Friday, December 30, 2011

New Collection of Horror Stories


A collection of 14 short stories that transport you to the terrifying corners of the imagination where worse things are always waiting. Welcome to the place where monsters lurk, nightmares reign, and anything is possible.

More than a collection of short horror fiction, these tales run the razor's edge from grotesque to morbidly hopeful. The danger may be supernatural or human--either way, the monsters are waiting.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Read RAMPAGE for FREE (even without Amazon)

Anyone who wants to read my new book, RAMPAGE: A Romance Thriller, can either buy it for 3.99 at Amazon or, if an Amazon Prime Member, borrow it for free OR
e-mail me at and I'll send you a FREE pdf file. I only ask that in return you "Follow" this blog and post a review of the book on Amazon.

Sound good? Start sending me those e-mails and you can start reading.

RAMPAGE Now Available!

Go to Amazon and buy RAMPAGE today or, if you're an Amazon Prime Member, you can read t for FREE!

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Rampage Cover

Here's the initial cover for Rampage: A Romance Thriller. I love it. Thanks as always to Karla Herrera for her amazing work.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

RAMPAGE: A Thriller Romance

The new J.T. Warren novel is coming soon. Here's the jacket copy:

Allie Moss has finally had enough. When her abusive boyfriend goes too far, Allie finally finds the courage to flee from a dangerous relationship.

Her boyfriend, Preston, however, is far more treacherous than she ever suspected and now he is hunting her, possibly insane, and leaving a trail of violence in his wake.

With the help of a man who secretly pines for her, Allie will confront shocking horrors, expose secrets that have long kept her frightened, and dare to hope that she will finally know love.

Even in the darkness, there is hope, and you will be rooting for Allie Moss right from the first page to the emotional finale.

(Excerpt to follow)

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Free Halloween E-Anthology

Read all thirteen Halloween-themed stories for FREE! Notice the first story is "Halloween Candy" by JT Warren.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

JT Warren Short Story in New Halloween Anthology

Coming October 11 . . .

My story is brand new, written just for this collection: it's entitled, "Halloween Candy."

Wednesday, July 27, 2011


Calamity is back, updated and republished with a crazy new cover, courtesy of Karla Herrera. I think it rocks.

Friday, July 1, 2011

A Scary Read for a Good Cause

A scary read for a good cause: J.T. Warren has pledged to donate money to First Book, a non-profit organization that provides books for children from low-income families. He will make a donation when Blood Mountain reaches the Kindle Top 5000, 2500, 1000, 500, and 100. Buy the book and force Warren to give and give and give.

For fans of Jack Kilborn, Jack Ketchum, and movies like The Last House on the Left and I Spit on Your Grave.

Mercy Higgins is a recent college graduate who isn’t very experienced. Following the death of her mother to cancer, her father brings her on a hike for a needed respite.

Victor Dolor has been secretly watching Mercy. Consumed with the certainty that the End of Everything is fast approaching and he must help “cleanse” the world for the coming Dark Time, Victor pursues Mercy for one purpose.

Up high on Blood Mountain, Victor brutally rapes and assaults her.

But that is only the beginning of the nightmare for Mercy. When her father is attacked as well, she is left alone to fight for herself.

And on Blood Mountain, the path to survival can get very gruesome.

This edition also includes the bonus short story, "Flies."

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Try BLOOD MOUNTAIN for Father's Day!

It's a beautiful story about a father and his daughter and a madman stalking them through the woods. Oh, yeah, there are crows too, the kind with the preternatural lust for blood. Buy today and read with dad!

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Tuesday, May 17, 2011


As a special offer to gather more readers, I will send anyone who requests it, a free copy of BLOOD MOUNTAIN, my latest ebook.

In exchange, I ask only two things:
1. You read the book.
2. You post a review on Amazon.

If you're willing to do this, please email me at and I will send you a pdf version of the book.

Thank you,
J.T. Warren

Sunday, May 8, 2011


For your pleasure, here is the opening of my latest ebook, BLOOD MOUNTAIN:

