Horror – The Official Website of Author Derek Barton

Announcing The Return of With Malice Magazine — Derek Barton, 2026

Back in 2023, I dipped my toe into the magazine industry. This first issue release on 1/31 was a great, but exhaustive experience for me. I met some great talent and found a strong network of indie horror writers on the net and through social media.

I didn’t pursue the project as I already had a lot on my plate: family, full-time job, low budget, and an onslaught of story projects I wanted to do and finish (like my epic fantasy series, The Wyvernshield Series).

While it is three years later, and I do still have a lot of the same obstacles, I am really excited by this endeavor and determined to make this go-around a much better success.

Yesterday, I completed the online setup: you can find my online magazine at WithMaliceMagazine.com.

Each quarterly issue will have three to four stories (3,000-3,500 words each), unique, original cover art, writing craft articles, an author interview, book reviews, book recommendations, fan artwork, and book ads. I would also like to establish an annual writing challenge for a grand prize!

If you’d like to send in a submission, here are the guidelines.

Ebook versions will be $7.99, paperback versions (only in the continental US) will be $17.99 (Yearly subscriptions will be offered at $28 for for all four ebooks, $64 for all four paperbacks). Shipping and taxes are not included. All paperback copies will be on sale at Books.by.

I hope to continue to bring you my novels (like the Eclipse Series and Beneath the Skin, a new phobia anthology), but this magazine will be my primary focus.

Take a chance, roll the dice to see if you’ll be brave enough to finish each issue!

Fresh Content — Sneak Peek Excerpt FROM Eclipse: Book Two (Rough Draft) — Derek Barton, 2026

New Content

I have been working hard to complete the Eclipse Series for you. My goal is to get this done by the Fall. Keep in mind, Eclipse: Part I is available on Amazon.

Here is a little nugget to keep you going until then.

ECLIPSE: BOOK II

November 4, 2025 – 9:22 PM

Camden Royce, once known as Chicago’s Guardian Angel killer, carefully opened the thick wooden door. He chastised himself for not installing a window in it. Instead, he had to resort to remote viewing by camera of the inside of the Pen.

He fashioned it after the animal pen his father had for his hunting hounds outside of Cape Town. He shivered at the flash memory of those dogs. His father purposely starved them to “hone their senses and sharpen their appetite”. It made them vicious. It made their pursuit relentless.

“Just like they were for Mother,” he whispered to himself. The echo of her scream of agony cut off sharply in his head.

Stop. Gather yourself. You have guests you are responsible for.

The last position of the two current people inside was on the small cot. Their backs to the concrete wall, knees pulled to their chins. The dozing mother’s head lolled to the side. The child, Breana, was studying the room. They had been in there long enough for the panic after waking and the immediate terror to wear off. The tranquillizer effects had also worn off by now.

Camden entered the cell with an air of confidence and precision. A long machete in hand, hung by his side. In his left hand, he carried two plastic bottles of water. He wore a silver suit, polished beige leather shoes, glasses, and a pair of massive golden rings on his right hand. He had light brown hair with touches of grey on the sides, which had receded high upon his forehead. However, he still manifested an aura of youth despite his fifty-one years of age.

Breana nudged her mother awake with a sharp elbow. They watched him as he approached.

“Good evening. I take it you are rested. I brought these for you.” Camden held up the water. His voice had a lower bass tone but with a smooth British-like accent. “Are you hungry? I can make you meals of whatever you like.”

“What’s going on? Where are we, you bastard!” the mother snapped.

He had expected the animosity. He’d seen it all too often and stopped a few feet from the cot, saying nothing.

“I said, where are we? You have no right to hold us. Answer me!” she continued to shriek.

The six-year-old began to whimper and cry at her mother’s outbursts.

Cassie, the mother, raised her bound hands. “Cut these bands off us, right now!”

The machete rose. She shook her head, regretting her demand.

“No! Not with that!”

He made no sound or reply but crossed over to a small table set in one corner and placed the water bottles there. He had fashioned the 20’ x 20’ room with one door and no windows. Fiberglass installation and homemade soundproofing kept out any noise inside. And it was nigh impossible for any sound to be heard outside the underground chamber. A grated, square hole was built in the corner opposite the table. It went straight into the sewer line below. Several rolls of toilet paper were stacked neatly by it.

Camden faced them once again. “Those bindings will remain for your short stay here. Now, I choose not to cover your faces or gag you…That is as long as we can be friendly.”

With his calm, serious demeanor and the fact that he stood closer, Cassie focused on the long blade of the machete. There were splashes of red stains on the plastic handle.

She tried a different tactic and calmly stated, “You promised to take us to a shelter. Food and drinks, you said. This—This isn’t—”

“It is all that, just not what you envisioned, I am sure.”

“Please don’t hurt Mama, mister,” Breana said, her lower lip quivering, tears dripping off her cheeks.

Keeping out of striking distance, he crouched to her level and said, “Aww, now, love. Don’t be upset. It’s warmer here, isn’t it? Better than the tent your mother had you sleeping in.”

Breana nodded with reluctance.

“No! Stop talking to her,” Cassie demanded. “You stay away from her. Talk only to me, you hear? What is it you really want?”

He sighed and straightened up to his 6’1 height. “Fine. Yes, you are right to demand that. I’m glad to see you trying to protect her… now.”

Cassie scowled and said, “What are you talking about?”

“I observed your conversation with that man, Kevin, I believe his name is. I know what you were selling to him.”

Her scowl deepened, but red had spread across her face.

“There is nothing in the world worth renting out your own child for.” His words were harsh and final.

“Shut up! That isn’t –wasn’t – nothing happened!”

“Oh, really? Earlier this evening, you approached my car without hesitation. You took me up on my offer without any thought. Your addiction blinds you to all logic.” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “I see a pattern, Cassie, and, honestly, I can see that you have always bounced through life, going from one bad decision to the next. This is what you do. This is what you are teaching her. How will she ever learn differently? How would she know there are other options out there? Your lessons of life are condemning her to your same failings, don’t you see?”

It was Cassie’s turn not to respond.

Sighing again, he shook his head, then looked about the cell. “I am sorry I had to bring you here under false pretenses. My work… my responsibilities are more complicated these days. I have to be careful and maintain a low profile.”

Breana interrupted, “Are you gonna let us go, mister?”

Camden shook his head again. “No. What good would that do you now? But I promise, I’ll free you from this cycle of waste.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Cassie asked, a touch of fear creeping into her voice.

He turned from them, walked back to the door, and said, “I promise. You will be happy with your resting spot, though. It’s a fresh plot at the Forest Hill Cemetery. It has a wonderful view of some small grassy hills with a cluster of pine trees.”

“WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?” Cassie screamed.

Book II heats up as rookie Detective Bowden Korrey and his partner find more bodies left by the Black Frost Butcher. The city finds itself reeling from these horrific murders. The pressure triples when Mitch begins a Six-Day Cycle of unimaginable atrocities.

And what happens when an older evil, lurking in the shadows, is provoked?

Fresh Content — Sneak Peek Excerpt of “The First Disciples” Short Story — Derek Barton, 2026

New Content

The holidays are finally over. I’ve neglected my blogs, and for that I apologize. So to make up for it, here is a little new content to throw your way. This is just the intro to a new Body Horror short story that I hope to have completed and submitted to an anthology by the end of the year.

