Anthony Izzo's Blog, page 12
March 8, 2017
The Day's Writing 3/7/17
I got through Chapter Two of the next novel, tentatively titled "Die Trying." Here's a snippet:
John Regal left the house with a sense of dread that afternoon. As he drove from his home in a quiet suburb of Buffalo and passed through downtown, he couldn’t shake the feeling. Twice he considered pulling his truck off the 190 expressway and turning around, but he chalked his feelings up to paranoia.
My 19-year-old son and I are trying to complete Watchdogs 2. We're on the final mission. He and I play on the PS4 just about every night for an hour before bed. I really enjoy the time spent with him, and it gives me an excuse to sneak in some video game time, as well.
Currently reading Don Winslow's "The Life and Death of Bobby Z."
Also reading "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck" by Mark Manson. I'd read a few of his blog posts a while back and liked them. I borrowed the book from a co-worker. Normally I'm not big on motivational or self-help books, but I like what this one has to say so far.
John Regal left the house with a sense of dread that afternoon. As he drove from his home in a quiet suburb of Buffalo and passed through downtown, he couldn’t shake the feeling. Twice he considered pulling his truck off the 190 expressway and turning around, but he chalked his feelings up to paranoia.
My 19-year-old son and I are trying to complete Watchdogs 2. We're on the final mission. He and I play on the PS4 just about every night for an hour before bed. I really enjoy the time spent with him, and it gives me an excuse to sneak in some video game time, as well.
Currently reading Don Winslow's "The Life and Death of Bobby Z."
Also reading "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck" by Mark Manson. I'd read a few of his blog posts a while back and liked them. I borrowed the book from a co-worker. Normally I'm not big on motivational or self-help books, but I like what this one has to say so far.
February 25, 2017
The Damage Factory Excerpt
Here's an excerpt from my upcoming novel, The Damage Factory.
What would you do if a secret criminal organization was hired to destroy your life? Three unsuspecting people tied together by a tragic event are about to find out.
From The Damage Factory. Copyright 2017 Anthony Izzo
Jason Matthews suspected he was being followed.
The black Range Rover had matched his lane shifts, hanging back just enough to seem inconspicuous. Jason hadn’t noticed it until he’d neared the grocery store. Was he being followed?
Fuck it. You’re being paranoid.
While he was on his way to Wegman’s, his phone had buzzed several times. He’d taken it out and saw a missed call from Erin.
He’d checked in with her a while ago, thinking he’d be home soon, but a two-car accident had slowed traffic and put him behind.
He’d have to call Erin when he got inside. Paige was likely getting an itchy remote finger and wanted to start the movie.
He turned into the Wegman’s parking lot and found a spot. Parked the car and got out. He scanned the lot but saw no sign of the Range Rover. He chalked it up to being paranoid.
It had been a few hours since he’d last gone to the bathroom, and his bladder felt heavy, the large Starbuck’s coffee he had earlier doing its job.
He headed inside, passing a display of tomatoes and ducking into the alcove that housed the restrooms.
He entered the men’s room, the scent of a flowery air freshener filling the air. The men’s room was empty. He stood at the urinal, unzipped, and sighed at the relief as his bladder emptied.
He’d call Erin when he was finished.
The door squealed open behind him. Someone said, “Get lost. Closing for maintenance.”
He finished urinating and zipped up. Thought about the potential client he’d met with earlier; they wanted him to write for their website and social media outlets. It would be a nice job. And steady. His freelance business was taking off, and between that and Erin’s pension, they were doing okay financially.
When he turned around, a man was standing and grinning at him. He was big in the chest and shoulders, stood slightly stooped over. He wore a gray sport coat, black slacks, and a crisp, white shirt.
Jason started forward. The guy stepped in front of him.
“Do you mind?” Jason said.
The guy grabbed a handful of Jason’s shirt and pulled him close. “Listen to me. There’s a razor-sharp knife pointed at your thigh. One slip and it will likely sever some sensitive parts.”
