From master storyteller Stephen King comes an extraordinary new novel with intertwining storylines—one about a killer on a diabolical revenge mission, and another about a vigilante targeting a feminist celebrity speaker—featuring the beloved Holly Gibney and a dynamic new cast of characters.
When the Buckeye City Police Department receives a disturbing letter from a person threatening to “kill thirteen innocents and one guilty” in “an act of atonement for the needless death of an innocent man,” Detective Izzy Jaynes has no idea what to think. Are fourteen citizens about to be slaughtered in an unhinged act of retribution? As the investigation unfolds, Izzy realizes that the letter writer is deadly serious, and she turns to her friend Holly Gibney for help.
The Review:
This is the seventh novel involving Stephen King’s popular eclectic character, Detective Holly Gibney. Her debut as a support character came in Mr. Mercedes (The Bill Hodges Trilogy), then the sequels Finders Keepers, and End of Watch. Then she played bigger roles in the novels The Outsider and in the title short story in If It Bleeds. Finally, in 2023, she was the main character in the novel, Holly.
Although King has faced some fan criticism for his seeming infatuation with Holly Gibney, in my opinion, he has created a stand-out character who has grown and has seeemingly come into her own inspite of her adult ADHD and OCD tendencies. Holly has proven herself to others, including her overbearing and destructive mother, that she has what is most important at heart and the strength to drive through any challenge placed before her.
That being said, Never Flinch is not quite as strong a story as I felt the prior novel, Holly, was. In Holly, King went back into his darker, terrifying art form and told a tale of barbaric cannibalism, focusing on a sadistic pair of elderly serial killers.
In Never Flinch, King tells a new tale that is more “true crime”-like and suspense-thriller. It was a good story, but it was not as satisfying, and honestly, what I want to read from the “Master of Horror”. While there is plenty of Holly Gibney content, as a reader, I found myself asking, “Just how often can one person actually find themselves in this much crisis or danger?” In other words, this is again the seventh time Holly and those around her encounter serious danger. In reality, I don’t think many people would associate with this person for very long. The ending, as well, comes a bit too easily and quick for me, which also diminished the impact of the tale.
The Rating:
RECOMMENDED READING! For rating purposes, I score this 4 out of 5.
(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 28th, 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.
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!
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:
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?
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.
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”.
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.
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):
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.
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!
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! 🙂
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.
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.
**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!
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.
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 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.
CLICK HERE to read the new story and get the latest episodes!
Things are heating up for me as they are cooling down outside! Several projects have come together and I wanted to let you all know.
Starting with this month, VICTIMS: A Horror Short Story Collection will be available starting 9/11/24. This is a combined effort by me, one of my best friends Brian Gatti, and my father, T. D. Barton. We have fifteen thrilling and mind-bending stories of paranormal, psychological, and occult horror. Soon this will also be available to listen to on Audible.com from the incredibly talented S.W. Salzman (who also narrated my best-selling Elude Series!).
Then on October 15th, just in time for your creepy Fall nights and Halloween reading: Weatherly Lane: An Anthology will be released! This is an ensemble of new and rising stars of indie horror writers. The anthology revolves around the deadly cursed house built on 1417 Weatherly Lane in Kingston, Minnesota. The stories explore the dark events that circled this property from the day it was built in 1914 up through present day! Every author has chosen a year or decade to represent. My story contribution is the origin to the evil that permeates the tainted land in 1911! It a fun and entertaining thrill ride from page one!!!
Also by the end of September or the beginning of October, I will be releasing a brand new horror story line on Amazon Vella called Eclipse! And yes, there are ties to the Elude & Evade Series!
Mitch Michaels is a respected teacher, a well-liked pillar of the community, and a committed fiancé set to marry in January. But after a devastating car accident causes brain trauma, something has been unleashed. Something evil. Something primal! Mitch is hiding dark cravings, promises of chaos and terror. How long can he hide inside his “gentle giant” persona while giving into his dark activities…
More details will be made as I get closer to releasing this story so stay alert for that!
