Genre: Short story collection (horror, humor, & historical)
Date Published: July 23, 2017
Publisher: JME Books
Have you ever noticed that reading a book on the toilet takes forever? Wouldn’t it be nice to have stories suited to your specific potty needs? This collection of short stories ranges from 50 words to more than 50 pages, separated in categories labeled to fit your bathroom needs: NUMBER ONE, NUMBER TWO, and FARFROMPOOPIN. The idea is to give you, the reader, a great deal of material to read, tailored and categorized to the needs of your intestines and bladder. So go ahead, get comfortable, pull out your Squatty Potty® and enjoy some fantasy, science fiction, horror, adventure, and humor from the comfort of your own throne…the john…the latrine…your office…the bathroom, whatever you want to call it. Just be sure to wash your hands once you’re done.
Excerpt from The Toilet Papers
The saloon doors swung open with a creak as heavy winds wailed outside. The man stumbled in, and the bartender never would have thought twice about him or given him a second glance, if it hadn’t been for the squirrelly look in his eyes.
“Sarah,” Jedediah whispered to the young girl standing beside him behind the bar. “Go on in the back and get a message out.”
“To whom?” She stared up with her mother’s green eyes. Dark hair tumbled across her shoulders. Sarah regarded the sweat-covered man as he crept across the saloon floor mumbling beneath his breath. A thin comb-over raked by the wind stood upright as a scarecrow on top of his head.
“Okay, papa.” Sarah turned on her heels and scurried away.
“Hello there, stranger,” Jedediah’s voice boomed. “Can I fetch you a drink?”
The man teetered toward the bar, much in the way most men left it. His darting eyes finally found their way to Jedediah’s face.
“There you go,” Jedediah said, coaxing a baby. “Come on, now. Take a seat.”
Slowly, the muttering man slid – he was barefoot, Jedediah now noticed – across the sawdust laden floor and into an empty barstool. Jedediah set a glass of whiskey before him. “Looks like you need one.”
The man wasted no time slamming the drink back. Jedediah minded the dirt beneath his very long fingernails. “What’s your name, fellow?”
The man set down the glass and Jedediah refilled it on instinct. “It’s Frances Deveaux.” He sipped the whiskey with shaking hands. The wind wailed louder.
“What brings you to these parts, Mr. Deveaux?” Jedediah asked, on account of the man’s northern accent.
The doors flew into the hardwood walls by a heavy gust and Mr. Deveaux nearly jumped out of his skin.
Jedediah motioned for Bobby Ray, a dark-haired kid who worked for him from time to time, to close the doors. “A bit on edge tonight?”
Frances Deveaux turned around to face the bar top. His hands had stopped shaking. The fog shrouding his mind seemed to have lifted. He trained his now clear eyes upon Jedediah’s. “Guess I am.”
He had a good face, as far as Jedediah was concerned, rounded with a long nose and thick brows. A five o’clock shadow covered his cheeks and chin.
“What’s got you so scared?” Jedediah fidgeted with an already clean tumbler, taking a towel to it inside and out. Sweat beaded on his closely shaven head. His handlebar moustache tickled his upper lip.
Frances Deveaux’s hands started rattling again, as if whatever had possessed him earlier had returned. “She…tried to…kill me!” His bulging blue eyes locked on Jedediah’s steel grays. “I had to do it…”
A train horn blared through the air from the nearby station. Wind banged the shutters. The doors flapped with a heavy bang. Frances Deveaux shook his head, maybe trying to remember, most likely trying to forget.
Bobby Ray inched to within an arm’s reach of the man, his Winchester hidden beneath his long coat.
Jedediah reached for the Colt Peacemaker he carried in his holster. “Why’s there dirt beneath your nails, sir? What’d you do to her?”
Frances Deveaux’s smile lurched across his face, demented as the Devil himself. His teeth hung in pointy rows like a weatherworn picket fence. “I gave her what she wanted.”
“What was that, Mr. Deveaux?”
His eyes floated lifeless in his head and his neck bent unnaturally to the side. A new voice rolled off his tongue, and said, “Yooouuuu!”
The thing inside of Frances Deveaux lunged across the bar, swiping long fingernails at Jedediah the way a honey badger swipes its claws. Jedediah leapt. Frances Deveaux’s body slammed into the bottle display that crashed to the ground alongside him. Glass splinters stuck to his face glinted in the light of the kerosene lamps.
He growled spraying blood stained spittle through the air. Jedediah got off a shot. The bullet sunk into Frances Deveaux’s shoulder, knocked his frame off-kilter, but the man didn’t flinch. He just kept coming.
“Good, God,” Jedediah muttered, as Frances Deveaux inched closer. “Sarah!” Jedediah pumped a few rounds into the undead’s chest. “You send that message yet?”
“He’s coming, Papa!”
“Don’t you come out here.” Jedediah pulled the trigger to an empty chamber. With no time to reload, he grabbed a chair and flung it. The wood crunched with Frances Deveaux’s nose and broke them both. Jedediah side-glanced the bar. It had emptied.
About the Author
Jaimie Engle was once sucked into a storybook, where she decided she would become an author. She has modeled, managed a hip-hop band, and run a body shop. She loves coffee, trivia, cosplay, and podcasting on ORIGINS, where myth and science meet (podcastORIGINS.com). Basically, if it’s slanted toward the supernatural or nerdy, she’s into it! She lives in Florida with her awesome husband, hilarious children, and the world’s best dog. She also happens to have the world’s best literary agent, Saritza Hernandez. Become a fan at theWRITEengle.com. Follow on social media @theWRITEengle and pick up books at jmebooks.com.
Connect with Jaimie Engle
Purchase The Toilet Papers
· Rafflecopter: July 6 – Aug 6 ($30 Starbucks GC; Toilet Papers ebook) http://gvwy.io/zxec93y
· Goodreads Giveaway: July 1 – July 22 (3 paperbacks): https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/235517-the-toilet-papers-places-to-go-while-you-go