Author Archive for Jassen Bailey

Fiction: CARRION by Wrath James White

The Bag And The Crow is very pleased to provide you with some fiction by author Wrath James White. This fiction is for mature audiences. Please be sure to stop by our shop here and check out our goods.

Carrion

by

Wrath James White

I bled out on the empty road. Blood spurting from half a dozen lacerations. My limbs were shattered and twisted at odd angles like a broken action figure. Splintered ribs poked out through my skin. I spit shards of teeth out onto the road in between cries of anguish. I knew I was fucked.

My bike lay beside me, twisted metal and rubber contorted into the physical manifestation of a scream. The same one that raked my vocal chords when the Corvette plowed into and over me, throwing me from my bike, cracking and crushing bone, abrading my flesh onto the asphalt. Behind the wheel of the Corvette was the same drunk asshole Silvia and I had been fighting over earlier. It was both ironic and totally fucked up.

We’d been camping up at Valley of Fire when he’d come walking shirtless through our camp. He was built like I used to be five or six years ago when Silvia and I had first met. Chest like slabs of granite, stomach like a washboard. Silvia’s eyes lingered too long. Her smile had been too wide. When she invited him to join us for a drink I blew up. I took off on my bike after calling her a slut and accusing her of wanting to fuck every man she saw. My apartment was only thirty miles away. Not a short distance by any means but more than manageable. I would’ve been home in two hours if that asshole hadn’t run me down.

Even as I lay there screaming I kept wondering if he’d touched my girlfriend after I stormed off. If he’d been daydreaming, reliving the feel of my girlfriend’s lips, tits, ass, how his cock felt inside of her, when he’d hit me with his car. A jealous rage rose inside of me as I wondered if she’d sucked his cock after I left. If she’d let him cum in her mouth like she used to let me do when we first started dating, before everything changed. If thinking about her swallowing his load had been what had distracted him as he raced down from the mountain at seventy miles an hour. Then I had another fear. What if he raped her?

What if I had left her alone with a madman in my jealousy and he had taken advantage of her and had been fleeing the scene of the crime when he’d hit me? What if that’s why he’d been speeding and why he hadn’t stopped? What if he’d been some sort of serial killer and he’d cut her apart up there and then raced down the mountain to find me, to clean up the only witness, and saw me on my bike, so vulnerable, and had taken the opportunity to get rid of me?

What have I done?

I watched my blood soak into the thirsty desert road and wondered why I had gotten so jealous, so stupid, now I’d lost her forever. I would die alone. Well, not entirely alone. Crows the size of kites swooped and dived, sizing me up for a meal. Cold black eyes twinkling like metal in the twilight as the sun bowed toward the horizon. Ebon wings casting shadows against the darkening sky.

I dug my fingernails into the blacktop and began dragging my broken body off the highway. I had to live. I had to find out what happened to Silvia, what the man in the Corvette had done to her, if she’d really betrayed me or if I had betrayed her and left her at the mercy of a murdering rapist.

My nails splintered and bled. Exposed bone and muscle grated against the ground as I struggled. Waves of nausea overwhelmed me each time my shattered ribs and femur scraped the asphalt. I screamed and cried, sweat and bled. Despite my agonizing efforts I moved only inches before shock and exhaustion dragged me under a sea of black.

I awoke smothered beneath hundreds of crows. Their tiny beaks stabbed and ripped at fat and muscle tissue, gulping it down, burrowing their beaks into my organs. I swatted at them with the last of my waning strength but the loss of so much blood had weakened me considerably and the birds were relentless in their feeding frenzy. I fought desperately beneath a fury of black feathers and talons, trying to save myself.

“Heeeeelp! Heeeelp! NOOOoooo! Ahhhhharrrlllllllhhh!”

I screamed and thrashed, trying to shake them free from my head as their talons dug into my scalp and they attacked my face, digging their beaks into my cheeks and tearing out my tongue. Mute and helpless, I continued to struggle feebly while the crows vigorously unmade me.

I thought about how the camping trip could have gone. How Sylvia and I could have put our relationship back together, making love beneath the stars, staring up at the full moon as we held each other in the afterglow of our passion. I had been planning on proposing to her that night. I had been planning on proposing to her every weekend for years but something always killed it. A sharp word or criticism from her, some irrational fit of jealousy from me, and the ring would return to my pocket for yet another week. Now, it would stay there… until the coroner discovered it and sent it to my next of kin.