Victor Dolor went to the diner because two months ago a man killed five people there. The man was Hugo Herrera. He was forty-one, divorced, recently unemployed from a downsized-factory job, and had finally been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder from something that happened when he was a child. Victor scanned several online articles for more specifics about the childhood trauma but found nothing.
In response to Hugo’s most recent therapy session with some high-priced psychologist, Hugo wrote a letter to The New York Times that said he was “sick of all the fucking shit and finally going to do something about all the worthless shits in the world.” The Times did not print the letter. Two days after he mailed it, Hugo took his hunting rifle into the Alexis Diner just outside of Stone Creek, New York, and murdered five people.
It was a sign.
There had been many signs recently but the Hugo Herrera murders was the most significant. Everything was changing. The period of acquiescent apathy was over. The time of now was the dawning of the age of the great cleansing when humanity would rid itself of the living detritus, shed the human excrement clogging the world, and give birth to a new golden age of empowered living.
Victor had been chosen. He was a cleanser. Hugo had been a cleanser. Unlike Hugo, however, Victor was not about to kill in one grotesque orgy and then blow his own face off. Victor would help cleanse humanity but he would do it so he too could one day enjoy the fruits of his labor.
The next world would be his.
He had also gone to the diner for the girl.
She was in a booth with her father off to the left. Victor did not let his glance linger over her smooth flesh or soft red hair. She did not look up.
Victor sat at the counter on a plush red stool. A young Mexican boy slid a place setting in front of him and produced a glass of ice water. Victor stared at it. In the journey to preserve the status quo, to stave off the inevitable shifting landscape of the cosmos and humanity, the powers that be kept the water supply bloated with mind-numbing drugs. People who drank from this endless reservoir of placation would be blind to the ensuing changes. They would be ignorant of all the signs the universe offered. The warnings.
Condensation trickled down the side of the glass like tears. Or clear-colored blood.
The swinging door to the kitchen opened and a middle-age woman in a black and turquoise uniform smiled at him. Deep wrinkles creased her face like the cracks in dried mud.
“Morning,” she said to Victor. “Coffee?”
He smiled right back, nodded.
When she set down the glass he asked her about Hugo Herrera. He expected her face to pale rapidly, her meaty hands to grab at the counter and her throat to make some kind of choking, gasping noise that was really a cry for help. Instead, she shrugged and said she hadn’t been working that day, but it was a horrible, horrible tragedy.
Victor slowly turned his coffee cup in a circle. It made the faintest scraping noise against the counter, almost like the sounds the mice in his basement made at night. “Any idea why he did it?” Victor sounded so calm, so damn normal, so average-Joe.
The waitress paused. “Everyone has a breaking point, I guess. Sounds to me like he just snapped. Or he was crazy.”
“No doubt,” Victor said. The aroma of fried sausage swarmed around him like poison gas. “But why here? Was he a regular?”
“I never heard of him until that day when Arlon, my boss, called and said some wackjob shot up the place. Killed five people, one of them was a waitress.”
“You know her?”
“Sabrina? She was a new girl. Just out of high school, looking to save up for community college. She was a pretty thing. Such a shame.”
Victor glanced around, merely for show. The diner was fairly busy this Saturday morning. People were engaged in conversations in the booths while scraping their forks across plates that must have been used a billion times. The only other patron at the counter, however, was an old man in a big, heavy coat. He was at the far end, a cup of coffee before him and a newspaper.
“Place seems to have bounced right back,” Victor said. “Like it did after the last time.”
The waitress nodded. “I didn’t know what to expect. Thought I’d be out of a job. But Arlon reopened after three days, when the cops were done, of course, and people came back. Helps to be the only diner in a twenty-mile radius.”
“I’m sure.” Victor had lived in Stone Creek his whole life. The little town was squished on the corner of Orange County, New York, at the foot of Blood Mountain. The mountain was the second highest peak in the region next to Schunemunk Mountain, which, at almost seventeen-hundred-feet high, always got all the attention. Blood Mountain, however, had that killer name and the beauty that went with it.
“What did you mean, the last time?” the waitress asked.
“Some places are marked,” he said.
“Cursed, I guess you’d say, but it’s more than that.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “What can I get you?”
“The coffee is fine for now, thanks.”
“You just let me know.” She winked.
Victor smiled back. What would she look like beneath his hunting knife? Would she still wink at him when he pushed it slowly into that soft spot at the base of her throat where her skin had started to sag?
She walked down to the old guy at the end of the counter and then made her way to the front of the diner where the rest of her customers waited in booths. Victor spun slowly on the stool as if he were maneuvering to get up, maybe head to the bathroom.
The girl and her father had only coffee and water so far. But they would soon be eating quite a large breakfast. They wanted to have enough energy to make it to a late lunch if not dinner. They would have eggs and bacon and pancakes and toast and hash browns. They would eat up because they thought it would help them.
He would watch them eat for a little while. Watch the way the girl, not a girl but a young woman, chewed her food. The way her jaw moved. The way her lips pursed open just slightly like offering some secret kiss.
He would watch and then he would go back to his car and eat the tuna fish sandwich waiting there.
He would leave five dollars on the counter and a full cup of coffee.