Jason’s heart kicked hard in his chest. Couldn’t believe this was happening. “Wallet’s in my back pocket.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your wallet. Now we only have a minute before someone comes strolling in. I already had to scare one asshole out of coming in here. I’m going to take a step back. If you yell, I’ll pull down your pants and start cutting. Got it?”
He didn’t doubt the man. He spoke with the true calm only a true psychopath would possess. Or so Jason imagined.
“We’re going to walk out together, just like the best of friends. And in case you’re getting ideas, think about what could happen to Erin and Paige, huh?”
“Son of a bitch,” Jason said. “How do you know about my family?”
“Easy. Let’s walk before someone else comes in,” the man said.
Like a magician doing slight-of-hand, he swapped the knife for a small, semiautomatic pistol. He slipped it in his front pocket and kept his hand on it. “Just so you know it’s here. Think about that family. Matter of fact, don’t stop thinking about them.”
As they left the alcove and passed the displays of tomatoes in the produce department, no one gave them a second glance. A bored teenager mopped the floor nearby.
A pretty, young woman was trying to corral a toddler, who was attempting to climb from the shopping cart.
When they exited, Jason looked up at the security monitor, hoping they would get his face on camera. Out in the parking lot, they climbed into the Range Rover, the guy instructing Jason to sit tight in the passenger’s seat.
The man climbed into the driver’s seat and pointed the semiautomatic at Jason across the console. He started up the Range Rover and pulled out of the spot, putting the gun back on Jason.
He thought of Erin and Paige, how he might not see them again. He did a mental checklist, trying to figure out if he knew his abductor. Came up blank. There was no reason anyone would want to kidnap him; they certainly weren’t rich.
“Don’t try anything. If you try and jump out, I’ll shoot you. The bullet will likely sever your spine.”
“You make it sound so tempting.”
The guy actually laughed at that, and Jason thought for a second about making a move, but instead he stayed rooted to the spot.
He did nothing, watching in the rearview mirror as the store diminished.
What would you do if a secret criminal organization was hired to destroy your life? Three unsuspecting people tied together by a tragic event are about to find out.
From The Damage Factory. Copyright 2017 Anthony Izzo
Jason Matthews suspected he was being followed.
The black Range Rover had matched his lane shifts, hanging back just enough to seem inconspicuous. Jason hadn’t noticed it until he’d neared the grocery store. Was he being followed?
Fuck it. You’re being paranoid.
While he was on his way to Wegman’s, his phone had buzzed several times. He’d taken it out and saw a missed call from Erin.
He’d checked in with her a while ago, thinking he’d be home soon, but a two-car accident had slowed traffic and put him behind.
He’d have to call Erin when he got inside. Paige was likely getting an itchy remote finger and wanted to start the movie.
He turned into the Wegman’s parking lot and found a spot. Parked the car and got out. He scanned the lot but saw no sign of the Range Rover. He chalked it up to being paranoid.
It had been a few hours since he’d last gone to the bathroom, and his bladder felt heavy, the large Starbuck’s coffee he had earlier doing its job.
He headed inside, passing a display of tomatoes and ducking into the alcove that housed the restrooms.
He entered the men’s room, the scent of a flowery air freshener filling the air. The men’s room was empty. He stood at the urinal, unzipped, and sighed at the relief as his bladder emptied.
He’d call Erin when he was finished.
The door squealed open behind him. Someone said, “Get lost. Closing for maintenance.”
He finished urinating and zipped up. Thought about the potential client he’d met with earlier; they wanted him to write for their website and social media outlets. It would be a nice job. And steady. His freelance business was taking off, and between that and Erin’s pension, they were doing okay financially.
When he turned around, a man was standing and grinning at him. He was big in the chest and shoulders, stood slightly stooped over. He wore a gray sport coat, black slacks, and a crisp, white shirt.
Jason started forward. The guy stepped in front of him.
“Do you mind?” Jason said.