More crows came to join the feast. The sky was black with them. There were places where I could now see my own organs showing through where skin, fat, and muscle had been eaten away. I always thought that crows were carrion eaters like vultures. Yet I was still alive. They were eating me alive.

I thought about that Hitchcock flick, The Birds, where the entire avian population on this little island go crazy and start killing people. I wondered if this was like that? If it had something to do with pollution or global warming, the nuclear testing the army had done in the desert back in the fifties. But in all likelihood, they were just hungry and they knew I was dying. I didn’t want to die.

I tried to fight them off again. I hoped that they would fly away when they realized that I wasn’t dead and at least wait for me to perish from my injuries before they began picking my bones. They didn’t seem to care. I was as good as carrion to them. I watched my death mirrored in their queer black eyes as their irises caught the failing light and cast it back at me. In their eyes I saw the rotting carcass I was soon to be, the fetid meat riddled with vermin, picked over by scavengers, putrefying in the desert heat. The image appalled me. This bleeding, screaming thing glaring back at me from their cold glassy eyes could not have been me. I was alive. Alive! But what I saw in their eyes was something nearly dead, something that would never go camping again or ride a bike again or make love again or hold Sylvia in its arms and apologize for being such an asshole, something that would die alone and be devoured by the desert.

Before the birds dug out my eyes, I saw Sylvia driving her Escalade down from the mountain. She was on her cell phone. Ridiculously, I wondered if she was talking to a man. Perhaps, the same asshole who’d killed me? The one with the body I used to have. The one who probably had a bigger dick than mine and could probably last longer in bed and do things to her that I would be too self-conscious to do. He hadn’t raped her, hadn’t killed her. I saw her laugh and part of me wanted to rise up and murder her myself if only I had been able.

 At least, I thought, she would save me from these damn crows and take me to the hospital. At least I would live. I was excited and tried to raise my arm to signal her but it felt like it weighed a ton. It was too late. I was gone.

It was dark now and the crows formed a blanket across the road beneath which my ruined flesh lay convulsing in its death throes. Her headlights startled them while they fed on me. The road exploded as they took to the air in a great uprush of black wings. The big SUV swerved into my mangled bike which wedged itself in her wheel wells and lacerated her tires. Her brakes locked and Sylvia’s face hit, first the windshield, and then the road. The Escalade flipped, rolled, and finally came to rest on top of her. Her eyes were wild with pain and shock as she turned to look into the hollow pits where my eyes had been. The crows began to circle again. Soon, her flesh would be joining mine.

Funny how tragedy has a way of bringing couples together.

-end-

 

Fiction: WHEN CROWS SING SWEETLY BITTER MUSIC by Lee Thompson

When Crows Sing Sweetly Bitter Music

By

Lee Thompson

Alex stared at the ruined church. It sat alone, hunched at the edge of woods.

The setting sun cast red and black shadows across the roof and beneath the gables. Rusted brass corner caps glinted in the gathering twilight. Behind him, the carnival’s fairway swam with bodies large and small, with laughter and sickness, the beep of rides, the calls of carnies, and the half-scared screams of children. Two crows cawed from a broken window high above the door. They met his gaze and their caws changed, became a rough impersonation of his voice, saying in unison, “He sees us.”

He took a step forward, wrapped in a haze that reminded him of long ago times when he drowned his guilt with booze and drugs, the hallucination so thick he felt like he could tear the air in two and walk through the gap he’d ripped in space and time. A plume of dust, kicked loose by his sneakers, made him sneeze.

He’d been thinking of his little brother, Eddie. How he was supposed to keep an eye on him, but the thought fell away as he held his hands out and studied them, watched them flicker and stutter, changing size, not sure if they wanted to be the boy he once was or the man he now hated.

The two guardians’ weaved through the air and landed in front of the door. Alex stepped forward, sweat slicking his back, an itch building behind his eyes, his tongue dry and thick. The bird on the right said, “You got no business here, son. You want to stay away.”

“No,” Alex said. “I think I’m dreaming. Right?”

