Thursday, January 4, 2024

Issue 2 of FangerNails is here!

 This FangerNails story, was inspired by the many discoveries of African American cemeteries around the southeast.  In 2019 a 120 graves were discovered under a Housing Complex. This is the story that fueled the creative juicing. In this story Eni and her friends set out to investigate strange ghostly happenings at a housing project. Time is not on their side as a local ghost hunter has also come to exterminate all mincing spirits. FangerNails main goal is to prove that ghosts aren’t bad.  What they find at these projects challenges all of their paranormal investigation skills.



Issue One had a beautiful variant cover my Mervyn McKoy.


The story started with Eni sitting in her room.  She is just a normal 16 year old girl.

This is the character that Eni dreams she could be after she learns about her father.
In issue two Eni and her friends meet a Ghost Hunter.  Someone who hunts down ghosts.  This goes against Eni's awareness so they become adversaries. 


This variant cover is by Mervyn McKoy who did the variant cover for first issue.
The FangerNails team is made of Eni who is a gargoyle. Mercedes is Puerto Rican and she studying to be a Bruja.A Bruja or a brujería (pronounced [bɾuxeɾˈi.a]), is a Spanish practitioner of what is considered witchcraft as is a complex blend of indigenous, African, and European influences. The third girl is a ghost named Savannah.  And the last member of the FangerNails team is Khemmy, Eni's Black cat.  In this story Khemmy gets more shine.  He goes off on his own to investigate on his own and he runs into other cats.

This whole issue and even the entire concept of FangerNails was inspired by our feelings towards ghosts and the dead.  FangerNails was created to shed some light on the good side of ghosts. Showing how ghosts can be good challenges people's concepts on ghosts. In the second issue the inspiration was the an African burial ground was found in Tampa. In 2019 Zion Cemetery, believed to be the first in the city for African Americans, was established in 1901 by a Black businessman named Richard Dolby was discovered beneath a Tampa, Florida Apartment complex.



Fangernails is the spin-off of the book Thug Angel Rebirth of a Gargoyle. This is a story about a single father named Maurice who is raising little girl named Eni in the Front Street Projects.  FSP (Front Street Projects) are a complex of four 10 story buildings and Maurice is the proud superintend.  They are the oldest buildings being used as housing projects in New York.  They are made of stone with carved faces on the outside.  Some of the old lades say the faces are there to protect the residences and are called Gargoyles.  Whether it is the gargoyles ensuring the good luck of the FSPs it is clear that there is something special about the FSP.  The housing projects of New York are notorious for having drug dealers and lots of crime.  Drug dealers don’t come around FSP and even when a new drug dealer thinks about pushing drugs around there they change their mind.  Eni thinks it’s because of men like her father however, one thing Eni or anybody else cannot explain is why nobody has ever been hurt or murdered in the FSPs until now. 


FangerNails is a comic book with a purpose.  Please check out the pitch video where I explain the second issue. FangerNails 2 pitch video


Tuesday, April 11, 2023

Planet Alkebulan releases its third book.



Jeff Carroll is a pioneer voice in the Black speculative movement.  He is a writer, filmmaker and comic book man. His stories always have lots of action and a social edge. He has written over 10 sci-fi and horror novels and made six movies. His short stories have appeared in The Black Science Fiction Society's anthology and their magazine as well as other anthologies.



“Planet Akebulan is the product of a challenge by my illustrator Jorge Gabotto.   Jorge presented me with images of a man and a woman and asked me to write a story.  The concept of Planet Akebulan immediately jumped into my head, pushing aside all the other ideas in my mind. Planet Akebulan is the product of a longstanding dream of mine regarding writing a Sword and Soul story.  Sword and Soul is a subgenre of Black Science fiction that blends African History with fantasy. With Planet Akebulan, I’m able to use the deepest parts of my imagination along with my love for African culture. I was heavily influenced by the structure of the Marvel Universe; I love the way scientific speculation, and cultural beliefs are weaved together.,” Jeff Carroll.

 



Planet Alkebulan, the first planet in the universe, is the source of all life. It produces this life in private as it’s location is unknown. When it’s life force regulator is broken they learn that the planet has also become visible making it the number one target in the universe.

It keeps producing lifeforms and sending them around the universe to suitable planets. Quhala is a mastress of the lifeforce. Quhala and her partner Shabaka are the guardians of Planet Alkebulan.  Quhala charges her arrows and other weapons with life sucking energy that drains all living beings.  Shabaka is armed with the Kem Sword a magical weapon that’s power is unknown.