The guy grabbed a handful of Jason’s shirt and pulled him close. “Listen to me. There’s a razor-sharp knife pointed at your thigh. One slip and it will likely sever some sensitive parts.”
Jason’s heart kicked hard in his chest. Couldn’t believe this was happening. “Wallet’s in my back pocket.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your wallet. Now we only have a minute before someone comes strolling in. I already had to scare one asshole out of coming in here. I’m going to take a step back. If you yell, I’ll pull down your pants and start cutting. Got it?”
He didn’t doubt the man. He spoke with the true calm only a true psychopath would possess. Or so Jason imagined.
“We’re going to walk out together, just like the best of friends. And in case you’re getting ideas, think about what could happen to Erin and Paige, huh?”
“Son of a bitch,” Jason said. “How do you know about my family?”
“Easy. Let’s walk before someone else comes in,” the man said.
Like a magician doing slight-of-hand, he swapped the knife for a small, semiautomatic pistol. He slipped it in his front pocket and kept his hand on it. “Just so you know it’s here. Think about that family. Matter of fact, don’t stop thinking about them.”
As they left the alcove and passed the displays of tomatoes in the produce department, no one gave them a second glance. A bored teenager mopped the floor nearby.
A pretty, young woman was trying to corral a toddler, who was attempting to climb from the shopping cart.
When they exited, Jason looked up at the security monitor, hoping they would get his face on camera. Out in the parking lot, they climbed into the Range Rover, the guy instructing Jason to sit tight in the passenger’s seat.
The man climbed into the driver’s seat and pointed the semiautomatic at Jason across the console. He started up the Range Rover and pulled out of the spot, putting the gun back on Jason.
He thought of Erin and Paige, how he might not see them again. He did a mental checklist, trying to figure out if he knew his abductor. Came up blank. There was no reason anyone would want to kidnap him; they certainly weren’t rich.
“Don’t try anything. If you try and jump out, I’ll shoot you. The bullet will likely sever your spine.”
“You make it sound so tempting.”
The guy actually laughed at that, and Jason thought for a second about making a move, but instead he stayed rooted to the spot.
He did nothing, watching in the rearview mirror as the store diminished.
February 11, 2017
The Damage Factory - Coming Soon
This is with my proofreader right now. Should be on sale within the next week or so. More to come.
January 7, 2017
The Day's Writing 1/11/16
Got 1,120 words done this morning on the latest novel. I just crossed the 40K mark. I'm thinking it will clock in between 50-60K when I'm done. Looking to have it for sale in February. There's a snippet of the first chapter below (not edited).
Going to head to the basement for a workout. I added a chin-up bar and some suspension straps to the workout gear. Got them for Christmas.
Currently reading Stephen White's Soft Target and Chuck Wendig's Invasive.
Chapter One
Don’t write anything down. Don’t tell anyone you talked to me. And for God’s sake, make sure no one follows you.
That’s what the rough-sounding voice on the phone had told him.
John George pulled up to the hulking warehouse, wondering if he should turn back, the man’s words echoing in his mind. He didn’t. Instead, he got out of the car and immediately smelled the dead fish odor coming off the lake.
He went to the passenger’s side, opened the door, and took out a bulky manila envelope.
As he approached a steel man door, he noticed a security camera mounted overhead. There was a doorbell mounted on the wall. He pressed it and heard a loud bell echo from somewhere in the warehouse. It reminded him of an old fire bell.
He waited, used to being patient. Used to being alone these days. In the evening he would heat himself up a frozen entrée, the French bread pizzas being his favorite. His expanding belly was proof of his love of frozen foods.
There was no need for large meals or extensive grocery lists.
Occasionally, he would eat Italian at Marcos, sticking with Chicken Parm and a glass of house red. It always felt to John that the waitresses were taking pity on him, calling him sweetie. He must’ve seemed like a sad case.
After dinner, he would return home and sift through photos on the computer, looking at their trips to Bar Harbor and The Outer Banks. More often than not, the night ended with him in tears.
The door swung open and a guy in a flannel, workboots, and paint-spattered jeans answered. He was half a head shorter than John but his neck was like a tree trunk. “You John?”