ENJOY!

THE FIRST DISCIPLES

“Hey there, little man. Time to wake up.” The words were tinged with an English accent.

Matt Clark woke to the unfamiliar voice, startled and immediately alert. Thad Jamieson, a tall man with auburn hair and light green eyes, sat at the foot of his bed. A broad smile crossed his face.

“Uh, hi!” he replied shyly.

The room about them was large, larger than any that Matt had ever been given. This was the first castle he’d ever seen or stayed in. There were two towering windows on the north and east walls. A small clothes cabinet stood in one corner with a hanging ceiling lamp. The dark stone floor had three red and white throw rugs. A pair of nightstands bracketed the sides of his full-size bed. He was impressed and a bit daunted by the accommodations.

Unusually intuitive for a twelve-year-old, Matt was not often caught off-guard and without a proper response in mind. However, today was his first morning in Switzerland, and it was the first day with his new adoptive parents.

“Amanda is downstairs, brewing up a storm of eggs and pancakes in the kitchen. Are you hungry?” asked Thad.

“Yes, sir.”

Thad chuckled. “No need for the ‘sir’ here. You weren’t drafted into our military. How was your sleep? That was some bluster of a dreich last night, no?”

Matt nodded, yawned, and stretched. “Do you mean that thunderstorm?”

“Yes. It was a terrible welcome to our castle. Want to check out the basement with me before breakfast? The real estate agent did warn us about flooding from Lake Thun. I had a sump pump added last month, but haven’t had a chance to test it.”

The boy reluctantly smiled, charmed by Thad’s infectious good mood. “I have to use the bathroom first, then dress. Can I meet you in ten minutes… in the hall?”

Thad nodded back. “Sure thing.”

Fifteen minutes later, the pair crept slowly down a set of stone steps. The stairs were narrow and steep. Some of the stone was slick with moisture and slimy with small patches of gray-green mold.

Matt followed a short distance behind his new father. He carried two thick towels in his arms. There was a distinct sound of lapping waves echoing.

“That’s not a good sign. I had hoped the pump would automatically start.”

They came to where the final few steps were submerged in churning, muddy water. The basement chamber was massive, lit with caged, dirty light bulbs, and a set of three short, ground-level windows. The tops of racks, tool workbenches, and storage shelves could be seen above the surface. Random items like fishing baskets, plastic bins, and old wooden brooms floated everywhere.

“Wow!” the boy exclaimed as he ogled the high water.

“That’s easily seven feet. I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Thad sighed with frustration. “The water must have flooded in from underneath, through old sewage tunnels beneath the castle.”

He glanced over his shoulder and eyed the pair of towels. “You up for a swim, Matt?”

“I don’t like to be over my head.”

With an exaggerated smirk, Thad gave away that he was joking with him. “That’s smart. Sound thinking. Well, no worries.”

He stopped and pointed to a white extension cord hanging off a nail high on a concrete support pillar. “That’s supposed to be plugged in. Must’ve forgotten. I’m going to swim over to it and connect it to the other cord.”

Moments later, a small burst of bubbles in the center of the basement announced the pump’s ignition.

“How long will it take?” Matt wondered aloud, still in awe of the water.

The man shrugged as he used a towel to dry his face. “It’s likely to take a couple of days. In the meantime, after breakfast, would you like to go on the sailboat? I can teach you how to fish. I bet you didn’t have any city folk in Buffalo, New York, show you that.”

Thad was rewarded with a truly happy expression for the first time. “Yes! Please! Is it –“

The walls shuddered, followed by a huge, muffled thud. The flood waters of the basement frothed. The dark waves rushed back and forth, broke upon the walls, and washed over their feet. A distant feminine shriek was barely audible.

It was over as fast as it came.

“Was that an earthquake?” Matt shouted. His hands clutched onto a wood railing that bordered the steps.

“No. We don’t get those often in Switzerland,” Thad replied, shaking his head. “I think something, perhaps a wall, gave way in the water.” They stood motionless, held their breaths, waiting to hear or feel anything else.

The first-floor door squealed above. “Thad? Matt? Are you guys okay? What was that?” Amanda’s stressed voice echoed in the stone stairwell.

Halfway back down the steps, Thad replied, “I think something gave way due to the flood water and the sudden work by the sump pump. It seems over with now. Are you all right, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Is Matt with you?”

“I’m here, ma’am,” Matt called out.

“All right,” her words faltered in confusion. “Well, I have to go back to my skillet, but let me know what happened.” The door shut to the stairs again.

As the pump continued to lower the water level, Matt could see a thin wall, perhaps four inches thick, near the back had given way. Now it was a ragged, semi-circle of mortar and brick. Thad swam carefully over to it and started to examine the damage.

“Wow! Would you take a look at this?” he muttered under his breath as he peered beyond the wall

“Is there a lot of damage? Does it look like more will fall?”

He didn’t answer. For a minute, Matt wondered if the man had heard him. “Should I come —”

Thad spun around and hastily treaded his way back to the steps. His face was flushed, the skin pale. “No! Stay back. We’ll wait for the water to be completely pumped out.”

The water continued to churn, and the hum of the pump filled the interior of the basement. A gurgling rush of flowing water echoed beneath the sound of the machine.

“What’s back there?”

“Huh. The water is going down fast! I got a nice-sized pump, but it can’t work that fast!” he pointed out, ignoring the boy’s question. “It shouldn’t be cleared until tomorrow afternoon.”

Matt nodded, “But it looks like it’s going to be done after breakfast.”

“Right. That fallen-down section must’ve blocked the source of the flood water coming in from the sewer tunnels.” He put a towel on his head to catch the excess water. “Let’s go. I’ll get a fast shower, then we can sit down and eat. Maybe we’ll come back in an hour or two.”

****

The basement air was gamey, reeking of fishy slime and earthy mud. The water had reduced to a little over a foot. Thad and Amanda were inspecting the broken back wall. Matt maintained his vigil on the steps.

“It’s amazing,” Amanda said softly.

Thad shook his head in agreement.

Matt strained to see; he was hesitant to approach closer. The room’s poor lighting kept most of the area in shadow. He shrugged and gave in to his curiosity. Neither of the adults noticed or protested his presence when he came up behind them.

Thad was pointing at something in the inky shadows. Standing only three feet beyond the broken wall was a towering square bas-relief carved from smooth, black rock. It stretched four feet wide by seven feet, floor to ceiling. Thick, snake-like coils wrapped in and out of each other. Mysterious symbols were inscribed in random, small squares. An eerie electric feeling pulsed from it. The hair on Matt’s arms stood, and he noticed strands of his adopted mother’s hair standing out from her head to rise and fall in the air. She didn’t seem aware of it.

Amanda whispered, “This is so exquisite, Thad! It’s gotta be an ancient art piece or something.”

“Look at these minute scales. The time to etch all of them would have taken many years.” He replied and then ran his palm lovingly along one of the coils. There was a sudden flash as a pulse of transparent energy passed over him. It reminded him of the waves of heat radiating off the streets of New York.

Matt froze in shock, but neither Thad nor Amanda made any mention of the odd occurrence. They continued their intense inspection of the wall sculpture. Then it happened again when Amanda slid her hand over another of the coils. The obscure energy flowed through both of the adults.