 

Planet Akebulan, is similar to Star Wars in the sense that it is set in a world that predates civilization on Earth.  Planet Akebulan offers a different origin of life in the Universe.

 


In the first book the planet is under attack by wild lifeforms. The Heroes Shabaka and Quhala learn how to repair the barrier.

Book 2 While taking the King to join with the Queen they are attacked by Soulrah and the King and Shabaka are captured. Quhala is left to get the Queen and get her to help free the King.

Book 3 The Queen and her men free the King. The Queen and King join together and restore the Life Force regulator. Once restored they learn that the planet had become visible.


Here's the link to the project





Jorge Luis Gabotto (Hiorsh) is a cartoonist and writer from Argentina. He enjoys narrating, and he does it whenever he had a chance.  Whether it was telling a movie, singing a song or just telling a joke, Jorge enjoyed it. The comic for him is the concretion of many arts together; a stylistic summit that combines several languages for the narrative. The comic is also drawings; evocative plastic expressions of techniques such as perspective, color management, human figure, etc. Along with all the aforementioned joys, a comic is literature, narrative, climates, tensions and beauty in words. The comic is cinema, it is movement, it is lights and cameras playing roles from the reader-spectator point of view. The comic is many things…it is a game.

TAKE OUT AN AD.





Saturday, October 8, 2022


 

Interview with the Monster

Prequel to The Death Pledge by Jeff Carroll

 

 

When I first got the assignment to cover the story of Jefferson Washington, the barnyard boxing sensation known as the King of Africa, I was taken aback.  Me, Hirum Langston, award-winning writer assigned to cover a story about a brutal, illegal sport.  Bare-knuckle fighting or boxing without any gloves or whatever you want to call it’s pit fighting.  I would have much rather been investigating one of Gravel T. Woods’ new inventions or spending some time with Fredrick Douglass talking about ways to end slavery.  However, Reginald Small is a man with great purpose, so even though this is something I do not understand, I will approach it with the utmost respect.  I have only been to the South one time in my life and the experience there was life-changing.   Reporters for the north, especially of the abolitionist school of thought like me, were never invited to newsworthy occurrences on the Plantations of the South.  I guess they are scared we will find out about some hideous slavery activity.  That makes this opportunity all the more sweet.

 

Arrangements had been made for me to stay at a rooming house or, as they say, a bed and breakfast.  I have heard stories about this fighter, the King of Africa, that make him seem like a terror.  All of these stories are relayed orally, of course.  Barnyard boxing and any form of boxing is against the law in all of the Northern States.  Human fighting is barbaric and inhumane.  Even when these fights were held up North before the laws were passed, they were held in secrecy.  The South maybe filled with cornhusking hillbillies, but even they aren’t primitive enough to celebrate this savagery.  On second thought, with all of the reported incidents of slave labor and its hideous atrocities, fist fighting is a step up.

 

 

Saturday, October 7, 1851

The ride to the bed and breakfast was treacherous to say the least.  I have never rode for so long on an unpaved road.  The carriage reached South Ridge, Virginia, well past midnight – about two a.m. Even after a decent night’s sleep when I was coming downstairs I was still trying to settle my nerves by thinking about what good stuff these country folk would have for breakfast.        

 

“Say, is this your first fight?” a man said to me.  I was holding a spoon serving myself a helping of grits.

 

“Ah, I ah. I’m not a fighter,” I said.  Not knowing what to say.  I didn’t really want to tell people who I was.  “I’m just here with a friend.”

 

“Well, I hear that the wager man is running late,” the man said in a lower voice than he had the first time.  “On account of people placing so many bets.”

 

“Is that so?  Well, I don’t expect to be betting any money on this fight.”

 

“Well if you do wanna make yourself some take home money.  I’m taking bets on Haymaker Hazlitt.  He’s going to show that jungle ape the proper order of the food chain evolution.”

 

I walked away from the man whose excitement over the fight caused spit to fly out of his mouth while he was talking.  So as not to have his oral fluids fly onto my plate I walked around him to find a seat at the end of the table.  While I didn’t mind a breakfast buffet, it does demand a certain etiquette that I just don’t think these Southern fight fans are capable of.

 

The fight was set to start after noontime, leaving enough time for the main fight time to finish before sunset.  The rooming house was filled with nothing but travelers like myself.  Everyone was here to see the African King fight.  The dining room table quickly filled up with an assortment of characters.  Men came from as far south as Atlanta and Savannah.  I met a group of men from Newark.  They owned a shipping company and rode their company’s coach down to South Ridge.  There grass outside the house was filled with coaches and horses from the porch all the way out to the road. 