“That’s me.”
“Follow me,” the guy said.
John followed the man to small room at the rear of the warehouse. Inside was a table surrounded by wooden folding chairs.
“Take a seat,” the man said.
John pulled out a chair and sat down. The guy took a seat on the other side. “Are you sure about this?”
“Did I talk you on the phone?”
“Don’t worry who you talked to. Once we start things in motion, there’s no going back.”
“I’m sure.”
“Where’s the money?”
John slid the envelope across the table. As the man reached for it, his shirt hiked up and John saw a chrome .45 tucked in his belt.
“You can call me Rex,” the guy said, and dumped the bundles of cash on the table. He’d emptied out his 401K for the cash.
Rex did a quick count of the money. “All here. Good boy.”
“I’m not a dog,” John said.
“We’ll go over this again. Like on the phone. No cops. No news. We’ll contact you with updates. You turn on us? We turn on you. Here’s the last guy that tried it.”
He took two photos from his breast pocket and slid them across the table. John took a look, saw a headshot of a man lying on some sort of table. Most of the skin was removed from his face, leaving raw, red muscle exposed.
“That was done while he was alive,” Rex said.
“I won’t cross you. I want these people to suffer,” John said.
“They will. Believe me. It’s what we do.”
“How will I know when it starts?”
“We’ll contact you.”
John said, “I’ll need proof.”
“Let us worry about that. Someone will be in touch, like I said. However, if you have an emergency. If someone’s on to you, take this,” Rex said, and pulled a crème-colored business card from his pocket. He slid it across the table.
The Damage Factory was printed on it in small, black letters. Below that was a phone number, most likely a burner phone.
John put it in his wallet as if it were a sensitive explosive.
“Don’t fucking lose it. We’ll be in touch. And don’t worry, you came to the right place.”
Going to head to the basement for a workout. I added a chin-up bar and some suspension straps to the workout gear. Got them for Christmas.
Currently reading Stephen White's Soft Target and Chuck Wendig's Invasive.
Chapter One
Don’t write anything down. Don’t tell anyone you talked to me. And for God’s sake, make sure no one follows you.
That’s what the rough-sounding voice on the phone had told him.
John George pulled up to the hulking warehouse, wondering if he should turn back, the man’s words echoing in his mind. He didn’t. Instead, he got out of the car and immediately smelled the dead fish odor coming off the lake.
He went to the passenger’s side, opened the door, and took out a bulky manila envelope.
As he approached a steel man door, he noticed a security camera mounted overhead. There was a doorbell mounted on the wall. He pressed it and heard a loud bell echo from somewhere in the warehouse. It reminded him of an old fire bell.
He waited, used to being patient. Used to being alone these days. In the evening he would heat himself up a frozen entrée, the French bread pizzas being his favorite. His expanding belly was proof of his love of frozen foods.
There was no need for large meals or extensive grocery lists.
Occasionally, he would eat Italian at Marcos, sticking with Chicken Parm and a glass of house red. It always felt to John that the waitresses were taking pity on him, calling him sweetie. He must’ve seemed like a sad case.
After dinner, he would return home and sift through photos on the computer, looking at their trips to Bar Harbor and The Outer Banks. More often than not, the night ended with him in tears.
The door swung open and a guy in a flannel, workboots, and paint-spattered jeans answered. He was half a head shorter than John but his neck was like a tree trunk. “You John?”
“That’s me.”
“Follow me,” the guy said.
John followed the man to small room at the rear of the warehouse. Inside was a table surrounded by wooden folding chairs.
“Take a seat,” the man said.
John pulled out a chair and sat down. The guy took a seat on the other side. “Are you sure about this?”
“Did I talk you on the phone?”
“Don’t worry who you talked to. Once we start things in motion, there’s no going back.”
“I’m sure.”
“Where’s the money?”
John slid the envelope across the table. As the man reached for it, his shirt hiked up and John saw a chrome .45 tucked in his belt.