“Sure, son. You’re dreaming. But you should dream somewhere else.” The bird pecked the ground, drew a line in the sand between dying clumps of grass. “Go on, get out of here.” When Alex ignored him, the bird hopped back from the line and said, “You have to stay on that side, understand? There are bad things on this side and you don’t want to wrestle them.”

Alex rubbed his leg. His voice came out as the boy who broke his mother’s heart, “No one else can see you.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“What does it matter?”

“Why do I see you?”

“Get out of here.”

“No.” Something compelled him forward though his vision darkened, everything a little harder as he crossed the line the crow had cast. A blizzard-like coldness saturated his bones near the churches entrance. He closed his arms around his scrawny chest, gaze locked on the darkened open door, the rickety, worn steps leading into the past or future, or someplace in-between, where the wind spoke and dreams lived.

The crow said, “It only gets worse, son. With every step.”

Darkness splashed out from inside the church like spilled black paint. Shadows stirred on the ground, and rose, taking the form of a beautiful young woman. She smiled sadly and backed up the splintered steps until she disappeared inside.

Alex shook his head. A crow stood on either side of him. He wanted to ask them what was inside, who the woman was, but he knew they’d only try to dissuade him again. He tried to shake the curiosity free, to remember why he was here in the first place.

An owl hooted and the voices on the fairway faded to a soft whisper. Dust stung his eyes as a breeze kicked up. But it didn’t come from the trees behind the building. It came out from the open door of the dilapidated church like the release of a long held breath.

He shivered, his foot on the step. It creaked beneath his weight. The crows started crying and flew back to their perch at the broken window.

Alex stepped through the doorway.

# # #

The interior of the church looked new and sunlight spilled through the three windows on each sidewall, all of the light merging between the pews as if it lit a path. A stone slab, waist high, sat on the altar in place of a pulpit. A naked girl lay there, squirming against the brown canvas ropes binding her hands above her head, and her feet below. She spoke Latin as she moaned to the ceiling or God or at herself in insanity. Alex wondered how long she’d been bound there and he wondered why he knew her.

When he touched the slab he felt a current flow through him, and it made him so tired he struggled to keep his eyelids open. The girl turned her head, looked down at his hand. He looked down too, confused by the way they changed—one moment a man’s hands, the next a boy’s. When he looked back at the girl twisting on the slab, the lower half of her face caved in on itself and twisted clockwise, the skin evaporating, darkening, until only her eyes burned with intensity and a black hole—like some place far off in space—glared back at him. He thought, She’s a distant planet, a captured star.

He sneezed again and wiped his nose, thinking, No! Don’t do this to me!

Steps sounded behind him, the ruffle of feathers and clothing. He spun around, bringing his fists up, certain that something evil had tied the dying star to the altar, and was now moving closer.

Alex shivered.

A boy shuffled forward with half his face missing, a crow on his shoulder, their eyes locked on the floor. He looked familiar, and Alex’s pulse kicked like an aggravated moth at his wrists and temples.

Alex’s voice came out thick and shattered. “Eddie?”

His little brother groaned and when he looked up a tear fell and he pointed behind Alex, at the altar.

The bird on his shoulder said, “You’re in for it now.”

“What the hell is going on?”

The bird said, “She’s here.” Its eye shone a baby blue, like a translucent robin’s egg lit from within. “Turn around. You want to wrestle the past, its waiting.”

Alex wiped his mouth. The hand was huge and calloused, a grown man’s. He didn’t want to turn around, no more turning back and forth, no more pain. He knew what waited for him. Tears burned his eyes as he shifted his feet, wanting to tell Eddie, “I’m sorry I lost you that day! I’m sorry!”

Her breath touched his neck. She said, “You’ve failed your whole family.”

Alex turned, feeling the power of his grown body but unable to use it. The nun stood there.

“Mom.”

Her habit was torn; bloody finger-like lines ran down her face, two swipes on either side of her thick nose, from hour after hour of punishing herself for raising two lost sons. And Alex knew that the younger version of her, which had lain on the slab, had become this monster with the pale face, all of her torment on the verge of breaking free of her flesh.

Alex stuttered, trying to find the right words. He put his hands down and shook his head and closed his eyes, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

She drove her hand into his chest and he saw the Long Ago as she squeezed the guilt-ridden walls of his heart.