 

The breakfast was good.  Nothing like fresh eggs and cheese.  I talked to the men about as many subjects as I could but the subject of the fights always took over.  I must admit people are certainly excited about these barnyard fights.  “I heard that African King fella punched a white man in front of the mayor and ain’t nothing happen to him,” one man said.

 

“I heard he punched a horse for looking at him the wrong way,” another man said. 

 

“Knocked the horse out cold with one blow.”

 

I heard so many stories, which I think were a bit exaggerated, just at the breakfast table that I started to get a little excited myself.  I excused myself and went back to my room to take a nap.

 

“Come on out! They just bringing the African King out,” a voice screamed.  It startled me.  I looked at my watch and it was 11:30 a.m.  I guess that carriage ride took a little more out of me than I expected.  Anyway, time to go to work and get this story.  So I ran a rag over my face and skipped down the stairs.

 

“Easy, young fella.  They got him covered up.  His trainer Jim don’t want him to be teased by any of the boys here,” an old man said.  He was sitting in a rocking chair drinking a glass of lemonade on the porch looking at all the chaos from a safe distance.  “They’re going to be bringing out some pork sandwiches in a few.  You need to make sure you get yours first cause they are sure to run out today.

 

“Ah is that all they’ll have is pork?” I said. 

 

“Hell no.  She been frying chicken and making tater pies all week.”

 

Thank God.  I could eat some chicken, but I had a bad experience with a piece of pork when I was a child.  “Okay, thank you Sir.”

 

From a few feet off the porch, I was able to see the big wagon carrying the African King roll in.  It looked like a big box covered with a show curtain like the ones they use on stages at the theater.

 

I noticed the fighting area was filling up quickly, and I also saw they had started selling the sandwiches.  I rushed over and got a box of chicken and three fluffy biscuits.  I took an end seat on a mid-level bleacher.  The announcer was already talking to the crowd by the time I got situated.

 

“Today we got a treat for you fight lovers.  I ain’t talking about no cock fights or no dogs fights.  I’m talking about two big ole giants fighting.  Men so big there ain’t no place for them in the world but in this here ring.  First we got two scrappy young fellas that promise to give you something that you ain’t expecting.  They both say they’ve got killer in their blood, so it sure to be a pleaser.  Then we got what you all came here for.  We got a fighter who’d make the gladiators in Rome run home and get their mammas. He’s all the way from England.  It took him two weeks to get here, and I bet he ain’t happy about that.  Haymaker Hazlitt,” the fat announcer said.  The crowd screamed and cheered so much you would have thought he had already won the fight.  “He told me yesterday that he heard Virginia had a colored problem and he wanted help us solve it.  Hahaha.”

 

Then the crowd got quiet.  Real quiet.

 

“Now you know we’ve got this fighter trained by Old Jim.  This fighter is half animal and half monster.  He started in the fields of North Carolina.  You know picking cotton and sugar cane.  Now he’s been chopping down every man we’ve put in front of him. All the way from Africa, we’ve got the African King!”  This caused the crowd to boo and scream curses.

 

The first fight was a spectacle to say the least.  Both men about the same size traded punches and slaps at each other for over 5 rounds.  They knocked each other to the ground.  Each time they got up before the bell rang and got back up with new energy.  By the tenth round, I could barely predict who would win.  The fighters both looked to be within an inch of their lives, yet they still fought.  Every time they fell to the ground, I couldn’t help but think “Why get up?”  One time I yelled, “Stay down, dummy!”  That made all of the men sitting around me turn and look at me.  I wouldn’t say that again.  But why?  Why do they get up?  This was the stupidest way to display courage.  Then by the fifteenth round, out of the blue and totally unexpectedly, one of the fighters threw a right-handed punch at the other fighter’s head and misjudged the other fighter’s distance.  The other fighter, seizing an opportunity he had been waiting for, followed with a devastating uppercut which connected with the jaw of his adversary.  The blow knocked the fighter off his feet and into the first row of bleachers.

 

When they finally got a word out of the laid-out fighter, all he said was “Where am I?”

 

They quickly cleared the ring and the announcer pronounced the fighter the winner.  He then called for two volunteers and stood them on both sides of the ring.