And in December, I’m working hard to make available my epic fantasy Wyvernshield finale, Beyond the Barrier. I’m now in the last stages of editing. The story and the culmination of five books is finally here! An incredible epic tale with an epic battle unlike any I’ve ever written!
More stories are brewing! I’m even considering an epic fantasy anthology that takes place after the events from Beyond the Barrier!
Plus, I still have an interest in doing my first whodunit mystery novel next year!
Thanks again to everyone who support my work or who actively helps to make this all happen!
From legendary storyteller and master of short fiction Stephen King comes an extraordinary new collection of twelve short stories, many never-before-published, and some of his best EVER.
“You like it darker? Fine, so do I,” writes Stephen King in the afterword to this magnificent new collection of twelve stories that delve into the darker part of life—both metaphorical and literal. King has, for half a century, been a master of the form, and these stories, about fate, mortality, luck, and the folds in reality where anything can happen, are as rich and riveting as his novels, both weighty in theme and a huge pleasure to read. King writes to feel “the exhilaration of leaving ordinary day-to-day life behind,” and in You Like It Darker, readers will feel that exhilaration too, again and again.
The Review:
Stephen King has given us a long list of intriguing, unique, and breath-taking short stories like in Skeleton Crew (The Mist), Different Seasons (Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption), Everything’s Eventual (1408), and, of course, Night Shift (Children of the Corn, Trucks).
In this collection, he showcases several amazing character profile stories like Two Talented Bastids, Laurie, and The Turbulence Expert. These stories revolve around dynamic characters – King gives you small glimpses into their lives and leaves you wanting more!
The three stories that make the collection truly shine are: Danny Coughlin’s Bad Dream, Rattlesnakes, and The Answer Man.
Danny Coughlin’s Bad Dream will surely be made into another movie — it’s that good! So, I won’t give you too much on this one. Let’s just say, what would happen if you were gifted one psychic vision one night… You see a possible murder. How do you get anyone to believe you?
Rattlesnakes may not be a movie, but it gives you some closure. Ever wonder what happened to the surviving parents from Cujo? This details the remainder of their lives along the way giving a gripping ghost story!
The Answer Man is a fun read! Truly entertaining with a fantastic mystery hook. If you were to meet The Answer Man, what would be your “free” questions for him? Be very careful of the words you choose and be sure you truly want to know the answers!
The Narration:
Will Patton has been chosen again to work his magic and narrate the majority of the stories. He is a successful actor in movies like Armageddon, The Postman and The Punisher as well as recurring roles in the television series, Falling Skies and 24. His versatility and talent comes to life in his narration, bringing these stories to a whole new level. Stephen King does a good job himself, narrating two of the stories himself, Laurie and The Turbulence Expert.
The Rating:
I originally was disappointed with the first three stories of this collection to be honest. I began to doubt the book was going to win me over. The first three stories were… interesting. Good, but as I pointed out, some of them were character showcases.
When you get a title like You Like It Darker, you have some high horror expectations. That being the case, only Rattlesnakes got under my skin. The stalking Twins and the creep factor brought to the story worked for me. I am a sucker for ghost stories as it is, so Rattlesnakes was my favorite in terms of scare factor. The Dreamers and “the floating, black tendrils” was second for making my skin crawl.
Hands down my favorite was Danny Coughlin’s Bad Dream. It places you in the heart of a mystery at the same time drawing you into an “injustice against an innocent man” scenario. The Inspector Franklin Jalbert character is an expose on obsessive men who can go blind to truth and logic. Men who bend the truth or fix evidence as they feel the ends justify the means. Deplorable character but fascinating at the same time!
Overall, I did like this collection. It has a misleading title, but the true gems in the material make it possible to forgive.
RECOMMENDED READING! For rating purposes, I score this 4 of 5.
Kris woke with a start. Bright lights above him stung his eyes. His mouth was sand dry and his throat felt swollen. As his vision adapted, he looked about him. He was behind the steering wheel in his dark blue Thunderbird. It was smoothly running idle.
He checked the rearview mirror. His short-cropped platinum blonde hair was still well-groomed and nothing seemed out of place. However, his slate-gray eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. He looked down at his light blue suit. It was relatively fresh and he didn’t note any wrinkles. He decided he hadn’t been asleep long.
