Bertena Varney's Blog, page 23

Black Oak The Loveless Chronicles Chapter 1 by Titus Murphy

 

My Reading of an Excerpt of Black Oak

Black Oak The Loveless Chronicles Chapter 1 Titus Murphy 
Genre: Horror, FantasyPublication Date: October 31, 2020Publisher: Cosby Media Production ASIN: B08KRQDCGY
WELCOME TO BLACK OAK!
In the town of Black Oak, nothing is ever what it seems. Besides the wrangling local country-types, the city is marred by a history of indiscretions, murders, and no-named civilians perpetrating as heroes. But beneath the surface of this "run of the mill," Midwestern locale lurks a pervasive past that is about to come full circle: like a blazing blood moon.
Mark is an unassuming trucker who has fallen for a beautiful clerk working at a “Mom & Pop” store named Sharon, and nothing else in the world matters more than stealing her heart. But after making a run into the Bayou to deliver a package, destiny steps in and serves him a plate of "the unexpected," which sparks the flames of wickedness that will set his hometown ablaze. And as the secrets buried in this town begin to unearth, the truth will fan those burning flames until there is nothing left but ashes and chaos.
In the end, the only mystery left to solve will be if this is isolated to one town or involve the fate of the entire world...
FOREWORD REVIEW: "...full of interesting characters who hold attention...the secrets of their home are a binding force that brings the tale together."
CLARION RATING: 4/5 "In the fantasy novel Black Oak, citizens across two ears reckon with strange creatures among them."
Amazon

Exclusive Bewitching Excerpt:

“I don’t mean to sound pushy,” Beth started, “but earlier you said that I’m a Dreamer. Tell me more about what that is.”

Zack turned away from Frank, walked over to Beth, and took a seat back at the table next to her. “I’m going to give you the short version,” said Zack, “only because I need to get to the real reason for our visit.”

“Of course,” said Beth.

“So straight to the point, you are a Dreamer, as I said before,” Zack said. “That makes you part witch and part psychic but with an added benefit of being more powerful than both. The main difference between you and normal witches is that you can see into the future without using magic because your psychic side empowers you to do so naturally. And you don’t even need to train this skill. Where other witches fail, you succeed because they don’t have the natural psychic ability you do. They have to use magic to see into the future.”

Beth gawked in amazement at Zack’s words. “So how far into the future can I see?” asked Beth.

Zack shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know. But what I do know is that the answers you seek can only be found in the grimoire. The grimoire is the most powerful spell book among witches and warlocks. Every spell from growing flowers in your garden to conjuring up lightning is recorded in that book. Every name of every witch and warlock, whether good or bad, down to every war, including the Great War of 1782 is recorded in that book. You can even find spells on how to create magical objects like amulets and talismans.”

“And even the mystical arts of performing magical charms and divination, on summoning or invoking supernatural entities, is also a part of that book,” Zoë chimed.

“Do you know how many supernatural beings would love to get their hands on that book?” Zack added. 

“Where is the book now?” asked Beth.

“Long gone,” Zack said. “It was given to a very powerful witch like yourself to keep safe. She also was a dreamer, the first of your kind, and the only one until now. You are the second, my sister, in our 250 years of traveling on this earth.”

“Only the second?” said Frank. 

“Yes, only the second, and we’ve been everywhere in this world, so that should tell you something. Your wife’s kind is rare.”

 “Well, the question here for you to answer now is, who and where is the first?” asked Beth.

“Her name was Tiara. And she died along time ago,” replied Zack somberly.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Did you know her? I mean were you close with her?” asked Beth.

“Yes…very. She was the one who taught Zoë and me how to use our powers,” said Zack. His eyes beat over to Zoë. “She protected us during and after the Great War. If it wasn’t for her, we would’ve been dead long ago.”

“God, I miss her,” said Zoë, finally speaking up.

“Well, now that you know everything there is to know, keep this in mind. Power is innocent. The one who wields it…” said Zack with a brief pause. He pointed directly at Beth. “Well, that is what taints it. He or she must decide to use it for good or evil. That choice makes a difference.”

“Just remember who you are,” said Zoë, cutting in.