“You can call me Rex,” the guy said, and dumped the bundles of cash on the table. He’d emptied out his 401K for the cash.
Rex did a quick count of the money. “All here. Good boy.”
“I’m not a dog,” John said.
“We’ll go over this again. Like on the phone. No cops. No news. We’ll contact you with updates. You turn on us? We turn on you. Here’s the last guy that tried it.”
He took two photos from his breast pocket and slid them across the table. John took a look, saw a headshot of a man lying on some sort of table. Most of the skin was removed from his face, leaving raw, red muscle exposed.
“That was done while he was alive,” Rex said.
“I won’t cross you. I want these people to suffer,” John said.
“They will. Believe me. It’s what we do.”
“How will I know when it starts?”
“We’ll contact you.”
John said, “I’ll need proof.”
“Let us worry about that. Someone will be in touch, like I said. However, if you have an emergency. If someone’s on to you, take this,” Rex said, and pulled a crème-colored business card from his pocket. He slid it across the table.
The Damage Factory was printed on it in small, black letters. Below that was a phone number, most likely a burner phone.
John put it in his wallet as if it were a sensitive explosive.
“Don’t fucking lose it. We’ll be in touch. And don’t worry, you came to the right place.”
November 29, 2016
The Day 11/29/16
Got up at 4:30 and after joining the living, got about 350 words typed out on the new novel. I'm getting in a second session and hopefully pushing the word count for the day to 1,000.
Also got in a workout when I came home from the day job. Kettlebells, chin-ups, push-ups. Kept it basic with little rest between exercises.
Just about to finish reading Stephen Hunter's Dirty White boys. I'm at around 20 books out of the 25 I pledged to read this year. Not sure if I'll make it, but this is the most books I've read in a year in some time.
Also got in a workout when I came home from the day job. Kettlebells, chin-ups, push-ups. Kept it basic with little rest between exercises.
Just about to finish reading Stephen Hunter's Dirty White boys. I'm at around 20 books out of the 25 I pledged to read this year. Not sure if I'll make it, but this is the most books I've read in a year in some time.
October 30, 2016
The Day's Writing - October 30, 2016
The current novel is getting off the ground. I'm about five thousand words in and it's taking shape nicely. I don't have an outline, just some notes and a good idea of where I want to go with it.
This one will be a straight thriller. No zombies or monsters this time. It'll still be plenty gruesome in spots.
Watched the Bills get owned by the Patriots today. At least the Sabres got a win, so it wasn't a total loss for Buffalo sports today.
We rented The Infiltrator with Brian Cranston. Very good, solid movie. Also finally caught Dog Soldiers on Friday with my son. We had a father/son horror movie night, which we do from time to time.
Also, Kingdom of the Dead is now available in paperback and all electronic venues (Kindle, Kobo, B&N, etc.).
This one will be a straight thriller. No zombies or monsters this time. It'll still be plenty gruesome in spots.
Watched the Bills get owned by the Patriots today. At least the Sabres got a win, so it wasn't a total loss for Buffalo sports today.
We rented The Infiltrator with Brian Cranston. Very good, solid movie. Also finally caught Dog Soldiers on Friday with my son. We had a father/son horror movie night, which we do from time to time.
Also, Kingdom of the Dead is now available in paperback and all electronic venues (Kindle, Kobo, B&N, etc.).
October 23, 2016
Kingdom of the Dead Now Available
Kingdom of the Dead, my latest novel, is now available. It's live on Amazon and Kobo. Other e-reader sites will follow. The paperback is also available at this time.
The world has died. The dead walk the earth.
Fifteen-year-old David is taking shelter in abandoned building when he hears the dead outside. After a close call, he's rescued by men on horseback carrying homemade spears and knives. David discovers his part of the world has been divided into Five Territories.
The very existence of the Territories is at stake, as a massive horde of the dead draws near. David discovers the Territories are a treacherous place. The dead aren't the only things that are dangerous. Deception and a hunger for power rule the Territories.
