Bleeding Ink Author Spotlight – Corinne Lambert Murphy

Welcome Deliciously Dark Dreamweavers to the Author Spotlight

Corinne Lambert Murphy enjoys the thrills and chills of a dark tale. An early fascination with the works of Edgar Allan Poe set the pattern for a life-long love of twisted, disturbing stories that linger in the back of the mind, long after the book is closed.

Bleeding Ink Tale – Watcher

Ink Babes: Welcome to the Spotlight, Corinne.

CLM: Thank you for this terrific avenue to the esteemed readers.  I am very pleased to take part in this series.

Ink Babes: We’re thrilled to have you here. Please, tell us a little bit about yourself.
CLM: I live in the mountains surrounded by tall Douglas Firs and endless vistas.  A babbling brook flows nearby.  I grow beautiful flowers and delicious vegetables in my perfect, weed-less garden. I pluck ripe, dark cherries and sweetly perfumed peaches from pristine trees in the dappled sunshine.  Or…I live on the flatlands near a shallow lake.  A pool understudies for the brook.  The flowers need watering.  Dog to walk.  Grocery shopping.  Fantasy vs reality?  Done.

Ink Babes: Both sound wonderful, actually! With the heat we’ve been experiencing lately, a pool,  a brook, either would be most refreshing and welcomed. So, with all that inspiration surrounding you, what sparked the idea for your Bleeding Ink tale?

CLM:  I watched a spider busily spinning his web.  He appeared to pay no attention to me; although I’m sure he trained at least one of his eight eyes in my direction.  A fly landed near of the instantly inert spider.  The fly fell for the ruse and walked with purpose straight into the web.  The spider zipped over to the trap and mummified his hapless victim before the fly heard the dinner bell.

Ink Babes: Many of our readers and authors have admitted to possessing a fear of spiders, yet, you watched one intently with what seems to be admiration. If spiders don’t creep you out, what are you afraid of? Anything unusual?

CLM: Other drivers, collapsing bridges and overpasses, but there’s nothing unusual about that – it’s expected.  Deep sea monsters would be a problem for me if I were a marine biologist.  Whew!  No problem there.  Flying in a balloon looks pretty scary.  And how about ziplining?  Been there, done that and will never do it again – and yes, it is.  Very.  Scary.  Fog is pretty creepy – but I like it.

Ink Babes: Ziplining? You’re a thrill seeker! LOL!  Tell us Corinne,  who is the person you feel supported you most, as a writer?

CLM: My family and friends have always cheered me on, but none has offered the concrete opportunity such as that from my dear sister-in-law.  Love and support combined with real life options, or the lack thereof, can make or break any writer.  She knows who she is and she knows what she’s done.  It’s all her fault if my story keeps you awake at night – as well it should.

Ink Babes:  We asked for deliciously dark and that’s what you gave us – I’m still picking out tasty morsels from my back molars.  When you wrote “Watcher” was there a message you hoped your readers would grasp?

CLM: If I did my job properly, you heard the knife slicing through Eli’s leathery flesh; the shouting spectators; the wailing sirens.  You winced at the cracking sound of the shoulder joint separating. You tried not to see the crushed bodies. You recoiled at the texture of half-chewed spider on your tongue.  You smelled the meaty odor of Eli soup cooking; the steaming hot dogs and the coppery tang of fresh blood in the crisp air. 

Ink Babes: Thank you for stepping into the spotlight Corinne. Before we dim the light, is there anything that you would like to say to our Bleeding Ink readers?

CLM: Dense fog in late October rolls in off the bay as you take your usual evening stroll.  There is a faint echo of footsteps behind you.  Your turn quickly, to find you’re alone in the dark.  You laugh out loud, but the sound is hollow and your amygdala ignores your false cheer.  You tell yourself the nightmares created by your favourite writers are not real.  The ten-year-old you were isn’t so sure.

Ink Babes: Wicked!