 

“Now you fellas will get the first shots at the African King,” the announcer said.  He stepped aside and in walked Old man Jim, an old man with wrinkled skins and a big round belly.  He was followed by what seemed to be just what they said: a monster.  The African King.  Dressed in overalls and wearing a straw hat, he looked normal, except he was twice the size of a normal man.  He had large muscles – not defined, just large.  His chest was big like a wooden barrel of ale.  He looked around at all of the people and offered what almost seemed like a smile.  The two men in the ring were each given a piece of wood.  Following the instruction of Old man Jim, they swung the slabs over the head and back of the African King.  While each piece of wood broke over the African King’s body, he barely flinched.  Holy cow, he was strong.  I’d only seen men this strong at the circus.

 

“You see.  He’s got no feeling,” someone screamed from the audience.

 

“No soul,” the announcer said.  “And now I bring you this animal trainer all the way from England, Haymaker Hazlitt.”

 

The African King backed away from Haymaker as soon as Old man Jim climbed out of the ring.  Haymaker – a tall man, equal to the height of the African King – just starred at the big Black fighter.  When the bell rang, Hazlitt was all over the African King, throwing lefts and right punches.  The African King barely moved as he raised his arms to block.  The crowd cheered.  It didn’t seem like a fight at all.  By the beginning of the second round, Haymaker had thrown almost all of the punches while the African King just took a beating.  Midway through the second round, Haymaker landed a punch that caused the African King to stumble.  Haymaker, sensing an easy victory, released out a barrage of more punches.   The African King fell to the ground.  Well, not all the way.  He came down on one knee.  But you would have thought he fell out flat on his back, like the early fighters did, by the noise of the crowd.  I started to think that this was no fight; it was a rigged public beating.  This couldn’t be the guy people traveled so far to see. 

 

The African King blocked Haymaker’s punches from that position until the bell rang.  After that he got up and walked over to Old man Jim.  Jim splashed him with a cup of water as he sat down.  He offered the African King a jar of some sort.  It had green liquid in it.  The King took a big gulp and Old man Jim said something I couldn’t make out.  When the bell rang, the African King jumped up and dropped his arms to his sides and squatted down.  Haymaker paid him no mind and rushed in as usual.  This time the African King caught Hazlitt with an open-hand slap.  Haymaker stumbled back a step.  He shook his head and charged again this time he was slapped twice.  He tried to punch the King, but his punches were blocked.  The King jumped around on each side of Haziltt, slapping him on the side of his head and body.  His opponent turned his head as fast as he could, but that only added to the blows ‘accuracy.  Hazlitt snorted and gritted his teeth then rushed toward the African King.  The African King sidestepped and punched Hazlitt in the cheek.  Hazlitt, now mad and turning red, said “Come on you beast. Stop running and fight me.”

 

The African King stopped moving and just stood there with his arms to his side.  Hazlitt hauled back and aimed a blow at his opponent.  The African King lowered his body to the ground and let the punch sail over his head.  The move caught Hazlitt so off guard that he lost his footing.  The African King jumped up in the air like a frog and came crashing down on Hazlitt’s head.  Hazlitt fell straight down.  The big white fighter’s face connected with the ground so hard it thudded like it was a brick.  The ring man quickly rang the bell.  Hazlitt pushed himself back up to his feet and wobbled back to his chair.  The once-noisy crowd was quiet.  I dared not say a word.

 

When the bell rang starting the next round, both fighters looked refreshed.  The African King looked like it was the beginning of the fight, and Hazlitt looked like he was surrounded by a group of bandits.  He didn’t seem to have his earlier skilled aggression.  He held an arm out to keep the African King away from him.  He walked around the ring like he was looking for an opening.  The African King just stayed in his position with his arms dangling and in a squatted position. The crowd started cheering “kill him, kill him.”

 

Hazlitt, grinned to the crowd in acknowledgment of their love, it seemed like he’d been waiting for to charge the African King.  He blocked the first slap and almost tackled the King, a move which I thought wasn’t allowed.  I thought the rules were for fist fighting only.  Anyway, Hazlitt, having the African King pinned against the rope, rammed his knee into the barrel shaped ribs of the African King.  He pushed the King back with both hands around his neck choking him.  The referee just stood there watching.  The African King fell down to his knee and Hazlitt rammed his knee into the King’s head.  The crowd cheered.  Some men stood up.  Hazlitt punched the King, knocking him over onto the ground. 

