Where the Worm Never Dies

By Quinn Hernandez

Within these pages, you'll encounter spine-tingling tales of unrelenting dread, where men and monsters lurk in the shadows side by side. This collection is a harrowing journey into the unknown, where the eternal chill of the grave is a constant companion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Swann Bedlam
• Release date: Jun 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9780645958669

Book preview

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The Strangers

The strangers held hands

and formed a circle

around the ancient texts

scrawled upon the floor

Encased in their own

protective circle

they chanted dead words

previously foreign to them

Learned through desperation

and driven by a need

by default, they put their faith

in this blasphemous last resort

Despite previous skepticism

the dead man before them

opened his eyes, and

breathed in forgotten air

The strangers chant ceased

some smiled, others cried

the dead man’s mouth gagged

his hands and feet bound

He was tied to a chair, where

he blinked his confusion

searching strange faces for

answers that would soon come

The group had wasted no time

their weapons were in hand

and when they encircled him

recognition found his eyes

The previously dead man

tried to scream through his gag

he tried to beg, to barter

his body remembered how to sweat

These faces surrounding him

were in fact, familiar to him

their photos were in the paper

their sobs he heard on television

He thought he’d escaped

having to face them

the day he was found

he had taken his own life

But they would not be denied

the murderer of their children

would not get away this time

The grimoire had come through

This group of strangers

united in their shared hatred

devoid of guilt, their regret

now dead with their loves

They stabbed and beat

the monster who took

from them more than

their collective children

When they had finished

the body was returned

to the robbed grave

reburied with their sin

Left, still, with their pain

hopes of justice still dead

they return to the world

monsters of their own making

Breaking the Cycle

I am duct taped to a wooden chair

as my three sons surround me

each has a wooden baseball bat

my oldest does all the talking

You know, he says, as he crouches down

to meet my eyes

"Everything we hate about ourselves

are the traits we got from you

we were given no tools; no wisdom;

no blueprint to be successful adults

we were—and still are—ill-prepared

for the harsh realities of our world

all you had to offer us was impatience

and apathy and selfishness

you slept-walked through life

and couldn’t be bothered to offer more

the things your father taught you

you uncaringly passed down to us

if we don’t stop it now

we’ll pass your baggage down

to our children, and we will not fail them

as you failed us

someone has to be strong enough

to escape heredity

it’s up to us to break the cycle"

he had said