Comment for a chance to win a copy of Bleeding Ink – A Collection of Dark Tales. The anthology reviewed as , “A must read!” (Smashwords)

Ever Yours,

The Ink Babes

Deliciously Dark Christmas

Morning light shines across the floor with the promise of a new day. Christmas morning. You jump out of bed and rush down the stairs, eager to open the gifts from that brilliant woman you’ve been dating the past eight months. Well, her, and several others on the side. Still hooked on those late night booty calls, but what the hell. You’re a man with needs. And, what she doesn’t know, won’t kill her.

You glance out the window on your way down the stairs, half expecting to see a new Mercedes in the driveway. After all, she can afford it.

It doesn’t matter that her job as a scientific technologist gives you the creeps sometimes, aside from that she’s a trophy girlfriend who makes all your friends envious of you. The added fact that her parents could buy a small country and feed it doesn’t hurt either. Yes, she’s a keeper, you think. But, as smart as she seems, she’s not too bright about catching on to your shenanigans.

Sasha pours coffee, then brings you one, and sips on her own. A crooked little smile escapes her lips. You’re bouncing on the couch like you did when you were a kid, waiting for mom and dad to hand you the gifts. You know she went all out. She’s been generous since the first date, paying for every date, showering you with gifts frequently. It’s a lifestyle you could get used to, and have done many times in the past.

You pass Sasha her first gift. An oversized sweater. She frowns, yet thanks you for it. You give her a beautifully wrapped gift which she opens. A dress. Three sizes too big. She furrows her eyebrows. She doesn’t get your sense of humour at all. She’s far too serious.

Wait…you pass her another gift. “I have something that will fit you,” you say. She opens it. It’s a ring. Her eyes light up.

“Yes!” She says, without you asking the big question. But, as you look into her eyes, you see something different in her expression.

She hands you a gift. It’s a flat box.You rip the beautiful paper and ribbon off without hesitation, wondering what she bought you. Tissue paper covers what’s inside, and you pull it out haphazardly. Pictures fall out onto the floor. You and many of your late night encounters captured in full colour and enlarged. Your mouth drops open. Sasha’s grin widens.

You stutter, attempting to explain your behaviour, but at this point you’ve been caught and there’s no way out. Too late for lies now. She’s smarter than you gave her credit for. You’re stomach turns and you think you may have to actually work for a living rather than living off the wealthy women you’ve gone through during the past seven years. Pre-nups suck when the marriage ends.

“It’s okay,” she says. “This is a fresh start for both of us.”

And the smile returns to her face. She passes another gift. He accepts the small box with sounds inside that rattle when he shakes it in his hand. Keys perhaps? He notices a lock on the box, and unlocks it. He glances at her sheepishly, then returns to opening it. Wounds still fresh from the discovery of his escapades.

He lifts the lid on the red box, his eyes light up expecting something expensive, then fear crosses his face. Crawling out of the box, several small mechanical spiders spring forth on him, crawling quickly up his arms, stabbing him randomly with venomous needles. He’s frozen in his seat. His eyes roll back in their sockets, and he’s paralyzed where he sits. His once beautiful face and body is now covered in red blotches and sores.

The spiders return to the box and Sasha locks them up and stuffs the box in her Louis Vitton bag. She stares at him for a moment, watching his once young body wither and wrinkle.

“You won’t remember a thing,” she says. “But, you’ll never be the man you once were.” She slides her hands into long black leather gloves. “A gift from me to women everywhere.”

He remains frozen in his spot, the process continuing to work its poison through his system. His face starts to droop on the right side, and Sasha grins.

“Merry Christmas to all…” Sasha slides the Rolex off his wrist and tucks it into her bag before she heads out the door.

Here at Bleeding Ink Anthology, we love the deliciously dark. Even at Christmas a lovely tale twisted into something dark and sinister can happen and can make a wonderful story. If you have stories, poetry, or flash fiction with a dark edge, a supernatural theme, or something just downright scary, we’d love to read it, and possibly include it in our anthology.

We are accepting submissions. You know you have something important to say, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this. Send us your chilling, dark, bloodthirsty, or supernatural tales today.

Ever yours,

The Ink Babes

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