Category Archives: Author Bill Ectric

Weird Tales: The House and the Baboon

by Editor | 8 Comments

CandlelightWeirdTalesLogoBy Bill Ectric

Bill Ectric has been featured on the web by Literary Kicks, Dogmatika, Mystery Island, The Beat, Syntax of Things, Empty Mirror Books, 99 Burning, Lit Up Magazine, Zygote In My Coffee, and Minnesota Public Radio.

Bill’s first novel, Tamper, is the rollicking story of two young fans of unexplained mystery and arcane history. The story follows these aspiring paranormal investigators, Roger and Whit, from summer treasure hunts and dark autumn secrets, through estrangement and drug-induced psychosis, to the island of Malta, where, according to an actual 1940 National Geographic article, a field trip of children and their teacher disappeared without a trace in the ancient Hypogeum catacombs.

He lives with his wife in Jacksonville, Florida. By day, when not writing, Bill mows the lawn and complains about the heat. By night, he sneaks around in the back yard, convinced that the garden gnomes are “up to something.”

Read Bill Ectric’s full bio and more stories on his Weird Tales author page.

This story is part of the collection, Time Adjusters and Other Stories.  Get it from Amazon.

The House and the Baboon

a short story

Part 1

A haunted house would make a good article, I thought. I called in sick on Tuesday, drank some coffee, and sat down to write. My wife went to work. Now it was 10:30 AM, which is like a magic hour when you call in sick because it’s not too late, plenty of possibility left in the day, and usually some good TV shows come on about this time. Old reruns, sensational talk shows, and Judge’s Court. But I’m not watching the judge today. I’ve got a story to write about the haunted house across the street.

It is not a traditional haunted house; it’s a Florida haunted house, meaning there is a window on the second floor shaped like a porthole that seems to scream shrilly at you when you walk past it at night. Then there’s the old dead coconut tree and the rusted anchor someone put in the yard years ago for decoration. The scarred up door that’s been broken into and patched up twice. Nobody has lived there for seven years, which is strange. There has never been a For Sale sign in the front yard. People say it’s haunted because of inexplicable incidents, like when some kids snuck in for kicks and came out all freaked about a “hairy legged” apparition they saw. I don’t know what the hell they saw.

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Weird Tales: Atilano’s Blues

by Editor | 2 Comments

CandlelightWeirdTalesLogoBy Bill Ectric

Bill Ectric has been featured on the web by Literary Kicks, Dogmatika, Mystery Island, The Beat, Syntax of Things, Empty Mirror Books, 99 Burning, Lit Up Magazine, Zygote In My Coffee, and Minnesota Public Radio.

Bill’s first novel, Tamper, is the rollicking story of two young fans of unexplained mystery and arcane history. The story follows these aspiring paranormal investigators, Roger and Whit, from summer treasure hunts and dark autumn secrets, through estrangement and drug-induced psychosis, to the island of Malta, where, according to an actual 1940 National Geographic article, a field trip of children and their teacher disappeared without a trace in the ancient Hypogeum catacombs.

He lives with his wife in Jacksonville, Florida. By day, when not writing, Bill mows the lawn and complains about the heat. By night, he sneaks around in the back yard, convinced that the garden gnomes are “up to something.”

Read Bill Ectric’s full bio and more stories on his Weird Tales author page.

Atilano’s Blues

a short story

I don’t know if my nightmares are from fear or guilt. I should have done more for the child when he called on me for help. What would you do if this happened to you? On a deserted stretch of Arizona highway, a faded sign on a sun-parched cabin said, “Gifts, Souvenirs, Curios – Cold Drinks, Ice Cream, Snacks, Coffee.”

I steered the car into the unpaved parking area. A cold, quenching soft drink would hit the spot, I thought. Dust floated up around my car when I stopped a few feet from the entrance.

A little bell jingled over the door when I walked in.

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Weird Tales: Miss Glenly’s Dreadful Room

by Editor | 7 Comments

CandlelightWeirdTalesLogoBy Bill Ectric

Bill Ectric has been featured on the web by Literary Kicks, Dogmatika, Mystery Island, The Beat, Syntax of Things, Empty Mirror Books, 99 Burning, Lit Up Magazine, Zygote In My Coffee, and Minnesota Public Radio.

Bill’s first novel, Tamper, is the rollicking story of two young fans of unexplained mystery and arcane history. The story follows these aspiring paranormal investigators, Roger and Whit, from summer treasure hunts and dark autumn secrets, through estrangement and drug-induced psychosis, to the island of Malta, where, according to an actual 1940 National Geographic article, a field trip of children and their teacher disappeared without a trace in the ancient Hypogeum catacombs.

He lives with his wife in Jacksonville, Florida. By day, when not writing, Bill mows the lawn and complains about the heat. By night, he sneaks around in the back yard, convinced that the garden gnomes are “up to something.”

Read Bill Ectric’s full bio and more stories on his Weird Tales author page.

Miss Glenly’s Dreadful Room

a short story with the ghost of Jacques Derrida looming in the text

Wistful evenings sometimes begin with sunny afternoons and there is a certain part of me that likes being wistful. Miss Glenly understood that feeling more than anyone did when I was fourteen years old, walking home from school, stopping at her sunny house for a glass of iced tea and conversation during the prelude to sunset. She was cool for a sixty-seven year old woman, I thought. In the small town where we lived, Miss Glenly had knowledge of a wider world. Some of that knowledge turned out to be terrifying.She lived alone in a modest but nice, well-kept wooden house with a screened-in sun porch amid plants and books, some comfortable wicker chairs and a porch swing. Miss Glenly was a retired English teacher. Her husband had been Head of the Psychology Department at a nearby college before he died under vague circumstances.

“He was very ill, for quite some time,” is all Miss Glenly would say.

We sat in the wicker chairs and she brought out two glasses of delicious iced tea with orange slices instead of lemon wedges.

“What are you reading now?” she always asked. “Still into Double-O-Seven?”

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