David and the remaining survivors in the Territories must find a way to battle the dead and the living alike.
The world has died. The dead walk the earth.
Fifteen-year-old David is taking shelter in abandoned building when he hears the dead outside. After a close call, he's rescued by men on horseback carrying homemade spears and knives. David discovers his part of the world has been divided into Five Territories.
The very existence of the Territories is at stake, as a massive horde of the dead draws near. David discovers the Territories are a treacherous place. The dead aren't the only things that are dangerous. Deception and a hunger for power rule the Territories.
David and the remaining survivors in the Territories must find a way to battle the dead and the living alike.
August 20, 2016
Excerpt of the Week - Forgotten
Here's this week's excerpt from my novel, Forgotten. Description below:
For as long as anyone can remember, The Dwellers have lived on the mountain near Forgotten. After remaining dormant for years, they've returned. Hungry. Demanding sacrifice.
The locals have their eye on unsuspecting travelers, intent on sacrificing them to the Dwellers. As visitors to the town discover, Forgotten is not kind to strangers.
Three groups of travelers are in for a hellish visit to Forgotten. A father's teenage son disappears on the mountain. A pair of vacationers are ambushed on the road outside town. A private investigator delves into the disappearance of a college student, only to become trapped in a nightmare scenario.
Forgotten. Plenty come to visit. Not everyone leaves.
Copyright Anthony Izzo
Prologue
Griggs had gotten the call from dispatch: report of a possible intruder on Pine Top Road, please investigate. Apparently someone's dog had started going crazy and the owner had seen someone out by their shed.
He'd been Sheriff in the town of Forgotten for fifteen years and calls like this were far and few between. It was mostly peaceful. They got a lot of tourists who came to get a taste of Big Sky Country and the mountain air, but there was little crime.
He pulled the Crown Vic up to the house, a brick ranch with white trim around the windows. It was the beginning of October, and the owner had placed a trio of pumpkins and a dried cornstalk on their porch.
Griggs radioed that he was on the scene and got out of the cruiser. Once at the front door, he rang the bell and a middle-aged couple in matching white robes opened the door. The man was balding and his belly strained the belt on the robe. The woman was pretty, even though she had some crow's feet around her eyes.
“Officer, we're glad you're here,” the man said.
“It's Sheriff. We got the complaint about an intruder?”
“Yes, come in.”
Griggs stepped into the living room, where a girl of about nine slept on the couch.
“You're Mr. Hardin?” Griggs asked.
“Eric. This is my wife Theresa.”
Theresa said, “Shadow, our German Shepherd, started going nuts. I had just let him out. When I went to see what he was barking about, I saw a large man in the woods.”
“What happened after you saw him?”
“He slipped back into the woods.”
“Okay. Stay here and I'll go investigate.”
Shadow came bounding into the room, gave a hearty bark, and sat at Theresa's feet. His ears went back and he began to whine. The Shepherd attempted to bury it's head in Theresa's leg. Some watch dog. Something must have spooked him.
“Is he normally timid?” Griggs asked.
Eric said, “Usually he's fearless. Something got him scared.”
“All right. Where did you see the intruder exactly?”
“Out by the shed. Back of the property,” Eric said.
“Stay here. I'll go around and have a look,” Griggs said, taking a flashlight from his belt.
He rounded the house and started down the driveway. The rotten-sweet smell of garbage came from trash cans left by the side of the house. A girl's bike with tassels on the handlebar grips had been left on its side.
The yard contained a patio near a sliding glass door. Nearby, a table and chairs had been wrapped in a blue tarp, stored for the winter. He saw the shed, its white siding illuminated in the moonlight.
He shined his light on the shed and then the woods beyond. The breeze picked up, causing the pines to sway. Something tipped over and made a banging noise. He shined the light and saw that a spade had fallen over.
Moving forward, he swept the light back and forth. He kept his other hand on the Glock. The old-timers in town, the men that hung around the diner and drank endless cups of coffee, spoke of strange things happening up in the mountains. Some of them he believed. Some he didn't. No doubt these stories fed the imagination of Forgotten's residents.