“Oh, wow! It’s really smooth to the touch, too,” she stated with excitement.

“Are you guys all right?” Matt asked as he stepped closer.

Thad spun around and snatched the boy’s wrist. “Good! You’re here. You have to feel this!” His words were high-pitched and tinged with an almost frenzied energy.

Matt twisted his arm trying to extract himself, “NO! I DON’T WANT—”

“Excuse me? After what we’ve done for you already, you are going to throw a tantrum and give me disrespect?” Thad bellowed in the tight confines of the basement corner.

The words were harsh and bitter. Their ferocity caught the boy off guard, and all he could do was stare in shock.

Thad slapped Matt’s open palm against the bas-relief. The cool stone pressed against his skin. However, he didn’t feel any flash of energy.

Amanda backed her husband. “In this house – castle – we will do as instructed without hesitation or attitude. Do you understand, Matthew Adam Clark?”

He nodded nervously.

“Good. Go up to your room, get dressed for the lake. I want you to wait for me to come get you. Be quick now!” His tone had not changed. There was no emotion or humor, only an edginess to it.

Just One More Bite… Another Sneak Peek Into ECLIPSE! — Derek Barton, 2025

New Content

(IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE FIRST SNEAK PEEK, CLICK HERE!)

“Jesus, Doc,” he muttered. “Am I going to be alright?”

“You are under the best care in Chicago, and I’ll be making weekly visits to the rehab to ensure your recovery is going as planned. The surgeries sound scarier than they really are, I promise. The brain damage you suffered can be handled. The movement in your arm and hand will resume by the end of the year. You are young. Your body can work miracles, you will see.”

Mitch shifted under the sheets. His back ached from the prolonged time in one position. “How long do you think I’ll need to stay in the hospital – I mean, the rehab facility?”

“Normally, for one skull fracture surgery, you can expect a twelve-week recovery period. However, since you suffered the dual cracks and adding in the time, you’ll need manual movement therapy, it may take you through July or August. That is, of course, provided you don’t have any infections or setbacks from the surgeries.”

Mitch felt his shoulders slump as a huge weight settled upon them. The news hit him hard.

His normal dark thoughts had descended into anger and misery. His life as he knew it was snubbed short and may be permanently altered. He was a prisoner to his body and what it demanded now to rebuild and recoup.

Don’t worry. You’re free now… We have a lot to plan for in the future. New pleasures like you have never had before. That wispy voice spoke in his mind, as if somehow spoken behind him. It had an unusual feeling with it. Like an itch you couldn’t reach, yet not necessarily uncomfortable.

Once you called me vile… I like that. You may address me as Vile. I’m here now.

You are free. And we are unleashed…

****

“That was pretty good. You got to the sixth.” Jo Anne replied. “It’s only been a few days since you arrived. It may be a long road ahead, so you must try to have patience—”

A blue flashing light suddenly came to life overhead near the entrance of their therapy room. “CODE GRAY ROOM 207! REPEAT CODE GRAY ROOM 207!” A female voice declared.

Jo Anne leaped from her metal chair. “I have to assist. Stay here, Mitch, and keep practicing. In ten minutes, you can switch and do those planking exercises I showed you yesterday, okay?” She rambled with distraction and bolted down the hall without waiting for his response.

The other two therapists in the room also left to answer the medical emergency.

Mitch pushed the wooden square away from him in disgust, and then looked about the room. Only four other patients remained, absorbed in their exercises.

He scooted his chair back and stood.

Yes. That’s good. Take it, take this opportunity. He will be alone… Vile’s voice, whispering from within the dark confines of his mind, urged him on.

The image of an elderly black man popped up. Mr. Coranell. Dwight Edwards Coranell. Room 403. Two rooms north of his own.

Two nights ago, Monday, January 28^th, Coranell was brought in. The man had been injured in a fall in his grandson’s home. Along with the broken hip, the man suffered from long-term dementia.

At 9:33 PM, every night since his admission, Coranell began an unending tirade of cursing and indecipherable screaming. The medical staff had eventually been forced to sedate him. Quickly, Mitch learned that after three or more hours, the drugs would wear off and the litany of gibberish would play out again.

At 5:47 AM, Mitch demanded earplugs from the staff. He became so irate that he was also threatened with sedation. He stifled his true thoughts as he hated the fuzziness and mind fog that the drugs would bring. Being medicated would only delay his rehabilitation.

Now, as he crept along the hallway toward the stairwell, he grew excited and anxious. His hands became sweaty, and his heart raced with excitement.

Can you do it? Are you hungry enough for this, Mitch?

I am. I am! The old bastard deserves it, he’s got it coming!

Carefully, he poked his head inside the stairwell, scanning the steps leading up to the other floors. They were empty. He snuck through and ascended as fast as he could. His window would be short. Jo Anne and the others would surely be returning, or the nurse on their floor would be at her post.

Yes, it has to be now, Vile continued. You know you won’t have this chance again. Are you going for the blood? You could rub it on your face, maybe even taste it?

NO! I’ll be caught. I can’t. I… I will have to be happy with just the act of silencing him.

But… Vile objected. Its tone was petulant.

If they find me covered in his blood, I’ll never be allowed another opportunity.

The voice went quiet.

He poked his head in through the door to his floor, following his same scouting process.

The room was dark, cold, and had that antiseptic clinic smell choking the air. A pair of monitors loomed over the bed. Wires and sensors were connected to Dwight’s prone form. The man’s heavy breathing rasped in and out, churning like an over-taxed engine. He was sedated and sleeping – oblivious to the world around him.

Mitch stood only a few feet away. His body was rigid. Sweat trickled from his brow and temples. He repeatedly clenched and unclenched his large fists.

Vile tried once more. What do you want to do, Mitch? He’s all yours for the taking.

He did not respond. He remained frozen from the wicked combination of dark needs versus anxious fear. A wrong move or an overlooked detail could result in an investigation leading directly to him.

Mitch was incredibly intelligent and always thorough. In all of his imagined scenarios, he scanned them from every possible angle, every point of view. In his mind, he had all the time in the world to execute his precise plans.

But here, in the murky gloom of the man’s room, he didn’t have time as a luxury. The pressure choked his primal drive. His conflict paralyzed him.

Maybe I can get the pillow, he mused.

You are fucking kidding, right? You want to puss out with a lame smothering? NO! Make an example of him — make his mutation an affront! Throw it in their face! Vile was seething.

“Wh—what?” Mitch gasped.

Show them all this is what you’ll do when they stand in your way! They can’t expect you to accept this bawling lunatic! Rip his face off, put it on the chair by the door. Squeeze his throat till his eyes pop and then open—

ENOUGH! Mitch screamed inside his mind. His hands clamped to the sides of his head. I AM IN CONTROL HERE! I decide when and how. You want blood, but I want more than that… I want more than one old, tattered man who isn’t even awake to scream for me. Vile, you answer to me!

So… hooked yet? Don’t worry! You and Vile can satisfy your bloodlust in October when I officially release ECLIPSE PART I! Then the whole story series will be released in March or April, 2026.

Fresh Content – Fast By The Fading Light (rough draft) — Derek Barton – 6/16/2025

New Content

It’s been a while since I’ve teased you with some new content…

I have an awesome new short story that I am submitting for a possible July edition to the magazine Wordpeddler’s Society.