He fell to his knees, seeing Eddie, seeing the Carnival when they were children, feeling the fear of not finding his little brother when it was his duty, always his duty, to keep him safe. The beating she had inflicted until he bled like the small body the police found, its face crushed in, only half of him recognizable, but all him extinguished.

In the distance he heard voices crying out, saw the night claim the sky, a crow’s wings spreading, taking flight. He wanted to tell Eddie “I’m sorry” again, but he didn’t know what one more time would change.

His body swam through a wave of numbness, hollow-feeling as he laid there, someone pushing on his chest, saying, “Come on, breathe, buddy. Breathe!”

As the door of the church slammed shut, and the crows cawed mournful lullabies, he waited for his mother to speak and release her grief and hate. 

But there was only the sound of fading voices…

The whispering crows…

And her silence.

-End-

Lee Thompson lives with seven hardworking dwarves. He keeps them in his basement and makes them crank out stories because he’s that type of guy. His work is forthcoming or has appeared in: Dark Recesses (At Least the Dead), Pseudopod (Crawl), and Darkside Digital (Daddy Screamed With Us) and he’s super happy because he has a story alongside his heroes–Tom Piccirilli and Greg Gifune–those gods of light and darkness and shadow. You should buy their books. Follow him online, read interviews, do cartwheels: http://alongthispathsodarkly.blogspot.com

Check out DADDY SCREAMED WITH US by Lee Thompson  through Darkside Digital here.

A Confession…

Confession and ARACHNOPHOBIA  Now In Stock And Shipping

Summer is finally here! Time we can spend doing outdoor activities and just enjoying the beauty and warmth that only a summer day can bring. Here in Maine we cherish these days since we don’t get very many of them in the course of a year.

I remember when I was a child and going to my aunt’s camp to swim and fish. We would barbecue, socialize, and just have plain old fun.  On one particular occasion, I had to use the outhouse and as I was doing my business, I noticed a very large spider just above the door. I froze in fear. The only thing I could do was holler and scream for my mother. Eventually, she came up to see what the ruckus was all about. She disposed of the spider and in my eyes saved my life. I thought that thing was going to eat me alive!

Since that incident many years ago, I have been afraid of spiders. Over the years, I tried to take control of my fear and have had to exterminate them out of my daughter’s room and/or our home. I wanted to not pass my fear onto my daughter.

Last year, I had a huge spider in my bedroom that was gray and had all these freakin’ bubbles on its back.  My daughter was the first to notice it. I walked up to it and wouldn’t you know…I was terrified again. I wanted to get rid of it but there was no way in hell I was going to touch it! You’re probably asking yourself what I did…once again I called my mother and had her get rid of the nasty thing!

This is where the inspiration for this T-shirt came from. If you’re anything like me you’re afraid of spiders and other things that go bump in the night. There is no safer way of conquering one’s fear of spiders than to own one of these fantastic T-shirts! Available in both men’s and women’s T-shirt styles as well as hoodies.

CLICK HERE TO VIEW PRODUCTS

About The Bag And The Crow Brand

Over the last 3 months, I have thought a lot about what direction I see The Bag And The Crow going in. The Bag And The Crow is a brand, much like TapouT, Tommy Hilfiger, and Ecko. Our clothing line is going to be very different from a lot of the genre stuff that is already out there. We will not be producing movie shirts (it’s already being done by many others), but do carry a wide selection of them in our shop for your convenience.  Our logo will be branded on most every shirt. That logo represents a quality brand that you will find nowhere else. Guaranteed. The Bag And The Crow clothing line is only sold through The Bag And The Crow.  

The Bag And The Crow represents the things that go bump in the night…

The darker parts of our imaginations and the fear in our hearts…

The unknown…

There are no outcasts.  

This is my contribution to the genre I love. 

We represent the dark at heart.

This is for you.

Fiction: A MURDER OF CROWS by Sheldon Higdon

A Murder of Crows

In the summer of ’79—when I was ten-years-old—I watched my Granny Shadrick die. And I didn’t care.

