Tag: Horror

Updated & Fresh Content — It Growls From The Corner I & II – Derek Barton, 2023

New Content

I decided to go back to this story written back in 2020 and give it an update and add a fresh spin. Hope you enjoy them as much as I did writing them! Here’s my December 2 Dismember Gifts to you!

IT GROWLS FROM THE CORNER

My eyes open instantly to pitch darkness. My heart races, pumped with an instinctual fear. I clutch the sheets of the bed, my breath caught tight in my throat.

I wait. Listening. There was something. A sound. A noise.

Nothing.

It takes me a moment to even realize where I am. Then it comes back slowly in bits. I was in my late cousin Richard’s farmhouse. He left it to me and several days before, I had moved in, with hopes of renovating the small ranch house.

Two days into the renovations.

The lights were off, the windows shuttered. The dead farmland was blanketed with its night shawl. The only light source came from a light pole next to the battered barn in the back of the house. A ring of ash trees encircled most of the property.

Air was stale and still filled the room. Soft light rays filtered down from one partially open window in the living room and dust floated aimlessly in its illumination.

“Hello?” I whisper, my lips dry, my cotton tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.

“Hello?” I venture once more, praying I don’t get a response.

Seconds bleed into minutes, minutes grow into moments. Nothing responds. Time lapses.

One bizarre note caught my attention. I don’t hear anything. No crickets, no late-night songbirds, no distant cars on the I-77 highway. Even the wind is holding its breath. What the hell?

However, I do ease my grip on the sheets and sigh in relief. Maybe it was a nightmare with the last fragments waking me. I can’t quite yet laugh at myself and the fear that seized me.

New place, new sounds. Just a case of heebie-jeebies.

I raise onto my elbows.

Hissssss.

The sound pierces me. It came straight out of the corner, draped in deep shadows. A low rumbling growl follows the hiss. A distinct scrape of claws on the wood floorboards makes the hair on the back of my neck rise.

I freeze up all over again, my breath locked in my chest.

My eyes strain to make out a form in the dark. Nothing. It’s like a gaping hole torn into the bedroom space, swallowing up the entire corner.

It’s close. I should be able to see whatever the thing is! Dammit, why can’t I see it? I can’t run. The corner is near the doorway.

What is it? A mountain lion? A rabid wolf? A feral stray dog? What is in my house?

No more noises, no more clues to what it is.

I don’t try to speak again to it. It’s obvious it isn’t human so there’s no real point. My mind floods with bad ideas, desperate ploys, nothing that will get me away.

Moments again drag out. I pull my legs slowly up, curling my form into a better-shielded form. Another growl, deep in its chest protests my movement.

Eyes, silvery and large open up. The space between the eyes at least five inches apart. Then heat and a bitter stench of foul breath wafts over me. Whatever is staring at me, just opened its jaws. I think I can hear the bare sounds of panting.

I brace my hands at my sides against the bed and raise with my back pressed to the wall. Standing seems like my only viable option. It gives me half a chance if this thing rushes me.

Again, from inside the shadows, the unseen beast doesn’t like my movement and it hisses violently, pawing aggressively at the floor. I hear its claws, I see its eyes, smell its breath, but yet there’s no form, nothing in the corner!

At the end of the bed, I left another window open for the summer breezes. A thin metal screen is the only thing on the window. Do I dare plunge through it before this thing is upon me?

It somehow senses my thoughts, and it shifts subtly, the shadows moving with it. Now a couple feet closer to the end of the bed, it sits midway between the door, the end of the bed, and the window.

This tells me one thing. It’s intelligent, but it is also waiting on me to make my move. Yet I feel I have already lost this game of strategy before I even woke up.

I try to summon my dwindling courage. Sweat streams down my neck and chest. I bend slightly, coiling my leg muscles.

The beast stands! I still can’t make out any form, but the shadow grows taller and towers over me, the “head” touching the dusty ceiling. Oh god!

It makes no other move. The ball has come back into my court. My plan for the open window has been shattered.

“Wh- What are you? What do you want?” My voice shakes as violently as my body.

s h e l t e r

The voice carries across to me but speeds through me like a gunshot. It gores my senses and I reel in sudden dizziness and nausea. My legs give out and I collapse in a heap by the pillows.

Shelter? What does that mean?

“I don’t understand.” I moan. “You want to stay in the house?”

It’s useless to try and escape. My fate is in this thing’s claws. There’s no choice but to listen to its demands.

I watch in pure terror as it slowly strides across the room, the floorboards creaking under its weight. Shadows stretching and wrapping around my neck and over my screaming mouth.

Lifted in the air as a smothering sensation wracks me, a burning agony doubles me over in its grasp, and a lightning icy claw rakes across my back.

Tumbling from its hold, I hit the bed, and then tumble to the floor with the words,

w e s h e l t e r h e r e

searing into my brain.

Hours later, as sunlight drifts in and warms my exposed legs and feet. My eyes open and stare up at the room’s dust-covered ceiling fan. A hunger, a need, a blood-thirsty craving howls inside me. My head rises and I study the far wall.

s e r v e

Etched into the faded green wallpaper are symbols, plans, and demands. None that I understand or want to comprehend.

Inside, it reads the words. It knows its purpose.

s h e l t e r a n d s e r v e

It growls again from the dark corners of my tattered soul.

 

 

 

 

Here is the second victim’s story. Keep in mind, these people are not connected. The demons…well, maybe.

IT GROWLS FROM THE CORNER II

I leaned over and slowly turned the faucet, watching the tepid water pouring into the tub. I sat for a moment absorbed in my thoughts. My world had taken a major hit and nosedived. It all happened right here. Somehow, he turned my own home into a nightmare!

Unable to stop myself, I focused on the cuts and bruises on my hands and arms. A nasty laceration on the top of my left wrist was especially worrisome. It was jagged and deep, held together by twenty-some stitches. A jarring flash image of Jeff’s knife crossed my mind. It had been serrated. One of those hunting knives he collected.

I gasped despite myself as an ugly thought bubbled up. What if it was the knife that I bought him for Christmas two years ago? Would he have done that? I couldn’t recall what the gift had looked like. Before that night, I would have never thought he could be that cruel. Now, I couldn’t honestly profess that I really knew Jeff Huntington.

My hand hesitated as I reached for the shower control lever. First, I glanced at the floor and then stood, pulled off two long white towels from the rack, and laid them out on the gray linoleum. I would never shower behind a curtain again. The bloody and torn-up shower liner from before remained untouched from where it had been wadded up and thrown into the corner by the sink.

Son-of-a-bitch has robbed me of that too. I once cherished long hot showers. Never again. That was exactly how that night had started.

I had driven home after 3 pm from my waitress job at the truck stop, dropped everything, and jumped right into the shower. My uniform always reeked of Anthony’s greasy food and the hated smell coated my skin. It was a habit, the first thing I did every night.  

Jeff knew that.

I never heard him come into the bathroom. He must have hidden somewhere in the house. When we broke up three weeks ago, I had demanded the key back, but he obviously made a copy.

Right after the lights went out in the bathroom, he started swinging his aluminum baseball bat. He caught me square on the right side with his first swing. It broke two ribs. However, he didn’t stop with one swing. I was soaking wet, bleeding, screaming, and crying as he carried me out and into the bedroom. There he had already fastened nylon rope to the bed frame. More beating rendered me semi-conscious. I was barely aware when Jeff bound my hands and feet.

Up to that point, Jeff had not said a single word. He shook me to a somewhat lucid state. “You did all this,” he said with a sneer. His voice was terse, his jaw clenched. “You brought all of this on, you understand? It isn’t up for debate. No arguing. You just don’t have the right to call it quits. I am the man! Okay? You are the woman! I will say when and if you can leave. Got that? And Teresa, you aren’t leaving ME!”

He brutally raped me for hours in between breaks to pound his fists into my stomach or cut my body with his blade.

If my two co-workers, Barbara and Shawn, hadn’t come by to take me out dancing as usual on Friday nights, he probably would have killed me. The police believed the coward fled unseen out the backdoor. I was completely knocked out at that point and bleeding badly. It was early in the morning when I woke up days later in the hospital ICU bed.

Unable to realistically stall any longer, I forced myself to take my first shower since his assault. Maybe baths will be more to my taste in the future? I gingerly stepped into the hot water and rotated the shower lever. The water did feel good as I had only had sponge baths for most of my hospital stay. But it was still too fresh. An open wound not scabbed over. Even with the curtain missing I felt my heart race. I grew anxious, too frightened to close my eyes. Every door and window was locked and secured. I made sure every light in the house was on and all the drapes pulled tightly closed.

He was still out there hiding somewhere in the city. They hadn’t found him yet. Hell, he could still be hiding here waiting to finish his baseball practice and end my life once and for all.

I stopped the shower and grabbed another towel to dry off. Right then I craved – needed – a strong drink. I will never feel safe again.