This isn’t the full story, so don’t be upset. This is just a teaser:

FAST BY THE FADING LIGHT

“You have till dawn, buddy-yo. Else…”

The words echoed in his head. They haunted him and floated behind his closed eyes. His head throbbed with an ache at the back of his skull. Waves of nausea followed closely behind the painful pulses. The rest of his body felt non-existent and insubstantial. His limbs bobbed in icy water at his side and were numb.

With an unbelievable amount of effort and will, he opened his eyes. Wind-swept tree canopies whipped about in all directions above him. They blocked out the evening’s dark skies. Patches of flickering orange flames were growing among the leaves. They jumped randomly from branch to branch. Curled, torched leaves fell among ashes in the air, slowly drifting toward him.

His eyes were focusing in and out upon the danger, but his mind could not connect the dots. Where was he? …Who was he?

He lifted his head a couple of inches to survey the area. A flowing channel, no, a rapid river stream, ran past his little rest stop. Somehow, his unconscious body had been carried into a shallow, branch-clustered inlet. His tall frame was snagged on several branches.

Trees on both sides of the stream were brimming with fire. The sound of crackling and popping wood grew louder than the river’s babble.

“You have till dawn, buddy-yo. Else…”

Those words weighed down on him again. What did they mean? Who made that threat? Why? He fought the panic and tried to calm the brewing storm inside his head.

“It’s gotta come back to me. I’m sure it will,” he said aloud. His voice was raspy and barely an audible whisper.

Water splashed and filled his mouth. He sputtered, coughed uncontrollably, and tried to sit up. The water was too deep and too crowded with branches for that. His left arm felt heavy and trapped under the surface.

Yanking it free, he discovered it was handcuffed. The other end was locked about the wrist of a severed hand!

OH GOD! WHAT HAVE I GOT MYSELF INTO? He screamed inside, his arms pinwheeling in the water as he tried by reflex to get away from the bloody remains. It did no good, and the appendage now floated among the waves inches from his face.

The stump severed inches down the wrist was cut clean and precisely. Most likely with a sharp knife or tool. It was a deliberate act with no signs of hesitation marks. The nails were well-maintained and polished with a peach cream color. The fingers were slender and unblemished. It was a woman’s.

Whose? I should know! Who was I handcuffed to? He shook his head slowly. His world was a blended mess of questions and surreal surroundings.

The area around the inlet flashed as a series of gusts stoked the flames, and more trees caught fire. Smoke rolled in with the wind and choked the air. He pulled himself free of the mire of the mystery. A larger piece of a rotted tree trunk bumped into his legs.

Yes, time to go, he answered the log as he kicked the piece free of the other branches. Then he curled his arms around a knot at the top of it. This would keep his head above the waves. He continued to kick with his legs to propel himself out of the bay of branches and head further downstream. Unfortunately, this carried him deeper into the heart of the forest fire.

Moments later, his own heart seized up as he spotted a tattered white blouse with gold lace trim. It partially dipped into the edge of the stream. Blood-spray and obvious patches of red blood soaked a good portion of the right side of it.

A stretch of sandbar on his side of the riverbed peaked up among the waves. It was only a few yards from the blouse. A green-sequined skirt lay in the watery mud ahead. Next to it, a crumpled, faux-leather boot lay abandoned.

I know that dress somehow…

Using all his remaining strength, he scooped water with one arm, guiding the log to beach itself upon the sandbar. So far, the forest fire had spared most of the area.

In the shallow few inches of water that flowed over the sandbar, he fought to get back to his feet, but it was a short victory. His vision suddenly blurred as the world seemingly spun out of control. A minute or two passed. The world slid back into place, and he rose even slower out of the water.

His head pulsed once again like rolling thunder. He pulled his right arm from the water and rubbed the back of his head. This only caused another sudden spike of pain. Snatching his hand back, he discovered his fingers were dripping with fresh red blood. More pain accompanied the effort. Gingerly, his fingers explored the back of his head and found a nasty gash that crossed the back of his skull under the nest of dark brown hair.

That might explain why I can’t remember anything, he thought. Then he patted his legs and discovered a black leather wallet jammed into a pair of dark blue slacks.

Inside on a laminated card, Nicholas Allen Troy stared up at him from a small picture. Age 32, brown hair, blue eyes. Lives at 287 S Fernwood Ct, Apt E5, Baton Rouge, LA 70806. Faint familiarity came to him as he studied the driver’s license.

He went by Nick, never Nicolas. Not even his family called him by his full name.

On his wrist was a broken watch. The silver frame was dented, and its crystal face was frozen at 11:43 PM.

A sudden recalled memory hit him like a fist to the mouth.

Hope you enjoyed this! When the rest of the story is published and ready for sale, I will announce it in my newsletter!

The New Horrors – Derek Barton, 2025

General

Back in 2019 & 2023, I wrote blogs focusing on some of my favorite new horror films at that time. Hard to believe but two years have already passed, and it’s time to once again to review some of the latest film releases.

Here are five of the latest horror films I did enjoy:

5. Saw X

Yes, it is an old running series that has almost covered every angle possible… except this one. What happens when you offer a dying man a possible life-saving treatment, but in secret, you are only attempting to con him out of thousands of dollars? What happens when that same old man is a mass serial killer… and he finds out what you did?!

Not the best of the series, but I enjoyed the premise of this one, and let’s be honest, who doesn’t wish terrible things on con artists when prey on the elderly and dying?

4. Final Destination 6

Again, this is another installment in a long-running series. This was another interesting idea, and it also gave you a bigger picture look at why all these tragedies were occurring. In other words, it attempts to give you background reasons for the first five films. This is also the last film of horror legend Tony Todd (famous for his Candyman role), which made this a must-see for me.

3. The Conjuring: Devil Made Me Do It

This sequel delves deeper into the lives and investigative methods of the famous Warren couple. I enjoyed this one more than the original. I’m also looking forward to the next installment, The Conjuring: The Last Rites, which covers their “last case”.

2. Alive#

A spin-off film in the Train To Busan universe. In this Korean horror film, a man soon finds himself trapped and isolated in his high-rise apartment building while hordes of zombies ravage the rest of the city. I love this new take on a zombie survival film.

1. Talk To Me

Easily the scariest film released in quite some time. A teen struggling with the grief of her mother’s passing takes a daring challenge at a party: hold the severed hand of a now dead psychic who claimed to talk with the dead. Intense horror sequences and frightening imagery of Hell. Take note: This is in Australia so the accents take a bit to get adjusted to.

Honorable mentions (entertaining, just dumb fun films):

Sting

I’m arachnophobic so this one got under my skin!

Smile 2

Not as good as the first but had some cool frightening moments (like when her entire dance troupe stalks her in her apartment!).

Abigail

Silly but kept my interests. Creepy atmosphere.

Unhinged

Russell Crowe gives a great performance and carries this one. Not too complicated a story but you could easily see how this could happen in real life.

No One Will Save You

Great effort and intense psychological horror mixed with sci-fi horror. Didn’t feel the ending paid off but overall a fun time for a couple hours.

Unfortunately, there are a ton more films that I WOULD NOT recommend. These had potential but fail due to bad scripts or poor plots!

