Archive for the A Writer’s Life Category

What Does Xmas Mean to Me?

Posted in A Writer's Life, General Information, Just For Fun!, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on 12-16-2015 by jeffreymartinsnovels

borders west des moines 050810dI started asking myself that question at an early age. Some people would laugh about my serious demeanor and tell me, “Hey, you’re eight years old. Don’t worry about such deep thought processes…you should just have fun and enjoy the abundance of toys you’re going to get.”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed receiving the pretty outstanding gifts…like the Star Wars Millienum Falcon, complete with the suave, vest-wearing Han Solo action figure. (So much better than Luke…but we will keep that our little secret.) But after all that “stuff” mentality wore thin, I realized the deeper meaning of this special time of year had nothing to do with materialistic things but more with being an ambassador of thoughtfulness and compassion. A simple act of kindness can be shown in ways such as a warm smile to someone not having the best of days,  a dollar in the red kettle that sits outside many retail locations this time of year,  and patience for the  sales clerk behind the counter on the biggest shopping day EVER.  It seems easy, but what often seems easy, is sometimes the most difficult.

As each of you sit down with family and friends and celebrate this holiday season, cherish what you have and don’t worry if you bought everyone on your list the hottest gifts of 2015 (chances are, they wanted gift cards anyway…touché…iphone 6S is pretty sick.) But show them love, compassion, and everything a great greeting card is made of…which leads me into my little short story.

Receiving a Christmas card from most people is supposed to invoke feelings of joy and holiday spirit. However, one couple has decided a card from them marks you for death…

Yes, I know… it’s a complete one hundred eighty degrees from  most of the blog. But what can I say? I write thrillers…

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Murder them bastards. Ryan Hempstead’s blank expression hid his feelings well as he loaded the last weapon into the camouflage backpack. He opened the desk drawer and pulled out several envelopes. Andy, Andrea, Greg, Kendall, and, last but not least, Scott Cranston. He unzipped a pocket on his leather coat, careful not to damage the holiday cards. Ryan grabbed his cell phone, punching in the numbers of the only person he had ever cared about.
A young woman answered. “Hey, Ryan. You sure you wanna go through this?”
“Astor, we talked about this…them assholes have to pay for what they did to you.”
“Why? Tell me why it has to be today?” Astor pleaded.
Ryan gritted his teeth. “Because it just does. I can do this by myself, if you’re backing out–”
“No, I won’t let you do this alone. I don’t understand the reason for today, though. Ryan, baby, it’s Christmas Eve.”
“That’s the best part…nobody will expect it today.” Ryan grabbed the pistol off the dresser, stuffing it in his jeans. “Astor, Christmas is a dead holiday to me.”
“Pick me up in ten minutes. I’m finishing the letter to my roommate.”
“Gotcha. See you then.”
“All right, Ryan. I love you…just wanted you to know before we do this.”
Ryan took a breath, closing his eyes. “I love you, too. Like I said, I understand if you want to back out.”
“We’ve come this far. If we’re going through with this, at least it’ll be together.”
A single tear streamed down his face. “Astor, we will always be together. Nothing will change that.” He wiped away the wetness. “I’ll be there in a few.”
“Okay, I’ll be ready.” Astor’s voiced trailed off.
Ryan ended the call as he walked over to the wall mirror and stared at himself. He wasn’t a powerless, wimpy kid from Marcona anymore. The extra weight he had struggled with for so long had turned into lean muscle, and the glasses that made him look like a geek were replaced with blue colored contact lenses. His fascination with comic book legends was reflected in the Batman logo on his shirt pocket. Today, he was going to be a superhero of sorts. Ryan would avenge the only love he ever had known. The fuckers who defiled Astor would finally be held accountable. The court system hadn’t been able to do a thing, so it was his turn. Ryan brushed his wavy hair out of his face and zipped up his coat.
A fucking dead holiday indeed.