“I will,” said Beth.

“Good, now let’s get to the real reason why we’re here,” said Zack. “After the great battle back in 1782, Jackals and witches all went their separate ways as the town was no longer viable. The fallout of the fight was tremendous; houses were burned to the ground. Bodies were everywhere, and the land was saturated in blood and rotten flesh. The stench was unbearable. It was all a complete mess. So some witches migrated to the east while others went north. Zoë, Tiara, and I headed west. After settling down for a few months, we split up again and went our separate ways. Tiara told us she was going on a journey to find someone very important and that she would be back in approximately one year.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” said Beth, “why didn’t you two go with her?”

“We wanted to, but she forbade it. She insisted that we remain behind and give aid to any stragglers that needed assistance,” said Zoë.

“Yes, she did,” said Zack as he nodded in agreement. “There is not a day that goes by that I don’t live with the regret of my decision that day.”

“So what happened to Tiara?” asked Frank.

“We never saw her again,” said Zack, his voice raspy and soft. “But anyway, after 30 years away from Black Oak, we had grown very powerful, teaching ourselves the ways of mysticism and sorcery. And then one day in the fall of 1812, Zoë and I felt something: a surge of power we’d not yet experienced before. Not since the Great War. It was all in the air, calling out to us. So we packed our things and followed the surge to its source until it led us back here to our original home of Black Oak.” Zack took a moment to smile as Zoë placed a gentle hand over his. “I could see the town in the distance and, as Zoë and I approached, we started preparing ourselves for a fight because we didn’t know who or what was living there. But the closer we got, our minds began to calm. The visions before us were heartwarming. People were everywhere. Families and friends were bustling about. The town was good as new. It was like nothing ever happened and the magic we felt there was good and pure and untouched by evil.”

“You could sense it,” said Zoë.

“And now it’s happening again, but only this time, the magic feels different. It’s evil for sure, I know it,” said Zack.

“How can you tell?” asked Beth.

“Answer one question for me,” said Zack, staring intently at Beth.

“Okay,” she replied.

“What did you sense from my sister and me when you first opened your door?” asked Zack.

“Good. I felt good in both of you,” said Beth. “Nothing bad…not even a little bit.”

“And I too felt the same thing when I saw you. And I’m not talking only about tonight,” said Zack. “But what I feel in this town now is wicked. Mark my words. Something is coming. What’s more, is that something is already here. And that should be impossible. Do you know why?” asked Zack as he stared at both Frank and Beth for an answer. 

They were both speechless, but Beth took a stab at it anyway. “There’s some special magic protecting us?”

“Yes. A force field—placed over this town hundreds of years ago by the witches, that was supposed to stop dangerous beasts or any other supernatural creatures from passing through,” said Zoë. 

“But I’m afraid the force field failed against whatever forced its way in. Now Zoë and I need to find out who or what it is before someone gets hurt or maybe worse…killed.”

“Killed?” Beth inquired.

“Yes. On the way over here, we came across a sea of dead bodies in the woods. Most likely campers who were mauled to death, and it looked like the work of Riffs,” said Zoë nonchalantly.

About the Author:
Titus Murphy was born and raised on the streets of New Orleans, Louisiana.  From a small child, there was an overarching desire for Titus to do one thing: win. His drive and determination drove him to succeed. Armed with a strong mind, a quick wit, and a sharp tongue, he set out to emblaze his mark on everyone he would encounter. Unknown to him were the overwhelming obstacles and seemingly insurmountable tragedy he would have to endure. From this devastation came a resolve fueled by an uncompromising commitment that resonates through every aspect of his life. Forced from the city he knew and loved, Titus relocated to Atlanta, Georgia. It was there his desire and commitment came together resolutely to birth a dream that had long been held in his heart. Oblivious to detraction, and beyond all doubt, Titus would become an author. From the streets of New Orleans that marked his life, to the ink-graced pages upon which he now pours his soul, Titus Murphy has come to show the world that he is truly…something more. 
https://cosbymediaproductions.com/
https://twitter.com/CosbyMediaProd
https://www.facebook.com/CosbyMediaProductions

Morning Yoga in Bed

Soul Seeker by Kaylin McFarren

 

                             My Reading of an Excerpt of Soul Seeker

Soul SeekerKaylin McFarren
Genre: Supernatural ThrillerPublisher: Creative Edge PublishingDate of Publication:  Oct 27, 2020ISBN: 9798665284903ASIN:Number of pages:308Cover Artist: Amanda Yoshida

Book Description:

The battle between good and evil resides with...

