black visited him two days later.

THE END

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Glickenhopper's Mudvarian Primbobber

After he blew up his flying saucer, quite by accident you understand, Snipgridixz waited in Lake Winnebago. When the soldiers finished their cleanup, he ventured onto shore where he rested in the form of a Mudvarian Primbobber. He may have remained asleep all night if Private Elmore Glickenhopper hadn't stepped on him while on patrol. Glickenhopper jerked back. “What was that?” He shone his flashlight on the sleeping form with the boot print on its butt.

Glickenhopper had never seen an animal like a Mudvarian Primbobber. It appeared the right size for a black bear. But what about those three horns on one end of the the brute's body? Were the  horns on its head or its butt? Glickenhopper wasn't certain. He noticed the beast's scaly skin and bloated body. The animal either burped or farted. Glickenhopper couldn't be certain which end was which, but the aroma assaulted the nasal passages only slightly more than the fragrance of a barracks where 40 GIs slept off a beer and beans night at the NCO club.

The Mudvarian Primbobber galloped into the darkness of the Northwoods never to be seen again except for occasional appearances in his many other forms like the Jersey Devil, Rhinelander Hodag, the Lizard Man of Scrape Ore Swamp, and of course, your average American teenager. Snipgridixz could even land in your school. Have you checked on the new kid in your chemistry class? Snipgridixz enjoys masquerading as a boy most times, talkative as ever, and always, well, almost always, one step ahead of the Men in Black.

THE END

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First Day on Earth

On the night of November 14, 1946, Snipgridixz bumped into a panel on the saucer's main control panel. The defense shield dropped. Slipgringil screamed “Brizilagramp,” a bad word in his native language. A captured German V-2 rocket flew through the open docking bay door where it exploded against the back wall.

The flying saucer disintegrated but Snipgridixz escaped when the blast blew him out the open bay door. He spread a pair of bat-like wings and flapped until he landed in Lake Winnebago near Paynes Point, a tiny tourist area south of Neenah, Wisconsin. Air-filled float bags replaced his bat wings once he hit the water. As he watched, the rest of the crew, including Slipgringil, landed in a cluster on shore, but in the dark, Snipgridixz didn't spot any movement. He assumed they must be unconscious or worse.

U.S Army soldiers assigned to monitor the V2 test approached the crash site. They divided into two groups upon arrival. The first panicked and scattered into the surrounding forest. Snipgridixz heard their screams mixed with the battle noise of M1 rifle fire from the braver soldiers. Snipgridixz knew his shipmates died in the saucer explosion. Otherwise, they may have laughed at the soldiers. He regretted causing the accident that killed his crewmates, but what could anyone expect from a teenage alien hermaphrodite shapeshifter?

Major Medford Stormblazer, commander of the Army battalion, ordered the alien bodies burned and the scattered debris tossed into the lake. In his memoir written years later, he mentioned how he feared an Army investigation into why he destroyed an actual flying saucer and ordered his men to kill the occupants. No one believed his memoir, of course.

THE END

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Snipgridixz Lands Here Friday 9/4/2020

Snipgridixz the teenage alien hermaphrodite shapeshifter invades my blog for 8 weeks beginning this Friday 9/4. See the zany alien from my Snpgrdxz novel series in a whole new light.

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Do you ever wish you could better predict the end of the movie you're watching or the novel you're reading? Do you envy friends who always seem to know what will happen next in a story? Want to learn their secret? Send for your FREE copy of my new guide – 7 PREDICTIONS YOU CAN MAKE ABOUT ANY STORY. It's FREE plus I'll email occasional updates on my new releases, current novels and more (Never more than once a month. Cancel anytime.) Click here to signup now. 

 

Vampires on the Moon

My new book -- Vampires on the Moon -- rampages through monsters, kids, lovers – young, old and some undead. If you enjoy short stories and flash fiction, this is the book you’ve waited for your whole life. Well, not exactly your whole life. More like since your last bathroom break. But hey, you need a book like Vampires on the Moon to keep your brain flushed with nearly 150 pages of horror humor. Stories you’re dying to read like The Vampire’s Wife’s Rant and How I Flunked Vampire will entice more than a smile before exposing your neck to whoever that is tapping at your bedroom window right now. A few, a very few, will make your skin crawl in the usual horrific way so be sure to check out Night Terror and West Chester, Pennsylvania. For Twilight Zone fans, you’ll discover Exit 13. For lovers of ancient mysteries with a touch of scary, read A Case of Murder in Ancient Egypt and Little Miss Forgotten (historical set in the sixties). Sci-Fi fan? You’re in luck with Garbage Scow Willie and the Mother Ship. How about a spirit-filled adventure? Try Wally Bonner’s Spirit-filled Dollar and How It Was Paddy O’Reilly Got To Heaven. Are you ready for a couple of stories that wait until the end to “gotcha?” Try Egbert and McDonalds Glenview on Waukegan Road. Lots more surprises in this collection. Click here to learn more or buy.

