The Rock N' Roll Horror Zine

Issue #2 is available for purchase now!  With six stories of rock, punk and metal themed horror/genre fiction, in its pages you'll meet rockabilly mutant, punk zombies, heavy metal demons and more! Featuring stories by Patrick Winters, Madison McSweeney, Ben Fitts, Matthew Vaughn, Micah Castle and Richard Beauchamp. You can buy it direct here: https://doomgoat666.wixsite.com/benfitts/zines or through Etsy here:  https://www.etsy.com/listing/640214169/the-rock-n-roll-horror-zine-issue-2?ref=shop_home_active_1

Issue #2 of The Rock N' Roll Horror Zine is out now and between August 21st to August 28th 2018 it's absolutely free! Featuring six tales of rock and roll horror and weird fiction, in Issue #2 you'll meet rockabilly mutants, punk zombies, heavy metal demons and more. For the first week of it's release, Issue #2 will be free including shipping for domestic orders (US only, shipping for international orders is $3.50). Limit one free copy per person, after that each copy is $5. Featuring stories by Patrick Winters, Madison McSweeney, Ben Fitts, Matthew Vaughn, Micah Castle and Richard Beauchamp.  Contact the email doomgoat666@gmail.com or direct message the zine's Instagram or Twitter accounts (see About The Zine) to claim your copy! While the issue is free for the first week, you can feel free to leave a donation (+ a note) at the Paypal account benafitts@gmail.com or the Venmo @Ben-Fitts to help support the zine and keep it alive. This also works fo

Farewell Tour By Chase Block The flashbulbs cast a strobe on the five, long haired, leather clad men in various states of their mid-sixties. The rapid clip of camera shutters accompanied the sound of shouts from the press corps. The sound of fame. “You there! Liquorice lip!” The lead singer for Gatesohell, Roger Cummings, sat in the center of the table, calling on the reporter with a thin black mustache. “Michael Cervil, Metal Digest . How does it feel, playing your last show, ever?” “Pretty good, mate. Next question.” Roger said, eliciting chuckles from the assembly. “‘Za bit, how’z you say, whimsful.” “Wistful,” Charles Sitton, the drummer, corrected him. “Yea, ‘at’s wot I said, whimsful,” Roger said. “It’s been a long road, you know? To fink we started ‘ere in Forgesbury, now endin’ ‘ere, makes you feel we’ve gone full circle.” He spoke with a thick Kentish, informed by elements of Cockney he absorbed over the years he struggled to make it in London. Black John, th

Isolated Drums By F.M. Scott New Year’s Eve: In the basement of my house at the end of a narrow cul-de-sac, in one of those old, quiet Sunset Terrace neighborhoods, I bleed out.  I’m sitting at an old wooden table that came with the house. My wrists stretch over a ceramic bowl into which I have already poured a tincture of autumn mandrake and pure grain alcohol.  The razor blade lies next to the bowl. I’m staring down the life that now drains from me.  I’ve had some great times, so it’s not for contempt of life itself that I do this.  What burns inside me instead is the struggle against a great silence—a lasting silence born of the brutality of chance and time, severing me from what I had once been. Dal Agostino’s the name.  Yeah, the drummer. One of those guys who got tagged as an architect of the Tulsa sound.  A workhorse with a true respect for the art. I’ve recorded and toured with the greatest, from Leon Russell to Ry Cooder to John Lee Hooker.  Strong blues-rock