Mercy Higgins did not want to climb some ugly mountain with her father when she could be at home reading a book or working on one of her short stories. Could be at the bookstore helping Pete clean out the fiction section for the new coffee bar he was installing.
Dad needed this, however, and that would have to suffice.
The book someone had given him at work--Daddy/Daughter Bonding: Activities to strengthen a Father’s Connection with his Daughter--waited before him like it was his meal. Several skinny Post-Its stuck out from the pages.
“I know you don’t want to do this,” Dad said. She started to protest but he continued. “I know this may not be what you want to do on a Saturday, but I think it’ll be good for us. Get some fresh air. Some distance from the world. You might actually have fun.”
They had never been camping. Dad never showed any interest and she certainly had no desire to sleep in a tent on the ground. Not to mention the hiking. They weren’t prissy people; they just liked their quiet time at home. It was warm there, especially in the reading room where Dad kept the fireplace going through the winter and the walls of books sheltered her like giant arms.
Mom had loved that room, too.
“It’s fine, Dad,” she said. “I’m looking forward to it.” She held his gaze long enough for him to believe it, or at least add it to the tomb of self-denial he was perpetually building.
“It’s supposed to be beautiful tonight. Maybe a little chilly but we’ve got the thermal sleeping bags and the arctic tent. The portable grill, too. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get a fire going.” He laughed in that way that always made him sound vulnerable. It was something she liked about her dad, something she’d liked about Joel at school, too. So many men came across as cocky know-it-alls; it was refreshing to find a few who could be self-deprecating.
“I know, Dad.”
“I bought the best stuff. It’s not like we’re heading out unprepared.”
“I know.”
“It’s going to be fun. Trust me.”
About a month before she died, Mom told Mercy all the things she loved about her husband. She said them slowly, breathing shallowly between words. When Mom started on the physical traits, Mercy had steeled herself against the expectation of graphic sexual references because sometimes in those last days Mom had forgotten what she was saying, gotten really vulgar. Instead, Mom said it was Dad’s smile that always moved her heart. So sweet and inviting. And those dimples.
Dad’s smile now was no less sweet but carried a weight of desperation. The beard he’d grown had covered his dimples and his face had thinned.
“You’re really sweet, Dad.”
“No pity on your old man. This is for us.”
When the waitress took their order, they both asked for more food than they had intended, like they knew they would need it.
Beyond the parking lot outside the window was Route 51, which led straight across the county to New Jersey in the west and onward to New York City in the east, and on the other side of the road, almost close enough to touch, waited the foot of Blood Mountain. Clouds obscured the peak like it was something secretive. Or dangerous.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011


Get your copy today for Kindle and Nook.

This is good old nasty horror: injured woman running from a psycho through the woods at night.

It's fast-paced, violent, and gory.

You'll love it.

Available for .99 for a limited time!

Buy now:

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Just for EASTER: an excerpt from CALAMITY

“Do you know what today is?”
“Is this a trick?”
“It’s Good Friday. The day Jesus was nailed to the cross. He had to carry his own cross; he was beaten, whipped, tortured, humiliated. He bore this brunt with a heavy heart but a steady back and solid feet. He may have fallen on his way to the delight of hecklers, but he always got back up again. He marched to Golgotha, the place of the skull, and was nailed to the cross. You have heard this?”
“Yes. And I’m sorry it happened but--”
“Do not weep for him. He was crucified for us, Anthony. We should rejoice. On that cross, he agonized with the final dying breaths of life. It is believed he was nailed to the cross at noon and was dead at three. Do you know what he said before he died?”
“Of course. He said, ‘Why hast thou forsaken me?’”
“No,” Ellis said. “He said, ‘It is finished.’ Do you know why that’s important?”
Anthony kept quiet.
“Jesus knew what was going to happen. He knew of Judas’s betrayal; he knew of Pilate’s washing of his hands; he knew of the torture; he knew of his death. He knew of all of this long before it ever happened. He was an emissary from God; his mission was to show man the path to empowerment.”
“His death did that?”
“When he died, an earthquake rumbled throughout the land, tumbling buildings, cracking open tombs. That was the sign.”
“That Man fucked up again? First Eve in the Garden and now a pack of bloodthirsty Jews?”
“No. It was the sign that man could finally find the righteous path and harness the unequal might of God’s empowerment. Jesus was sent to show us the way and he did, if we are willing to look and not fear the suffering that may come along the journey.”
“What do you want me to do?” Anthony wanted to fall asleep or die or something.
“Today is a holy day. The power is out there waiting. Do you see the time?”
Ellis gestured to the digital car clock: 3:00.
“Good timing,” Anthony said, hoping it would be much more flippant than it came out.
“There are no coincidences, Anthony, only curious things we can’t explain along the path God has set for us, if we choose to take it.”
One of the men exited Anthony’s house. He rolled the duffel bag on its tiny wheels down the driveway. The bag was stretched so tightly that one of the side zippers hadn’t made it all the way shut. A piece of bloody sheet stuck out like a mottled ghost-white tongue.
“There’s something you need to do,” Ellis said.
“Get new sheets?”
“Kill your wife.”