As I entered the doorway, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror above the sink. My right eye remained puffed up like a large plum. Three lines of stitches marred my left cheek and the bridge of my nose. My bare skin was exposed in patches where he cut chunks of my red hair from my scalp. Two of my front teeth were missing. Now I knew why they refused to let me go to the hospital floor bathroom. My personal unit’s room’s mirror had been removed. I hadn’t even noticed.

“Ohhh. Ohhhh. God, what did you do to me?” I barely recognized myself.  

I spent hours weeping into my pillows before I passed out from exhaustion and the meds the hospital had given me.

***

Someone said something. Calling me?

I rolled over onto my back, wincing from sudden sharp pain. The broken ribs were not letting me off that easily and punished me for forgetting them. My breath came out shaky and plumed in the frigid air of the bedroom.

Huh? It’s summer!

I shot a look at the window in the southern corner of the bedroom. It was dark outside, and only the streetlights glowed through the beige curtains. The room was pitch black. The hall light was off as well. My hands gripped the sheets in a surge of panic.

Is he back?

A low growl wafted through the room. An ominous patch of pure darkness occupied the corner opposite the window. The patch completely blotted all of the room’s features. Something inside it smelled almost like rotting garbage or old meat. It was truly rank, and I couldn’t help but gag. Yet, I couldn’t compel myself to move. A pair of silvery eyes opened slowly inside the black patch in the corner. They didn’t move, only stared intently and deliberately.

Oh god, what do I do now? I can’t fight him off… Wait! Is that Jeff? What is that?

My frantic thoughts raced, but my body remained locked and rigid under the sheets.

“Wh-wh-who?” The words slipped out from chapped and split lips.

No reply. No movement. Nothing.

I waited several long and drawn-out minutes.

“I see you,” I stated. This time with no stammer, but the fright still had its grip on my heart. “What do you want?”

The patch grew larger. I heard sharp claws scrape against the tiles of the bedroom floor. It made a full exhale of fetid breath before it leaped into the air and landed deftly upon my chest. This shadow beast pinned me to the bed. Razor-sharp points of its claws poking into the pajama top I wore. It was heavy but not unbearable. The patch was now child-size and perched on my trembling body. A dark, blurry face, lean and elongated like a goat with two big watery eyes peered down at me. The creature tilted its head to one side. Wide, black antlers clicked against the wall.

“Are you tired, Teresa?” it asked. The voice was slightly nasal but had a smooth humanlike tone and resonance.

“Wh-what?” I replied, again stammering uncontrollably.

“Tired of always being beaten, put upon. Broken. Your whole life you have lived under someone’s thumb. First Daddy. Then Uncle Ron after your parents died. Later, you let one loser after another take piece after piece of Teresa Rianne Baylor. Did Jeff take the last bit of you? Are you dead after all?”

The haunting words dug deep, shredding my spirit and soul. Tears poured down my sliced cheeks.

“Are you there?” It inquired.

“Yes. Yes to all your questions.”

“Good. Yes. There you are.” It leaned down between furry haunches that I briefly glimpsed in the shadowy patch. The goat face was merely inches from mine. Wisps of black fur on its chin tickled my neck. “Is there enough of you left to finally make a stand? Make them pay. Make them know who they really are dealing with?”

I didn’t know how to respond.

“You will never be powerless again. You don’t have to feel pain like that.”

I nodded. Then whispered, “How?”

“Give me shelter.”

“You want to stay here?” I was lost in the direction of the conversation.

A low rumbling growl from deep within the beast’s chest evolved into a chuckle. “No, no, not this shit hole.” A bony, pale gray index finger came down and pointed to my forehead.  “Shelter.” There was a tangible electricity to the spoken word. I could almost feel the weight of it drop onto my chest from its mouth.

Is this a nightmare? It can’t be real! 

Oh, girl, I am very real. Its voice rang out inside my skull.

“Please! Please don’t hurt me,” I wailed. This was all too much, too sudden after the terror that Jeff had put me through.

STOP! It demanded. Its dead-cold finger with a nail, black as oil and crusted with gore, pressed into my skin.

My words stopped short, my mouth closed, and I gazed in awestruck wonder up at the demonic face.

“Shelter me and you will never walk alone again. Never be weak again. You will face the world fearlessly. SHELTER ME. SERVE ME NOW. I WILL THEN STOP HIM AND THE OTHERS…FOREVER…

A simple smile formed on my busted lips. I felt a part of myself return. A flicker of life was restored.

A dark calm passed through my ravaged body as my master smiled a toothy, frothy grin.

***

A loud series of snores vibrated through the trailer, even shaking the walls with their powerful volume. I found the fat pig passed out, slouched onto his left side in a broken recliner. Beer cans were crumpled at his feet, a discarded bag of Doritos lay on the floor and only a muted television set on a crate lit up the room.

Jeff was back home, carefree with all charges dropped. The investigation died since they couldn’t find me. Some even suspected Jeff had found me first and I was rotting somewhere in a  shallow grave. Or some think it was a ploy by me to get attention or a smear campaign because Jeff is such an upright citizen. Either way,  there was no one to testify and no one to accuse him. The police apologized and sent him on his way scot-free. Without a doubt, they were fearing he was going to sue their asses for false arrest.

That was all fine. I didn’t want the police to keep Jeff. He was all alone now.

The air thickened as the temperature dropped. Jeff’s snores subsided some when he hugged his arms across his wide chest and shivered. All but the light from the television darkened, snuffed out under a blanket of silence. A rotating fan standing next to the doorway cruised to a stop.

Jeff didn’t hear the soft whine coming from Cooper, his aged beagle, as he slinked out of the room. His tail was tucked between his legs in resignation and fear.

An infinite patch of darkness swallowed even more light from the room and the shadow expanded above the television set.

Jeff woke up with a start. Tangled fragments of a nightmare drifted away as he blinked himself awake. I plagued his dreams. 

His eyes focused on an old rerun of the Password game show. The colors from the screen had bled away, now only stark blacks and whites were visible. The people were also distorted, their heads elongated as their arms stretched in odd angles. My visit was distorting reality, bending the rules.

“What the Hell?” he murmured, fascinated yet seemingly repulsed by the surreal sight.

I let out a soft hiss that broke his concentration, and he noticed then the patch of utter darkness above the set for the first time. The patch had settled and now appeared crouching on top of his television. It was time for me to enter.

I showed my two slender hands and altered them to an abnormal length.  His eyes bulged at the sight. Then my thin fingers slowly inched their way down. My new blood red nails made tiny clicking sounds on the glass of the screen until they reached the crate. My hands were still pale and feminine, but I kept the cuts and bruises he made. They crisscrossed and wrapped about my limbs. That long laceration that twisted around the wrist especially caught his attention.

Jeff reflexively sat up and pulled his legs away from the crate. He trembled now with fear more than from the chill. 

My soft laughter at the sight of him drowned out his disbelief. “Oh, God. Teresa?”

“Mmm-hmmm. Baby, I’m home. I’m hurt. It doesn’t look like you missed me.” My distorted voice was high-pitched and purposefully mocking

His hands scrambled and plucked a long knife that was sheathed at his belt. He waved it before him. “I will mess you up! Don’t get near me!”

I laughed even louder at his silly show of being a threat. He was about to see who he really was up against. I expanded the patch more and  manifested. I was taller and slender than I was before. A lot of me had changed!

I slid down and flowed out toward him like watery smoke as the television blinked dead without a sound. His entire trailer was dark and dense as a tomb. 

“You did all this,” I said. “You brought all of this on, you understand? It isn’t up for debate. No arguing. You just don’t have the right to call it quits tonight. I am in control now, little man. You are my bitch! I will say when and if you live. Got that? And Jeff, you will never be leaving me!”

I erupted in more malicious gales of laughter as my hand slashed out impossibly fast. The strike flayed open his right cheek. The skin and flesh slipped down and folded over exposing teeth and upper jawbone.

It was the first of Jeff’s bloodcurdling screams, but not the last he was going to give to me.

The last screams came when I squeezed my fingers into his skull and plucked out his eyes one by one and then laid them perfectly on top of the television facing the door.

I left him alive for now.  When the police found him he was blind, castrated, amputated, and mute. Lying in a pool of his own blood. I did leave him with his hearing intact so that he could hear the whispers of pity and the placating lies that they told him and all would be okay as he was rushed to the hospital. 

The same one that saved my life. 

NEW BOOK RELEASE: THE DEITY STAFF — Derek Barton, 2023

New Book Releases

That’s right! The newest book in my fantasy Wyvernshield Series is out and on sale at Amazon. It’s offered in paperback, ebook and now in hardcover formats! Click here to take a look. I am also working with my voice actress to get you the audible version in a couple months. So stay tuned for that.

