Eric Miller’s first brush with literary “fame” happened in grade school, when his creative writing assignment about a sentient executioner’s block gleefully lapping up blood from condemned prisoners earned him a trip to the principal’s office. Thrilled by the attention, he continued to write, and though he has added science fiction, fantasy, humor, and literary genres to his repertoire, horror will always have a special place in his twisted heart.
Miller’s genre-bending writing style was influenced by authors Shirley Jackson, Douglas Adams, Richard Matheson, Roger Zelazny, Kurt Vonnegut, Ogden Nash, Stephen King, Terry Pratchett, Robert E. Howard, Richard Armour, Edgar Allen Poe, and Jack Douglas.
His first novel Whatever Happened To Uncle Ed? uncovers the tortured pasts of a former high school basketball star and his team of misfit allies as they battle demons in violent magical games, risking everything to break a generational curse.
“Original, skillfully crafted, surprising plot twists, memorable characters, all delivered in author Eric Miller's distinctive and narrative driven storytelling style, “Whatever Happened to Uncle Ed?” is especially and unreservedly recommended…”
—Midwest Book Review
His speculative short story On the Mountain appeared in issue 44 of Galaxy’s Edge, his zombie comedy tale Culling the Herd made the Best Horror of the Year Volume Seven recommendation list, he has stories in Halloween Tales and other anthologies, and he wrote a chapter on screenwriting in Horror 201: The Silver Scream from Crystal Lake Publishing. He has contributed stories such as Doggie Day Afternoon, Early Birds, and Alien Concept to the online literary magazine www.HotValleyWriters.com, and his poem I Haunt This Place was published in the HWA Poetry Showcase Volume 4.
His produced screenplays include The Shadow Men, Mask Maker, Night Skies, Swamp Shark, and the SyFy Channel hit Ices Spiders, which was said by the Hollywood Reporter to be “…first rate entertainment.” He has written a number of screenplays that are in development, including Dog Soldiers II for Kismet Entertainment. He has optioned other screenplays, been hired to write scripts by various production companies, and has done a number of uncredited rewrites.
Through his small press Big Time Books, Miller is the publisher and editor of several fiction anthologies, including the Bram Stoker Award-nominated Hell Comes to Hollywood and its imaginatively titled sequel Hell Comes to Hollywood II, the trucking-themed anthologies 18 Wheels of Horror and 18 Wheels of Science Fiction.
He is an Active member of the Horror Writers Association, and when not writing, works in the Entertainment Industry. He lives in Los Angeles most of the time.
Eric can be reached via email, but since he didn’t give his webmaster the email address he wanted to use, here’s his personal email. Please don’t use it for spam. ragingeric@gmail.com
“Come on, Lassie! I want to see what’s up there!” Timmy called to his pet Collie as he worked his way up a small hill through a thicket of bushes. Lassie nipped at her master’s feet, grabbing the cuff of his pants and pulling him back.
No, Timmy! It could be dangerous! Lassie yipped around a mouthful of corduroy. But Timmy ignored his faithful dog and yanked his foot free.
Before Lassie could recover, Timmy disappeared through the thick brush. She scrambled after the boy, running up the small rise and through the undergrowth. Moments later she burst into a small clearing and saw Timmy standing on top of a round crumbling masonry wall.
“It’s an old well, Lassie. I told you there was something up here!”
Let me guess, Lassie barked sarcastically. You want to see if you can climb down into it. Collies weren’t as well known for sarcasm as Doberman Pinchers and German Shepherds were, but spending the last 8 years guarding the dim-witted Timmy had given her once-cheerful personality a cynical edge.
“Hey, there’s a rope!” Timmy said, marveling at the mottled cord wrapped around a rusty pulley that was fixed to a wooden beam above the hole. “Do you think the bucket fell into the well?”
Lassie glanced at the frayed end of the rope and yelped, Duh.
Timmy leaned over the stone wall and peered into the darkness, looking for a literal and figurative clue.
Get away from there this instant! Lassie growled at him. You could fall in too, you idiot!
But Timmy didn’t listen, as usual, and climbed on top of the well. Lassie barked another warning as the casing crumbled under his feet. He grabbed the rope to steady himself, oblivious to the danger.
“I wonder if there’s still water down there?” Timmy asked. Keeping one hand on the rope for balance, he pulled a penny from his pocket and dropped it down the hole. After a second he heard a small splash. Timmy turned to Lassie with a delighted grin.
“Sounds like water to me. And I’m awfully thirsty...”
And awfully stupid, Lassie whined. I’ll bet my last soup bone it’s contaminated, so don’t even think of climbing down there.
On cue, Timmy said, “I’m gonna climb down. You stay here and pull me back up with the—” Suddenly, the well rim collapsed. Timmy pulled frantically on the rope but the ancient strands crumbled. “Lassieeeee…” he screamed as he toppled into the hole. His plea was cut off by a large splash.
The dog rolled her eyes, trotted to the edge, and looked down. Timmy? She barked. Are you all right?
There was no answer at first, then a sputtering groan echoed from the depths. “I think I fell in.”
No shit, Sherlock. Did you hurt yourself?
“I didn’t break any bones, but I must have hit my head on the way down. It really smarts.”
That’s not the word I’d use, Lassie sighed.
“I’m gonna try to climb out. Wait for me, girl.”
Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for all the peanut butter in the world.
Lassie heard splashing sounds, then scrambling noises. She leaned further over the broken wall and saw the boy’s dim shape as he climbed up the moss-covered brick lining. He grinned at her from halfway up and tried to wave, and lost his grip and fell back to the bottom.
“I’m never going to get out of here,” Timmy cried, his simple-minded enthusiasm gone. “I’ll be stuck down here forever.”
What a tragedy, Lassie barked encouragingly. I think I’ll go look for some squirrels.
Timmy heard her barking and stopped crying. “That’s a great idea, girl! Run home and bring Maw and Paw back. You’ll save me like you always do!”
Lassie considered his request for a moment, then shook her shaggy head and snarled in disgust. Why the hell should I keep saving you? You’re just going to get us both killed. Remember last week when you grabbed that rattlesnake and it tried to bite me when I pulled you away? Or when you got stuck on a cliff and I slipped and fell leading you down? That sure was fun. So was almost drowning when I dragged you out of the river last week. And who got kicked in the teeth by the runaway horse you kept kicking in the ribs? This doggy, that’s who. And what’s next? I get Rabies from a sick Raccoon you being home, and they go Old Yeller on me? Forget it, Timmy. I’m not going to die for you. You’re on your own.
“Good girl, Lassie,” Timmy said, smiling up at his faithful companion. “You’re the best dog in the whole wide world.”
Yes I am, Lassie yipped. And you’re the dumbest boy ever. Then she jumped off the well, ran into the forest, and started chasing squirrels.
Copyright © 2021 Eric Miller