While awaiting his execution for murdering his son, Benjamin Poe confesses to his lawyer the true story behind his crime, a harrowing tale of a manipulating, soul-collecting demon named Crighton.

Following Poe's death, Crighton continues his malevolent duties, until he's kidnapped by members of The Sovereign Sector. This group of scientists, notorious for experimenting on supernatural creatures, forces Crighton into a soulmate relationship with the very angel he was sent to capture for Lucifer.

However, with secrets revealed and loyalties shifting, Crighton soon becomes the target of Lucifer's revenge, and his journey to redemption and freedom–or eternal enslavement–begins. 

Amazon

Book Trailer 1: https://youtu.be/ZdopUKpfHpM 

Book Trailer 2: https://youtu.be/yJG9_9xUQUA

 

 Excerpt:

"Are you aware of our situation?"

"Of course, I'm aware," Poe snapped. "The date is approaching fast and we're running out of options."

Beaudoin sighed. "It would seem so. But I haven't given up hope just yet. We can still try for an insanity plea, although I know how you feel about that." He paused a moment to study Poe's tired eyes. "I've seen it work even this late in sentencing. If there's one chance to keep you alive, Ben, then we need to–"

"Counselor, it's over. You and I both know that. I'm done fighting. If I plead insanity, they'll send me away to the State hospital...and I don't want to spend what time I have left in that place. But I don't want to go home either. There's nothing left for me there." He leaned forward, resting his elbow the counter. "I know I'm not crazy, and I understand the seriousness of it. But I swear to you it was never my intention to kill him." He paused. "Not Gabriel. Not my son."

"Can I be frank with you, Ben?"

He nodded.

"Any ordinary case would have resolved itself by now, but as you're very well aware, this is far from ordinary. Your son's blood was found on your clothes. The same caliber revolver found in your possession matched his wounds, and you never denied firing it. Yet you continue to claim your innocence. Which begs the question..." Beaudoin paused briefly, choosing his words carefully. "If you didn't kill your son, as you'd like me to believe, then who did?"

Poe tipped his head to the side. "I never claimed he was killed by someone else, Mr. Beaudoin. If you read the transcripts, my story has never changed. Not one iota." The crease between Poe's eyebrows deepened. "I was the one who pulled the trigger. I was the one who fired all six shots. My son Gabriel died by my hand, but like I said, it was never my intention to kill him. The six rounds I fired were meant for someone else."

Beaudoin slapped his hand on the counter. "Right! That's what you said before. Someone else was there. But who, Mr. Poe?" He paused, exasperated. "And why? Because you refuse to admit your guilt. You refuse to take responsibility for your actions. Yet here I am...trying my best to keep you alive."

Poe sighed. "I've accepted my fate, Mr. Beaudoin. I don't expect any favors, but after everything you've done for me, you deserve to hear it all. The whole truth. I've never shared this with anyone because no one would ever believe me. But there's no point now in keeping it a secret any longer. I just want to leave this world knowing I held nothing back."

Beaudoin shook his head. "And you wait until now to share this?"

"I know, but I swear the story I'm about to tell you is the God's honest truth."

Beaudoin could see his own reflection in the Plexiglas barrier and it looked as shocked as he felt. He shrugged and said, "Very well then, you've got my full attention, Mr. Poe."

"You'll think I'm crazy. That much is certain. You might even demand that I plead insanity after you hear my explanation. But all I ask from you is to hear me out. Nothing more. Then you decide if the devil was there...or if he's sitting in this room right now."

Beaudoin eyed Poe, trying to decide if this bit of storytelling was worth his time. He tugged on his shirt sleeve and glanced down at his watch. It was 10:58AM and he had more than forty minutes to spare before his next meeting. So what did he have to lose, aside from his patience? Blowing out an exaggerated breath, he answered, "Okay, I'm listening."

