Round-Up: TRICK ’R TREAT Graphic Novel, LAVALANTULA Release Details, THE SOCIETY OF BLOOD Excerpt, CRAZY BITCHES

The pint-sized burlap-clad Sam is back in the four-part graphic novel Days of the Dead from Michael Dougherty, the creator of Trick 'r Treat. Also: release details for Lavalantula, an excerpt from Mark Morris' The Society of Blood, and a special Halloween weekend iTunes release for Crazy Bitches.

Trick 'R Treat Graphic Novel: "From the twisted imagination of Trick ‘r Treat creator Michael Dougherty (director of the upcoming Krampus and Trick ‘r Treat 2 and screenwriter of X-Men 2 and Superman Returns) alongside a top-notch team of creators including writers Todd Casey and Zach Shields (Krampus), Marc Andreyko (Batwoman) and artists Fiona Staples (Saga), Stephen Byrne (Buffy/Angel), Stuart Sayger (Bram Stoker’s Death Ship) and Zid (Son of Merlin) comes this 4-part collection that paves the way for the Trick ‘r Treat film sequel.

Days of the Dead takes readers on a journey through Halloween history with 4 chilling new Trick ‘r Treat tales. Discover old-world lovers whose romance takes a chilling turn and Western pioneers who discover the dark side of the frontier. Travel to 1950s Los Angeles for a tale of pure horror noir and into the heart of small-town America to see some pranksters taught a lesson they'll never forget.

Across centuries of Halloween horror, wherever fear lies, Sam will be waiting."

The Trick 'r Treat graphic novel is now available from Legendary.

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Lavalantula: Press Release: "Los Angeles, CA (October 5, 2015) — Alchemy is proud to announce the release of the action-packed, LAVALANTULA available on DVD and Early EST on November 3rd. Directed by Mike Mendez (The Gravedancer, The Convent), LAVALANTULA stars Steve Guttenberg (CBS’s “Veronica Mars”, Short Circuit, Police Academy), Leslie Easterbrook (The Devil’s Rejects, Halloween), Nia Peeples (ABC Family’s “Pretty Little Liars”, Half Dead, ABC’s “General Hospital”), Michael Winslow (Spaceballs, Police Academy), Patrick Renna (The Sandlot, The Big Green, Dark Ride), Danny Woodburn (Mirror Mirror, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Employee of the Month) and is written by Neil Elman (I Spit on Your Grave 2, LA Apocalypse) and Ashley O’Neil.

After a dormant volcano erupts miles outside of Los Angeles, something within the molten hot lava is awakened. Birthed from the bowels of the Earth itself, arachnid-like creatures with an obsidian-black exoskeleton swarm out. One man, Colton West, a washed-up, former A-list action star, suddenly finds himself the real life hero as he’s forced to use his on-screen characters’ know-how to save the entire city from being victims to the most horrifying villains you couldn’t write any better."

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The Society of Blood: "Transported through time to the dank streets of Victorian London, Alex Locke seeks to unravel the mysteries of the Obsidian Heart, the enigmatic object to which his fate is inextricably bound. When a string of grisly murders takes place across the capital, Alex follows a trail that will lead him through the opium dens of Limehouse into the dark and twisted world of the Society of Blood, and ever closer to unlocking the secret of the Heart. This is the twisted sequel to the hybrid horror, The Wolves of London."

Titan Books will release The Society of Blood on October 13th.

For more information on this novel, visit: http://titanbooks.com/the-society-of-blood-obsidian-heart-book-2-7178

FOUR: NIGHT TERRORS

I was woken by screaming.

Almost before I was fully conscious I was throwing back my heavy blankets, grabbing my gun from the top drawer of the bedside cabinet, where I placed it every night, and leaping out of bed. Even when asleep my brain was on constant alert, half expecting an attack, and my reactions were both instant and instinctive.

As soon as my feet hit the floor I was running. The room was pitch black, but I knew its layout precisely, knew exactly how many paces it was to the door, how to grab the handle cleanly without fumbling in the dark.

The scream that had woken me bubbled and died. But the screamer was only drawing breath. As I wrenched the door open, only peripherally aware of freezing air washing over me from the unlit hallway, a second scream rose, louder and more piercing than before.