He drew closer to the shed and was beginning to think the dog had been barking at shadows.
A pile of pressure-treated lumber lay on the ground behind the shed. He checked the ground and saw no footprints. The shed had two front windows and he peered in the nearest one. After determining there was no intruder in the shed, Griggs was ready to head back to the house.
A branch snapped, sounding like a whip-crack. It had come from the woods.
He crept to the edge of the woods and shined the light. The beam only went so far before it was devoured by the shadows.
“Police. Come out,” he said, drawing his Glock. He'd only fired it on the range. Firing on a person was completely different.
Another branch snapped, this one sounding like a gunshot.
Something walked between two trees. Its head brushed a branch that had to be seven feet off the ground. His heartbeat began to pick up and he took a deep breath to steady himself. A huge rock or club hung from one hand. The head was malformed, as if someone had squished a piece of clay into a nightmarish form.
“Police,” he said, but the giant paid him no attention and bounded into the woods, branches crackling as it went. The legends spun in diners just might be true.
He backed away from the woods, sweeping the Glock back and forth in case the intruder returned. It wasn't until he got within ten yards of the house that he turned his back on the woods.
He leaned against the side of the house and let out a huge breath. If he told the family what he'd seen, they'd never believe it; something less-than-human lurking in the woods.
Once his hands stopped shaking, he holstered the Glock. Then he went to the front door and rang the bell.
Eric came to the door, his face hopeful. The bathrobe had come open, revealing coarse black chest hair.
“Find anything?” Eric asked.
“Just some broken branches. I think your culprit was probably a deer.”
Eric let out a huge sigh. “Thank you. We were so startled we brought our daughter to sleep downstairs. Shadow never gets upset and when he did, it spooked us. I'm sorry we wasted your time.”
“All part of my job,” Griggs said. “Call if there's any other trouble.”
Available for Kindle, Kobo and Nook.
For as long as anyone can remember, The Dwellers have lived on the mountain near Forgotten. After remaining dormant for years, they've returned. Hungry. Demanding sacrifice.
The locals have their eye on unsuspecting travelers, intent on sacrificing them to the Dwellers. As visitors to the town discover, Forgotten is not kind to strangers.
Three groups of travelers are in for a hellish visit to Forgotten. A father's teenage son disappears on the mountain. A pair of vacationers are ambushed on the road outside town. A private investigator delves into the disappearance of a college student, only to become trapped in a nightmare scenario.
Forgotten. Plenty come to visit. Not everyone leaves.
Copyright Anthony Izzo
Prologue
Griggs had gotten the call from dispatch: report of a possible intruder on Pine Top Road, please investigate. Apparently someone's dog had started going crazy and the owner had seen someone out by their shed.
He'd been Sheriff in the town of Forgotten for fifteen years and calls like this were far and few between. It was mostly peaceful. They got a lot of tourists who came to get a taste of Big Sky Country and the mountain air, but there was little crime.
He pulled the Crown Vic up to the house, a brick ranch with white trim around the windows. It was the beginning of October, and the owner had placed a trio of pumpkins and a dried cornstalk on their porch.
Griggs radioed that he was on the scene and got out of the cruiser. Once at the front door, he rang the bell and a middle-aged couple in matching white robes opened the door. The man was balding and his belly strained the belt on the robe. The woman was pretty, even though she had some crow's feet around her eyes.
“Officer, we're glad you're here,” the man said.
“It's Sheriff. We got the complaint about an intruder?”
“Yes, come in.”
Griggs stepped into the living room, where a girl of about nine slept on the couch.
“You're Mr. Hardin?” Griggs asked.
“Eric. This is my wife Theresa.”
Theresa said, “Shadow, our German Shepherd, started going nuts. I had just let him out. When I went to see what he was barking about, I saw a large man in the woods.”
“What happened after you saw him?”
“He slipped back into the woods.”
“Okay. Stay here and I'll go investigate.”