Poe shifted on his seat and appeared to be collecting his thoughts. Or maybe he was formulating his story. Then he began.:

"It happened two weeks before Christmas. The fire at College Inn. Do you remember that?"

Beaudoin nodded and waited for him to continue.

"It was the night that everything was destroyed, including my life. You see, Mr. Beaudoin, up until then, I was a good Christian man, a loving father. I made an honest living. I provided a comfortable life for my family. I did everything by the book...everything that was expected of me." Poe rubbed his eyes and before he pulled his hands away, he continued, "I didn't know until that night that the world is full of monsters. Monsters with dark souls and claws, waiting for the chance to tear you apart."

 

 

About the Author:

Kaylin McFarren has received more than 50 national literary awards, in addition to a prestigious Golden Heart Award nomination for FLAHERTY'S CROSSING - a book she and her oldest daughter, New York Times/USA Today best-selling author Kristina McMorris, co-wrote in 2008. Prior to embarking on her writing journey and developing the popular THREADS psychological thriller series, she poured her passion for creativity into her work as the director of a fine art gallery in the Pearl District in Portland, Oregon; she also served as a governor–appointed member of the Oregon Arts Commission.

When she's not traveling or spoiling her two pups and three grandsons, she enjoys giving back to her community through participation and support of various charitable, medical and educational organizations in the Pacific Northwest. Her latest time-travel adventure, HIGH FLYING, asks challenging questions that will linger long after the final twists are revealed. Recently jumping to the supernatural thriller genre, Kaylin's clever SOUL SEEKER series leads readers into the pit of Hell, through the mechanisms of secret societies, and across the earth's crust, ever raising the stakes for her leading duo—a wicked demon and a saintly angel with secret earth-shattering agendas. With each story she writes, this author delivers unexpected twists and turns and keeps her readers on the edge of their seats, leaving them guessing and thoroughly entertained.

http://www.kaylinmcfarren.com/home

https://www.instagram.com/4kaylinmcfarren/

https://www.facebook.com/kaylin.mcfarren

https://twitter.com/4kaylin

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3184417.Kaylin_McFarren

Secret Spirit Guardians of Santa Fe C.A. Masterson

 My Reading of the Excerpt for Secret Spirit Guardians.

Secret Spirit Guardians of Santa FeC.A. Masterson  
Genre:  FantasyPublisher: Wild Rose PressDate of Publication:  October 5, 2020ISBN:  978-1-5092-3351-9 PaperbackISBN: 978-1-5092-3352-6 DigitalNumber of pages:  330Word Count:  82,600Cover Artist:  Debbie Taylor
Tagline:  Most families have quirks, but not like Marissa’s.
Book Description:
After Marissa Tahy returns home to Santa Fe, she is haunted by visions and glimpses of danger no one else sees: the spirit of Old Man Gloom in his true form. 
For a hundred years, people have burned their troubles in the spirit’s effigy at the Zozobra festival, each year making the spirit angrier and more powerful.  This year, Old Man Gloom demands his due. The vengeful spirit targets those Marissa loves. 
Even when Marissa discovers the secret history binding her family to Zozobra, joining their forces may not be enough to prevent the furious spirit from burying Santa Fe beneath an avalanche of misery.
Book Trailer:  https://youtu.be/j3HVxC6azcQ 
Amazon       BN

Excerpt:

The crack between worlds happened before I decided to move home to Santa Fe. Had the thought occurred to me, I’d probably have laughed, a little. Until the memory pushed through, a half-remembered nightmare hidden in an undercurrent of emotion, but

always there, flowing beneath the surface of consciousness. Sometimes it’s better if those feelings stay buried, where they can’t pull you under.

After twenty-four years, here I was. Back in the City Different. Because sometimes, life makes hard choices for you. Otherwise, I’d still be in San Diego, not in my aunt’s house, trying hard to pretend I wasn’t a stranger to my own family. For the last half hour, I’d tried to shake off the odd sensation after Zelda made an impromptu, awkward stop at the site of my childhood home, whatever that was about. No longer commenting

on family social media posts from a distance, instead I was in the thick of things.