Monday, March 28, 2011

Calamity in Reality

A major part of my book CALAMITY involves a strange religious cult called The First Church of Jesus Christ the Empowered. They offer hope and confident direction, but as people begin to buy into the church and its tenets, those newest members discover that this church has a distinctly unholy ulterior motive. For Anthony Williams, the father of a crumbling family, his encounter with this church and their followers is a lesson in the dangers of religious zealots and when he decides to fight back, he discovers that he may have to lose everything he holds dear and even that might still cast him into Hell.

This story may seem a bit over-the-top and it is certainly very cynical in its depiction of organized faith, but there is a distinct truth to the plight of Anthony Williams and his encounter with The First Church of Jesus Christ the Empowered. There are religious zealots in this world, and numerous lower level proselytizers, who prey on people who only want assurance, and those unrestricted priests and self-ordained pastors can easily manipulate their parishioners into believing anything. And then doing anything asked of them.

Seem a bit negative? Perhaps. But this past Saturday, a pair of very charming Jehovah Witnesses rang my doorbell and instead of waving a fake severed head at them and chasing them down the street, I dared to engage in an intellectual discussion with them. They simply wanted to share some of The Good News with me. How harmful could it really be?

The main solicitor, a tall man in a clean suit with a slightly troublesome smile that couldn't quite cover protruding incisors, asked me several times if I had a Bible all the while referring to a slew of passages that foretold the coming End of Things. When I could finally speak, I told him I owned several Bibles, including the Christian version, The Book of Mormon, The Witchcraft Bible, and even more esoteric books of worship. In fact, I added as he kept that smile, I even took several courses in college on the Bible and the history of religion. He was surprised I had read any of it. "Most people haven't read any of it," he said.

And there in lies the problem. If you don't read it, you can't refute it. If you don't know what it actually says in that holiest of books, you are at the mercy of any zealot who wishes to manipulate those words for his personal gain. People say kids play too many violent video games or even read too many violent books--they ought to read the Bible. Indeed. Read away, especially if you like graphic tales of incest and murder. But don't take my word for it. Read it yourself.

I digress. I explained to these Witnesses that I thought it was extremely easy to manipulate the vast majority of people with a quick Biblical verse or two. "How can we trust anything in that book?" I asked. "It wasn't as if God dropped it right out of Heaven. The book was compiled by editors, people who chose specific passages for specific reasons. Who knows what was altered."

The man's smile never faltered. He explained that he, too, once had a healthy doubt about the Bible's veracity, but once he read the prophets, he could no longer find any reason to doubt that the Bible was the Word of God and that His word was one of imminent doom.

Instead of pointing out the fault in his thinking, I offered a bleak, and bit cliche, depiction for the end of days. Bring on the earthquakes. The hurricanes. The tsunamis. The mass flooding and deaths in the hundreds of millions. In order to survive, Man will have to unite. We will revert back to a clan mentality. We'll go South. Civilization will collect around the equator and the only way for us to survive will be as a collective force for good.

"So," I said, "say all that horrible stuff happens and yet humanity joins together to persevere. Does it matter if it is a simple positive force of altruism that brings everyone together or if it is a shared belief that this complete world change is God's will?"

He smiled and told me to read my Bible. "It's all in there. If the end is coming soon, don't you want to be on God's side?"

I had already imagined a new world where society was much smaller and far more devoted to religious matters. A world where different sects of faith struggled against each other for power, completely sure that their group alone was the chosen one, the one meant to repopulate the Earth. I could see the ensuing the wars. (And an intriguing idea for a new novel was well under way in the back of my mind.)

I began to explain my vision of this future which sounded just like our current world when the man with the jutting incisors interrupted me to say that he could talk to me all day but he had to get going.

I blinked. Had I outlasted them? Thirty minutes of intellectual debate was all it took to turn him away.

Unfortunately, I think he will be back. Religion may be deterred but it will not be defeated. If The End really is near, I'll be the guy squawking about the dangers of following any man who claims to know God's will.

Someone will, no doubt, hold up a Bible and declare that the truth was in there, even if he or she can't tell me who actually wrote it.

If you want to see how religious cults can pose a real danger, read CALAMITY.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Calamity is HERE!

Available as an ebook wherever ebooks are sold, CALAMITY is the newest title from GenNext Publishing.


Saturday, January 22, 2011

HUDSON HOUSE is now only .99!

Buy HUDSON HOUSE today for only .99!

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

New J.T. Warren Title Coming Soon

The House on Mangle Lane will include a prequel story to Hudson House as well as a large chunk of Hudson House for prospective buyers.