Chapter 2
Mark Blankenship maneuvered the marked patrol unit through the cornucopia of holiday shoppers as they gave him an accusing stare. He scanned the parking lot, looking for an open spot. Great. Who does their shopping on the last day before Christmas? He thought for a second. Me, of course.
Unable to find anything available, Mark drove across the street, finding the perfect place. He grabbed his cell from the console and squinted at the number of bars remaining on the battery. Wonderful. Hope nobody needs anything.
He popped open the glove box, sorting through the mess. There you are. He shoved the cheap charger into the lighter and plugged in his phone. Mark pulled down the visor and ran a hand through his thick black hair. The wrinkles emerging on his face and the tired brown eyes reminded him of the recent struggle with divorce. Fuck, I really do look old.
Mark flipped up the visor and exited the vehicle. He smiled, staring up at the sign on the building. After I get done shopping, I think I will need a drink. He hiked across the lot, blowing warm air into his hands. “Shit, it’s cold!”
As he approached his destination, Mark brushed off his coat, noticing a shabbily dressed middle-aged man standing outside of the giant superstore’s entrance. He sat next to a red kettle ringing a small gold bell, trying to get the attention of people as they walked past. Glad I’m not standing out here. Mark thought about bypassing him, too. Instead, he stopped in front of the kettle, reached into his pocket, and removed several waded bills.
He smiled at the man as he placed the bills through the slot. “Hey, why aren’t you inside the foyer doing this? It’s too cold to be out here.”
The man strained to look up as he exposed a toothless grin. “The store doesn’t want me in there…says I need to be out here.”
Not very holiday Joy-to-the-World, good-will-towards-men mindset. “Well, stay warm. Hope I helped a little.” Mark shrugged.
The man stood up but still had a hard time reaching over to pat him on the shoulder. Mark bent over to receive the gracious gesture. The man slipped a foiled wrapped chocolate Santa into Mark’s large hand. “Every little bit helps…have a nice Christmas.”
“You too, sir,” Mark waved, pocketing the chocolate.
He walked through the sliding glass doors, and a rush of warm air gently greeted him. Now, that’s more like it. He stripped off his trench coat, smiling at the choice of shopping carts. Gotta love the holiday colors.
A young red-haired girl wearing a black smock and Santa hat stopped his progress as she handed him a store flyer.
“Happy holidays, sir. Welcome to Plaxton’s Superstore. Is there anywhere I can direct you today to fulfill your holiday shopping extravaganza?”
Who the fuck talks like that? Must follow a script or something. Mark shook his head, tapping his shirt pocket. “Um, no thanks. I have it all here.”
She smiled. “Alrighty, then. You have a good shopping experience.”
Please kill me now. “Thanks, I will.”
Mark grabbed a green cart and removed the list from his shirt. Next year, everything online.
He pushed the cart through several aisles until he found the rows of dolls his daughter had pointed out a few weeks ago. Now, which one was it? There were several choices, but he inspected the list, making sure this was the exact one she wanted. If he purchased the wrong one, Marcia, his ex-wife, would be sure to point it out to him. That was her way of getting back…it always had been. She would dramatize anything, no matter how small. A man can only take so much.
Mark removed the doll from the shelf, placing it into his cart. Presley, I hope you love it. She deserved to be happy, especially since the breakup of the marriage was only six months ago. The little girl didn’t understand why daddy only got to see her every other weekend.
Scanning the list, he realized he couldn’t just forget Marcia. I wonder what you get for the people who piss you off the most? He smiled as he headed in the direction of the end cap marked, “As seen on T.V.”
He sorted through the absurdity of choices and finally decided on the perfect gift for Marcia. Studying the box of knives, his eyebrows rose as he read. Even cuts through a pop can… maybe I need one of those.
Mark glanced down at his watch, realizing the store would be closing soon. The majority of customers appeared to have vacated the area, and he was one of the few remaining. Mark grabbed the last item he needed and marked it on his corresponding list.
“Merry Christmas to me. I’m all done. Now, time for a celebratory beverage,” he muttered. Mark carted his purchases in the direction of the register when he noticed something odd.
A young, dark-haired woman, dressed in black camouflage, appeared to be guarding the exit. She was shoving people back inside the store and even pushed one elderly woman so hard that she tripped over her cane and landed face first onto the floor.
What the fuck? Mark reversed his direction, looking for a vantage point. He reached down, unholstering the weapon he carried off duty. Mark found safe refuge behind a large display of fireproof safes but was still close enough to keep his eye on the young woman. She kept yelling at some of the cashiers. Soon, a man dressed in a long-sleeve shirt and tan pants approached her. Mark took aim at the woman, but the man was in his line of fire, which made him lower his gun. The unknown man turned and pointed in the direction of the crowd, seemingly pleading with her to let them leave. He seems to know her.
The woman then did something unexpected. She reached behind her back and withdrew something large, pointing it at the man. A fucking gun. The man tried to scurry away, but she lowered the firearm and fired two shots into his back. He slumped to the floor as blood started to seep from the freshly made wounds.
The small crowd started to scream, and mass confusion ensued. Mark again trained his weapon on her, but the overhead lighting suddenly disappeared, and his vision was obscured by the darkness. She didn’t cut the lights, but somebody did. Mark heard several more shots, but this time, it came from behind him. He crouched down, straining to see where the rounds came from, but was unable to locate their origin. Mark started to inch forward when he heard the squelching of the store’s intercom system activate.
A hoarse voice filled the interior. “If you want to remain alive, do what we say. I’m only looking for certain people today, but will kill anyone who gets in my way. And I do mean anyone! Put your fucking cell phones in the garbage can…now!”
At least two gunmen. Mark reached for his cell but realized it wasn’t there. Shit. He wondered why the male voice had mentioned the gunmen were only here to kill certain people, and then, a very disturbing thought filled his head. A death list, and usually, the only people who had those were former employees.