“How’s Javi been?” I asked Zelda. My aunt had answered my offer to help prepare dinner by handing me a glass of wine and telling me to relax, she had it under control. I had no doubt. Despite driving me from the airport, she was as cool as a freshly picked jalapeno, and as likely to burn you.

“Wonderful. But you can ask him yourself at dinner.” Her deep, distinctive voice was like smoke pouring across gravel.

“Cool, I can’t wait.” When I’d last spent time with my cousin, we’d been kids. Closer than most first cousins, we shared a family conspiracy, hoping none of our classmates would find out that we were not like any of them. No matter where we went, we didn’t belong.

Zelda’s silver bracelets jingled as she briskly arranged vegetables around haddock fillets. “Phoebe will be excited to see you again.”

“You still have her?”

“Of course. She’s as old as you, which makes her barely middle-aged. Phoebe, dear,” she called, “we have company.”

A squawk sounded from the other room, where sunshine poured across the floor in a welcoming sea of light.

I’d always loved my aunt’s house. From sunup to sundown, daylight flooded through the house’s tall windows. The wood-framed stucco structure was a typical style for Santa Fe, not much different from the others in the neighborhood. What had stood out in my

memory was the tall wooden fence that bordered the yard, painted a vivid shade of blue, with myriad crosses along the top of the front gate.

“Careful,” Zelda said. “She’s testy sometimes.”

“Aren’t we all?” I only half joked.

Before my aunt could answer, I made my way from the kitchen to the sunroom beside it. The glass enclosure looked out onto the back yard and faced the outdoor fireplace. On either side of the tall chimney, colorful painted angels decorated its white stucco surface.

The bird cage, as tall as me, occupied a corner. And as always, the door sat wide open so Phoebe could climb in if she wanted, which she almost never did unless she got hungry. A bamboo perch ran above the cage, between the two potted palm trees that provided shade. There Phoebe sat, eyeballing me. Sunlight caught the green and blue feathers, making their colors rich as jewels.

At my approach, the parrot bobbed its head and danced along the perch. Even a nip from Phoebe’s curved beak hurt like hell, so I kept a few feet between us and cooed my greeting.

Pans rattled in the kitchen. “Be nice, Phoebe girl.”

The bird gave no indication of recognizing me. I didn’t know why I’d expected a different reaction. Because I’d taught it more than fifty words, over two decades earlier? Moving home shouldn’t reduce me to childish notions.

So much for a reunion. I returned to the kitchen.

“Sure I can’t help with anything?”

“When do you start your new job?”

“Monday.” Fluttering in my belly reminded me it was coming up fast. Another long adjustment period awaited me, learning a new job, getting to know all the quirks and qualities of my coworkers. After I’d been hired as the new reporter at the Santa Fe Chronicle, I’d read the online edition every day. The stories helped give me a sense about the writers. Glimmers of their personalities shone through in their word choices, the nearly undetectable spin they gave topics.

“That doesn’t leave you much time for moving in.”

Spooning a marinade over the dish, Zelda flicked up her gaze.

The look hit me like lightning. The cogs were turning in my aunt’s head; I could practically see the rotation behind her eyes. If I didn’t put her off track, Zelda would start commandeering my daily life.

I folded my arms and shifted toward the island, a not-too-subtle body language indicating my need for a barrier between us. “The two guys I hired to bring my stuff are supposed to arrive tomorrow morning. I don’t have much, so they can get everything inside the apartment in a few hours. I prefer to take my time settling in.” All taken care of, my subtext said. No need for Zelda to worry. She could divert those black eyes elsewhere.

On cue, Zelda flashed her Mona Lisa smile and glanced away. “Too bad I gave my extra furniture to Javi.”

I watched my aunt with a mixture of wonder and frustration. All these years, and Zelda still pretended. Spoke with flawless Spanish enunciation, wore her long black hair in a bun at the back of her neck, decorated her house with painted ceramic geckos and metal sun faces, even named her son Javier to avoid question of our true nationality. My parents had committed the same sins of omission and pretense and expected us children to do the same.