Outside the car, he could see a long empty stretch of road.
Oh, it’s the tunnel! The I-21, Kris realized. It was what the locals in Clear Lake, Texas, called The Long Stretch. The tunnel was on his normal drive to work. He had recently been promoted to Operations Manager of a Healthcare Plan Center. The commute normally took about thirty-five minutes, most of it in this tunnel.
God! I fell asleep. How the hell did I manage to do that? he wondered.
He also found it odd that he couldn’t recall the night before. Was he drinking? He hadn’t had a black-out session in sometime but it wasn’t off the table. His love of Bourbon was infamous. Sherry, his wife despised his “only vice” and gave him a shit storm routinely over it.
He shrugged and put the car in Drive. There was no other traffic in front or behind him in the tunnel. His watch was missing, but he guessed it was near 5:00 AM. He found himself quite hungry and thirsty. The BP Gas Station near the office would likely have some hot coffee and maybe a few donuts.
Kris patted his suit pants pockets, but they were empty. Shitty time to lose his wallet and cell phone. He sighed getting disgusted with himself. It must’ve been a real party for him to walk out without his items.
Did I party? Or did Sherry and I fight again and I drank away my anger? Why the hell was this drive taking so long? Where’s the exit? His thoughts began to focus on the tunnel.
While he had driven inside it nearly twenty times this month alone, there were no details he could really recall. It was constructed with a plain, black tar road, three wide lanes, yellow painted stripes to mark the sides, a bike lane, and high gray concrete walls with white hanging LED lamps every thirty feet.
The tunnel went on and on.
Something’s wrong. The tunnel portion of the drive is only twenty minutes or so tops. I’ve been over a half hour already I think.
He looked at the odometer. Christ! It was way more than he remembered. 56312. Maybe a good four or five hundred more miles than he would have guessed.
Was it a road trip and an end-all be-all drinkfest? What the fuck? Sherry is going to tear me a new one when I get home tonight. He shook his head. Then he realized he wasn’t hung over either. He didn’t even have a headache. His thoughts though were a bit foggy.
After driving for an hour, he pulled to the side and parked in the bike lane. He punched the Hazard lights on.
He then opened the glove compartment looking for his phone. In it, stuffed in the left side was a silver flip phone, maybe one of the old Motorola ones. It was not his IPhone 13. There was nothing else in the compartment. His registration paperwork and insurance papers were all missing.
He retrieved the phone and examined it. It was fully charged, had the current time of 3:52 AM on it as well as the date 9/18/2029, but nothing else on the display. There were no contacts listed. He checked the history and only one listed number that had been called. It wasn’t familiar,but he dialed it anyway.
It rang three times before am automated robotic voice answered. “Kristopher Anthony Todd. Pending. 23 days.”
It disconnected without even prompting him to leave a voicemail message.
Pending what? And what did it mean by 23 days?
Starting to feel anxious and his temper beginning to boil, he again put the car in Drive. It was time to find the freaking exit!
Another hour passed in The Long Stretch. Kris swore the ceiling was lowering and the lanes were getting narrower. His world was crushing in on him. When the odometer hit 56412 — another hundred miles since he first checked, he hit the brakes and screamed in helplessness. He pounded his fists on the dash so hard a crack suddenly formed and split the smooth rubbery surface.
“Goddamn it! Where am —“
A flash of memory cut his thoughts off. Sherry was next to the dresser in their master bedroom. She was standing in a pink and purple pajama top and panties. He was coming out of the bathroom, shouting and stumbling. He was very drunk. His shirt was unbuttoned and had fresh drink stains. She was screaming, “I am sick of your lies!”
He had screamed, “Shut that bitch mouth!” right before he swung wildly and punched her. She flew back sprawled across the bed.
Guilt and shame washed over his features. So they did fight. He did get drunk and that’s why he could not remember.
Yet something nagged at him. The memory seemed distant. Wasn’t that months ago, he questioned himself.
Kris pressed hard on the gas pedal. No one was around so he got close to 110 on the speedometer. He was going to get to the damn exit and he was going to get there now!