Novel Blurb:

Other developments I wanted to share are that Victim One and Tenth, both of these short stories are being published in a magazine and an anthology!! My goal this year is to publish in as many magazines as possible all while still producing novels for you. So far so good!! When they are officially out for sale, I’ll update you all.

Fresh Content (rough draft): Late Night Dinner Guests – Derek Barton – 2023

New Content

LATE NIGHT DINNER GUESTS

Chuck Broward carefully loaded the last bag of garden fertilizer into the bed of his white pickup truck. Then placed a fifteen-foot roll of hexagonal chicken wire on the passenger seat.

9:08 PM

It was a humid, muggy  evening and far too late for him to be starting this errand. It was way too late for a man of his sixty-two years of age to be out shopping. But he had made a promise to Emmaline, his lovely granddaughter. Last Spring, he said they would build a garden together in the backyard before Fall came to Dermott.

Earlier, on their weekly phone call, she had  admonished him. “It’s already mid-August! Are we going to have to  buy snow shovels before we start?” Her voice rose in pitch whenever she complained. It was cute. And this little eight-year-old knew the exact buttons to push.

So…this was the weekend, Sunday, he would make good on his word. 

He wiped at his sweaty brow and cursed his aching hips. “God! Don’t let me have a heart attack in the middle of setting this up.”

He turned the key and started the old Chevy. Traffic on the surface streets was docile but when he merged onto the I-18 freeway, it was busy. Most were young people heading out for a night of dancing and drinking, he supposed. His days of carousing were long ago and his wife Marcy has also long since passed.

He smiled to himself at the sudden memory of her. Not a day had gone by that he hadn’t thought of her and missed her laughter. He was good at making her giggle or even cackle like an old-timey witch. It was such an endearing trait of hers. Was…

He shook his head to clear away the emotions building inside, leaned over and fished around inside his glove compartment for his pack of cigs. His twenty-eight-year-old doctor had demanded he quit. Easy for him to say but this dirty habit had been going on longer than that little pissant had been alive!

A rusty van coated in splotchy flat black paint roared by him and cut across his lane nearly clipping Chuck’s front end. It careened into the fast lane then tailgated a semi-tractor-trailer. 

“You idiot! Learn to drive before you kill someone!” He screamed. Nothing was more evident to him that the country was going to Hell than the way young people drove nowadays. Always in a frenzied rush, careless and completely unaware of the other drivers on the road.

His sudden temper boiled and he rolled down his window and stuck out his arm to flip the van’s driver off. 

The van’s brake lights flashed for a second. As if the vehicle itself has taken notice of Chuck’s derisive slight. 

Traffic began to slow further as luck would have it due to a minor fender-bender somewhere ahead. Chuck was still in the slow lane but only two cars behind the van. The ugly van’s passenger window was up and tinted very black. He could identify the make now. It was a late model GMC Savana with balding tires, sagging shocks on the back driver side, and two cracked and painted-over rear windows.

Somehow Chuck felt eyes crawling all over him as if he was being studied as well. “Oh yeah?” he yelled. “That’s right! You can go fuck yourself if you won’t drive right!” He flipped them off again.

There was no reply and the lanes restarted their progress.  Yet when the traffic opened up, the van crept along and stayed parallel with his pickup. 

A mile passed then two with the pair of vehicles remaining even in the lanes. 

You don’t frighten me, pal,  Chuck thought. He glanced subconsciously at the passenger seat. There, hidden underneath, was a small, silver aluminum baseball bat. From his past experience as an outside salesman for an office furniture company, he always carried some form of protection. You never knew who you might encounter.  He shied away from guns as it required a lot of paperwork and government bullshit regulation. Yet a knife, sap, blackjack stick or bat was easy and still as effective.

Ahead he spotted the 209A exit ramp, his stop. He veered away. The van slowed then cut back to follow behind him. One of the van’s headlights was oddly dimmed, angled to the side. It reminded him of Chester Conklen, a kid in his childhood neighborhood who had a crooked smile and a lazy eye. Talking with Chester was always awkward and off-putting. His lazy eye gave you the impression he wasn’t really listening and he was more interested in something else behind you.  This GMC van was kind of the same. It was watching you, but it was also angling to see what else was out there to the side. Hunting?…

The exit ramp circled back on itself and then marched up to a red stop light at a busy four-lane street called Adams Avenue. 

Chuck waited on edge, the traffic light taking infinitely long. In his rearview mirror, he watched the van pull up directly behind him. All he could see were a pair of white hands gripping a steering wheel. The interior was pitch black and hid the driver’s features.

“What’s your play here?” he asked aloud. The audacity of the driver was fanning the fires to his anger. ”Didn’t like me cussing at ya? Well, go sit down with the other bitches waiting to see if I give a shit!”

The light turned green, but Chuck paused and sat at the stop. The van revved its engine in irritation but didn’t honk the horn. Finally, he accelerated and made a right turn down the street. The GMC followed. He sighed out loud, feeling put out. He wasn’t looking for a confrontation. He only expressed his irritation about how the other driver was driving. Yet now he couldn’t avoid the guy nor could he even proceed home. 

As he approached another traffic light, he decided to go left versus right. The van roared forward and blasted ahead in a sudden burst of speed. It then pitched to the left, cutting off Chuck again in the same manner he had on the freeway. This time a small, brown paper sack was vaulted out from the passenger’s window. When it hit Chuck’s windshield, a thin orange liquid splashed and coated the glass.

Immediately Chuck had to brake and park. He cursed vehemently as he switched on the wipers. A broad, half-circle smear followed the wipers. It was a cheap paint of some kind!

Check stepped out from the truck and dug around in the collected trash inside the truck bed. He found a pair of red rags. “You son-of-a-bitch! I’m going to call the cops. No screw that! If I see you again, I’m going to go to third base on your head with my bat!” His words and rage flowed profusely from his mouth. “You went too far. Now I have the right to bash your freaking head in! Goddamn—“ his ranting faded away, his attempts to mop at the paint stopped. The black, intimidating van sat idle along the street facing him. Watching and waiting…Hunting?

“YOU ARE GONNA PAY!” Chuck screamed as he bolted back into the truck. He slammed his foot on the pedal and his Chevy jumped forward as it gunned toward the van. The truck’s door swung closed with a bang. He hadn’t even shut it before taking off. He only saw red. His fury controlled his actions.

The black van raced off going past Chuck who had to do an awkward, ugly u-turn in the middle of the street. Now with the orange paint spread all over, he only had a tiny circle of window to see through where his rag had cleaned off some of the coating. He didn’t care. He sped up until he was nearly crashing into the other vehicle’s back bumper. There was an Ohio license plate swinging back and forth as it was held on by one bolt. He didn’t bother with memorizing the numbers. This guy was not getting away from him now.

Together the pair of vehicles raced at dangerous speeds through a residential neighborhood.  Chuck was panting, sweat dripping down his temples. However, he was grinning. A big, toothy smile that promised pain and punishment. 

The van abruptly took a hard right that he couldn’t anticipate or copy. His truck went straight and plowed into a chain link fence and exploded through someone’s mailbox. Letters, advertisements, and junk newspapers went everywhere and somersaulted in the air. He had the presence of mind now to stop and catch his breath. If that had been a car or a house he would have careened right through them. Could have even died or killed someone in the process. 

“Aw shit,” he moaned. “What the hell am I doing?”

At that moment bright lights lit up his truck’s interior. Two headlights on full bright, one lamp still skewed to the left, came straight on. Oh god! He’s going to ram me! Chuck screamed inside.

Again with supernatural agility, the van twisted to the side narrowly missing the Chevy. A soda bottle arched high into the air. It came again from the passenger side window. The plastic container hit and lodged in the hood between the wiper blades spilling its contents. A putrid, acidic odor of urine filled Chuck’s nose. It burned as if the bottle was poured directly into his nostrils.

HE JUST PISSED ON YOU! His brain screamed in outrage, stunned again by the audacity of this bastard. HE JUST PISSED ON YOU! HE PISSED ALL OVER YOUR TRUCK. PISSED ON–

He saw the man at the same time he shot his arm inside and put a dirty, white t-shirt against Chuck’s face. It reeked of strong chemicals. The other driver was young, in his late twenties and had long, choppy black hair obscuring his eyes.

His vision blurred. He didn’t get a chance to mutter even a word before he fell away into nothingness.

Hours later maybe, it could’ve been days. Chuck didn’t know, but he finally woke up. The night was still very dark and without wind. Stars peeked down at him from behind wisps of clouds as if curious as to what he was doing. His whole body ached and protested at the strain it was under. His head was held back by layers of duct tape, exposing his neck. HIs arms were tied together behind a tall telephone pole with a lamp that hung over him. A long rope of Christmas lights was wound around his chest and down his legs. The wood of the pole poked into his back through the thin material of his gray and blue t-shirt. 

