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.
My 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
Erik T. Johnson