My mother had abandoned me at my granny’s place when I was three and she had no choice in the matter. Either did I. It could’ve been worse, I guess. I could’ve been tossed into the trash and left for dead. When I was six granny told me that she only took me in because I’d be useful around the house. As time passed it almost became a tradition to hear how I was like a bad dream; best to forget. Looking back, I would’ve rather been tossed into the trash.

Every evening after supper—which was either stew or chili—we sat out on the front porch; her in her rocker with her shotgun across her lap and me on the steps. Whenever the breeze would kick up I could smell the stale Redman chewing tobacco and sweat that emanated from her. Her fingernails were like the color of bark and her teeth were like broken windows. Although the house had a serviceable shower she never took one. She’d say that our Creator intended for us to ‘stew in our own juices than to warsh it away.’ To this day I still don’t know what she meant. 

She spat on the porch. “Boy?”

“Yeah, granny.”

“Watch yer tongue!”

She detested when I called her granny; it meant we were related. She preferred Miss Shadrick.

“Go get me a burlap bag from the kitchen. I feel lucky tonight.”

Before I reached the screen door she grabbed my arm with her leathery hand and gripped it tight. She spat onto the porch again leaving a brown gooey mark upon its splintered surface. “Ya can’t choose yer family, y’know? So you best behave before I take a switch to ya.”

Looking down I nodded, because she wasn’t lying.

She squeezed tighter and shook my arm. “Whaddya say?”

“Yes, Miss Shadrick.”

How I wished I could’ve been born to anyone else but to the woman who birthed me. I hated her. And I hated granny.

The kitchen and its daily butchery never horrified me, as well as the repetitive stews and chili we ate throughout our days. It was all I knew. Like I was born to it. Nearly a hundred crows filled the space. Many hung by their talons along a twine that ran the length of the kitchen. Others were bare of their bluish black feathers, heads and claws cleaved off. Several wicker baskets were filled with decomposing crows speckled with writhing grains of rice. A few other baskets held bones and the chopped heads, wings, and talons. The innards were tossed out back for whatever finished them off throughout the night. On the stovetop two large pots boiled with tomorrow’s menu. On the floor blood had pooled in front of the refrigerator. Sepia-colored stains blanketed the counters like large liver spots. The room reeked like some kind of an aviary slaughterhouse and it permeated throughout the whole place. Flies buzzed about drunk on all of the carrion. A flower-patterned curtain acted as a makeshift door beneath the crimson streaked sink. I reached in and grabbed a burlap bag, shaking off maggots as I headed back to the front porch.

Granny Shadrick rocked in her rocker as I came to the screen door. In her boney hands she held the 12 gauge shotgun. The crows had already started fluttering in. One here. Another there. “I’m a ready ya pesterin’ scavengers!” Then three more. “Every evenin’ ya little devils roost in my aspens and squawk. You haven’t learned yer lesson yet, have ya?”

This was the life that I knew: living with a woman who hated me as much as I hated her and who was only one strap away from a straightjacket.

Dozens at a time continued to arrive but now they had begun cawing. As usual I stood behind the screen door as granny fought with her demons. 

She looked over her shoulder at me. “What took ya so long?” She stood up, lowering the shotgun to her side and reached out her scrawny arm. “Give me the bag.”

I pushed open the screen door and stepped through, moving as if my legs were filled with sand.

“Give me the damn bag!”

I tossed it to her and didn’t let the screen door hit me on the ass as I made my way back inside. She rolled her dull eyes at me and spat on the porch. 

By now hundreds of crows perched in the aspens and continued their verbal assault.

She raised the shotgun and held it firm against her shoulder. I covered my ears and waited. Without looking she said, “It’s like pissin’ in a pond. Ya can’t miss. Git ready to watch ‘em fly!” She followed this with laughter and pulled the trigger.

Blam!

I jumped. I always jumped.

Crows scattered in all directions. Black feathers exploded into the air and floated down to the dirt patched yard. She bellowed another laugh as three crows lay on the ground. The remaining crows returned to the aspen trees and cawed louder as if to provoke her…if that were possible. She rubbed her chin and pulled on the few hairs that clung there and cocked the gun.

Blam!

Again, I started.

The crows dispersed among a puff of black feathers. Two more crows lay dead. This time the others didn’t return.

