Terry L Vinson, click here
to update your web pages on AuthorsDen.
||Electric Ebook Publishing
||July 23, 2004
Buy your copy!
Barnes & Noble.com
Electric Ebook Publishing
electric ebook publishing
Pray your passport isn't stamped..'PERMANENT ReSiDeNt'...
Not unlike a multi-layered puzzlebox, Hell has many varied levels, each infinitely worse than the last.
Horrid images of horned demons and fiery rivers of damnation are the most common, though an unfortunate few have felt the searing flames within the mundane confines of their everyday existence.
Ultimately, only death may provide potential relief to those decayed souls whose guilt threatens to cannibalize their very sanity, only to awake and discover that the sins of one's past come with a horrific price, thus earning them a 'Passport to Hell.'
In the shocking tradition of his earlier novels, ‘SKELETAL REMAINS’, ‘BLOODLINES’, and the more recent ‘BONE CHILLS’, this psyche-jarring collection of suspense/horror/mystery tales from Nashville’s own Terry Lloyd Vinson will leave the reader equally shell-shocked and horrified....but screaming for more!
PANDORA’S BOX PERSONIFIED:
A stack of unlabeled DVD’s are recovered within the stony confines of a desolate mountaintop hideaway by the last seven survivors of a planet ravaged by an alien-initiated apocalypse. Upon closer inspection, the band of rag-tag, battle-scarred veterans discover that each disk contains a separate tale of terror; brief chronicles of nightmarish landscapes that seem far too realistic for anything Hollywood could have ever produced.
Examples of the extreme horrors on display include:
‘Man’s Best Friend’ has a sudden, insatiable craving for something substantially more filling, not to mention a bit fleshier, than a bowl of soggy ‘Alpo’…
The multi-faceted personalities of a gravely disturbed mental patient are successfully cloned, the end result of which is less a miracle of science than a warped manifestation of pure evil….
DONNER PARTY REVISITED
Red-suited, white-bearded ‘Jolly old Saint Nick’ and his magical band of reindeer pick the wrong deserted isle with which to crash land upon one humid Christmas eve, and soon discover the famished inhabitants have added them to the Holiday dinner menu...as the main course….
REVELATIONS IN HELL’S BREAKROOM
Two off-duty demons discuss the pro’s and con’s of job security in the stressful modern day workplace that is the shadowy realm of Satan.…
WHITE MAN’S BURDEN, WHITE MAN’S PAIN
In the deep South of the late 1800’s, a young man writes his aunt a letter laced with fear and desperation after his father foolishly digs a water well inside the marked perimeter of an old Indian burial ground, thereby setting into motion a chain of grisly events that threatens an entire community…..
Severe sleep depravity has several distinct levels...the final stage of which may birth symptoms more normally associated with the criminally insane.......
PASSPORT TO HELL
At a remote, formerly Top Secret Military Installation located within the rocky terrain of a Colorado mountainside, seven battle-weary survivors face down an army of alien invaders for what little remains of the free world. Against seemingly insurmountable odds that make the infamous ‘battle of the Alamo’ seem like an even playing field by comparison, only one will live to recall the astonishing acts of bravery and selfless sacrifice that followed.
Trapped within a surrealistic realm where the fine line between reality and fantasy merge, the lone survivor of a lifeless planet will eventually find that sometimes it is indeed preferable to expire with honor than survive in cowardice, for the latter might well have earned him a ‘Passport To Hell’…
ON SALE NOW in paperback at ELECTRIC EBOOK PUBLISHING.COM!
Now available at Amazon.com , Booksamillion.com and other on-line retailers..
From "White Man's Burden, White Man's Pain":
Year of Our Lord 1858
Dear Aunt Charlotte,
Don’t think I’m going to get the chance to mail this off, but I’m hopin you or somebody else will be abel to find it when you get here so you can know what hapened to us. My writin and spellin might not be so good, cause Im scriblin this in a mitey big hurry. Don’t really know how long fore whatever is out there desides to come inside for a visit. I just know there ain’t a blessed thing I can do to stop it. I peek out the front window ever now and then, but its as dark as Foley’s Swamp out there. All I can see is the edge of the forrist and the growin fog. Finally stopped rainin at least.