 

Now with the African King finally lying on the floor, Hazlitt turned to the cheering audience and raised his arms.  When he turned back toward the African King, the King was almost back on to his feet.  Hazlitt rushed him with his stereotypical confidence and swung and the King.  This time the King was already on one knee and the blows were easier to block.  He blocked them both and followed with an uppercut to Hazlitt’s chin.  The blow stood Hazlitt up straight.  The African King punched Hazlitt in the stomach, causing Hazlitt to bend over.  As Hazlitt crouched to hold his stomach, the African King cupped both his hand together and swung them into Hazlitt’s face.  Hazlitt stood erect and motionless.  Blood dripped out of his mouth and his eyes were shut.  I couldn’t tell if he was going to fall forward or backward.  All I could tell was he was unconscious.  His head tilted to the sky and his arms dangling on his sides told the crowd who the winner was. 

 

This was by far the most thrilling event I have ever witnessed.  As barbaric as it was, these fighters are a cut above the rest of us.  I can’t wait to talk to Jefferson Washington, the African King tomorrow.



Check out the book with the story Sci-Fi Streetz


Thursday, October 6, 2022

Black Jack O Lantern origin story.





 DID YOU KNOW this little horror history fact:

Most people don’t know that pumpkins come in other colors besides orange.

There is a classic horror story about a real, young Black child who lived in the 1800s. Can you guess what story it was? The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was not originally the fictional story of Ichabod Crane.

According to New York records of the time, Ephraim Brownsome was a student in a secondary school for free Black children before the tragedy. This event took the lives of twelve children and eight adults.

It began with the request of an abolitionist to integrate the schools of Boston, Massachusetts. Parents were excited to send their children, who represented the best and the brightest, and give them the opportunity study under elite scholars. It required the colored students to travel from New York to Boston.

The trip took days. They crossed lands with old plantations that had bloody slave revolts on them. Legend told that the lands were dangerous because the spirits of the slave owners would possess weak minds.

On the group’s return trip, Ephraim mocked slavery and slaves themselves. He said Africans had to be stupid to let someone enslave them. On the evening of the third day, young Ephraim murdered all of the children in his stagecoach and another one before his killing spree was cut short. He was shot down during the conflict.

While lying on the ground, the horses pulled the stagecoach wheel over his body and decapitated him. Both his head and body were brought back to Sleepy Hollow and buried in an old Dutch cemetery.

Months later, the cemetery had become overgrown with weeds and vegetation. On the night of All Hallows Eve, Ephraim rose from his grave. His body had pushed through the weeds and a pumpkin had grown nearby, replacing his head. A black pumpkin.

The possessed, black-pumpkin-headed body of Ephraim continued his murderous rampage. This time, he killed more than just Black children. The town’s militia was able to stop him again but not before fear struck the hearts of any and all survivors.

The story of this incident has changed over years and, due to racism, the young, Black Ephraim was replaced with the name of his first white victim - Ichabod Crane. Even the color of the pumpkin was changed to orange.

Only one photograph of Ephraim exists. If you look closely, you can see the face of a white man inside a black pumpkin. 

Check out his battle against the Black Leprechaun http://kck.st/3E51WBT Halloween Wars




Thursday, September 29, 2022

 Check out the new project on Kickstarter Horror Streetz







Check out the project on Kickstarter http://kck.st/3E51WBT

Sunday, June 19, 2022

RBG Promotions and Hip Hop Comix N Flix are proud to announce the year's movie line up.





Streaming now.

When a young black couple moves into a historic black neighborhood, they learn that the people who live there believe in a protective spirit called The Black Nun.  To this upwardly motived and conservative couple the concept of a Black spirit is beyond their capacity to understand. So, when they decide not to conform to the neighborhood superstition they become victims of the Black Nun’s wrath.


Coming this summer

When Get Out meets Us America’s racial tension boils over.

                When two interracial couples of college students embark on a short road trip to party for spring break they have to cross the racially intolerant lands of Central Florida.  Aware of the dangerous racism which is so prevalent in Central Florida the four students decide to save money and drive through the area rather than drive the extra 4 hours and avoid the treacherous region. After catching two flat tires in the middle of Central Florida they have to wait until morning for road side service. One by one they each learn of the motives behind the racial tension haunting Central Florida. However, the lesson may cost them their lives and they may not make it to South beach let alone through the night.

 Coming this fall.


The Conjuring of Baba is the story of a student named Nzinga who wants to prove that what western scholars teach people about the dead being synonymous with bad is wrong. She believes that the African view is correct. That the dead are just like the living. There are good spirits and bad.  However, during her investigations, she learns of a soul-stealing spirit on campus. Once she learns of the bad spirit Nzinga must learn the way to send this bad spirit to hell and only Baba can help her do it.




Friday, June 17, 2022


 From writer JEFF CARROLL