Kari J. Wolfe, Member of the Diverse Works Inclusion Committee
The sole purpose of The Seers’ Table monthly column is to introduce HWA members to the work of underrepresented demographic writers and editors whose work might not otherwise be viewed, using the broadest definition of the word underrepresented to include, but not limited to, gender, gender identity, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, disabled and neurodiverse.
You can see any of The Seers’ Table posts since inception (March 2016) by going to the HWA main page and selecting the menu item “HWA Publications / Blogs / Seers’ Table”.
Kari J. Wolfe recommends:
Allison Church is a transgender author who lives in the Midwest of the United States. As Donald Allen Kirch, she’s explored her own personal journey through writing a number of horror novels including DARK PASSENGER, DROP DEAD GORGEOUS, and THE FORSAKEN.
An avid lover of horror, she has written in several different genres such as religious horror, dark fantasy, and science fiction. Currently, she is revising and rereleasing her trilogy, THE MIS-ADVENTURES OF KA-RON THE KNIGHT, under her “new” name.
Recommended Reading: DROP DEAD GORGEOUS
The man couldn’t help himself. His captor was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Her powerful eyes held his attention and made him forget that she had him confined in a basement; his hands and feet bound with duct tape. She fed him when he was hungry and kept him alive for the telling of her horrific tale.
After getting past the terror and discomfort, he reasoned that there was nothing to worry about for the moment. He had loved ones who would call the police. All he had to do was wait. Letting this woman tell him her story was as good a stall as any.
The mysterious woman wove a tale of betrayed love and unwanted, unnatural experiments placed upon her. In her claims, she stated that she had once been a man! The prisoner couldn’t believe that he was listening to such ridiculous madness. A descent into insanity, fueled by a jealous rage, ended with using scientific tools for torture and seeking the ultimate revenge. Her name was “Eve Doe,” and her crazed wife genetically created her like a Frankenstein’s Monster.
With every blink of her lovely eyes, licking of her full lips, and heaving of her perfect breasts, the captor told a story most bizarre of a woman bent on teaching her cheating husband a lesson.
Was she mad? Was she a seductive monster? Or, was she…BOTH???
An excerpt from DROP DEAD GORGEOUS:
Addison, Kansas – July 7th – 4:18 A.M. – Present Day:
Ray opened his eyes to one hell of a headache.
“What the f…,” he blinked, trying his best to get rid of the caked-on blood. Unfortunately, his eyelids seemed not to cooperate, and the pain coming from the back of his head took away all common sense.
His girl, Tammy, had been trying to keep him from swearing, and since he loved her, he censored himself. Most of the time that is.
The pain increased, and he felt as if he had wanted to vomit.
“What the…fuck??”
Ray had his hands tied behind his back.
“Hey!” he yelled, his breath causing a small dust storm on the dirt floor. Then, focusing, he discovered that he had awakened facedown – Ray had no idea where this mixed-up hell was and could sense that he was not alone.
His voice had caused the movement.
Someone was upstairs.
Wherever this place was.
“Hey! Come down here, right now! You fuckers! I don’t need this shit.”
In the back of his mind, he knew that Tammy would disapprove. She was a “Jesus Crispy” and did not condone the use of profanity. He had often discovered that those who condemned the use of dirty words were proficiently good at sucking dick. That alone gave Tammy power over him. He caught himself smiling at the irony, then, slowly, reality brought his wonderings back into focus. He also knew that she was about to leave him but couldn’t seem to find the heart needed to tell him. He frowned at this, knowing full well that it was his damned fault. But, Prince Charming, he was not!
Adjusting himself, Ray looked up, fighting the bindings holding his hands behind his back, and noticed that he was in a basement.
“How in damnation did I get down here?” he squinted, still fighting blood running into his eyes.
Above him, footsteps went from one end of the room to the other. He could hear, faintly, the sound of a water faucet turning on and off. The owner of the footsteps seemed aware, moving slowly and without concern.
“All right, Ray, who did you piss off this time?”
His thoughts, such as they were, turned to the events of the night before.
“I can’t remember a damn thing,” the level of concern in his voice, the combating of his newfound bindings, and personal panic worked against him.
He tried to get up.
“Ouch!”
He fell facedown into the dirt.
Some unknown person bound Ray’s feet. His ankles and knees had several wrappings of what appeared to be duct tape.
The frustration he felt was almost maddening. “Hey!” he yelled, focusing his eyes upon the unfinished wooden ceiling. “You! Up there. What’s with all of this? Come on, man. The joke’s over.”
Someone laughed. Was it a woman?
You can find Allison Church at her website: https://www.allisonchurch.com/
And her Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/dakirch
Geneve Flynn recommends:
Elaine Pascale, as one of the kindest champions of writers of dark fiction, has earned her title as the Godmother of Horror. Elaine has been writing horror and watching horror movies her entire life. She was raised in a valley that pulsated with myths, legends, and cryptic creatures. Those spirits and monsters have a habit of forcing their way into her stories.