Cover Reveal: Snpgrdxz and the Time Keepers

Here is the cover for my latest book in the Snpgrdxz series. It's number 4. You can start the series, if you haven't already, by clicking the book 1 image on the right.

This new story will be available as soon as it passes muster with Amazon.

Enjoy

Here's the Scoop
Love birds Jennifer and Bryan travel across time with their friends to battle Bangers (smarter than zombies, dumber than dung) and Klergs (alien monks who prefer teens who taste good over teens with good taste). Their coming of age misadventure  brings them into conflict with the usual terrors like daemons, lycanthropes, nosferatu, trolls, zombies, and of course, Jennifer’s dad, Dr. Hawkins, who doubles as their high school principal. Snpgrdxz (pronounced Snip-grid-ix), the teenage alien hermaphrodite shapeshifter, joins them as the group’s sardonic but secret weapon. Free-wheeling noir humor abounds in this sci-fi, fantasy, romance, thriller – well, you get the idea. It's a page turner for romantics and thrill seekers alike.

Supervillain Daemon Turpelator Returns in Book 4
And he is hell-bent on destroying Bryan while keeping Jennifer for his own pleasure. He already possesses multiple versions of Jennifer captured during her past time travel misadventures so why not sidle up to the original? And with Tony Romano, the high school’s hippie-dippy art teacher, set to retire, who will replace him as the Time Keeper?

More horror comedy combined with teenage romance from the author of Hags and other top sellers. Perfect for fans of Shayne Silvers, Jeff Strand and John P. Logsdon. Also great for horror fans who wish Stephen King had a sense of humor.

Young Adult/Adult Crossover. Find out why sci-fi/fantasy readers enjoy the Snpgrdxz time travel series by clicking on the LOOK INSIDE button to sample the book.

Interview with Paul R. Lloyd
Why should readers check out Snpgrdxz and the Time Keepers?
If you like to laugh your way through a horror story, and who doesn’t, then you owe it to yourself to read the Snpgrdxz series. The first three books act as a prequel to book 4 so go ahead and start with the fourth book: Snpgrdxz and the Time Keepers. You can always backtrack to the first three episodes.

SAVE THE DATE

Join me at the Burning Bush Art Gallery on Friday March 6, 2020 from 7 pm to 9 pm for a reading from my fiction including top-selling novels, short stories and flash fiction. I’ll also facilitate a discussion of today’s literature and writing scene. Seating is limited so please let me know if you plan to attend by posting a comment below or sending an email to paul dot lloyd dot writer at gmail dot com (distorted for security purposes. You know how to format it.) Located at 224 North Main Street, Wheaton, IL US 60187.

Changeling

Halfway home, my body shape-shifted. I became a rabbit. No a mouse. Crap a dog, now wait, a crap. No, a freaking skinny new tree. A yard ornament. What kind of pill did Harriet Hornknocker slip into my cola? Or did she plant it in my burger? Ahhhh, I’m a Canada goose. Honk. Change. No. Honk. Honk. Honk. Ruff-ruff, that’s better. A dog this time. Now what? Oh, no, I’m Harriet Hornknocker. Oh. Hey, I am Harriet Hornknocker. No. I’m not. Well, I'm sure if I had a mirror, I'd look a heck of a lot like old Harriet. There’s Binglesnoot. He’s got that crush on me, I mean Harriet. Hey, Bingle, shoosh, honk. Crap I’m a Canada goose again. Here he comes. Hi, Bingle. No, I’m okay. What do you mean why do I look like a rooster? You like the comb? And the tail feathers? Wait. I’m changing again. Help me, Bingle. Oh, no, I shrunk. I’m a freaking ant. Actually, I’m a pretty big ant. Check  me out. I’m a giant ant from an old black and white sci-fi movie. Oh wow, I am black and white. Hi, Mom, I'm home.