Bing Crosby's rendition of the song "White Christmas" by Irving Berlin has long been a holiday classic. The snow that begins to fall this Christmas Eve, however, is NOT the sort most people would have been dreaming of. A short work of holiday horror from our Spectres line.

Past Bram Stoker Award(R) nominee James Dorr combines the charm of a gentleman born in the US South with the wiles of a near-New York City upbringing, the canniness of a one-time New England resident, and the guile of an outwardly stolid Midwesterner, or so he says. It is known that he was born in Florida, grew up in New Jersey, went to college in Massachusetts, and currently lives in Indiana where he harbors a Goth cat named Triana. He is a short story writer and poet working mainly in dark fantasy and horror with forays into science fiction and mystery, an active member of HWA and SFWA, and has previously worked as a technical writer for an academic computing center, associate editor on a city magazine, a nonfiction freelance writer, and a semi-professional Renaissance musician. See http://jamesdorrwriter.wordpress.com for more information on James's doings, past, present, and possible future. Feel free to drop a note as the spirit moves -- he's always happy to hear readers'

Bing Crosby's rendition of the song "e;White Christmas"e; by Irving Berlin has long been a holiday classic. The snow that begins to fall this Christmas Eve, however, is NOT the sort most people would have been dreaming of.A short work of holiday horror from our Spectres line.