She is a regular contributor to Pen of the Damned, and she contributes to the Ladies of Horror flash fiction challenge as both a writer and a voice narrator. While more elusive than a Skunk Ape (and less smelly), Elaine is most easily stalked during the month of March when she dedicates a great deal of time and energy to Women in Horror Month. Elaine regularly reviews horror movies and books on her Youtube channel where she also interviews horror scholars and creators on topics related to feminist horror.
When not writing, Elaine can be found watching horror movies with her buddy, Louise (a black cat). Elaine enjoys a robust full moon, chocolate, paddle boarding, and reading spam email.
Recommended Reading: The Solstice
Excerpt from The Solstice:
This is not Hell. It is the market on Solstice, which is a kind of hell for people like you.
You would have stayed home, had you not needed the medicine. Your food money had gone to the doctor who had written the prescription. As he handed it to you, he said, “You might wait until after tonight. You know, see if you need it.” The doctor wore a red band on his neck.
You have tried ceasing medication before. You know you can’t afford the monthly prescription, and you also fear that it will soon be unavailable. The Red Bands decide what medications to offer and to whom they can be offered. Eventually Solidox will be the only pharmaceutical on the market, and only for the Red Bands.
The Red Bands decide everything. Due to their experience on this earth, they feel they are best equipped to make determinations.
Without medicine, you blame yourself for everything, including this new normal. While life had not been perfect, it had been mostly good for you. You had a family, you were educated, you had goals. Things had been fine, if not a little boring.
Like punching a bruise to see if it still hurt, you had wanted to revisit your true self. This meant stopping all chemicals. You had convinced yourself of false memories of a happier time, a freer time, when you had felt both ups and downs and had not operated on a sedated middle ground. You had forgotten that the ups and downs were not fun like a rollercoaster; they were scary like free-falling into an abyss.
Review for The Solstice:
“Timely, delightful, mortifying, and skilfully written, Elaine Pascale has delivered the ultimate dystopian story.” —Nora B. Peevy for Hellnotes
Follow Elaine at:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elaine.pascale
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/doclaney/?hl=en
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@elainepascale
YouTube: youtube.com/@elainepascale
Website: https://www.elainepascale.com/
Kate Maruyama recommends:
R.S. Tiemstra was born in Oakland, California. A seasoned writer for film, fiction and podcasts, they specialize in atmospheric horror stories that blur the lines of identity, society and reality.
They joined the HWA recently, after publishing 5 stories with The NoSleep Podcast, including Direst Emily & What Remains of Human Resources.
On top of short fiction, they’ve written over 300 episodes of fiction and nonfiction audio stories for various podcast platforms. Podcast credits include the audio drama miniseries Mythology Presents: Paradise Lost (adaptation/written by, 4 episodes), Mythology Presents: Journey to the West (adaptation/written by, 9 episodes) both for Spotify Studios, and The Real History of Dracula (research & writing, 2 episodes) for Wondery+. Tiemstra currently works as a contributing writer on Aaron Mankhe‘s Cabinet of Curiosities, and a researcher/writer on Heart Starts Pounding with Kaelyn Moore.
They’ve directed several acclaimed short films, including Querent (2021), The October Martyr (2022), and No Slasher Here (2024). These films have played at over 50 film festivals worldwide. They live in Los Angeles with their partner Iris and a cat named Mercury.
Recommended reading: Biting Into Yourself, featured in Dracula Beyond Stoker, issue # 7: Mina.
Excerpt from Biting Into Yourself
The girl was in her dressing gown, an unlit candle in her hand. She made her way down the stairs toward the entrance hall, as if sleepwalking. She did not react to my light, nor to the gasp I made upon seeing her. I followed her at a distance, holding a handkerchief over my nose and mouth. It was a strange and terrible thing — the areas she passed through, while clearly showing signs of disuse, were the most well-maintained parts of the house. It was as if this young wraith carved a path of light through this darkness. The mold stopped where her bare feet had tread and the flies kept their distance. Even the dust seemed to part before her. She made her way from her bedroom to the parlor, where she sat unmoving for several long minutes. It was here that I had to do something. I spoke her name, hoping that I could disrupt the oddness of this sight.
Muriel cocked her head, but otherwise did not move.
I said her name again, with a little more of my teacher’s authority behind it.
She opened her mouth, but it was not Muriel who responded.
“Miss Murray. I thought that was you knocking at my door.”
I slowly walked around Muriel until I could see her face. Her eyes were closed, her mouth hanging open.
“To whom am I speaking?”
The open lips moved.
You can learn more about Tiemstra at www.robtiemstra.com or follow them on Instagram @the_timestar and Bluesky @Timestar.bsky.social
Linda D. Addison recommends:
Melanie Crew is a weirdling, a mother of one killer–yet oh so lovely–adult spawn, and a writer of stories, mostly creepy.
She was born in the Midwest, moved many times during her early childhood and landed near Chattanooga, TN. She currently resides in Atlanta, GA with her two weirdo rescue companions, a.k.a. The Misfit Creatures (Sprocket and Poly Styrene) – she had to say goodbye to Misfit Brother Spartan the day after Christmas 2023 and he will forever be one of her favorite fluffy beasts!