Chapter 3

Ryan Hempstead stared at the motionless body of store manager, Andy Potraz. He moved along the line of cash registers, stopping a few feet away. He opened his jacket and removed one of the white envelopes, placing it on the manager’s bloodstained shirt. Now, that’s what I’m talking about. Ryan unclipped his two-way radio from his belt.
“Astor, what’s your location?”
“Just checked the sporting good section. Nothing moving here. I’m heading to hardware.”
“Great. Keep your eyes open. I saw a police SUV in the liquor store parking lot across the street–”
“Ryan, I won’t kill a cop–”
“Relax. The phone lines are disabled to the store, and I got my eyes on these people.”
“You sure that’s everyone in the store?”
Ryan hesitated. “Of course. I came through the warehouse and checked each aisle as I went,” he lied.
“Well, that worried me, but like I said, nobody’s here. I have the back doors all chained up.”
She’s getting a thirst for revenge. “Okay, I have Andrea, Greg, and Kendall up here with the rest of the customers. Did you see that fucker Cranston?”
“No. You sure he’s supposed to be here?”
Ryan’s jaw tightened. “Yes! I made sure of it, before we even decided on today.”
“Okay. I’ll go through the rest of the store, just to make sure.”
Ryan was irritated. “You think I missed something?”
“Well, he can’t get out, but he can call the police if he has a cell. Then, we’re fucked. And your revenge will be for nothing.”
My revenge? I’m doing this for her. “Let’s not argue. Maybe I did miss an area.”
“I’ll meet you in the front of the store…ten minutes.” Astor’s radio was silent.
Ryan slipped off his backpack and removed all the remaining firearms and ammunition. He smiled at the small crowd, fixated on the three employees.
“Andrea, Greg, and Kendall, stand the fuck up… now!”
The three Plaxton’s Superstore employees slowly got to their feet.
Andrea Milton was a short blonde with noticeable facial acne. Tears were streaming down both cheeks. “Ryan, you don’t have to do this. Nobody did anything wrong.”
Ryan rushed to where she was standing and yanked back her hair. Several of the onlookers screamed. “Oh, you think so? Are you fucking kidding me?” He pointed to the other two employees, lashing out on them as well. “And you two fuckers…do you think nobody is guilty of anything?”
Greg Whitlow’s heavyset frame backed away. “Listen, man. I didn’t know she got a hold of Kendall’s drugs. It wasn’t my fault.”
Ryan smashed the barrel of the gun into Andrea’s face, causing blood to spurt from her now disjointed nose. He flung her to the floor like a rag doll and headed straight for the curly-haired Greg Whitlow.
“Greg, I know the judge let you bastards walk, but I’m not so forgiving. You all are pieces of shit…and today’s the
day you pay up.”
Greg kept backing up. “Ryan, we were friends…best friends.”
Ryan looked into his eyes and smiled. “That’s why I’ll have Astor kill you last.”
He whirled around, and without hesitation, fired the full clip into the skull of Kendall Whitlow, a red mist spattering against the stacked boxes of Christmas cards. The tall, sandy-haired warehouse supervisor fell to the ground as more screams echoed from the small crowd. Ryan poised the gun towards the screams, almost forgetting what they were here to do. No, not these people. Just the ones responsible…just the ones responsible…

