Tag: Short Story

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

New Content

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are free. And we are unleashed…

****

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

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

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

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

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

He scooted his chair back and stood.

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

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

Two nights ago, Monday, January 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.

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

New Content

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

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

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

FAST BY THE FADING LIGHT

“You have till dawn, buddy-yo. Else…”

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

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

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

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

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

“You have till dawn, buddy-yo. Else…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know that dress somehow… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Content

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

For now, enjoy…

SUICIDE IS FOR SUCKERS                                                                          By Derek Barton

[DAY ZERO]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Over and out?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh-what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Look! I—”

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

“NO! HEY, STOP! ARE YOU CRAZY?”

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

“Uh… I’m Chad—”

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

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

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

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

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

“You tell me. You seemed to know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[DAY ONE – FIRST CUT]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where did that come from? Chad mused.

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

He splashed water onto his face, ignoring his thoughts.

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

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

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

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Audible Book Review of Stephen King’s “You Like It Darker” — Derek Barton – 2024

Book Review

You Like It Darker

by Stephen King — a short story anthology

Released on May 21, 2024

512 pages

Synopsis:

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:

Patton

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.

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.  Also co-author of the Hidden & The Hidden Within… All books available on amazon, kindle & Audible.com!).

Share this:

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.

Seyde In Blood – NOW ON SALE ON KINDLE!!

Epic Fantasy

seyde-in-blood-v5

 

A Messenger has come with the night’s maelstrom. He has a story to show Taliah, The Blind Seeress. Through her witness, the secrets of the Artadeus Family and the infamous Cros’seau Coup Attempt are laid bare for all!

It is a great addition and further insight to the dark past and bloody, revenge story that unfolds in Consequences Within Chaos.

Click here for more details!  Seyde In Blood