About the Author 
Award-winning author C.A. Masterson loves stories of any genre. Multi-published in contemporary to historical, fantasy/dark fantasy to paranormal/speculative, she sometimes mashes genres. In 2010, The Pearl S. Buck Foundation awarded first place to her short literary story, Christmas Eve at the Diner on Rathole Street. Her short literary story, All is Calm, All is Bright, was awarded second place in the annual Pennwriters Short Story contest in 2005.
Visit her at http://paintingfirewithwords.blogspot.com or look for her romance stories as Cate Masters at http://catemasters.blogspot.com and in strange nooks and far-flung corners of the web.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/catemasters 
Twitter:  https://twitter.com/CA_Masterson 
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/c.a.masterson/ 
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6423146.C_A_Masterson BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/c-a-masterson 
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCg1MbHACYX0tLuPiONBzCDg 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Fifth Horseman The Horseman’s Harem Saga Book One by Freida Kilmari

 My Reading of the Excerpt of The Fifth Horseman 

 

The Fifth HorsemanThe Horseman’s Harem Saga Book OneFreida Kilmari
Genre: Reverse Harem Fantasy RomancePublisher: Kilmari PublishingDate of Publication: October 31st 2020ISBN: 978-1-9993472-3-9ASIN: B08K83QXWXNumber of pages: 458Word Count: 120,000 words
Cover Artist: Covered Creatively
Tagline: No name. No past. One giant future?
Book Description: 
The only thing worse than suddenly waking up in a magical house with the insanely gorgeous Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? Being the Fifth.
With no memory of who I am, where I came from, or what I’m doing here, I’m thrust into a new life with four people who I might want more from than just friendship. But with no past, how can I possibly plan for a future?
The only clue as to who I am? Four different species' magic resides within me—Vampire, Fae, Shifter, and Witch—and between them, I might be the most powerful creature on the planet.
For fuck's sake.
Look out world, Horseman of Magic coming through!
Amazon

            Excerpt 1

He’s tied his shoulder-length white hair up into a knot out of the way, and I get a clear look at his not-frowning face for the first time. It’s aged with years of trouble. I can tell from the frown lines and shadows beneath his eyes, but his face also speaks of an experience the others don’t seem to grasp so heavily. Something about this man draws me in, something dark and twisted. I want to understand his pain, to revel in that darkness with him, to understand what kind of horrors this man can inflict.

About the Author:
Freida Kilmari is an author, writer, and editor residing in south-west England, who loves all things fiction. She has a passion for fantasy, romance, science-fiction, and poetry that runs her life, from her career to her passions. 
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/kilmariskeep
Twitter: https://twitter.com/EannaRoberts
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18691662.Freida_Kilmari

The Curse of the Mountain by Tyler Cram

 My Reading of the Excerpt of The Curse of the Mountain

The Curse of the MountainTyler Cram
Genre: HorrorPublisher: Darkstroke booksDate of Publication: October 27, 2020ISBN:979-8684886829ASIN: B08H5N4H1FNumber of pages:236Word Count: 76KCover Artist: Laurence Patterson
Tagline: Death stalks a town. An ancient evil. A long-buried secret.
Book Description:
A young officer responding to a call in the middle of the night about chickens being slaughtered turns into a night of reckoning when a deadly creature emerges from the woods. 
Years later, while on a hike in the North Carolina wilderness, four friends discover an old book. When they open it, they black out – only to find on waking that they have released the evil things that live within the pages. 
As they fight to keep their neighbors from dying, they unravel a dark secret that the leaders of their town have held since their ancestors first settled. 
But can the boys really stop the devil?
Amazon

Excerpt:

Roanville’s entire existence was archaic. Nothing was truly that modern there. The town was built on small businesses, a community full of people betting on themselves and their local companions. It was a logging community in the 1800s, it wasn’t a sweet place to live; it only existed to make a living. Slowly it crept its way up through time and modernity to be sustainable for all family types, but it still had trouble catching up. The locals joked that the slogan for their lonesome town should have been ‘The town that time forgot’. There were still pay phones in the city that were frequently used. The police and fire department shared a building because the cost of running both in separate buildings would’ve crippled the town. There were only four cops on the force, the Chief, Frank Gilmore alongside his deputies: Bradley Fine, a lazy native who was ready to retire at the age of forty. Garrett Brock, a stable and smart man around the same age as Brad. Brock was Frank’s right-hand man because of his dedication to the job. He served papers, and wasn’t afraid to give people he knew speeding tickets. The most important thing to Brock was that he needed to get paid. The police force worked off a ticket quota system. Brock held no prisoners. The newest addition to the team was Sarah Mann.