Heretic

Good acting from Hugh Grant as the killer, but they didn’t do anything with this story. Two hours waiting for something interesting.

Alien: Romulus

Another disappointing edition to this poorly written franchise. There is so much they could do but they fail to really capture the essence and treasure that the first two films were.

Longlegs

Ugh! What a waste of two hours! Nick Cage could’ve saved this film as its menacing psycho but he’s in it for maybe twenty minutes. Just dumb! And they didn’t even address why the film was called Longlegs!

Evil Dead Rise

Overdone gore and no real story. This franchise has turned into just another cash cow.

Salem’s Lot

A very poor adaption of Stephen King’s original novel. More than half of the film doesn’t even follow the book. They should’ve left this story alone. The 1979 film version isn’t perfect but at least it had heart and tried to be faithful to the novel.

I hope that the trend for horror films gets better and we see more original stories versus sequel after sequel. I’m always available Hollywood should you want some help! 🙂

Eclipse — A New Killer Novel Series! – Derek Barton, 2025

New Content

For those who could not find the Vella series I started before Amazon closed its program, I thought I should post the first few rough draft pages for you to consume!

I am hoping to have this published by the end of summer.

Eclipse will have ties to both Elude and Evade series and will be strictly a non-supernatural true crime thriller!

A sadistic new serial killer has the city of Chicago in his grip. A bold, rookie detective haunts his every step. Which will slip up first?

Chapter 1

Mitchell stared at the paper, focused, and felt himself sinking into the growing spot of red ink his grading pen had left. His mind slipped deeper, spiraled then dove into the heart of it. His eyes blurred, his head grew heavy, and his thoughts revolved around the blood…

No, not blood… ink! Red pen ink, his inner voice scolded him.

No, it is blood! Or it could be, another voice insisted. The words were low and whispery. Hot, thick, gooey, smooth. You could make this happen. You know where you could get all this blood.

Mitchell imagined the liquid flowing through his hands. A pool of it, sloshing and washing up over his torso, flowing over his chest and up to his neck. In his thoughts and in reality, he stuck out his tongue trying to get a taste of the hot liquid. With—

“Whoa! Are you… Mr. Michaels, are you alright?” a student asked, standing at the corner of his desk.

Mitchell shook his head, slamming back into the real world. His fourth-period English class at Bogan High School materialized in front of him. “I’m sorry. What?”

The student stared at him. It was seventeen-year-old, Corey James.

Punk! Always a smartass, Mitchell’s inner voice snarled.

Mitchell murmured instead, “Mr. James, did you need anything?”

Corey sneered, “Do I need something? Man, you looked like you were about to make out with that homework paper.”

“That is enough. If you are finished with your work, please place it on the pile and return to your seat. Thank you.” Mitchell grinned pleasantly at him. Mitchell’s mask as the always-earnest and generous Mitchell Michaels slipped back into place. Corey scoffed, tossed the paper down, and shuffled over to his cluttered desk in the back of the room.

No one else had paid any attention to their interaction. The time remaining for their pop quiz was nearly over.

Known among the school staff and his friends as “Gentle Giant Mike”, Mitchell stood 6’4”, weighed 260 lbs., had a thick head of dirty blond hair, and a beard kept short and trim. He towered over his students and most of the faculty, but his giving nature always won them over. Mentoring and volunteering his time had made him a standout among his peers. Most of his students thought the world of him.

Mitchell returned to his work on the assignment he had been grading. His eyes glanced a brief moment at the splotch of red his pen had caused. The ink had gotten on his finger and thumb as well. He picked up the broken pen and dropped it in the basket at his desk. He shot a glance at the digital clock hung on the wall behind the class. 12:14 PM. School was almost over for the day.

That was good. The mild hangover from some after-school drinks the night before had eroded his energy and his patience for the day. Brad Keller always convinced him and several of the other teachers that it would be a quick drink. The twenty-nine-year-old bachelor always had a charm and a looming presence about him that made it hard to say no to.

“Oh, come on, fellas. Live a little,” he would taunt them. Just like that and with a snap of his fingers, he snared them all. They would hit O’Mallory’s Tavern on the way home. Drinks that would lead to an inevitable fast round of poker.

“Not tonight, my friend,” he whispered to himself.

Mitchell liked and hated Brad Keller if that was even possible. The smooth salesman in the History Teacher was relentless. Mitchell envied the skill as he speculated that Keller also had a wild sex life.

Wind kicked up outside and a splatter of wet ice and snow flurries hit the windows along the south wall. An afternoon snowstorm had swept in off Lake Michigan. Premature for this time of year, but most people in Chicago learned to be ready for anything. Notorious for being fickle in the Midwest, the weather could not be predicted especially near the Great Lakes.

He would have to take everything home versus staying the extra hours at the school to grade yesterday’s homework and the pop quiz. Gina, his fiancée, expected him over tonight for dinner as well.

Mitchell wheeled his chair back from his desk and crossed to one of the windows. Snow had already fallen and gathered on the football field and near the parking lot. The skies were cobalt and overcast. A chill draft leaked in. He rolled his shoulders, stepped back from the frosty glass, and went to a beige wall phone. Mitchell dialed an extension.

“Mr. Michaels, here. Yes, Stan, I think you should consider an early release. The weather outside looks nasty. I imagine in a half hour the roads are going to be treacherous—”

His last words were drowned out by the uproar from the excited students. Mitchell waved at them and tried to minimize the noise in the room.

“Alright. Very good. Yes, you have a wonderful night too.” He ended the call.

A moment later a sharp bing sound came over the intercom. “Students. We will be closing early today due to the inclement weather. Please begin to make your way to the buses. Thank you.”

“Hell yeah! Thanks, Mr. Michaels!” one student, a small lanky kid exclaimed.

One of the school cheerleaders, Danni Codren who sat near the middle of the room spoke up. “May I use my cell phone to get my dad to come get me early?”

Others quickly repeated her question asking to also use their phones. Mitchell nodded. This was against school policy to use phones during school hours, but he saw no harm in allowing it now. School had been dismissed.

A PA system bell rang out and made it official.

The students filed out, laughing and overall giddy. They were high school students, but inside they were all still kids.

As the last of the line proceeded out, Corey came up to his desk with another paper in hand. “Hey Mr. M! Here you go in case you get lonely tonight. Enjoy!”

He flipped the paper onto his desk, cackling with laughter as he slipped through the door. The paper had on it a crudely drawn naked woman, her legs splayed open obscenely. The words LICK HERE with a black arrow pointing the way was written above her. Mitchell swept it up in his hands and crumbled it, his temper beginning to growl.

The storm outside also grew in strength and fury as if feeding off Mitchell’s mood. Now, blinding flurries of fresh snow pelted the windows incessantly. Mitchell took a long sip of his coffee, settled back in his chair, and worked to calm his nerves. Corey was a typical jock with the usual obnoxious behavior. Yet something about the mouthy teen got under his skin. He was expected to do well in a college football program somewhere as a running back. For that reason, he barely made any effort with his assignments and tests.

The plain digital clock on his wall displayed 12:45. He had to heed his own advice and started to gather his papers and texts into his work duffel bag. A few minutes later, he jogged with his hands up over his head to shield himself from the snow as he opened his gold Toyota Camry. He flung his bag in the backseat and waited behind the steering wheel.

