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Welcome to Tales to Terrify. Good evening. Come in. Come in. Close the door. Welcome back to the nook for more tales to terrify. That's why you're here, right? So sit. Pull the laprobe over you. It's chilly in here tonight. There. Sheepskin. Warm. Some of you out there, I know,

you don't believe the place exists. You think it's a fabrication, a set of mind carpentry for mood,

atmosphere to match the tone of our tails. But it's real. I've told you it's a little

room off the main paths of the flat. It is. It's wall-to-wall books and shadows on three sides

and a wall of paintings and sketches in the fourth. They hover over the bed. The bed's just a large palette with

mattresses and lots of cushions and covers. That's a genuine Victorian easy chair next to it,

at the foot. It's real, but it's from the set of a television show I wrote for an associate

produced way, way back in the old century.

The bed is a thing I bought when I got thrown out of my...

Well, that's for another evening.

Not that I'm avoiding intimacy with you.

It's not appropriate for tonight's tales and talk, that's all.

Speaking of which,

tonight, we'll have some short fiction, a bit of poetry. We'll look at some severed heads with Mike Allen, and we'll hear a lovely little tale by Bram Stoker Award winner John Everson. Oh,

listen, speaking of the Stokers, the list went out of the nominees

after last week's gather at, no, no, I'm not going to read it. There are 11 categories,

five nominees in each, and you can find it in the forum section for last week's show. Just

stop up, take a look. And oh, congratulations to everyone on the list.

...