The knife was in reaching distance near my right foot. The hilt was in the air towards the ceiling. How is it I could be insane when it is my own intellect that allows my understanding and articulation of the savage and diabolical? Who could be writing this piece, and whom was I listening to? Was it at length my own imagination? They are notoriously motivated to have the title doctor, a prefix in front of their name, like honorable sir, doesn't allow them contentment. Is this the reason (doctor, master, prince) a man puts forth his hand to the plow? Whose words are in my mouth? With a flair for the grisly and macabre, Wayne Fabiano welcomes readers to his banquet of dread. The winemaker whose secret ingredient requires murder, the preacher whose sins will surely find him out, and the madman who hatches a perfect plan to escape the asylum: these characters and more populate this collection that simultaneously fascinates and horrifies. As the characters slowly spiral into insanity, the...

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