Standing and smoking a cigarette was the young man who had attacked him. He wore faded blue jeans, a dingy green shirt and a cheap black leather jacket. The kid faced away and hadn’t noticed Chuck was awake yet.

In his limited field of vision, he saw an old dark barn, the black GMC Savana was parked there. A dozen or so yards behind it, he saw his Chevy Tahoe parked and abandoned with other neglected cars and trucks in an overgrown field. Beyond the small parking lot of vehicles were mounds of trash. They encircled the area. The smell of rot and discarded refuse hung heavy in the air like pollution. Chuck guessed it was a local junkyard.

“Mister?” Chuck mumbled. His throat and his lips were sandpaper dry. “Mister? I’m–I’m sorry.”

The lanky young man turned slowly around. His face was pasty white, tattoos blanketed his neck, silver skull earrings dangled from wide, gauged earlobes. “What?” he asked.

“I said, I am sorry. So very sorry. Can we forget all this happened?” Chuck pleaded. Moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes. He had never had this type of intense experience. Never been so afraid of what could happen next.

“Sorry? For what? I don’t understand.” He seemed genuinely confused.

A raspy, high-pitched voice called out. “Is he awake? Is he awake now?” The words were frantic and rushed, tumbling over each other in their urgency.

“Please, man. Let me go. I have a family. I…I have a beautiful granddaughter I very much want to see again. Please!”

The youth laughed. “We all have family. All have someone we need.” A shadow seemed to pass over his features. The mirth was stolen from his smile. “I have a sister, man. Well…they have, I mean.”.

“What?” It was Chuck’s turn to be lost in the conversation.

“He’s awake! He’s awake! Hey! He is awake!” The other voice crooned. Laughter followed after it. Then other sources of laughter joined in from the dark gloom. The laughter surrounded them.

“What’s going on? What do you want, sir? I apologize for cursing you. You upset me when you came close to my truck. I am sorry!” He was earnest. Just want to go home.

“Don’t worry. I’m not mad. It’s all part of the deal. I’m Neal by the way. You are?” he asked.

“Chuck Broward.”

“Ooooo Charlie! Charlie! Charlie!” The other voices filled the air.

“Hey, Chuck. You see, man, you chose the wrong night. You chose the wrong person to vent on, that’s all. I mean, shit, lucky for me, but, yeah, shit deal for you.” He stopped, turned toward the dark building and whistled.

At first, only the reflection of a pair of eyes could be seen. They were an odd faint blue. Then another pair opened, followed by two more behind it. Chuck gasped in terror when a small, thin gray creature crept out of the gloom of the barn. It had a tiny, softball-sized skull, the whitish skin stretched very tight over it. It didn’t have a nose but a wide maw that crossed over the entire skull. The mouth was filled with tubular teeth, translucent and very pointed. A pair of gray and pink tongues flashed snakelike in and out. Their eyes were solid, white buttons in the light. They were surrounded by triangular patches of red flesh that pulsated in obscure rhythms. The wolf-size beasts crawled on two legs but had three sets of arms, the smallest near to the face, obviously meant for feeding scraps to the mouth.

“What the fuck is that?” Chuck cried out.

“Dinner guests! Dinner guests! Dinner guests!” One of the monsters bleated out. 

Another one climbed out of the passenger side window of the GMC. It was broader than the others. Its back had two rows of small, ebony spikes sticking up from its skin. It said, “We accept! We accept! We accept your donation, Neal!”

Glumly, Neal took one last long pull from his cigarette and snuffed it out under his boot. He glanced again at Chuck who was trembling and gasping for air. “I am really sorry, too. Like you said, man, I have family and I want to see her again too. Sorry.”

“Charlie! Charlie! Charlie!” they taunted. “Bad driver! Bad driver! Bad temper! But is he sweet? He he he!”

He walked past the streaming horde of beasts as they crept out of the shadows and the barn. From his jacket, he retrieved some earbuds and settled in behind the wheel of his van. 

He refused to look up until the meal was done.

Audible Book Review of Stephen King’s “holly” — Derek Barton – 2023

Book Review

Holly

by Stephen King — a psychological thriller

Released on September 5, 2023

464 pages

Synopsis:

Holly Gibney, one of Stephen King’s most compelling and ingeniously resourceful characters, returns in this thrilling novel to solve the gruesome truth behind multiple disappearances in a midwestern town.

“Sometimes the universe throws you a rope.” —BILL HODGES

Stephen King’s Holly marks the triumphant return of beloved King character Holly Gibney. Readers have witnessed Holly’s gradual transformation from a shy (but also brave and ethical) recluse in Mr. Mercedes to Bill Hodges’s partner in Finders Keepers to a full-fledged, smart, and occasionally tough private detective in The Outsider. In King’s new novel, Holly is on her own, and up against a pair of unimaginably depraved and brilliantly disguised adversaries.

When Penny Dahl calls the Finders Keepers detective agency hoping for help locating her missing daughter, Holly is reluctant to accept the case. Her partner, Pete, has Covid. Her (very complicated) mother has just died. And Holly is meant to be on leave. But something in Penny Dahl’s desperate voice makes it impossible for Holly to turn her down.

Mere blocks from where Bonnie Dahl disappeared live Professors Rodney and Emily Harris. They are the picture of bourgeois respectability: married octogenarians, devoted to each other, and semi-retired lifelong academics. But they are harboring an unholy secret in the basement of their well-kept, book-lined home, one that may be related to Bonnie’s disappearance. And it will prove nearly impossible to discover what they are up to: they are savvy, they are patient, and they are ruthless.

Holly must summon all her formidable talents to outthink and outmaneuver the shockingly twisted professors in this chilling new masterwork from Stephen King.

“I could never let Holly Gibney go. She was supposed to be a walk-on character in Mr. Mercedes and she just kind of stole the book and stole my heart. Holly is all her.” —STEPHEN KING

The Review:

Like Stephen King who professes his love for this character, I too find her to be an intriguing and endearing character. Holly Gibney has certainly gone the “hero’s journey” from a mousy, obsessive woman, easily controlled and beaten down by her own mother to a growing powerhouse detective with uncanny instincts and nerve. She attributes most of her growth due to the kindness of the Detective Bill Hodges from the Mr. Mercedes series who took her under his wing and brought her out of her shell.

I can relate a lot to this character and often to many of King’s underdog heroes. Bullying in school and throughout childhood is common with them. I share that experience and I find it hard not to get engaged in their battles.

This particular story is gruesome and dark. King dug deep and plumbed into a very horrific theme in the novel. Cannibalism is not a subject for the faint of heart. Be warned. The mystery and the path Holly must take to uncover what has been happening is well told and realistic. I enjoyed the story, but it’s the character development that steals the spotlight.

The Rating:

It is good to see the master of raw terror work his magic again and dig out another tale to haunt your thoughts with. The ease of how these murders could happen is the most frightening aspect.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED! For rating purposes, I score this 4.5 of 5.

By DEREK BARTON — Author of the ELUDE series (Parts I, II & III — a Horror/crime thriller), EVADE Series (Parts I, II & III)  & IN FOUR DAYS: a Horror-Suspense Novella (available on Audible.com!).  Also the Dark Fantasy novel series CONSEQUENCES WITHIN CHAOS and THE BLEEDING CROWN (both available on Audible.com!).

Fresh Content — Tenth – Derek Barton – 2023

New Content

Here’s another short story. The special theme to this one is “bittersweet”. This tale is a bit different than my norm. Little less horror and more engaging aspect — pulling on your heartstrings. Hope you enjoy it!

TENTH

10/28/19 – The Day Of

“When do I get tippy-toes?” Mattie asked from the backseat as they pulled into the parking lot of Graham Park. 

“Oh! I want some! Me too. Me too,” cried his five-year-old sister, Lilly.

From behind her SUV steering wheel, Kelli muttered, “What are you talking about, bud?”

“I heard on TV, the man said, you can reach the box if you stand on your tippy-toes. I am ten now. I want my tippy-toes. I’m grown-up and deserve to have them!” Mattie said proudly, puffing his chest out. The day before was his tenth birthday. His mother, Melissa Brandon had thrown an early Halloween/Birthday party for him and all his little classmates.

Kelli Jarvis, his exasperated nanny barely into her nineteenth year, was exhausted. She had assisted with the party and the late-hour clean-up. “That’s not how it works. It’s only  a saying.”

“No,” insisted Lilly, shaking her head. “Mattie is right. We deserve tippies!” She began to drum her hands upon the armrests of her child seat.

“Yeah! We want tippies! We want tippies!” he laughed and chanted with her.

“Settle down, now. Or we can just go back home?” Kelli grumbled.

The siblings dropped the matter immediately. They had been dying to go to the park all day. It had been constantly drizzling and they had been stuck inside, festering with “Bore-dumb Syndrome”.

