My drabble, "Spun Horror" is included Festival of Fear anthology. Available in both Kindle and paperback editions. This collection will make you think twice before bringing your children to another carnival or festival.

And I wrote the Foreword!

Festival of Fear

My drabble was selected for inclusion in the Bloodlust anthology. Available in both Kindle and paperback editions. This collection brings fresh takes to the typical vampire story tropes.

I went a decidedly humorous route. My story, "A Remote Location," is story #102.

If you’re familiar with the opening chapter of Bram Stoker's Dracula novel you’ll appreciate "A Remote Location" all the more.

My book: It Came From...

Click here: It Came From ...

It Came From...contains 21 essays providing comparisons between original source material and the resulting film for such well-known classics as WIZARD OF OZ, WILLY WONKA, PSYCHO, FLASH GORDON, and DRACULA.. Familiar treasures -- Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Body Snatcher" and Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol -- are covered, as well as lesser-known gems like Daphne du Maurier's short story behind the feature thriller, DON'T LOOK NOW, and M. R. James' "Casting the Runes," the basis for NIGHT OF THE DEMON. Faithfulness to the original, author and screenwriter biographies, their inspirations and challenges, and analysis of both versions of the famous works, all lead to an authoritative consensus for "Who did it better, and why?" Published in 2020 by Midnight Marquee Press.

Don't take my word for it. 😊 Read what others have to say:

"This is an excellent look at book-to-films and the highs and lows of what that entails. This is a must read for all lovers of books and films. I highly recommend this." -- Keith Chawgo, Literary License Podcast.

"There's plenty of rich history to be found within these pages; the background information on the books and stories that inspired these blockbusters is entertaining." - Rue Morgue magazine

"It Came From...an outstanding survey that not only connects literary with screen inspiration and approaches, but offers readers a foundation for assessing and contrasting different horror and sci-fi cinematic approaches. No film collection should be without this classic inspection." - D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review.

"Nemeth and Madison have written a fascinating book." - Laura Wagner, Classic Images magazine

"This is an extremely well written book with interesting comments and nice biographies. Really worth picking up." - Little Shoppe of Horrors magazine

The Little Orange Box

It's a little after 7:00pm on a mid-Autumn evening and night has fallen. THEY will be here soon, and there’s nothing anyone can do to escape. They’re out for me, and all the others, and before this night is over, no one will have escaped their ravenous, unquenchable hunger. They’ll descend upon us, devour all that we have and possess, and then be gone—like a plague of monstrous locusts.

I hear a loud rap from outside. They’re here! I hesitantly approach the front door. I know full well that I shouldn’t open it, but I’m powerless to resist, much like the foolish heroine in any horror movie. I take a deep breath and then yank open the door, my heart pounding at the thought of what I’m about to confront. My mind has but a millisecond to register a number of nightmarish monstrosities gathered outside my door before I’m assaulted by a united, inhumanly loud, alien chorus.

When the noise subsides, I breathe a sigh of relief and smile. Yes, this is what it’s all about. Halloween night—my favorite night of the year.

I dole out the demanded rewards to the assembled little crowd, not daring to risk receiving a dreaded ‘trick.’ Then the scary horde is off, running and screaming to the house next door. And as I stare out through the screen door, I continue to smile as I realize what a glorious night it is in Marblehead, MA. It’s a beautiful autumn evening—crisp and cool, but not enough to require a dreaded “winter” coat. Red, yellow and gold-colored leaves are caught by the wind and spin furiously in a mini “tornado.” 

 An almost-but-not-quite full moon shines down on the little ghosts, skeletons, and witches up and down the street. Nearby, there’s one boy displaying his patriotism, dressing as an American soldier. They all dash here and there, frantic, in an effort to squeeze in as many visits as possible, for fear of missing that one rumored home that gives out the perfect treat.

I spot one boy approaching who stands out from among the monsters, princesses, and such. And rightly so—he’s not in costume, wearing instead a pair of jeans, an opened jacket over a shirt, and sneakers. There’s not an orange plastic pumpkin or makeshift cloth sack laden with candy to be seen.

Puzzled, I watch as he approaches my house and then purposefully climb the stairs to my front door, his father patiently waiting at the sidewalk. Although I’m waiting right at the doorway, bowl of candy ready, the boy still rings the doorbell. He looks up at me, holds up a small, bright, orange box that had been hidden by his hand, and confidently announces, “Trick or Treat for UNICEF!”  I smile. I leave the boy and after a few moments return and stuff some folded bills into the box. A huge grin spreads across his face and he utters a hurried, “Thank you, mister!” before he flies away, taking the stairs two at a time, proudly holding the box high in the air for his father to see.

As he leaves, my mind wanders back some thirty-odd years, when another little boy—myself—experienced the exact same feeling of pride. A boy, charging down a flight of stairs, coins jangling in a cardboard box, exhilarated at the thought of helping feed children in another continent, which then seemed to me a million miles away. Yes, for a few seconds I’m that little boy again—with the cool wind blowing my hair, leaves dancing around my feet, starting my crusade to end world hunger.

It’s not exactly the same, of course. Nothing ever is. Back then, my world wasn’t quite so scary a place—I could fly on my own without the need of a protective co-pilot.

I watch the boy about to cross the street to tackle yet another house. His father calls after him to wait, and then they both cross, hand-in-hand. As the door to my neighbor’s home opens, I’m again overcome by déjà vu, and I find myself silently mouthing the words “Trick or Treat for UNICEF!” Now a big grin spreads across my face. A minute later the boy is off yet again, and as I as I close the door to await the next candy-hungry goblin, I picture myself years from now perhaps walking with my child, who will be proudly holding a bright orange cardboard box and vanquishing world hunger—one house at a time.