The Madness of I Can Taste the Blood

Now that it’s nearing print, I thought I’d be excited. But as we approach August 23rd together: You (yes, You!), John F.D. Taff, Josh Malerman, Joe Schwartz, and J. Daniel Stone, as the book moves through time from that future date to the now, I just don’t know . . .

See lately I’ve been “thinking” about I Can Taste the Blood less with thoughts than the uneasy feelings. Why? Shouldn’t this be a time for celebration? I mean, this is a big deal for all us authors. And for readers who want Five Unique Voices, Five Disturbing Visions—trapped between the covers of One Nightmare.

Five. Five. One.

2000px-Inverted_PentagramMy God, that’s it, don’t you see? There’s a damned good reason Grey Matter has been using those words, those numbers to summarize with terrible accuracy, this book called I Can Taste the Blood.

I confess I feel I’ve been taken unawares, initiated into a kind of coven of authors. Something’s wrong with the number five, magical and ominous. Think of the pentagram, long associated with the Devil and his horde. It has five points. I give you also the Tetragrammaton (symbol of the ineffable name of the One). Its several lines overlap like the ritually placed victims of a mass cult murder, to form a five-pointed star. And five would be the first of the infinite, unknown dimensions that surely mean no good toward the mere four we understand.

And then, fool that I am, I finally saw it in the title itself. One book—Five Words: I CAN TASTE THE BLOOD

Numbly,

Erik T. Johnson

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