The public park was decked out with four sets of slides, twin rows of swings and several wooden obstacle structures to play tag around.

They scrambled out of the car and bolted away in a frenzy. Kelli glanced at her phone for the fifteenth time. Jessie still wasn’t answering her texts. She opened up her door and followed the kids into the busy park.

Since the sun was shining for the first time that Saturday, many families were out including two family birthday parties.

Kelli removed her jacket. She tied it around her waist and sat down near the yellow slides. Mattie left his sister and found an empty swing.

Lilly was decked out in a baggy, red onesie. She was still chubby with baby fat and waddled slightly like a duck. Kelli couldn’t help but grin at the cute toddler. Lilly spied her looking at her and waved from the top of the slide.

Her phone buzzed. It was a text.

No. I am going with Brett to the Derby at the Lewiston Fair. Stop asking. I told you this. 

Jessie could be so rude. It was their six-month anniversary after all!

Before she could respond, Lilly’s scream cut through the air. The little girl was on her stomach and blood was oozing out from a swollen lip.

Kelli rushed over to assist the wailing child.

Mattie left the swings and walked alone into the Men’s Restroom.

***

Two hours had passed.

First, Kelli strolled about, scanning the park. Then, twenty minutes later, she began calling his name. Her voice was strained and catching people’s attention. Then she was frantic, dragging a sobbing Lilly behind her as she screamed for Mattie. Other parents by this time joined in the search. Matthew Joshua Brandon was nowhere.

“I am sorry, sweetie, it’s time. You have to call his mother. She deserves to know. The police are on the way.” One middle-aged mother advised her.

***

A slender, athletic man walked across the park, holding a clipboard and a walkie-talkie. A gold badge adorned his shoulder. He was young with black hair and a thin babyface.

“Miss Brandon?” he asked, extending his hand. She was sitting on a bench.

She wiped tears away with the back of her hand instead of shaking his. “Yes.”

“Uh… Well, I am Detective Dax Roberts, ma’am. I am lead on your son’s disappearance.”

“Okay,” she mumbled, distracted as a roaring helicopter passed overhead. A brilliant light swept the grounds beneath it.

“We are doing everything—”

“Stop! Stop! I don’t want your placating words, things you were taught in the academy. I just want to know you know how to bring back my little boy!” Her rant melted into a wail. She couldn’t continue.

He squatted low to look into Melissa’s face. He took her hands in his. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to give the impression I wasn’t seriously involved or dedicated to you. I want you to know, I won’t stop. I won’t back off till we get Mattie back to you.”

8/15/20 – Day of Discovery

Chuck and Daniel were similar in age, appearance and even build. Good old hard-working fellas with some skills and reliable reputations as handymen. They had been hired by the city and on that morning were off in their white work pickup heading to Tandam Pond.

“Investigators are estimating last night’s thunderstorms cost the county over $7 million in property damage. Only minor injuries were reported stemming from a collapsed construction scaffolding. The rest of the week’s weather is expected to be clear.”

“Sounds like we are going to be busy,” Daniel said.

“Sounds good to me. That’s money I can use.”

“You still planning that Chicago trip?”

He nodded as he drove them to the edge of the pond. Three wooden piers had been built here but only one was untouched. Another was completely submerged, the last listing to one side with broken boards sticking up like broken teeth.

Daniel whistled at the site.

***

As Daniel wiggled into his plastic waders, he spotted something floating under the partial pier. It was black and maybe two to three feet long.

“What do you think that is?” he pointed at the debris.

Chuck, who was already at the pond’s edge, shrugged and made his way carefully into the pond.

The water was murky from the silt stirred up from the storm. The object was a duffle bag. Chuck spotted one end was tied with a moss-covered nylon rope. Another piece of the rope was partially secured on the other end but rotted through.

He lifted the black bag out of the water. A sickening stench filled the air around them. Immediately, he lurched backward and thrust the bag away. He bent over and retched his breakfast into the churning water.

“Oh God! Call 911!”

***

Detective Dax Roberts left his car. His heart was beating like a jackhammer. He saw the two handymen who had called the find in. They were noticeably shaken up. Officers were mulling around the pair.

“Detective, we haven’t cut it loose yet. We can–” said a young rookie officer.

 “No, I want a pro diver in there. Make sure there’s nothing hidden by the water. I don’t want any mistakes here.” Dax waved him away.

An hour later, the diver rose from the depths of the pond, the bag held in his arms. The outline of a small body in a tight fetal position was clearly evident.  A tuft of brown hair stuck out from a zipper on top. The sight would haunt his nightmares for years.

Dax didn’t need DNA or an autopsy to know who was inside the bag.

10/28/29 – The Day to Remember

The detective angled his car into a spot near the main building of Humbolt Cemetery. The day was unusually hot for the time of the year. Dax removed a couple of plain manilla folders from underneath his jacket on the bench seat.

He sat for a few seconds to collect his thoughts. He glanced at the rearview mirror. Quite a few wrinkles had gathered around the edges of his eyes. He had lost his babyface years ago. He rubbed at the black and gray stubble on his chin.

He asked his reflection, “She’s not going to be easy on you. You must know that.” He nodded to himself and shot a look at the folders on his lap. Sighing in resignation, he opened the door.

At the east side of the building, paths were laid out with white gravel. They wound their way over to different plots. He took the path that ascended a small grassy hill with some towering oaks on top. When he crested the hill and stood in the shade of the trees, he spotted Melissa Brandon in a shady section at the bottom. She faced away from him, looking down on a silvery blue headstone.

Dax ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it out as best he could.  The detective didn’t say anything as he joined her before Mattie’s final resting place. For several minutes, they remained silent.

Finally, she said, “Thank you, Detective Roberts for agreeing to meet me here. It’s rather nice, isn’t it?” She was looking up, scanning the woody area ahead of them. A short, black iron fence ran along the northside and continued along the west border of the cemetery. A lazy stream cut through diagonally and meandered further east to skirt the grass hill.

“Yes. That it is, Miss—”

“Oh please, call me Melissa,” she interrupted him.

“Okay, Melissa. You found him a very proper lot with a beautiful view,” he said awkwardly. He was uncomfortable and fumbled for his words. This meeting was highly unusual and technically, he could face some repercussions for allowing it.

Yet, she deserved something, didn’t she? He thought to himself.

“I know you expect I am here to chew you out or throw a fit or such. But I’m not,” she said and looked at him with a genuine smile. “I wouldn’t do that here. And there’s not much good that would do.”

“The case is still open. The investigation has grown cold, but you never know. Sometimes it just takes one thing to break…” His words faded off as she shook her head slowly, a tear trailing down.

“I already know that. I became a true crime junkie after all that happened. Hell, I became a lot after your call that night to let me know, the identification was positive.”

He still had no words, had no way to relate to the profound loss she had as a mother. He waited for her to continue.

She returned to studying his headstone. “I lost myself in booze, lost my job, nearly lost my girls. My sponsor finally hit home with me. Said that someone stole my child and took the wonderful years he had ahead of him. A life that was meant for great things. I could let him keep that or I could take it back, live my life in honor of him. Find a positive way to move forward. Not ‘move on’ but ‘move forward’. I liked that!

“I work again, but now from home. I do tax work for six months then the other six I spend with my girls and my grandson, Marcus. I also volunteer at a non-profit organization that focuses on other grieving parents like me. We are a resource to offer therapy, provide networking and even assist in funding for investigations. My life before Mattie was taken was so different… so selfish. I could’ve been there at the park that day. I thought it was more important for me to finalize a product presentation—”

“No, don’t do that, ma’am. I mean, Melissa. Don’t put that guilt on yourself. Mattie was targeted. Your good intentions of providing for your family didn’t make your son vulnerable to what happened.”

“I realize that. It took a lot of soul-searching to find a way to forgive myself for what I had no control of. Anyway, I was a mess, but things have come together after all this time.”

She spotted the folders in his hand. “Will those get you in serious trouble, Dax?”

He shrugged. “Nothing I can’t really handle. In a few years, I am due for a promotion or retirement. Either way, it’s not more important than the promise I made to you ten years ago.”

Dax handed the copies of the case files over to her. They had his preliminary findings and the police reports of the day her son was taken. Everything he had done then and every step he took after the Feds stepped in.

“What isn’t in there is something I cannot give to you in documentation. After his remains were found, the CSI labs found trace amounts of red paint chips on his clothing. The FBI immediately took the case from me going forward.”

“Oh, I know. That FBI Task force is a black hole. They suck all the information in, any progress, any evidence, everything. Suck it all in and refuse to share any insight with us. Nine years of stonewall silence.”

“I have kept tabs with a contact in the Bureau. I can tell you there are no suspects, but there are plenty of rumors and opinions. Seems your son matched with a string of other murders. The red chips of paint, the gender and the age. Even the Tenth month of the year. It all –”

“Was he… messed with? Raped?” she asked, her lips quivering.

