Bob Corpening

Writer | Reviewer | Goblin Overlord

Short Stories

brachiobob
1–2 minutes

  • A Review of The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger by Stephen King

    I got into Stephen King a few years back with a memoir of his, On Writing, and a collection of short stories called Bazaar of Bad Dreams. King is one of the most successful authors of all time, and as a still-forming horror writer myself, I figured I really needed to study his works. The Read more

  • Vetus Lapidibus – by Bob Corpening

    It has not been long since my relinquishment of the expedition for Vetus Lapidibus. Already my colleagues dispute my lack of finding. I find myself and my name bear insult upon insult and injury upon injury. However, now I see, or rather do not, how the words of my colleagues are naught but rubbage, for Read more

  • Texas Chills – by Bob Corpening

    “Hey, look at who we have here!” Ramon shouted to his friends. “It’s Ciego Miguelito. Just as blind as always, aren’t you, Miguel?” Ramon kicked at Miguel’s cane as the blind boy tapped the floor and learned. Slowly, they circled around him. “Please, Ramon, just let me go home,” Miguel begged. “I gave you my Read more

  • A Review of Kren of the Mithegai by Leo Frankowski and Dave Grossman

    Kren of the Mitchegai is my favorite book of all time, and I can say that without a sliver of a doubt. It’s actually the second book in a series started by Leo Frankowski, with the first being A Boy and His Tank (that one is also great and I recommend it, but it’s nowhere near as enjoyable Read more

  • The Martician Corporation – by Bob Corpening

    The Martician Corporation is a for-profit entity established in 2047, shortly before the global population hit 10 billion. Land was scarce in those days, and as human corpses piled up in the graveyards, demand for waste management solutions shot through the roof. Enter the Martician Corporation. Not only did the Martician Corporation specialize in performing Read more

  • The Stepdad – by Bob Corpening

    He ran. Faster, crashing through the underbrush of his younger days. Faster, his unsure feet clattering on the rocks underfoot. He wiped the blood from his knuckles, battered raw and delicate. He tripped, bashing his knee against the riverbed, and stumbled back up. “Chad!” He pointed his head at the ground and ran on. “Chad, Read more

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