I ain’t never been this scart in all my thirteen years, Auntie C. I thought about runnin, but somethin ain’t lettin me. Like my feet are stuck in kwik sand or somethin. Papa would have forced me to go, I think, but Papa ain’t around no more to do so.
The whole blamed mess started a week ago today, when Uncle Cyrus came by to help Papa find a new wellspring. The old one had dried up a few days earlier, so Papa was havin to make trips into town and load up the wagon with water pulled from Uncle Cy’s well.
I was with them when they found the natural spring on the east edge of Kane’s woods. I heard Uncle Cy telling Papa to pass it up and keep headin back west for a closer source. Uncle Cyrus is a big man, and probly the strongist I’ve ever knowd. Stronger than Papa even. But that partickular day, Uncle Cy was shakin like a pup dipped in freezin creek water. He was tellin Papa that the land was damn land, or doomed land. Something like that. He said that the well was to close to an old Cherokee buriel bureal burial ground, and that any water pulled from such a well would be poison to a mans soul. Papa laughed at Uncle Cy and called him yellow, saying that those old injun stories were nothin more than cow chip tales made up by old women with nothing better to do than flap there gums after Sunday prayer meetin.
They dug out the well that very day, and I recall Uncle Cy’s face turnin a scary shade of white. Kinda like a dreid up dog turd in the summer sun. Two or three days passed before Mama got real sick, doublin over at the kitchen table like somebody socked her in the guts. Papa said her head was sizziling hot with a terrible fever, and rode into town to get Doc Campbell. While Papa was gone, I heard Mama screamin and carryin on like a bobcat with its paw caught in a bear trap. Auntie C, I ain’t never heard a human bein make noises like that before. It had the hair on my head standin on end like a lightnin strike had peeled my hide.
More Great VINSON Horror...
Passports to Hell is another strong collection of Tales From The Crypt-like horror stories from Terry Vinson, the literary madman from Nashville.
The central story involves one of Vinson's trademark Doomsday scenarios concerning a group of survivors banding together to face an unearthly menace. Vinson's writing snaps, crackles and pops -- he knows how to create truly interesting and believable characters and he also knows how to pace and plot.
It amazes me that an agent or major publishing house hasn't snapped the guy up yet. There are some great stories here encompassing a wide range of character types and settings, from cowboys in the Old West to grizzled sailors on the high seas. Characters square off against giant bugs, demons, ghosts, their own nightmares, and even skin boils in Passports to Hell. My favorite story in this collection -- and my favorite Vinson story overall so far - is the last one, Insomni-Maniac, a near-flawless work about a young "working joe" who suddenly can't sleep at night. Insomnia is a common theme in horror literature, but what Vinson does with it is truly remarkable and will leave you feeling uneasy for days afterward.
Reviews for "Passport To HELL"
|Reviewed by Nickolaus Pacione
|A dark intense read from Vinson, what you get with Bone Chills take this to a darker reign. This is a definate sequel to BONE CHILLS -- but also don't HALF PAST THE WITCHING HOUR either because all these stories go hand in hand. Vinson as a writer is in the vein of some of the masters such as H.P. Lovecraft and Richard Matheson.|
|Reviewed by Doug Boren
|Aptly named thriller that will keep you turning every page!
Anyone who is familiar with Mr. Vinson’s works knows that although he has written full length book-long stories, (MR. Hate, Deflector), his forte is the short story, particularly if the series of stories is tied together by a central theme. Passports to Hell completes the trilogy of such books, making a fitting bookend to Skeletal Remains, and Bloodlines: Legacies of Madness.
The unique thing about this book is that the central theme story is so captivating, you almost hate to be distracted by the interludes that riddle it. But that quickly gives way to the thrill, the shock, and yes, even revulsion that engulfs you. “Ravaged” will gross you out, but in the end will be one of your favorites. After reading “Boils”, you will never look at one of your pimples the same again. “The Dead Sea, indeed..” is reminiscent of the ‘Flying Dutchman’, but the eeriness will leave you shaking with chills.
I could go on and on, but the real flavor of this suspense/thriller can only be appreciated first- hand. That Mr. Vinson has established himself as a premier horror/suspense writer cannot be denied. I anxiously await the next release from his prolific and powerful pen.
Want to review or comment on this
Click here to login!
Need a FREE Reader Membership?
Click here for your Membership!