“They don’t think he was. He and the others showed no signs of it.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“The task force will not release anything to anyone because should this guy make a mistake. They need the details to be sure they have the right person, you understand? They can’t find him yet and they cannot be sure of how many other boys. I am only telling you this as I want you to know I haven’t forgotten. Your son still matters to me and a lot of people.”

“I didn’t doubt your words and your dedication. Yet, after all this time, I really don’t need justice. It won’t change what happened. My boy was returned to me. I have met parents who have never had their answers, never had closure. I buried my little angel. Do I want the man caught? Of course! But I refuse to let this end my life. I have my girls and I owe it to them to be there for them too.”

She goes quiet, continues to quietly weep. That is when he spots an odd engraving cut into the left corner of the gravestone. Dax stoops then squats down to get a better look at it. It was a QR Code.

“That links to a website I have as memoriam for Mattie. The site has a video we took of him on his last night. He’s in his little Frankenstein costume pretending to be scared of the candles on his birthday cake. ‘Ooo fire! Fire bad, mommy.’ He was so funny and so curious about everything.” She went silent again.

“You see, Detective, while that bastard took and killed my son, his spirit remains here in my chest. Living on in my heart where no one can dare ever take him again. Mattie is forever.”

Dax rubbed his fingers over the engraving and nodded in agreement.

MORE New Releases Coming Soon! — Derek Barton – 2023

New Book Releases

This has been a very productive year for me! I have already this year produced two novels, The Flight of The Dirithi and The Lineage of Prophecy: Pawns & Pieces as well as the first magazine edition of With Malice back in February! I am pleased to announce that the highly anticipated sequel The Lineage of Prophecy: The Deity Staff will be out in a matter of weeks! I am just finalizing the last wave of editing and personally working with the cover artist to get the best cover possible.

The other big news I have is that I have compiled and re-edited the Elude novels. The Elude: Complete Series will also be out in a week or two at the most. It will have a brand new cover (I did the original covers but felt it would be nice for something new and exciting!). It will also have a bonus chapter not included before.

For the first quarter of next year, I plan on doing the same compilation into one larger novel for the Evade Series! It will also have a new cover.

Besides working on the final book for The Lineage of Prophecy: Beyond The Barrier of Storms, I will be focusing on publishing short stories for magazines. I plan on writing one horror short story each month if possible like The Wheels On The Bus, Victim One or Echoes (now called Vicious Cycle). I will give you guys advance screening on here so don’t worry! I hope with publishing on a more national platform, I can grow my readership.

And just saying… but if you guys wanted to help, putting simple reviews and posts on Facebook with a copy of a book would be awesome and also help me out immensely. For anyone who does, I am currently working to get some unique, collectable metal bookmarks made for all of my works. I will send a free one of your choice if you send me or #tag me on a post! They will be similar to these:

Once I have tackled and bested the beast that Beyond The Barrier of Storms will be and have completed the Wyvernshield Series, I hope to delve further into the horror story lines I Still Burn and the sequel to the Elude Series. By the end of 2024, I hope to return and start exploring the world of Akkei Maliss from my Dirithi series.

Thank you all for your continued support and patience as I write in both of these fun, thrilling genres. I hope to continue to satisfy your hunger for epic fantasy and dark horror!

Fresh Content Short Story — The Wheels on the Bus… – Derek Barton, 2023

New Content

2:38 AM.

It was the beginning of the hard hours. The hours of 2:00 to 4:00 AM where the ghosts in my head shouted. Sometimes they screamed at me. Sometimes at each other. Or hell, sometimes the ghosts just wanted to scream. I guess in eternity, you have that luxury. What else are you going to do?

The pull was always there. Even in the good years after AA saved my life. It started at an early age for me. I was 8 and found the key to the liquor cabinet. The taste wasn’t good at all at first. I couldn’t believe that the adults drank what had to be part gasoline. However, when the buzz hit me, the lightheadedness was awesome. I never felt anything like it. It was almost like that thrilling, out-of-control feeling you get when you are on a tall slide. Wind blowing by you, the ground approaching fast. You are helpless but at the same time you are having an amazing experience knowing you’ll be safe. This felt even better as I was plopped down in the center of the kitchen floor. My head spun, my heart raced, and a great sense of joy spread over me. I continued to down the clear vodka bottle.

Anyway, I have been a bad drunk, a recovering alcoholic, a neglectful dad, and finally a hit-rock-bottom survivor in my illustrious forty-eight years of life.

I guide the puttering moped over the curb and up to the bar’s entrance. Janie’s Tavern has been home for a couple of months now. Her arms are always spread wide to welcome her wayward son.

The burly kid bouncer at the door gives me a nod and holds the door open for me. The music is obnoxious and loud but that’s okay. It helps to cover the screaming mimies in my brain some.

“Brett, slide me over a Miller and a Wild Eagle bourbon chaser. It’s gonna be a long night,” I proclaim.

His eyebrows shoot up and he gives me a questioning look.

“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s a night of a bad anniversary and I need a little support. So, hook a fella up!”

I sit at the counter, the stools are all empty. A few tables have other patrons, but in the corner, one man in a jean jacket glances over in my direction. He is scruffy, long straggly beard and greasy brown hair. He is shy of 270 pounds, but I guess the majority of it are in his beefy arms. Maybe at one point he had been in football or was a bodybuilder of some sort.

I nod in his direction and raise my shot glass in a friendly salute to him.

He smiles and lifts up his own tall glass of beer.

I take a deep breath. For the most part I haven’t been on the wagon for nearly five years, but the last three months I tried to keep it at a beer here and there. Mostly. I was throwing out that rule tonight.

I threw back the shot and felt its fiery contents delightfully burn as they went down.

“And let’s not let the poor fella be lonely down there, Brett. Another shot, please!”

“Whoa, easy man. Are you celebrating tonight?” Said the man in the jean jacket. He stood behind me. Must’ve walked up as I drank and was still nursing his own drink.

“No. Not celebrating, but tonight is five years to the day of… to the day of a morning that no one could ever believe.”

I got quiet. The shouting eased back but it left the stage open for the child whispers that were far worse for me.

When are we going to get there, Mister Donner?

What time is it? Are we running late, sir?

Can we go back? I left my homework for Miss Janda’s class.

I have to go potty, Mister Donner. Are we there yet?

What’s that? Is someone in the road…

That last one. That voice in particular was little Susie. Her tiny, high-pitched but sweet voice calling out. The last question she ever said. I hear it over and over in my nightmares. A simple, innocent question.

By gods, where was she? Where were they?

“You okay there, pal?” The man asked as he sat down on the stool next to me.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Lost in here,” I said as I poked my index finger into the side of my temple.

He extended his hand. “Gary. Yours?”

“Charlie.” I lied.

“Sounds like you have a doozy of a story. Can you spill it? Or are you a secret agent on a classified mission?”

I laughed hard at his joke. Laughed too hard and too long, drawing stares, but the drinks were already affecting me.

“Sorry. Yeah, it’s a weird story.” I paused and stared at him. He was drinking his beer and now starting to light up a Maverick Cigarette. His finger had a white tan line where a possible wedding ring was missing.

“It’s not a happy ending. You sure you are in the right mood for it, Gary?”

“I love stories. Come on, quit stalling.”

I motioned to the bartender one more time. More liquid courage.

After I finished the shot and splashed more beer to follow it, I opened up and relived the worst morning of my life.

“It was… well, I am not going to say what town, but it was your typical small town. I was driving the #237 for this Elementary School. I just passed Munroe Street after grabbing that chubby Darryl Sampson kid. Brat always left wrappers in the backseat and chocolate smears on the seats. Anyway, it was the last of the loop. Now it was time to head to the school lot for the drop off.

“Traffic had been light. Even holiday light you might say, but it wasn’t a holiday. I went down Jefferson and made a left to take Lawson Avenue to the Torv Tunnel. I noticed right away that there were no lights inside, and it was unusually dark. When we entered and as I reached for my headlights, a stupid sedan, I think it was a Prius, nearly swiped my left wheel. It cut across and sped ahead. I had to brake hard and turn the bus into the gravel at the side. ‘Hold on kids. Hold on!’ I shouted as we bumped along and bounced.

“I was instantly hot. I hate bad drivers. Got a bit of that road rage bug, you know.

“I heard lots of screams and shouts at first from the kids as expected, but it was Susie Willey’s question that cut through all the chaos.

“What’s that? Is someone in the road…

“I saw only the thick curtain of darkness ahead and the patch of roadway lit before the bus. No one was there. Not even that damn sedan. That asshat must’ve kept driving and went further into the tunnel.

“I ground the bus to a stop. ‘It’s okay kids. Nothing to worry about. Everyone okay?’

“Not a sound.

“I shot a glance to the overhead rearview mirror. No one was back there. They were just…gone.”