Shadow came bounding into the room, gave a hearty bark, and sat at Theresa's feet. His ears went back and he began to whine. The Shepherd attempted to bury it's head in Theresa's leg. Some watch dog. Something must have spooked him.
“Is he normally timid?” Griggs asked.
Eric said, “Usually he's fearless. Something got him scared.”
“All right. Where did you see the intruder exactly?”
“Out by the shed. Back of the property,” Eric said.
“Stay here. I'll go around and have a look,” Griggs said, taking a flashlight from his belt.
He rounded the house and started down the driveway. The rotten-sweet smell of garbage came from trash cans left by the side of the house. A girl's bike with tassels on the handlebar grips had been left on its side.
The yard contained a patio near a sliding glass door. Nearby, a table and chairs had been wrapped in a blue tarp, stored for the winter. He saw the shed, its white siding illuminated in the moonlight.
He shined his light on the shed and then the woods beyond. The breeze picked up, causing the pines to sway. Something tipped over and made a banging noise. He shined the light and saw that a spade had fallen over.
Moving forward, he swept the light back and forth. He kept his other hand on the Glock. The old-timers in town, the men that hung around the diner and drank endless cups of coffee, spoke of strange things happening up in the mountains. Some of them he believed. Some he didn't. No doubt these stories fed the imagination of Forgotten's residents.
He drew closer to the shed and was beginning to think the dog had been barking at shadows.
A pile of pressure-treated lumber lay on the ground behind the shed. He checked the ground and saw no footprints. The shed had two front windows and he peered in the nearest one. After determining there was no intruder in the shed, Griggs was ready to head back to the house.
A branch snapped, sounding like a whip-crack. It had come from the woods.
He crept to the edge of the woods and shined the light. The beam only went so far before it was devoured by the shadows.
“Police. Come out,” he said, drawing his Glock. He'd only fired it on the range. Firing on a person was completely different.
Another branch snapped, this one sounding like a gunshot.
Something walked between two trees. Its head brushed a branch that had to be seven feet off the ground. His heartbeat began to pick up and he took a deep breath to steady himself. A huge rock or club hung from one hand. The head was malformed, as if someone had squished a piece of clay into a nightmarish form.
“Police,” he said, but the giant paid him no attention and bounded into the woods, branches crackling as it went. The legends spun in diners just might be true.
He backed away from the woods, sweeping the Glock back and forth in case the intruder returned. It wasn't until he got within ten yards of the house that he turned his back on the woods.
He leaned against the side of the house and let out a huge breath. If he told the family what he'd seen, they'd never believe it; something less-than-human lurking in the woods.
Once his hands stopped shaking, he holstered the Glock. Then he went to the front door and rang the bell.
Eric came to the door, his face hopeful. The bathrobe had come open, revealing coarse black chest hair.
“Find anything?” Eric asked.
“Just some broken branches. I think your culprit was probably a deer.”
Eric let out a huge sigh. “Thank you. We were so startled we brought our daughter to sleep downstairs. Shadow never gets upset and when he did, it spooked us. I'm sorry we wasted your time.”
“All part of my job,” Griggs said. “Call if there's any other trouble.”
Available for Kindle, Kobo and Nook.
August 13, 2016
World on Fire. The Gray Men, Book Three.
I uploaded World on Fire (The Gray Men, Book Three) for Kindle this morning. It's $4.99. Should be on sale later today. After having some fits with formatting the chapters, I got it to work.
Storm Rising, the first book in the trilogy, is just $2.99.
Storm Rising, the first book in the trilogy, is just $2.99.
July 30, 2016
SNAFU-Future Warfare- Get Your Military Sci-Fi Fix
My short story "Outpost" is in the "SNAFU: Future Warfare" anthology. If you like movies like Aliens and Starship Troopers, the stories in "Future Warfare" are written in that tradition. This is a great series if you like military, action-oriented horror. There are other volumes available, as well. All of them contain some cool stories by some excellent writers. Check it out if you please.