A few minutes later, he cruised down the I-83, keeping it slow and steady on the slick roadway. He dug out his cell phone. He knew it would be better to call now versus when he reached the woody outskirts of Chicago. Cell towers were not as prevalent, his reception grew spotty. Despite the long everyday drive to and from Bogan, he loved the time of isolation and freedom it gave him. He would often listen to classical music or even lose himself in an audiobook.

Sometimes when the mood took him, he would allow himself a fantasy. A homicide fantasy would bloom in his mind, like a black and thorny rose. He would spin the encounter in his mind in every gruesome detail and direction he could. Mitchell liked to work out the opportunities, challenges, and the obstacles. He conjured every conceivable angle to how he would fulfill his darkest craving to kill a person in the scenario. He buried the needy feelings deep, as deep as his victims in his scenarios.

He called his fiancée. The phone rang twice and as expected, she picked up precisely on the third ring. Gina was a stickler for routine. Currently, she was a stay-at-home marketing exec for a large law firm downtown. Her hours were long, but at least she didn’t have the hassles of commuting.

“Hey, honey,” she greeted him. “How is your day going? Are you still in class?”

“No, Stan called school off early.”

“Wow, really? Why?”

Mitchell shook his head. She had a kind heart, but she would never be regarded as an intellectual. “You haven’t noticed the weather?”

The squeaking wheels of her computer chair could be heard as she scooted away from her desk. “Oh… yeah, okay,” she murmured, obviously looking out the window of her small, third-floor apartment.

“The weather station on the radio reported we will see a record four inches of snow coming in tonight. You okay if I stay tonight after dinner?”

She giggled, “Only you would use the weather as a way to parley a reason to spend the night in my bed!”

He cruised past a beat-up sign that announced it was 33 miles to Romeoville. He’d grab his overnight bag first from his condo and then head to Gina’s place in Lockport. He guided the Camry to the connecting ramp to merge onto I-171. Immediately, Mitchell found the road caked with at least a half inch of snow and not packed down much from other vehicles. He felt the back wheels fishtail a bit. He eased back on the gas and let it coast down to 30 mph.

“I don’t accept that as a rejection of my inquiry, Miss Dawson. I think you are the one who wants…” his words faded as the road took his focus.

Ahead the tarmac angled up as it crested a small hill. He gave it some speed to help clear the top. However, on the other side of the hill, the road appeared to be clear. It was spared the weather since it wasn’t facing the coming wind and storm. He kept the speed going at 45 mph when a patch of orange color darted across at the bottom. A large golden retriever had skidded to a stop and stood in the center of the road. It had dropped something from its mouth and was investigating with its snout.

“Stupid—” Mitchell shouted in surprise. His wheels found no purchase. A hidden, thin sheen of ice covered the freeway. He slid into the other lane and then back to the original. The car’s momentum carried him around and twisted it violently backward. He panicked trying to regain control, yanking the steering wheel on reflex in the spinout’s direction did not help.

Soon gravel ground underneath his tires and the car jerked downward as he launched from the shoulder. The Camry bounced and careened. Screams and pleas for Mitchell to answer Gina came from his phone that had been projected and lay neglected in the back seat.

Mitchell’s hands were torn free from the steering wheel as he rocketed over the center counsel. He crashed hard into the passenger window. His ear lobe burst open, and blood sprayed the interior with tiny droplets. He screamed in terror as he saw the massive tree trunk looming ahead, getting closer, closer!

Before his world shut off like a television set unplugged, Mitchell was launched forward and cracked the windshield with his head. He bounced back and crumpled into the wheel well. The front right fender took the majority of the incredible impact, but the rest of the car wrapped itself around the base of the tree.

There were several lacerations along his cheek, temple, and the top of his skull.

Blood oozed out… Hot, thick, gooey, smooth… A small pool gathered along his neck and shoulders.

More Screams & Terror coming your way! — Derek Barton, 2024

General

Happy holidays, everyone! I wanted to take a quick moment to update you on my newest releases, my current works-in-progress, and what I’m planning for in the near future.

NEW RELEASES:

**VICTIMS: A Horror Short Story Collection has been doing well, sold on Amazon & Kindle. S.W. Salzman, my narrator, is wrapping up his production of the Audible version and should be on sale before the end of the year!!

**Two new anthologies will be released before the end of the year. First, is The Weatherly Lane Anthology.

A malicious evil taints the land. Any who step into the house at 1214 Weatherly Lane suffers an unspeakable curse. Witness and live through the multiple encounters, decade by decade.

The second anthology from The Fear House Press is Gates of Hell Unleashed. There isn’t a cover yet, but this is in the works and set to be released soon. My story, Suicide Is For Suckers, will be printed within. It’s a tale of desperation and the drive to survive. Does anyone ever win when they sell their soul to the Devil? When more details and information are released, I will pass it along.

**Wordpeddler Society Magazine’s next issue, the Horror Edition, will feature ME and will be released also by the end of the year. In this edition, I am interviewed about my start, my motivations, and my writing process. Also, I have another short story (never published before) called Beneath The Surface. It’s a horrifying tale where summer camp thrill-seeking and curiosity leads to pure terror.

WORKS-IN-PROGRESS:

**Beyond the Barrier, the last in the Wyvernshield series, is in the final wave of edits. It is slightly behind what I hoped for, but it may be out by the end of 2024 or in the first weeks of January 2025. The cover is in the works—another knockout beauty by Joy Landa, who designed all the covers of this series!

**The Deity Staff will have an Audible version available in the first half of 2025. Again, this will be performed by the exceptional talent of Laura Richcreek who has done all of the prior books in the series. She has also agreed to lend her talents to Beyond The Barrier in the coming year!

FUTURE PROJECTS:

**Unfortunately, the serial killer drama, Eclipse, will not be continued on Kindle Vella. Amazon has decided to shut down the entire Vella program by February, 2025. Up to that date, you are able to read the released episodes for free! I will continue the novel, and with luck, it will be out by the end of next year. Eclipse is my first, true crime horror novel (no supernatural elements this time!). It also has ties and links to the previous two series, Elude and Evade.

A sadistic new serial killer has the city of Chicago in his grip. A bold, rookie detective haunts his every step. Which will slip up first?

**I have teamed up with a small indie press known as Phoenix Oasis Press and will be working with them on an upcoming literary anthology centered around the theme of “curiosity”. I hope to submit a new short story to them in March, 2025. Publication is expected around August. More details to come.

MISCELLANEOUS:

**I was interviewed recently on Historically Haunted Vodcast last week. Please click here if you’d like to check it out.

**Also, for anyone in the local Phoenix, Arizona area, I will be having a book signing at the SUPERHERO SATURDAY EVENT on January 18th, 2025 at the Metro Mall parking lot area. Come by and say hello! All items will be signed for free!

**Keep an eye out for me on BookTok, a part of TikTok. I hope to release in the coming year videos highlighting my content, new releases, my author life and my writer processes.

Thanks again for all your interest in my work and your support as always!

Fresh Content – Suicide Is For Suckers (rough draft) — Derek Barton – 10/30/2024

New Content

Hey there, Trick-or-Treaters! I have a little taste sample of my latest short story, which will be published in an anthology in November. I will provide more details later as the publication date approaches.