I waited for Gary’s shout of ‘That’s bullshit!” but he only stared back at me. His mouth was open and slack jawed. His drink abandoned on the bar. His cigarette nearly done, smoldering in his hand.

“They were gone. What? What do you mean?”

I waited to see the building suspicion on his face. For five years now, I have seen it often. It goes from shock, disbelief, suspicion to outright anger. Sometimes it goes right to distrust and hate.

“I know how it sounds. But, yeah, no one was on the bus, but me. Their bags were still there, their little lunch pails, and water thermoses, but no kids. I couldn’t fathom what happened and where they went.

“I ran up the aisle in pure panic. I looked out the side windows, but the tunnel was dark and quiet.

“I pulled out my cell phone, but it took me a moment to figure out who to call. What do I even say? What would they understand? What would they believe? ‘All the kids just vanished. Poof!’” I shrugged and took another long sip from my fourth beer.

“The police arrived in seconds. A busload of children missing including the mayor’s own two sons, that gets you their immediate attention.

“As they scoured the bus for any signs of foul play, they took me back to headquarters. I spent the next 48 hours in constant interrogation rooms, explaining what I saw over and over. They refused to listen or to give me any credit.”

Gary cut in. “Did you really think they would buy that? You were the last adult with them.”

“I know. But, I have been a good driver for that school for six years, not a complaint or problem. I hadn’t drunk a sip of any beer or alcohol in all that time. I was good man, good. I told the truth—”

“That’s all that happened? You aren’t leaving anything out?”

He was starting to upset me.

“No! All they saw was some freak, psycho that abducted a lot of kids and did god knows what with them. Wouldn’t accept that I didn’t know. Finally, after the 48 hours, my public defender got me released without any charges. They had nothing, they knew nothing. I knew nothing. They wasted time on me when they should have just found those kids!”

Brett was at the other end of the bar and cleaning out the ice machine. “Wow. No charges?”

I nodded. “Didn’t stop the press, man. Didn’t stop their smear campaign. Suddenly, I was public enemy number one, raging lunatic, drunk dad and overall, must’ve been a ‘closet molester’. Every detail of my life was scrutinized, judged and blasted out for all to know. Would anyone look good after that?”

Gary continued to listen, smoke and soak in every word. He didn’t seem to be getting worked up, wasn’t passing judgment just yet.

“So what did you finally do? What happened?”

“Can I have one of those?” I pointed to the pack on the bar. He slipped one out, lit it and waited for my story to continue.

“I left town after only two weeks. I was getting death threat calls at night. People busted up my car and everything. I couldn’t take the looks more than anything. I left and started using my middle name. Then that didn’t work. I was found and got stalked by a reporter in the neighboring town. So, I packed up and went way West. They have never found me again, but…they never found the kids either. I hate that they never got an answer to that. And I’m sure it didn’t look good – the main suspect in a case with over a dozen kids missing, up and flees.

“But what could I tell them, the police, the parents. I didn’t do anything, I didn’t see anything, and I don’t know how to find those kids.”

“Man… so the police didn’t find anything?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. They wouldn’t share information with me, of course.” I took a large gulp of the beer. “Brett, get me two more shots. I have had 5 years of this shit and I have earned 5 shots.”

Gary laughed and lit up another cigarette as I hammered the shots. It was near closing and only the three of us remained.

He held out his hand. “Bud, I think you should let me take you home. Hand over your keys.”

“Shit, man, I only have a scooter. Lost my license long ago.”

“Oh,” he said and glanced at Brett, looking irritated. He then sighed loudly. Then looked at his glass. I wondered if that was the same beer all this time.

“Then I guess we should call it a night, Roy.”

I snapped a look at him. He knew my real name!

“You don’t recognize me, do you?”

I could only stare in silence.

He pointed at the bartender. “That is Brett Sampson, and I am his brother, Gary Sampson! Daryl Sampson’s uncle and father!” Brett pulled out a wooden bat from under the bar.

Vomit started to rise in my throat, but Gary’s meaty hands wrapped around it too fast. He slammed me to the floor, choking and crushing me. He screamed, “WHERE IS MY BOY, YOU BASTARD? GIVE HIM BACK! GIVE HIM BACK!”

My lungs burned. I gasped and gulped for air without success. He let them loose but plunged his thumb nails into my eyes. He wanted blood and he plumbed my skull for it. I felt sharp pangs of pain as the bat hammered into my rib cage. Gary then grabbed my head in his hands once more and lifted me up from the sticky floor to slam my head again into the floor.

“NO ONE BELIEVES YOUR STORY! WHERE ARE THEY? WHAT DID YOU DO, YOU PERVERT?” Brett cursed.

I heard Gary Sampson roar in pure anger and fury one last time as he blasted the back of my head into–

Fresh Content: Victim One — Derek Barton – 2023

New Content

A brutal wind storm had blown up out of nowhere. The weatherman on the radio stated, “Tonight a severe thunderstorm has crossed into the valley. Please take shelter immediately. My personal opinion, folks, I haven’t seen a storm like this suddenly appear and has this much power in my fifteen years of broadcasting. I urge everyone off the streets! Take your Treaters home now. Candy can be bought at the store!” His rant was cut off by abrupt static, then the station began an oldie, Little Red Riding Hood by Sam the Sham and The Pharaohs.

Sheila looked in her rearview mirror and spotted Rascal, her red Doberman among her plastic bags. They were last minute supplies for Brayden’s Halloween costume. Some glue, white cotton, red ribbon spools, and a kit of creme paints. She bent down to turn on her cell phone. It read, “4:55 PM”.

Damn, she fretted, I only have an hour or so to put this together! Gary’s coming from work so maybe he’ll be late to pick him up.

“Even bad wolves can be good…” she sang along with the radio. “Is that true boy?” She laughed as Rascal only yawned in response.

As she crossed the center lane and turned onto I-18, large bullets of rain pelted her window. The storm picked up in its intensity. Crazy rolling thunderheads billowed and blew overhead. It grew prematurely dark outside.

Her fingers strummed along with the tune subconsciously. The air inside became humid and somewhat stale as she had the Camry’s heater turned off.

A high-pitched horn pierced her thoughts. She cranked the wheel to the right on instinct as a red pickup zoomed past narrowly missing her. The driver cursed and waved his fist at her. Sheila had obviously pulled out into his lane. Rascal barked from the back seat, scratching at the window.

“Sorry. So sorry!” she squealed out loud, but of course the truck had already gone down the highway. Shaking at his reaction and at the near collision, she pulled over into the breakdown lane to settle herself.

“It’s not my fault. Right, boy? The storm is clouding everything. And I have no time to delay!”

Not too close behind her, she spied a set of headlights pull into the breakdown lane and park.

“SEE! Other people are having a hard time too.” She whined in defense. Rascal whined in sympathy.

She stretched out her arms, one hand scratching him behind the ear, and she shook her whole frame one last time. She felt ready so she drove the car back onto the road.

On the I-18 the speed limit is 65 max, but no one but the elderly drove that limit. She quickly passed 65 to nudge it closer to 75. There were few other drivers on the road and the drive is smooth again. The radio began a new tune, Sitting On The Dock of The Bay.

She hummed again and began to enjoy the ride. Exit 78 passed by, marking the border to the small burg called Carterton. She smiled to herself in relief. Only 3 more exits then I’ll be inside. Maybe a cup of French Roast?

“How about a couple strips of maple bacon, Rascal? Would that make it up to you. Dragging you out in–“

Red and Blue lights splashed all over the interior of the Camry. Her eyes darted to the rearview. A police cruiser was behind her with its lights whirling. Her eyes darted next to the dashboard. It showed 79. Not too much over, not normally worth hassling me, she thought.

But it is raining pretty hard…

With no other cars near her, she had no issues getting the vehicle pulled over to the side. She parked, turned off the car and leaned over to dig in the glove department.

“DRIVER STOP MOVING. PLACE YOUR HANDS ON THE STEERING WHEEL IMMEDIATELY!” The booming voice came through the cruiser’s speakers.

She froze, shocked by the fierce tone of the voice.

“DRIVER STOP MOVING! SIT UP AND PLACE YOUR HANDS ON THE WHEEL! I AM NOT GOING TO GIVE YOU ANOTHER WARNING!” The voice was masculine, aggressive and agitated.

“Okay, okay!” she said out loud. Rascal pounced around the Halloween packages and whined again in excitement. She sat still behind the wheel with her hands at the 10 and 2 positions of the wheel.

A long minute went by and finally a shadowy figure emerged from the cruiser. It’s a man, all alone. Tall with broad shoulders, a hat and a gray rain poncho. He slowly advanced, checked the license plate, then lit up the backseat with his flashlight. Rascal went berserk until she yelled for him to stop.

