Skip to main content

About


My name is Terry Allen and I reside in South Carolina.

Usually, there is a large orange cat in my lap. The cat is jealous of the attention I pay to my laptop. When the cat allows me to write, I prefer fantasy, science fiction, and horror.

You can email me at: terryallenwrites@gmail.com or follow me on twitter at: @TerryAWrites


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Exorcist 1973 (Review)

The Exorcist 1973 (Review) Film Poster Copyright 1973, © Warner Bros. Src IMDB 1973’s The Exorcist, directed by William Friedkin, is an iconic horror film that breathed fresh air into a then-stale genre. Prior to its release, movies like Psycho, Dracula, House On Haunted Hill, and Night Of The Living Dead were horror icons. But, I would argue none of these movies truly captured the nation’s consciousness in the same way as The Exorcist. You probably already know the plot, but for the sake of my word count; Ellen Burstyn stars as Chris MacNeil, a recently divorced actress. She has moved to Georgetown, Maryland with her daughter Reagan, played by Linda Blair, to film a movie directed by her friend, Burke Dennings. Reagan finds a Ouji Board in their rented house and inadvertently opens herself up to a spirit calling itself Mr. Howdy. Regan begins to exhibit odd behavior, culminating in a violent fit in which she stabs herself with a crucifix and rotates her head 180 degrees. Inte...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Good Medicine (Short Story)

The Good Medicine By Terry Allen Photo by Merlijn Simonis on Unsplash There was this little cafe in Paris. That is where he met her. Small and thin and so very pale, her lips were full and red and her bottomless eyes gleamed in the vesper light. She read the evening post, a small white cup of cafe au lait left untouched on the table. The steam that rose out of it beckoned him closer. He was entranced at the first sight of her. How she smiled at him over her newspaper sent a thrill down his spine. Her name was Contessa and he loved her. “What brings you to Paris, Monsieur…?” she asked. “Harry, Harry Ritter.” “Ritter, that is German, no?” “My grandfather. He emigrated to the States.” “An American, then,” she clapped her hands together and giggled. “How delightful. So, why are you in Paris, Harry Ritter?” “I’m a writer. I’m here sightseeing and looking for inspiration.” “These are strange times to go sightseeing.” She pointed at the newspaper she had folded neatly between t...
Post a Comment
Read more

Meditation (Poem)

Photo by Pedro Kümmel on Unsplash The skiff sways on waters, the color of strong tea He casts his line near, a clutch of cypress knees Silence Waiting Nothing He casts again and waits The float bobs once, then twice and is carried, below into the depths He pulls on the rod and meets tension Slowly, ever so slowly, he reels in his catch But no, the line goes slack The hook is empty He baits his line and casts again and waits Silence. (C) 2024 Terry Allen
Post a Comment
Read more