A few years ago, Sarah got a call from the outskirts of town. The trailer park, ‘Disneyland’, as it was called by the denizens, was the source of drugs in Roanville. It was constantly surveyed by the cops.

The caller said someone had been killing the chickens that the Quinn family owned, butchering them once a month since the beginning of the year. Sullivan Quinn didn’t even entertain the thought of someone else doing it. He knew it was his neighbor Ichabod Turner. Ichabod had a loose grasp on the English language. He was seventy-five and was skin and bone, Sarah thought he looked like a skeleton from a Halloween store. He had a yellow-stained beard and long grey frizzy hair. His eyes were sunken and his face was drawn.

He spoke as if there was a marble on his tongue. “Da… Sully… he, uh, he say it wah me ’cus I ain’t never wen to he granpappy fun’ral back een March. I say to Sully ‘daggom, boy, da’worl don’t stop for nobody granpappy, not even yours’ well… he don’t like dat much so he been plannin’ a war and dat boy, daggom, he try’na get me arrested… sheeeeit,” he explained to Officer Sarah Mann when she went down to mediate the situation.

It was night when she talked to them. She got called down because one of Sullivan’s chickens was shrieking, and when he went to go look on the side of his double-wide trailer where his coop was, its innards had been tossed around like dripping scarlet streamers. The fresh red blood hadn’t yet permeated the loose dirt.

He looked over across the street and saw the light inside Ichabod’s house flick off suddenly. Sullivan began to bang on the door, threatened to grab his .44 and shoot his way in. Ichabod called the Sheriff’s office. When Sarah arrived, Sully was pacing in front of Ichabod’s trailer with a revolver in his hand, Sarah jumped out of her patrol vehicle and yelled, “Put the goddamn gun down, Sullivan!”

“He killed my chickens! Every month, massacred! He did it, Sarah!” He was Standing in baggy jean shorts and a stained white tank top, pointing his gun at the house. Sullivan was a tall, skinny guy who had trouble with pills. He worked the lumberyard and a log fell off a pile and broke his leg, snapped like a twig, the bone protruded from his skin and was shattered in multiple places, nearly having to get it amputated. He got hooked on painkillers shortly thereafter. He was thirty, but the labor and drugs aged him. He used to be a hirsute young man, always kept his thick, golden hair shoulder length, and stayed clean shaven. Now he was nearly bald save for some patches, and had a scuzzy, holey black beard, speckled with blond and red strands that were so long off his chin he looked like a goat.

“Drop the gun, Sullivan, or I will be forced to pull mine out as well,” she yelled, her words weaved through the alleys between the trailers. She had her hand fixed on her Glock 17 attached to her hip.

Sullivan dropped the gun to his side. “Just get him out here so you can arrest him,” He said condescendingly.

Sarah walked to Ichabod’s front door, her eyes never leaving Sullivan. She was born and raised in Raleigh and ended up going to North Carolina State University. She had no extracurricular activities, no significant other. The idea of being a police officer took all of her time and thought. Frank found her by chance when he visited the Raleigh NCSU campus to meet with a friend that happened to be her Professor. She was in his office when Frank came in. He offered her a job by the end of the conversation. She was twenty-two years old, even in a small town she was making sixty thousand a year. Many scholarships through the state for women in policing gave her some extra bumps. Now she had been with the Chief for about four years and was sick of all the hick bullshit she had to deal with. A feud over killing chickens? What happened to my life? Now she was a cantankerous, young cop in a trailer park.