Come on, come on. You’re killing me! I have to get Brayden’s costume done. For godsake, just right me up and let’s go already! Sheila’s thoughts cascade around and around.

He tapped at the window with the butt of the flashlight. She hit the button and rolled it down halfway. Rain splattered her immediately.

She looked up but could only see angular shadows and a faint outline of his face. Wide nose, far-spaced eyes, a bushy beard. She noted the fact his mouth was in a deep scowl.

“Sorry, Officer, to make you stand in the rain.” She muttered, trying to be charming and get on his good side. “And don’t worry about Rascal. He’s too old for a fight.”

“All part of the job. License and registration, please.” He ignored her attempt of charm.

As she leaned over, she noticed his hand slid over to his holster, resting down on the top of the gun inside.

It remained there as she handed him the paperwork.

Without glancing at the papers, he said, “All right, Mrs. Glenn, can you step out?”

“Are you serious? Is that really necessary?”

He took a large step back from her door. Rested his hand again on the leather holster on his belt. “Step out! I do not like to repeat my orders, Mrs. Glenn!”

She sighed softly, more to herself than as a protest. She didn’t like his tone and demeanor. She understood he wasn’t to be pushed.

More rain flooded the interior as she got out. Rascal whimpered then emitted a low growl. The storm itself took advantage of her appearance and increased in its fury.

He slipped a hand under her arm and led her to the back of her car in his grip.

“I am going to have to pat you down now. Any sharp items or weapons on you I need to be aware of?”

She shook her head no as his hands roughly went over her shoulders then down her sides. He removed her wallet and car keys from her jean’s pocket. She wasn’t wearing a jacket so she carried nothing else on her.

“What is this all about exactly?” She cried out over the storm’s cacophony.

He seized her left arm, yanked it painfully high between her shoulders. Her breath blasted from her lungs as he bent her over the hood. She heard the sound of the metal handcuffs as they clicked shut on her wrists. Then his heavy body laid on top of her. He was smothering her against her own car!

Leaning into her ear, he said, “Your husband, Gary says he is sick of you not being there for him or your son. Now, you will never be.”

He lifted off, threw a very heavy punch into her ribs, then kicked her hip with his boot to knock her to the ground. As she wheezed and writhed on the ground, he popped open the trunk of her car. Dimly, she heard furious dog barking.

Panic seized her but she couldn’t decide how to act. Her fight-or-flight instincts overwhelmed her, and he kept taking action before she could decide. He was calm, precise and calculated.

He scooped her into his arms and threw her in like a bag of trash into the trunk. The rain ramped up once again and even sounds were drowned out by the pounding flurry. He bent down close to her face. He had bright green eyes, one though was all bloody from a burst blood vessel. His breath smelled equal parts Scope Mint and Buffalo Trace Bourbon.

“A parting gift from me,” he said and showed her a long, black plastic zip tie. Sheila shrieked as he secured it around her neck.

Her final pleas “No, don’t do this, please!” was shut off as he tightened the zip tie. It bit into the skin and blood bubbled up around it as clawed at it frantically. Her eyes bulged and her tongue stuck out obscenely.

He muttered to himself, “I am doing it. I’m getting my first! I am doing it!”

It was over in seconds, but to Sheila it seemed endless before her vision faded, the colors blending then going gray and finally dissolving to an infinite black. The whole time the man bounced from one foot then the other. He continued his stream of words, “I am getting my first. I am getting my first. Yes! All I planned. Precise. So easy…”

Hours later, a group of teens “too old for Trick-or-Treatin'” found Shelia’s empty car. It was a minor inferno, smoke rising and bleeding into the clouds. It was abandoned along an isolated dirt road when the local fire department arrived.

Mysteriously, one backdoor was left open, facing the surrounding forest.

Exciting News For September — Derek Barton – 2023

General

In appreciation of everyone’s support and patience in waiting for new content, I’m going to have a special sale on select titles starting the week of September 18 through September 25th! Prices start at $.99 on the first day but will steadily increase to regular price. So, don’t miss out!!

I also wanted to let you know that my first draft for The Deity Staff has been accomplished! Hope to have it out and ready for publication before the holidays.

Also one other surprise: I’m combining and re-releasing the whole 3 part series of Elude and Evade. Also you will be able to get these as hardcover novels for the first time. They will have new covers as well! These will be available by the end of the year.

Thanks to everyone! I truly love my fans!!

My Top Sellers — Derek Barton – 2023

General

I am working hard on book #16, The Deity Staff. My collection has certainly grown especially during this last year or so.

So, I thought it would be a good idea to highlight my top sellers (most popular) books, share what they are about and give you an honest review from Amazon. Some of you may not have known about these or just know of the titles and not the story.

ELUDE:

A young ex-con, Vicente Vargas, must outrun the police and the real killer framing him for a series of gruesome murders in Phoenix, Arizona. With his reputation tarnished and no support, he must fight to clear his name and survive the dangerous streets.

4.6 stars 23 reviews

Great crime/horror novels! This little book packs a wallop in its 110 pages. It also establishes Derek Barton as a mystery/crime/horror writer. I’m so glad I found it, and so will you.

Two seemingly unrelated incidents converge towards the end. A 20 year old boy, a juvie graduate, is struggling to support his younger sister’s dream and reverse her opinion of his character. A tween living with her father and bed-ridden grandma since her mom died in a car accident is linked to their paid caretaker’s apparent traffic suicide. Barton is a skilled writer who develops his characters seamlessly around the plot; a plot which will glue the reader to the story until a “to be continued” announcement on page 110 makes him groan in exasperation. You know nothing will keep that reader or this reviewer from getting the sequel.Well played, Mr. Barton, well played! Five Stars.

CONSEQUENCES WITHIN CHAOS:

An untested sorcerer prince, Taihven, must wield untapped powers from the Chaos Realm to save his city, Wyvernshield, from a massive beastly horde and discover their true enemy from the past to fulfill his destiny as the much-needed king.

4.8 stars and 15 reviews

Author Derek Barton has created an amazing world with vibrant colors and characters. Scratch that, he has created layers of worlds that vary with colors, textures, sounds, and smells that make me wish I could spend a day or two exploring them (with a safe guide, of course).

The characters invoke strong emotions right from opening. I felt hate, love, terror and remorse, it is a roller coaster. I don’t think I’ve ever smelled a setting while I was reading, but Mr. Barton does such a great job triggering imagination with his writing that I found myself wrinkling my nose as if the smells were all around me.

I have read through this book at least a half dozen times and recently purchased it for my Kindle so it is easier to carry around. If you enjoy fantasy fiction, I highly recommend reading this book.

I can’t wait for the next!

EVADE:

Detective Lindsey Korrey faces a perilous chase after a police car incident, becoming the guardian of a missing child pursued by sinister forces. Battling supernatural enemies and unearthing dangerous secrets, Lindsey’s thrilling journey captivates with suspense and pulse-pounding revelations.

4.7 stars 21 reviews

A heart-pounding adventure….twists and turns galore.

‘Evade, Part One’ by Derek Barton is the sequel to his 2017 novella ‘In Four Days’. This installment is filled with action, suspense and twist and turns enough to give one literary whiplash. With an array of some very memorable characters and a most creative plot, this short read will have you entertained and asking for more. Good things do indeed come in small packages. Derek breathes life into his characters and takes his readers along for a rapidly palpitating escapade in a cat-and-mouse adventure with the supernatural. A fun and entertaining read. Looking forward to the next installment.

THE HIDDEN:

Nate and Zelda Malone’s windfall leads them to a vast farm near Hoosier National Forest. However, a nightmarish presence lurking on their land threatens to literally tear them apart. Together, they must confront an ancient and malevolent creature that endangers not just their lives but all of humanity, testing their limits and forcing them to make unimaginable sacrifices to survive.

8 reviews 5 stars

Atmospheric and intense! This is a very well-written novel. It is dark and sometimes disturbing, with great character development. The tension builds for the reader with the setting almost becoming a character itself in that it greatly influences the story and people and is almost as frightening as the wolves themselves. The werewolf legend is artfully advanced by this fine novel.

THE BLEEDING CROWN:

The spirited Princess Letandra is abducted by her family’s rivals, leaving her stranded in a foreign land. As she faces unexpected trials and sadistic captors, she must risk everything to escape and warn her brother, King Taihven, of the impending war that threatens not just his kingdom, but the fate of all.

12 reviews 4.5 stars

I can’t wait to see what happens next! This book is even better than it’s predecessor.
It is layered with fascinating characters. The heroes are truly heroic, while remaining human and believable, and the villians are truly evil. It spans different worlds where the action keeps you breathlessly turning page after well-written page.

For those who loved the Wyvernshield stories, Pawns & Pieces has continued the story line. It was great to explore both worlds of Tayneva and Aberrisc again!

Please do not let these stories slip by you! You can still pick them up on Amazon, Kindle and on Audible!