Wild Cards

Fantasy and paranormal short story collection for charity

Paperback and eBook, 120 pages

Published November 25th 2013 by Vampirical Lyrical


Wild Cards is a book dedicated to Middle Schoolers and High Schoolers with a Supernatural/Paranormal flare. You will find a variety of stories so it won’t be hard to find something you and your children will like. From stories about the Grim Reaper, a dragon rider, three wishes, a witch, a man without a face, a house on a haunted street, the making of a villain and much more there is plenty for everyone. 100% of this book's proceeds will go to The National Children’s Cancer Center. 



Zack has heard a voice inside his head ever since he could remember. Yeah, it's creepy, but he has accepted, begrudgingly, that life sometimes likes to throw more than curveballs. In his case, he thinks he's received more than his fair share. When his cousin reveals a family secret at a funeral reception, Zack begins to realize there may be more to that voice always butting into his life. But if his suspicions are real, could that voice actually have a name besides Creep? And would Zack want to have his constant companion silenced forever?




The second I settle back on the family room sofa fully prepared for a typical Friday night at home—got a pint of pork fried rice, bag of Sour Patch Kids, and a chilled Monster all within arm’s reach of the coffee table—Mom’s voice yells from her bedroom upstairs, “Oh, Zack, pack an overnighter. We’re leaving for Uncle Chester’s funeral at four a.m.”

My index finger twitches on the controller. I stop humming a Radiohead song and let my head drop back against the worn-out leather. My eyes roll upwards. Now she tells me.

After three days of changing her mind, making me switch shifts with three different guys at the supermarket which drove my manager freakin’ crazy, she finally commits. And Mom says I can’t get my act together. Maybe I’ll carve a plaque for her in woodworking shop next week and add one of her ‘sayings’ on it: Take one’s advice before dishing.

The match is about to begin. My worldwide buds and I are ready to kill.

Pack later, Zboy, her mind’s zapped. Death does that to ya.

I stiffen. My eyes widen. There it is—the male voice is back—once again butting into the graphic novel I call my life. I used to complain about it/him/whatever when I was younger. Dad said it’s my conscience. I call it a pain in the ass. Mom believes it’s my “intuition,” she described it as a voice that’s always there, telling us what to do or not. Guess hers wasn’t working this morning when she wore that hideous mess she called a dress to work. 

“S‘up?” xMofoo257x asks, laughing.

“Ready or not, man?” Another familiar voice comes across my headset.

The fourth player’s gamertag pops up in the lobby. Our private match is ready.

I smile and click. My status changes to ‘ready.’ “Dudes! Let’s slay some zombies!” I say and shrug off everything, including all voices, to join the party. Our team is dispatched. Game on.

I will pack later.


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