Granny Shadrick waited for a few minutes and said, “Y’know, you should be doing the dirty work but yer a damn sissy about it.” She stepped off the porch with the shotgun tucked beneath her arm and started stuffing the dead crows strewn about the ground into the burlap bag. “Yer ain’t nuthin’ but a bad dream, I tell ya.”

Silence filled the encroaching night as the remaining amber faded beyond the tree line, replacing the sky with a purplish black hue. She held up her burlap bag. “Nuthin’ like crow, Boy. Told ya I felt lucky.”

Just as the last word fell from her curled lips a crow swooped down from above and pecked Granny on the head. “Ya bastard!” Then another followed suit. She dropped the bag and raised her shotgun, and without aiming pulled the trigger. Nothing. She had forgotten to reload. Another crow pecked at her back. Then her head again. She ran her hand through her hair and stared at the smeared blood across her fingers. Two more swooped down at her and she swung the shotgun in retaliation only to lose her weapon as it sailed across the yard. Another crow struck. And then another. She tried to make her way toward the porch flailing her arms, screaming for help as a dozen or so covered her like a shroud. I watched from behind the screen as they all worked in unison; flapping their wings, clawing at her clothes, and pecking at her exposed skin. They ripped, pulled, and tore at everything within their reach.

As night fell on the house death fell upon Granny Shadrick. Caws carried throughout the black sky while the murder of crows feasted upon her peck by peck. I shut the front door and headed up to my room, leaving her with her demons. I lay in bed until I no longer heard granny cry for help and until the last crow had flapped away. Sometime during the night the chirping of crickets lulled me into a dream.

One where I had a loving family.

About The Author

Sheldon Higdon has over twenty five publications to his credit in various magazines and books. Everything from short stories to non-fiction articles to poetry. He is also an award-winning screenwriter. You can contact Sheldon either through his popular blog site ‘The Obituary of Sheldon S. Higdon’ at http://sheldonhigdon.blogspot.com or at his Facebook page: www.facebook.com/sheldonhigdon.

ARACHNOPHOBIA Up For Preorder…

Now Up For Preorder:

The Bag And The Crow’s newest offering ARACHONPHOBIA is now up for preorder. It will be in stock and shipping in just a few weeks. This design will be offered in Men’s T-shirts, Women’s T-Shirts, and Hoodies. Those who have signed up for our newsletter got a special sneak peek of this design last week!

Arachnophobia can be defined as an irrational fear of spiders.

Artist Pete McDonough turned The Bag And The Crow’s vision into this absolutely magnificent artwork. I couldn’t be more please with how this design came out. This design truly signifies the direction The Bag And The Crow is moving in.

I also would like to tell you about a change in out T-shirts. I have decided to print all of the new The Bag And The Crow T-shirt on ring spun cotton with tear- away tags. Ring spun cotton is higher and quality and is soft to the touch. Women’s tees will stay the same (they are already ring spun cotton) You will not want to take these T-shirts off!

The Bag And The Crow is dedicated to offering it’s customers the very best designs and T-shirts available.

The hoodies are of  highest quality as well.

CLICK HERE TO PREORDER MEN’S T-SHIRT

CLICK HERE TO PREORDER WOMEN’S T-SHIRT

About the Hoodies:

CLICK HERE TO PREORDER HOODIE

Please be sure to sign up for our newsletter here - HERE, for exclusive newsletter savings. FOR ONE WEEK ONLY – USE COUPON CODE CAWWW10 AND GET 10% OFF YOUR PREORDER PRICE OF ARACHNOPHOBIA.  Enjoy! Offer expires on 6/13/10 at 12am.

Low Quantity of BRIAN KEEN LIMITED EDITION DARK HOLLOW T-shirts

The Bag And The Crow still has some BRIAN KEENE LIMITED EDITION DARK HOLLOWtees available. Very limited quantities left of this t-shirt.Once they are gone, they will not be reprinted.  Customers that have received these tees have been very impressed and satisfied with the quality of this ONE-OF-A-KIND t-shirt. Get yours now!

CLICK HERE TO VIEW PRODUCT AND/OR PLACE ORDER

Only one women’s t-shirt remains. It is sized x large.

