Horror Writer Brian Keene Dead at Age 42 — and Age 969

Deceased horror writer Brian Keene

(Pennsylvania) Popular American horror writer Brian Keene (The Rising, Urban Gothic, etc.) passed away in his home unexpectedly last night after a brief bout with mutant vampire morlocks.

In October of 2009, Mr. Keene made the decision to have himself cryogenically preserved until such time, in the future, that his hair might be successfully restored. In order to facillitate his wishes, his vital processes first had to be terminated, and after numerous volunteers came forward to oblige Mr. Keene, the honor was given to fellow horror author Jeffrey Thomas. Mr. Keene passed away with fairly little agonized writhing and vomiting once Mr. Thomas flipped the switch of the IV system that first injected Mr. Keene with a euthanizing cocktail, and then with various preservative agents formulated by the private company whose services Mr. Keene had obtained, the Hostess Corporation (makers of the Twinkie). Mr. Keene’s cryogenic pod was stored in his home, where it performed double duty as a coffee table.

But an upgrade in home decor led to the pod being removed to the basement, where it languished for the ensuing decades, and then centuries. After 927 years had passed, a group of mutant, blood-sucking morlocks discovered the author (whom they dubbed “lesslocks”) while foraging through the ruins of civillization. As they commenced efforts to break into the pod to get at its tasty center, they inadvertently activated its revitalizing systems, and Mr. Keene was injected with fast-acting stimulants. He no doubt stared through the walls of his pod with some surprise at the albino, pustule-ridden, dessicated, filthy, emaciated, taloned, feral-eyed, fang-mouthed, red-eyed, lank-haired, vein-covered, pulsating, left-handed, dyslexic mutants as they pummeled and clawed at the pod. Finally, it gave under their efforts, and Mr. Keene was dragged forth by the ravenous horde, led by a cackling, red-haired Morlock King.

“Take your stinking paws off me!” Keene screamed, as the yellow talons of the morlocks dug into his abdomen, and yanked the coils of his intestines from his body like giant steaming bluish worms that slithered and spilled forth like knotted together sausage links of long and slimy Christmas stockings stuffed with unmentionable horrors. “I’m the last man! The last man on Earth!”

“Yeah, you and every other guy we break out of these Twinkie pods,” said the King of the Morlocks, who then brought a length of intestine to his lips to begin the hellish feast.

In a related story, author Jeffrey Thomas (Deadstock, Punktown, etc.), who had himself cryogenically preserved shortly after Mr. Keene did, to await penile reduction surgery, was liberated from his own pod via a technical glitch after 920 years of sleep. He is now sometimes referred to as the King of the Morlocks.

(In Mr. Keene’s will, the following desire was expressed: “Just a thought, folks. If you could, please consider including this link…and ask folks to consider making a donation to the SJA: http://www.shirleyjacksonawards.org/sja_support.php“)