An hour and a half passed. Nothing of the tunnel had changed. No other cars appeared. He was starting to question whether he even woke that morning. Started to question his sanity.
Eventually, the Thunderbird sputtered then stalled as it ran out of battery power. He opened the door and walked in front of the car with his hands on his hips as he tried to figure what to do next.
The dent is gone! His inner voice shouted at him. This wasn’t his car after all! Just the same make and model. He looked at the key fob and popped the trunk. Inside was an interesting trove of items. There was a package of bottled water next to a rolled up sleeping bag. A camouflaged backpack had food stuffs and a copy of The Green Mile by Stephen King which happened to be one of his favorite novels.
“Well we have everything we need, Dorothy. Let’s follow that yellow brick road after all!”
Kris took the items and as many of the water bottles he could cram in the sleeping bag and backpack.
Another instant vision exploded inside his mind. Sherry was in the backyard running. The side of her face and neck were bleeding profusely from deep slashes. He was also running, covered in blood.
The blood was not his.
He stood there shaking. The nightmare memory hitting him hard at his core. “What did I do, babe? Oh God…”
He started walking again trying to clear his thoughts of the vision.
Kris struck his palm against his temple. He could call for help with the flip phone!
He dialed their house, praying she was alright and could answer the phone. Another robotic voice answered instead.
“The phone number you have dialed is invalid. Please check—“
Kris hung up, cursing and muttering under his breath. He dialed his work.
“The phone number you have dialed—“
Dialed his mother.
“The—“
How about this? He punched in 9 1 1.
“The phone number you have dialed is invalid. Please check your number and try again.”
Sighing loudly, he called the only number that seemed to work. The robotic message came back on again.
“Kristopher Anthony Todd. Pending. 39 days.”
Kris scoffed. He had no idea what it all meant. He continued his hike.
At one point, he stopped and camped in the bike lane. He slept five hours on the cold tarmac, but the sleep was filled with chaotic, frantic dreams.
The infinite road went on and on. His feet blistered from the dress shoes. He ditched his suit jacket and his blue tie.
Seven hours later he made another stop to sleep. The cell phone told him ““Kristopher Anthony Todd. Pending. 47 days.”
At 4:12 PM the next day, he spotted something new! It was at first only a dark and square object. When he walked closer he realized it was the same car he abandoned. The trunk was still wide open.
Kris sank to his knees, broken and exhausted. How was this happening? Why was this happening? What do—
A tall slender man opened the driver’s door and climbed out. He wore a blue jumpsuit with a black leather belt. Under a police officer’s hat, the light-skinned man had on large reflecting sunglasses. His face had almost no clear shapes or details. He was blocky, similar to one of those people his nephew would make in his Minecraft video games. However, in the man’s right hand, he carried a black pistol.
Kris lunged and bolted back down the roadway. He pulled out the cell again.
He dialed by reflex 9 1 1.
An actual human answered this time. A serious but pleasant female voice said, “State the nature of your emergency please.”
“Please! Please help me,” he shouted, panting from his exertion.
“State the nature of your emergency please.”
“I’m being chased. He has a gun! I don’t know why or where I am!”
“Prisoner 56312, Kristopher Anthony Todd. Sentenced into CRIOSYS 65 days ago. Final appeal DENIED. Your execution date has been approved and moved to today 9/18/2029. Please remain still.”
“FUCK YOU, LADY!” He screamed back and threw the phone hard to the ground.
The past year of arrest, court, press conferences, prison, images of Sherry’s corpse — all rushed back to him. He had been charged and sentenced to die for killing his wife, Sherry Diane Todd almost a year ago. On Death Row, he had been forced into a new experimental AI-generated prison called CRIOSYS.
Kris didn’t care about anything at that moment. He only ran. He knew he had to. His body may be lying in some cold storage, but his mind and soul were here in The Long Stretch! In order to live again, he couldn’t stop running. He wouldn’t!
The eruption of the gun, two blasts, the shock of the sounds, and the agonizing bloody holes opening in his chest struck him all at once.
The Official Website of Author Derek Barton 