The Haunted Traveler Vol 1 Issue 2

weaselpress

Kick in Halloween with the latest issue of The Haunted Traveler. We opened up and looked for the strangest and the most horrific tales from this universe, bringing them here in a single collection for the readers to get a little twisted. The Haunted Traveler is a horror and science fiction literary anthology that releases twice a year. Published through Weasel Press, the anthology seeks to roam around with the stories you'll never forget. Those dark little tales that are sort of etched in everyone. We love the dark and twisted and we really want to be scared. Check out our website to see when we're open next. The Haunted Traveler is a non-profit, Horror and Science Fiction anthology that accepts a wide variety of art media such as photography, short fiction, creative non-fiction, digital artwork and more.

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other or self-mutilate themselves in front of a gallery.

Typical fare for under 15-year old boys and over 20

loser geeks. Brandt, being 32, did not consider himself

in their class. He was a predator. He was no loser.

Brandt had tried to get as many people as he could,

using all 16 of his fake accounts and identities to

encourage his “friends” to set up accounts on the site.

The results so far were very exciting, he thought, as he

opened a styrofoam carton with another cheeseburger.

This one had honey barbeque sauce which dripped on

his yellowing T-shirt.

So easy, he thought, they won’t even know

what hit them when I’m done.

Achermann laughed at the stupidity of the web

masters running the new site. He easily broke several

major pages of code and was running wild through

their system. He had hijacked 8 of the accounts sending

fake emails with lewd photos and then was able

to swipe 120 email addresses with passwords. He was

close to getting the credit card data and then he could

go to town on it. He needed a new video card and this

too easy.

A loud ping rang out making him jump.

ElvenLord4589

The clicking stopped and the large man looked

at the IM box that opened on the bottom of the computer

screen. He rubbed the creases of the folds of his

splotchy unshaven chin that seemed to ripple as if his

face were partially covered by a swarm of black, hairy

caterpillars. His complexion was a pasty shade of pale

white. Brandt did not leave his basement very often.

He looked at the IM prompt on his screen. It took him

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