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There will be another exclusive The Bag And The Crow design announced very soon. Finishing up the final details. I am very excited about this one. This new design is a huge step in the direction The Bag And The Crow is growing into. More information will be available soon. In the meantime, stop on by The Bag And The Crow and check out our wide selection of  t-shirts. Don’t forget our first exclusive t-shirt MOON BLOOD RED. Available in both men’s and women’s styles.

CLICK HERE TO VIEW PRODUCT AND/OR PLACE ORDER

VISIT US:

Now Shipping…

THE SHORT WAIT IS OVER…THEY’RE HERE!

MEN’S XLARGE – SOLD OUT

WOMEN’S MEDIUM & LARGE – SOLD OUT

CLICK HERE TO VIEW OR PLACE ORDER FOR MEN’S TEE

ONLY ONE WOMEN’S TEE SIZE XLARGE (JUNIORS’) REMAINS – CLICK HERE TO VIEW OR PLACE ORDER

The Bag And The Crow Exclusives

So much has happened in the last month and a half  that I thought it would be a great opportunity to reflect. On 3/10/10, The Bag And The Crow became an official storefront at the Horror Mall. First, The Bag And The Crow added many new T-shirt designs as well as a Memorabilia section (which has several items signed by Bill Moseley) to the store. Second,  The Bag And The Crow released it’s first exclusive T-shirt MOON BLOOD RED and has put its second exclusive T-shirt up for preorder BRIAN KEENE’S DARK HOLLOW.

BRIAN KEENE’S DARK HOLLOW is a LIMITED EDITION T-shirt of 100 tees. Not 100 of each size but 100 total between both Men’s and Women’s styles. Once these tees are gone they will never again be reprinted. Please note that Women’s sizes medium and large are now SOLD OUT. Only 2 Women’s tees remain – both are size xlarge.  Here is a SNEAK PEEK of the printed version of the DARK HOLLOW tees:

Front of T-shirt

Another look at the front of the T-shirt

 CLICK HERE TO ORDER OR VIEW MEN’S LIMITED TEE

CLICK HERE TO ORDER OR VIEW WOMEN’S LIMITED TEE

I have gotten some GREAT feedback about The Bag And The Crow’s first exclusive T-shirt MOON BLOOD RED. People who have ordered this one seemed to be very pleased with their purchase. This happens to be my personal favorite tee (okay, I’m a bit biased). This great T-shirt is available in both Men’s and Women’s styles.

MOON BLOOD RED

 CLICK HERE TO ORDER OR TO VIEW MEN’S MOON BLOOD RED

CLICK HERE TO ORDER OR TO VIEW WOMEN’S MOON BLOOD RED

I’d like to thank all of you that have shown support and have subscribed to The Bag And The Crow Newsletter. I truly appreciate it and down the road I will have some special offers for you. Please feel free to stop into the forum and provide us with feedback. I appreciate any and all comments.

Why buy from The Bag And The Crow? Almost all items are in stock and ready to ship. Items ship fast and are packaged with care. There are many T-shirt designs to choose from at great prices. The Bag And The Crow has exclusive designs that you will not find anywhere else. Support Independent Horror!!!

VISIT THE BAG AND THE CROW HERE

Brian Keene Limited Edition Dark Hollow T-Shirt / Limited To 100 Tees Up For Preorder

Men's Style

 Up for Pre-order…

Nape of the neck

Women's Style (Juniors' sizes)

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The Bag And The Crow – Moon Blood Red – Now Up For Sale

The Bag And The Crow Presents: Moon Blood Red

The Bag And The Crow is very proud to introduce its FIRST EXCLUSIVE T-SHIRT – MOON BLOOD RED. The Bag And The Crow is more than just a shop name. It is a brand. This shirt is the first offering of The Bag And The Crow brand.

High quality seven color design. The moon is glow-in-the-dark!

MOON BLOOD RED is available in both men’s and women’s styles.

Women’s shirt specs are:  4.5 oz. 100% combed ring-spun cotton 30/1′s fine knit jersey, NEW longer length, hourglass shape for a more flattering fit, side-seamed, self-fabric collar, double-needle hemmed sleeves and bottom. Reactive-dyed. Dischargeable. 

Juniors’ jersey tee / NEW longer length, hourglass shape for a more flattering fit.    

                            Medium    Large     X-Large