She banged on Ichabod’s door, the way only a cop can. He swung it open immediately. She led him into the middle of the trailer park’s road underneath a yellow-orange mercury streetlight. There was one every fifty feet, and in between each post was pitch darkness. As soon as someone would step out of the ten-foot diameter light beam, they would be completely gone.

Sarah asked, “Sullivan, what makes you think Ichabod did this?” She started writing in her notebook.

“He has had a vendetta against my family for some time now, Sarah. He didn’t go to my grandfather’s funeral a few months back and they were best friends,” he said politely, with a southern drawl.

“Now das just boolshit… Aaron hated my guts, boy, he tol me a few week back ‘fore he died dat he hated me for my, uh, demeanor or some shit. Dat I was jus too nasty and he didn’t wan to be seen wit me. But let me tell you bof dat he was nastier den a hooker lickin’ a frog to find her prince charmin’ ’cause he sexed he goddamn cousin… I caught him, too, in the back of his old pick-up back by route one-one-six, where da, uh, post office is. Dats why he hate me, boy.”

Sarah tried to understand what he was saying. She had never heard him uppity the few times she interacted with him. She stopped writing down what he was saying halfway through his aside.

“Don’t you fuckin’ slander my dead grandfather, you dirty shit,” Sullivan gritted through his words.

“Hey, Shut it, both of you,” Sarah said, looking up from her notebook, then back down again to write.

“How would I slaughter dem chickies, boy? I look like a serial killer to you?” Ichabod said, pulling on the length of his tarnished beard.

“Yeah, you really do. The guts were thrown out of them, Officer, and I think this man is sick enough to do it. I saw him standing and pissing off of Arthur Scott’s truck going seventy miles an hour on the highway coming into town,” Sullivan said, thinking that would be the final blow. She didn’t even look up and mumbled, “I expect nothing less from this town.”

“It’s a damn dog doin dis shit, I’m tellin’ ya’s. Couple miles down da road, that farmer, uh, I forget his name, two of his sheep, dead. I know it some damn big dog or wolf, you can quote me on dat one, lady,” Ichabod said.

“Officer,” she retorted, looking at him with fire in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Officer, but dis mother fucking boy, he—what the fuck?” He squinted past Sarah, three streetlights down the road—an animal.

“What the fuck is that thing?” Sullivan said.

Sarah turned, and her throat dried immediately when she saw it. It didn’t move. She pulled her pistol out of her holster with some difficulty, she never had to pull it before. She had never seen a dog this big. Even from this distance she could see every detail of it. On all fours, it was five feet tall with paws the size of baseball gloves. Its fur was long, dark brown. Sarah could tell that the head was over a foot long, its prodigiously large vulpine teeth hung out of its mouth, glittering by the dingy light. The streetlight gleamed in the beast’s eyes. It stared at her. Her breathing started to sputter, she couldn’t control it. She shook with her gun in her hand as she raised it. A tear built up in her eye. She felt a wave of cold throughout her body as gooseflesh raised on her skin.

The beast stood on its hind legs, the light painted onto the creature and revealing its oversized dog-like body. Ichabod and Sullivan both screamed and ran into their houses.

Full stretch, it stood at nine feet tall. Sarah didn’t move. She stood there waiting for it to start coming towards her, the moon was going to reach its apogee in the sky and that’s when their duel began.

 

About the Author:
Tyler is a horror aficionado. He has been obsessed with the genre since he was too young to be watching it. It started with An American Werewolf in Paris—the awful 90’s sequel to the original—and snowballed ever since. His influences stem from Stephen King, Joe Hill, Shirley Jackson, Algernon Blackwood, and countless others. He studied them almost academically, peering into their minds psychologically, pulling back the curtains to see what drove them to creating their stories. 
The answer is reality. Tyler loves the idea that all great horror writers use the real world to concoct monsters. At certain points, you don’t know whether it’s the real ones or the fake ones that are scarier. He decided he wanted to open that box for himself, create something that no one has read.
That’s when the ideas start.
https://twitter.com/tyler_cram
https://www.facebook.com/spookytylercram
https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/119551096-tyler-cram

a Rafflecopter giveaway