She is a Weird wrangler with The Outer Dark Symposia [Assistant Director/Chapbook Editor] and Managing Editor of ATLRetro. She loves monsters and has a love/hate relationship with birds–they clearly want her dead.
Her short folk-horror screenplay “Blood Feathers” won the award for Best Screenplay Dialogue at the 2025 Buried Alive Film Festival
Excerpt from award-winning screenplay: Blood Feathers
Note: **I skipped some descriptions to include more of the opening dialogue
OVER BLACK:
A frenzy of hysteric birds SCREECH and THRASH their wings.
FADE IN:
EXT. VALLEY – SUNDOWN
…(**skipped some of the opening scene)
A maelstrom of black feathers blur into a single roiling mass, like a dark shadowy manlike figure, and appears in the clearing just outside the church, which is a short walk down the road from MA ABERDEEN’S (heavyset mid-late 60s) humble wooden farmhouse. The horde of riled up ravens STRIKE and TEAR at each other with razor sharp talons and weaponized black beaks churning their blood into the dirt surrounding the structure.
…(** skipped some of the opening scene)
CUT TO:
INT. MA ABERDEEN’S HOUSE – MORNING
The interior of the house is dated with minimal adornment. Religious relics and framed clippings about local folklore and DARK WATCHER sightings line the shelves and walls. An ancient heavy wooden cabinet-style TV sits in the living room. Above the TV hangs an obscenely large wooden cross.
EDDIE (early 20s) and JOSE (late 30s) sit on the couch facing the TV flipping through the channels. Eddie plops his feet on the heavy wooden coffee table kicking a tabloid onto the floor.
INSERT: TABLOID HEADLINE
“LOCAL AUTHORITIES STUMPED! ARE THE DARK WATCHERS AT IT AGAIN?”
BACK TO SCENE
MA ABERDEEN (O.S.)
(from the kitchen)
Don’t y’all have some place to be?
EDDIE
(to Ma in the kitchen)
Nope. Breakfast ready yet?
Eddie flips the channel and lands on the local morning news.
NEWSCASTER (O.S.)
…the search for the assailant
continues..
Ma rushes into the living room and sits down next to Eddie. She yanks the remote from his hand and turns up the volume.
NEWSCASTER (O.S.)
If you’re just tuning in, the hunt for the assailant in the recent
spree of sexual assaults against
Steinbeck County youth continues
into its third day. Police are
advising residents to remain
vigilant.
MA ABERDEEN
Pfft, what are the police gonna do?
Can’t they see?! It’s that damn kid
Hazel Dunn took in. Ever since that
boy showed up, I could sense a shift
in the air.
EDDIE
Yeah, the kid’s a freak!
NEWSCASTER (O.S.)
While a suspect hasn’t been
apprehended, we’ve received several
dozen reports of Dark Watcher
sightings. To those not in the
know, these alleged entities of
lore have terrorized our valley
communities for centuries.
Ma turns off the TV and throws the remote on the coffee table.
Jose rises from the couch and heads towards the door. Before leaving he turns back to the pair still sitting on the couch.
JOSE
If being a freak makes him guilty,
then maybe it was you, Eddie. Ha
ha!
Jose, expecting a chase runs out the door. Eddie follows screaming curses.
Ma, tuning them out, walks over to the window with a clear view of the mountain blanketed in a thick, impenetrable fog.
MA ABERDEEN
(to herself)
I guess we’re going to have to deal with this the old fashioned way.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. MA ABERDEEN’S HOUSE – SUNDOWN
A pickup truck BARRELS towards Ma’s house. Eddie is busy under the hood of his truck in the side yard. The driver (STAN WARREN, late 50s) HONKS the horn several times as he pulls into the yard crushing a section of Ma’s garden. He jumps out and before he gets to the door, Ma appears on the porch. Eddie joins her. Something WRITHES and GRUNTS beneath a tarp in the bed of the pickup.
MA ABERDEEN
What the hell are you doing, Stan?
You ran over my rose bushes!
STAN
I got him!
MA ABERDEEN
What?!
Ma and Eddie run to the bed of Stan’s truck. MUFFLED SOUNDS come from beneath a gray tarp. It WRIGGLES. Stan lifts the tarp revealing a boy (COLE, preteen, dark hair) with duct tape over his mouth and his hands tied. Ma grins.
STAN
It’s him, isn’t it? The boy…the
one you said…
Eddie butts in.
EDDIE
What wrong with him? His face is
all fucked up.
Ma pushes Eddie out the way.
MA ABERDEEN
Yeah, that’s him. You done good,
Stan. You done good. Now get him inside.
STAN
Wait? Shouldn’t we call the police?
MA ABERDEEN
No, Stan. This one’s on me.
STAN
But…how can we be sure he’s one
of THEM?
MA ABERDEEN
I know one when I see it. Besides,
are you questioning me, Stan?
STAN
Uh, no Ma. Sorry.
MA ABERDEEN
(to Eddie)
Gather the congregation. We need to
do this quick.
Follow Melanie Crew at: https://melaniecrew.com