I now had enough of my wits about me to recognise who was screaming and where the sound was coming from. It was Hope. Her bedroom was at the far end of the long corridor, past the staircase on the left.

As I ran towards it a door opened in the right-hand wall ahead of me and a figure emerged. It was Clover in a long white nightdress, her hair hanging loose, her face a glowing, shocked mask, underlit by the candle in her hand. The bloom of light was welcome, coaxing the angles of the house to emerge dimly from the murk.

‘Hope,’ I gasped as she blinked at me, wide-eyed.

Her head jerked in acknowledgement. ‘I know.’

Then I was past her, reaching the door at the end of the corridor, slamming into it, turning the handle. The door flew open and I catapulted into the room, raising my gun, not knowing what to expect.

By the dim glow of the nightlight burning on the desk beneath the window, I saw Hope sitting up in bed, back pressed against the headboard, knees raised to her chest. Her hands – one flesh and blood, one mechanical – gripped the eiderdown, which she had drawn up to her chin. Her saucer eyes were fixed on something on the opposite side of the room.

I followed her gaze and saw nothing but shadows and furniture. I leaped across the room to the tall wardrobe – the only possible hiding place – and wrenched it open, aware that this was the second time I’d done this tonight.

And for the second time, thankfully, the wardrobe was empty of everything but clothing. Hope’s dresses on hangers, her stockings and undergarments and petticoats neatly folded on shelves.

With a sense of déjà vu, I lowered my gun, breathed a sigh of relief, felt the tension leaving me. By the time I’d closed the wardrobe door and turned round, Clover was at Hope’s bedside, wrapping her arms around the little girl, kissing the top of her head, murmuring soothing words.

A nightmare, I thought. Just a nightmare. Hope had suffered plenty when she’d first come to us, had woken in the night frequently, crying and confused. But in the last month or so the bad dreams had begun to subside, and for the last two weeks, she had slept relatively soundly. Even on the nights when the infection had flared up and the fever had gripped her, she had not screamed like this.

Maybe this one had been building up. An accumulation. A final explosion, like a boil bursting. Maybe now that she’d screamed it all out the bad memories would be expunged forever. It was cod philosophy, but I clung to it as I crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed.

Hope had her back to me, her arms wrapped tightly around Clover, who was on the other side. Clover glanced at me over Hope’s tousled head and raised her eyebrows. I shrugged and stroked Hope’s back gently. Her flannel nightdress was damp with sweat; her body radiated heat.

‘Hey, sweetie,’ I murmured, ‘it’s all right. There’s no one here. You had a bad dream, that’s all.’

Hope’s breath hitched. Face still pressed against Clover’s chest, she shook her head.

‘Wasn’t a dream.’

I tensed, glanced once more about the room. It was a nice room. Yellow wallpaper with a floral design; pictures on the walls; books on the shelves; a brightly painted toy box; the doll’s house we’d bought for Christmas.

‘What was it then, honey?’ Clover asked.

Hope unpeeled herself from Clover’s body, turned her head and stared again at the spot she’d been facing when I’d entered. Her face was red, flushed. She raised her good arm and pointed.

‘He was there,’ she whispered.

Her words, or perhaps the way she said them, sent a shiver down my spine. ‘Who was?’

‘The Sandman.’

Again Clover glanced at me, her eyes wider this time. ‘The Sandman?’

Must be a story someone’s read to her, I thought. Polly or Mrs Peake. I’d have words, tell them not to frighten the girl, impress upon them that she was still recovering.

‘What did he look like? This Sandman?’ asked Clover.

Hope’s face crumpled. She buried it in Clover’s bosom again.

‘He was horrible.’

I didn’t want to push her, but I had to know. Touching her back again, as if to anchor her somehow, I said, ‘How do you know he was the Sandman?’

She didn’t answer at first, and I began to think she wasn’t going to. Then slowly she raised her head. She looked haunted.

‘Because he told me,’ she whispered.

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Crazy Bitches: Press Release: "LOS ANGELES, (October 5, 2015) - UH, OH.  These CRAZY BITCHES just got CRAZIER for Halloween.