Archived – The Confessions of Sylva Slasher by Ace Antonio Hall

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~ Schedule ~


The Confessions of Sylva Slasher by Ace Antonio Hall:


~ About the Book ~


Confessions of Sylva Slasher

Title: The Confessions of Sylva Slasher

Author: Ace Antonio Hall

Published: April 14th, 2013

Publisher: Montag Press

Word Count: 84,000

Genre: YA Horror

Recommended Age: 12+


~ Synopsis ~



Eighteen-year-old Sylva Fleischer and her friends raise the dead for a living for police investigations and mourning families. Two years after her high school crush, a hot guy named Brandon, is assumed dead, Sylva’s friends convince her to go on a spring break cruise in an effort to suppress her depression over him. But when passengers mysteriously die and reanimate into flesheating zombies like she’s never seen before, Sylva plunges into a horrifying struggle between a ship infested with the undead and the scariest thing of all: a second chance with Brandon after she discovers he’s still alive. This is a zombie story that eats right to the core and leaves you licking your chops for more.


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~ About the Author ~


Ace Antonio Hall


Ace Antonio Hall graduated from Long Island University with a BFA. He is a former NYC middle school English teacher who can’t get enough of zombies and Spider-Man comic books. When he’s not in the gym working off the extra calories from eating way too many donuts, Ace writes young adult horror fiction.

His novel The Confessions of Sylva Slasher was released April 14, 2013 by Montag Press. The second book in his series, Sk8board Xombies, will be available next year.

Ace’s short story Dead Chick Walking made the Fall 2013 edition of the best-selling Calliope Magazine and his science fiction story, They, won the Honorable Mention distinction for the 2013 Writers of the Future Award.

For updates and news, follow him on Twitter @aceantoniohall, like his facebook author fan page or visit where you can read his blog, updated regularly.


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~ Excerpt ~


I took a step forward. “Whoa!” One more step and I would’ve slipped off the mountain.

The mountain?

All of a sudden, I found myself standing on Theodore Roosevelt’s head at Mt. Rushmore in South Dakota.

“Gammy? People just don’t transport to different places. I mean, unless you have access to the Starship Enterprise and didn’t tell me.”

“Isn’t the sun shining bright?” Gammy asked. “And the sky … It’s a flawless, beautiful blue.”

Hundreds of colorful butterflies came toward me then, flying around my head. “Shoo,” I said, waving for them to go away.”

“Aren’t they pretty,” Gammy said. She stood over on Abraham Lincoln’s head, pitching rocks at the trees below.

“I guess. How—how did I get here?”

She didn’t answer.

I glanced around, feeling her awkward silence. “Why are there so many butterflies?”

“Butterflies,” she said. “Funny how butterflies come out of old, ugly cocoons, huh?”

I gave her a strange look, trying to absorb everything around me. “Uh, yeah, um … cocoons sometimes remind me of coffins—’cause I used to think the caterpillars were dead inside of them when I was little.”

Gammy chuckled. “And then they emerge into something more beautiful, more powerful than they were before. Like how you let them boys dare you into raising that dead soldier.”

“That didn’t make me more beautiful. It scarred me for life.”

“Did it?”

“Yeah, I raised some lunatic jarhead that went on a rampage and killed the cadets with me. I’d be in jail right now if Reaper hadn’t made the case disappear, somehow. Trust me, I was scarred for life, Gammy.”

“On the contrary, dear. The moment you beheaded that deadhead, as you call him, you grew.”


“Yes, child. You came into who you were supposed to be. That deadhead saved your life, your death, and your rebirth. You are just like these butterflies, shedding one life for another.”

I watched the colorful butterflies float around us and said nothing.

She picked up a rock and threw it at a tree. “Like I always say, sweetie, everything ain’t always what it seems, you know. Woot-hoo, did you see that? I hit that tree dead on.”

I looked down at my hands and my feet, seeing pink converses, blue jeans, my lean waist, and a long-sleeved, midriff black tee that read GOT ZOMBIES? in lower-cased white letters. Yay.

“I’m back,” I said. “Okay, I’m game. What gives?”

I glanced at my chipped, blue fingernails and bit off an irritating hanging piece. I lifted my head back up, and Gammy stood next to me.

“We’re at Mt Rushmore,” she said. “This is the life after life. Come and give me a hug girl, before my arms fall off from poor circulation.”

“Oh, uh,” I said, picking myself up with a grunt from the hard, rocky surface. “We’re … dead?”


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