Matt Hults - Husk

Matt Hultsis one of my favorite writers. Not one of my favorite ‘new’ writers, not one of my favorite ‘up-and-coming’ writers, but one of my favorite writers period . A big statement considering this is the man’s first book, I know, but it’s true.

When I started my little Books of the Deadpublishing company, one of the first things I did was announce a submission call for my Best New Zombie Tales Anthology Series , which at the time wasn’t a series at all, but rather a simple idea for a single book. The submissions came flooding in and I was shocked by the amount of stories I received. Some were good, some were bad; many were somewhere in-between. A couple of months into my editing journey I announced a submission call for my Best New Vampire Series , and once again I had more stories than I knew what to do with. In all, I waded through over 800 tales within the span of a few months. Of the 800, twenty would find their way into each book. The other 700+ stories would be cast aside. Matt’s stories were accepted––not once, not twice, but three times. He was the only writer to achieve this. Not only that, but in every book I produced I placed his story strategically, in a place of importance.

Why?

Because his stories were that good.

And before I started my company I must admit, I’d never heard of the man.

With Best New Zombie Tales, I wanted to put Matt’s Feeding Frenzy in first. In fact, I was planning on putting it in first right up until the moment I worked out a deal with WHC Grand Master, Multiple-Award Winning Author Ray Garton, accepting his novella Zombie Love .

Here’s something to chew on––if you’re going to put a novella into a book of short stories there are only two places you can put it: first, or last. If you put it anywhere else you’ll end up dividing the stories into sections.

With the decision to include Ray’s story made, Best New Zombie Tales became a series, Matt’s story was pushed into the second slot of the book, and Feeding Frenzy became the first “true” short story in the collection.

In Zombie Tales Two I went a different route. I decided to have Matt’s story The Finger be the strong piece that ends the show. I thought about putting it first, but I felt as though he had already been given that honor in the first volume, even if I was the only one that realized it. So, with this in mind, The Finger became Zombie Two’s closer and the book finished on a high note.

Then came my Vampire Collection, which––as I write this––has been edited and formatted but hasn’t quite made its way out the door.

The vampire book was a whole different story.

I asked Matt if he had any vampire tales he’d like to submit. He said no. Then, after a little bit of harassment, he changed his position and said he had something that might fit.

What I received was a story called Anything Can Be Dangerous.

I’m not exactly sure what Matt was smoking when he wrote that story, nor do I have any idea what he was thinking on the day he tried to sell it to me as a vampire tale, but two things are for certain. ONE: stories that are centered around plastic bags that run across the city eating people are NOT vampire stories. And TWO: Matt’s brain travels a creative highway that is unlike any other.

After he gave me his bag story, and I rejected it––I had to reject it, not because I didn’t love it but because the anthology wasn’t called Best New Plastic Bag Tales ––I learned something. I learned that if you give Matt a little time, and you close your eyes for a while, he’s like magic. He’ll say he doesn’t have something but then suddenly––he does. In spades.

Do have any vampire stories?

No.

Are you sure?

Yes. Well, I don’t know… is this a vampire story?

No, Matt. That’s a story about a killer garbage bag.

Oh.

What about this?

He hands me Through the Valley of Death ––one of the best vampire stories I’ve ever read.

Are you kidding me?

Where the hell did this come from?

The story earned the first spot in my vampire series, and haunts my thoughts still.

It was around this time that I started hounding him for a manuscript. My idea was simple enough: you are an evil genius, Matt Hults; you need your own book.

I said, “Matt… lets plunk all of these great stories into a collection!”

And sure enough, in true Matt Hults fashion, he says, “I’m not sure if I have enough stuff for a book. Let me see what I can do. I’ll try to dust off a few stories for you.”

Time passes. Nothing happens. I figure nothing will. Then he says, “Oh yeah. I forgot that I have this 100,000-word novel. It’s completely done and ready to go… do you want to see it?”

I imagine Matt as a child, at home, sitting on the floor in a large empty room with his only friend.

His friend says, “Do you have anything to play with?”

Matt shakes his head. “No.”

“You don’t have any toys? No robots? No videogames? No Lego?”

“No. Not really.”

“You don’t have anything at all, not even a ball?”

“Well… is this a toy?”

Shoulders slump. “No, Matt. That’s an empty water bottle with a dead bug in it.”

“Oh.”

Hours roll by. Slowly. Painfully. Matt’s friend says, “I’m so bored, I can’t take it anymore! I wish you had some toys.”

Matt looks across the empty room, scratches his head and shrugs. “Sorry. I don’t have anything. Unless… I just remembered; I do have one thing. Is this a toy?”

Then, out of nowhere, he pulls out a full-sized ROLLERCOASTER, which is connected to the world’s greatest AMUSEMENT PARK.

This is Matt Hults.

And Matt’s first novel— Husk —is Matt’s amusement park.

So strap in, the rollercoaster is about to leave the station.

Turns out he has more toys than he realizes.

~James Roy Daley

STILLWATER, MINNESOTA

Five Years Ago…

Black.

The suspect had painted every inch of his house black.

Obscured by snowfall, it looked like nothing more than an apparition in the storm, but through the binoculars its sinister presence loomed as large and solid as a monolithic tombstone.

Homicide detective Frank Atkins lowered the binoculars and handed them to his squad partner as the remaining S.W.A.T. officers took up positions to their left and right.

“This is it,” Frank said. He unslung the HK sub-machinegun from his shoulder and flicked off the safety. “We’re going to need to move fast to cross that field without being spotted. This psycho is a slippery son of a bitch. We can’t give him the slightest opportunity to get past us.”

Martin DeAngelo peered into the binoculars. “You do your thing, Detective. We’ll do ours.”

“I mean it,” Frank replied. “I want this bastard taken down once and for all.”

The officer smirked. “Just because you’re qualified for this shit doesn’t make you my commander. Follow my lead and leave the noble quest for vengeance up to the prosecutors, okay?”

Frank looked to the house with the word on the forefront of his mind. Vengeance. That’s exactly what it came to. Vengeance for Christine Mitchell. For Katie Hart. For Sean Edwards. Vengeance for the adolescent boy they still couldn’t identify. Vengeance for all of them.