For now, enjoy…

SUICIDE IS FOR SUCKERS By Derek Barton

[DAY ZERO]

The street lamps swirled ominously like frenzied lightning bugs all about him. Four walls of night surrounded and obscured the top of the parking garage. Everything before Chad’s eyes blurred and skewed in the whirlwind. The concrete beneath his feet bucked and rippled. It was like a giant’s hand grabbed reality and spun the wheel.

Vomit threatened to surge up his throat. Every sound was dull and muted. Even his heavy panting was barely audible. His back prickled with goosebumps as a sudden wind blew over his sweat-soaked dress shirt. The amber bottle of bourbon slipped from his grasp and shattered at his feet. He clutched at his car door with both hands, stood as still as possible, and waited for the world to slow down and stop.

Several long, drawn-out minutes passed. He eased into his driver’s seat, let his head rest against the seat cushion, and closed his eyes. His breathing began to subside.

The coke… what was in that coke? His mind reeled in the wake of the drug effects. I… I have had coke and bourbon together before and never felt like this. I’m gonna kill Maxie! She gave me a tainted score! That stupid bitch!

He opened his eyes. The streetlights were back at their posts. They dotted the city landscape before him like sunlit dew drops on grass. His tongue stuck to the top of his mouth, his throat was a dried-out husk. A deep-seated craving came over him for that bottle of whiskey.

Chad twisted his head around as he scanned the interior of the Malibu for a stray, abandoned bottle of water. Nothing. Only scattered napkins, straw wrappers, fast-food wrappers, and paper bags cluttered the passenger side.

He gave up the search when he spotted a crumpled pack of cigarettes. After bouncing one out, he found his lighter in the loose change tray of the car counsel.

It took only a few deep drags to feel a calm descend over him. The cocaine still ran frantically through his veins along with whatever else was in it. But now sitting in the car, Chad had a semblance of peace and control.

The view of the city below as it sprawled along the mountains and rushed to the shorelines of the Gulf of Mexico was still breathtaking. He wondered how he managed to destroy the beauty of his life in the face of such amazing natural grandeur.

The coke. Every time. The coke, his brain quickly spoke up in case he had somehow not realized that.

I am not stupid. Top grades in high school. Star in Track and Field. I graduated with a business degree from ACU. I worked and managed a bank branch for four years.

He was not an idiot, but still not smart enough to avoid being an addict for two and a half years.

Today at BNO Financial Bank ended abruptly at 12:25 PM. Vice President Douglas Bramton walked in on him doing three lines in the janitor’s closet. First mistake. Escorted out of the branch building by security around 1:17 PM.

Call to fiancée, Tess Fields. Second mistake. By 3:11 PM, Chad was a single man again.

After finding Maxie and scoring a fresh stash, he drove over to the Total Wines & Whiskeys on Lehman Avenue. 4:02 PM. Third mistake.

Chad glanced at the Malibu’s dashboard clock. 2:11 AM. He shook his head in disgust. The last five hours were an opaque void. An abyss that could not be revealed or his actions.

The car sat idle and parked at a bad angle on an empty rooftop. Did I just get here? Or have I been here all night?

He sat up and scanned the hood. Doesn’t look damaged, so I doubt I hit anything.

Scoffing and shrugging his shoulders, he settled back. The heaviness settled on him, pressing him like a barbell into his cushioned seat.

Tess was not the love of his life, but she had been very good to him. She was a red-haired beauty with an actual head on her shoulders. In the beginning, they spent hours debating philosophy or conspiracy theories, then would spend the next hours having frantic, wild sex. They celebrated their first anniversary two months ago. He proposed to her a month later.

He couldn’t fight her logic and recalled her words of damnation. How do you expect me to trust you? I never saw you take drugs. Now you are telling me you just lost your job for coke? I don’t know you. After what happened to my brother… Her words had choked off in a sob. I don’t know you. Never call here again, asshole! Click.

Three missteps. No, that was three strikes. You’re out, man. Game over.

Over and out?

He stumbled out of the car. His legs were pretty shaky. The wind picked up and as he approached the ledge, he felt the light spattering of raindrops.

First, Chad looked up at the fast-moving clouds in the overcast sky. A surging storm was sweeping in from the bay. He leaned over the waist-high stone barrier and scanned the street below. He was in a seven-floor parking garage. A busy street below even at this hour. Cars lined up going both directions and cars parked on both sides. There were no bystanders. No one walking the sidewalks or loitering in front of the few shops that called Descarte Roadway home.

Three strikes. You are out, Chad. Go home…

He took a deep breath and climbed on top of the barrier.

“That is a fine watch you have there, Mr. Beauvais,” a masculine voice called out. Smooth with a slight southern twang. The words hinted at notes of refinement and intelligence.

Chad snapped a look over his shoulder. A slender man, not gaunt or athletic, but trim, leaned against his silver Malibu.

“Wh-what?”

“I said you have a fine watch. A limited-edition silver and gold ’23 Bulova Octava. Yes, it would be a shame to damage it in your fall, don’t you think?” The man flashed a perfect smile with bright teeth, an earnest expression, and a wry grin.

Besides the carefree attitude, he wore a dark brown suit, vest, and a matching derby with a black band. His face was thin with a short beak nose over a reddish-brown goatee.

“I… it’s not for sale, man. Fuck off!”

“Posh, my good man, everything is for sale. Everything and every person has a price.”

The wind gusted and Chad teetered on the edge. His arms shot out to either side, helping him regain some of his balance. But the wind fought back. Pinwheeling, he felt himself start to slip.

The man strutted forward and snagged Chad’s belt, stopping the forward momentum. “If I could offer you one solution, one answer to everything… Would you give me your last seconds to hear me out?”

“Look! I—”

“Or I could let go?” he said, stepping forward a few inches. Those few inches gave Chad an intimate, birds-eye view of the cement sidewalk. Below were the hard metal cars reflecting streetlamps. He heard and felt the rumble of speeding tractor-trailers making long-haul journeys across the state.

“NO! HEY, STOP! ARE YOU CRAZY?”

“Then let me formally introduce myself so we can have a civilized adult conversation. You may call me, Mr. Holmes.”

“Uh… I’m Chad—”

“Beauvais. Yes. Do you want to hear my offer now?”

Chad nodded, knowing there was little option. As quick as he had been ready to throw it all away, the act of climbing onto the ledge ended his drug stupor. Hanging precariously seventy feet or more in the air by his belt completely sobered him up. He never felt more alive. All five senses thrummed with a vibrancy nearly overriding his sanity. “What do you want, mister?”

“It is Mr. Holmes, I won’t say it again,” his grin had vanished. “It is not what I want, but what I can offer.”

Chad sighed with relief as the stranger helped him back into the garage, plopped down to rest with his back against the barrier, and said, “All right. I’m listening.”

“What would you say is your biggest obstacle in life? What has always got the better of you? Or who perhaps?”

“You tell me. You seemed to know.”

A black wooden cane with a curved handle resembling a snake appeared in his hand. He whipped it up and punched Chad hard in the chest. Mr. Holmes then brought it to a spare two inches from his left eye. “Time is of the essence, and I don’t take to fools. They say that every seventeen seconds a man takes his life. I do not need you; you need me. Are you going to drop your attitude, or do I throw you off the garage myself?” The steely look in Mr. Holmes’ eyes spoke the truth. He was ready to end Chad’s life.

“Sorry,” he gulped. His hand rubbed absently at the spot where the cane had struck. “Go on.”

“I will resolve that root of evil in your life. I can make whatever you name as your challenge, disappear forever. Imagine it. It’s not an offer of instant success, but true power to succeed on your own merits. You’ve always wanted to prove yourself. Make everyone eat their doubts!”

Chad couldn’t help himself, he giggled and then cackled. The words tumbled out. “Oh, man! You had me there. You got me good. Quite the sales pitch! What, are you some psychologist or maybe one of those police negotiators? That was clever, man! Distract me long enough to pull me down from the ledge. Uh, am I under arrest now?” He glanced about expecting police officers to leap from the shadows.

The cane wavered in the air as Mr. Holmes decided if he was being mocked or not. It dropped. He crouched beside him. His hand shot out and caught Chad’s neck in his empty palm.

“Five minutes ago, see what you almost did,” the ominous stranger whispered.

In his mind, a crowd gathered around a parked green sedan. A body flattened and molded into the top of the sedan. It was his body! One of his green eyes stared ahead lifeless. The other eye dangled on his cheek facing the ground. Blood ran in several, thick streams down the front windshield. One broken arm jutted in two different directions and sported the Bulova Octava with a shattered crystal facing.

“Suicide is for suckers, Mr. Beauvais. What is the root of your evil? Tell me.”

“I’m… I’m a drug addict. I can’t stop. I don’t even want to stop.”

“Easy. See, that wasn’t so hard to answer,” Mr. Holmes rose, straightened, and rolled his shoulders. The cane was gone again.

“Do you know where you are tonight? Do you know this address?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then in sixty days, you must come back to me. Stand before me and prove my gift has not been wasted.”

Chad struggled to his feet. “What do you get? What’s the price?”

A flash of his blazing white teeth split the stranger’s face as he smiled and winked. “You are a shrewd banker. Every soul is tainted. It is only natural. The world is filled with temptations and tests. So, every soul has a penance to pay in one form or another. I pay mine by saving good men, keeping the good from their foolish decisions. Suicide is for suckers, remember?”

He swiped at the creases in his suit slacks and smoothed out the wrinkles in his sleeves. “Do we have a deal?”

“Wait. You’ll wipe out my drug addiction. Just like that. And the only thing I need to do is to come back here? Or… or else what?”

“You pay my penance by your good karma and deeds in the world.” Mr. Holmes stopped. His eyes filled with blood. A growl began deep in his chest. “You fail me, then you’ll pay me in another way. For eternity!”

Chad watched as his hand with a will of its own extended and shook Mr. Holmes’ hand.

[DAY ONE – FIRST CUT]

Chad snapped awake, eyes wide and darting. He sat up and found himself in his apartment. Everything felt the same. Dirty sheets, scratchy blanket, and even his stained and wrinkled, white dress shirt. His pants crumpled up and lying on a chair next to a small window.

Three posters hung on the wall. One in a glass frame of a blazing blue Camaro, lights reflecting off the metal as it sat parked in a puddle, reflecting its dark image. The second poster was a movie poster. A copy of the Caddyshack movie. The last poster had a wine stain on one corner. It was a poor rendition of a runaway train merging into the silhouette of a three-masted sailing ship that streaked into the horizon, chasing the setting moon.

A short, black work desk sat opposite the bed. It had his car keys, wallet, cell phone, and a cigarette pack. Piles of napkins and a couple of pizza boxes were stacked on the corner. He did the majority of his work in the office.

All signs indicated home, his place on 77^th Avenue.

He yawned, stretched, and pulled his legs free of the covers. Wow. I… I feel good, not even hungover!

Chad got up in his amazement and shambled down the hall into the bathroom. In the mirror, he looked like shit despite what his body indicated. His face thick with stubble, crusties rimmed his eyes, and there was dried drool and bourbon on his chin. His thoughts were slightly foggy as per the normal morning haze. But the newly unemployed had found he couldn’t remember how he got home.

Plucking open one of the sink drawers in the bathroom vanity, his fingers rummaged for his pipe and lighter. As his hand was wrapped around the glass tube, he froze. I’m good. I don’t want it.

The pipe dropped back into the drawer, and the drawer was shut without hesitation.

He smiled at his reflection. I am good. Holy shit, I really do not need a hit!

Above his collar, he noted a spot of red. Christ! Another new stain.

His fingers pulled back the collar to reveal a long scratch, razor-thin. It had bled in his sleep. The whitish tee-shirt had a half-circle of blood almost pie-plate size.

He ran water on a hand towel and blotted the cut. It helped.

Where did that come from? Chad mused.

The flash of an obscured face popped from memory. A dark brown suit, a stylish derby, a black cane. A murmur of conversation. What is the root of your evil? Tell me…

He splashed water onto his face, ignoring his thoughts.

“Ah, it doesn’t matter! It’s a brand-new day. Going to make something of it. Time to refresh the resume,” he said aloud, cheering himself on.

He glanced once more at the bleeding scratch. A cloud of concern passed briefly over his face.

I do hope you enjoyed the preview — I promise more details on the anthology will be coming soon.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

An Exciting New Story – ECLIPSE — Derek Barton, 2024

New Content

Are you missing out? Never too late to join in! ECLIPSE is my latest horror-suspense story I am sharing on Amazon Vella. It’s another crime-inspired story, connected with my prior stories, Elude and Evade!

A sadistic new serial killer has the city of Chicago in his grip. A bold, rookie detective haunts his every step. Which will slip up first?

One criticism I want to address: a common trait in my stories is the supernatural or occult aspects. Some readers want a hard-core, true-to-life crime thriller. ECLIPSE is just for YOU! This time I bring you pure horror with nothing but the evil of man… Are you sure you are ready for this?

And to add a little spice to the hook: the rookie detective is Bowden Korrey… nephew to none other than Detective Lindsey Korrey from Evade…

Here’s a sample of the first episode:

The storm outside also grew in strength and fury as if feeding off Mitchell’s mood. Now, blinding flurries of fresh snow pelted the windows incessantly. Mitchell took a long sip of his coffee, settled back in his chair, and worked to calm his nerves. Corey was a typical kid. It was nothing abnormal. Yet there was something about the mouthy teen that got under his skin. He was expected to do well in a college football program somewhere as a running back. For that reason, he barely made any effort with his assignments and tests.

A few minutes later, he cruised down the I-83, keeping it slow and steady on the slick roadway. He dug out his cell phone. He knew it would be better to call now versus when he reached the woody outskirts of Chicago. Cell towers were not as prevalent and his reception grew spotty. Despite the long everyday drive to and from Bogan, he loved the time of isolation and freedom it gave him. He would often listen to classical music or even lose himself in an audiobook.

Sometimes when the mood took him, he would allow himself a fantasy. A homicide fantasy would bloom in his mind, like a black and thorny rose. He would spin the encounter in his mind in every gruesome detail and direction he could. Mitchell liked to work out the opportunities, challenges, and the obstacles. He conjured every conceivable angle to how he would kill a person in the scenario. It was his darkest craving. He buried the needy feelings deep inside… buried deep like his victims in his scenarios.

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