Chapter 4

Mark heard the shots, causing him to instinctively ready his weapon for a second time. Not a good spot. He moved backwards along the adjacent wall, searching for a service center of any kind. Gotta be a phone somewhere . Looking around, he noticed some of the products on the shelf. Mark crawled until he spotted a wall phone. He brought up his weapon in one hand as he stood to reach the handset. He brought it to his ear, hoping to hear the sound of a dial tone. Fuck. This guy must have disabled the line. He let the phone dangle as he crouched, moving cautiously through to the next open area. He went to one knee, steadying the gun in the direction of a row of changing rooms.
Mark noticed he was only a few aisles from the electronics section. I need to get there…fast. He slipped off his boots, bolting across the freshly waxed floor. Halfway across, he felt a sudden blow from behind. “Shit!”. His weapon bounced harmlessly away, landing against a rack of DVDs. He turned to face his attacker as the large man repeatedly pummeled his mid-section. Gotta fight back if I want to see my little girl again. Mark brought up a knee, catching the man squarely in the groin.
“Ah,” the voice groaned.
Mark reached around, putting the man in a headlock. His powerful arms were no match, and soon, the man became limp. When Mark was satisfied the man was no
longer a threat, he scrambled to his feet, picking up his gun. Who the fuck is this? Mark concealed himself behind one the two counters in the photo department. The unknown man moaned and started to regain consciousness.
Mark waited until he had gotten to his feet before addressing him. “I’m an off-duty police officer for Marcona, so keep your hands where I can fucking see them.”
The man held his arms up. “Whoa. I work here, sir. Didn’t know if you were one of the good guys or with that crazy fuck out there.”
Mark lowered the weapon. “Who are you?”
“I work in the warehouse…name is Scott Cranston.”
Mark stood up but still remained in a state of caution. “Scott, do you know who this guy is?” He pointed towards the front of the store.
“Shit, yes. It’s one of the salesmen who used to work here. Ryan Hempstead and his crazy bitch of a girlfriend, Astor Chesley.”
You know where there’s a phone that works? We need help. I don’t know how many are dead or injured, but we need backup… fast.”
Scott shook his head. “Ryan worked in the electronics department. He is a genius when it comes to stuff like this.”
Any more fucking good news? “So there isn’t a working phone anywhere?”
“Nada. My cell phone’s in the warehouse. That bitch Astor chained the back doors, and I can’t budge the overhead garage, either.”
“We need to get to your phone. I have a full clip, but that’s all. You up for this?”
“Man, I will do whatever…just really rather not get shot.”
Mark chuckled. “You and me both. I need a flashlight; lead me there first.”
“Sure,” Scott passed him and ducked under the counter, producing a medium-sized black flashlight. “There ya go.”
“Wish I knew that was there. One more thing…the store carries guns, right?”
Scott frowned. “Yes, but that fucking Astor got a hold of them already…no telling where they’re stashed.”
Pretty organized. “Well, guess my fifteen rounds need to be spent wisely.” Mark flashed a nervous grin. They headed off towards the warehouse. Maybe not a good idea to get a civilian involved, but right now, I need all the help I can get.

Chapter 5

Almost forgot. Ryan Hempstead reached into his jacket and pulled out the white envelope labeled Kendall. He smiled at Andrea Milton as he tucked it under the dead man’s body. “Andrea, don’t worry. I don’t think I did too much damage to your face…well, that wasn’t already there.”
She glared at him but said nothing. Ryan stared at the wall clock, rubbing his chin. Where the fuck is Astor? He clicked the transmit button on the portable.
“Astor, I thought you were heading up here?”
The radio emitted a low squelch. “Just finished searching the aisles. I forgot how huge this place is.”
“It’s almost over…only have Andrea and Greg left. You find that bastard yet?”
“Ryan, doesn’t look like he’s here–”
“Oh, he’s here…and it’s not over until we find him.”
“Let’s just get out of here now. Ryan, we can be out of the state in a few hours…”
“We have unfinished business. I need you down here. I will go look for him.”
“Okay. Be there in a few,” she mumbled.
Ryan slammed the radio onto the counter. “Cranston is here, I know it.” He approached Andrea. She had taken off her shirt and was using it to stop the flow of blood still oozing from her face. Fear filled her eyes, and she huddled in a ball as Ryan sat down next to her.
He lightly touched her hair. “Hey, I know what happened that night. You’re not to blame. Maybe I was
wrong including you in this.”
Andrea lowered the stained clothing. “Really? Ryan, I didn’t know Scott gave her those drugs…but how could anyone think he would rape her?”
Someone finally said the magic word. The judge had never used those words. The jury has decided the sex between Astor and Scott was mutual. Astor had waited too long and didn’t report it for several days, not until Ryan had gotten it out of her. By that time, the drugs were out of her system. Now, Andrea had used the word he had waited so long to hear.
Ryan continued caressing her hair. “Andrea, this is important…do you know where Scott is?”
She was shaking, and her lips trembled. “He’s here. I saw him at lunch break, and we talked.”
A devious smile crossed his face. “Astor said she couldn’t find him…is there some other place he might be?”
She nodded. “Yes, Scott and I have a place where we go to make love… the changing rooms by electronics.”
A slut indeed. “What the fuck, Andrea? You know what he did.”
“He didn’t do anything…promised me he and Astor were a one time thing.”
“So, now you two are together?”
She choked back a few tears. “For a few months now.”
Ryan nodded. He reached behind his back, exposing a small revolver. He aimed it at her chest. “Thanks. You have helped a lot. Sorry it has to end this way…no, I’m really not.” He squeezed the trigger as round after round pierced her chest. The small explosions echoed through the store as cries for mercy erupted through the crowd. He grabbed one of the few remaining envelopes and shoved it in her mouth. The darkness of the store hid his tears as they began to roll
down his cheeks.
* * *
Mark heard the gunfire, motioning for Scott to hold his position. They were approaching the steel double doors to the warehouse when he noticed a figure flash in between the aisles. Mark extended his hand, trying to stop his guide. Scott bumped into a display of fishing poles, knocking several to the floor. I hope whoever that was didn’t hear that.
Mark’s hopes were quickly diminished. The squelch of a radio was heard, followed by several more mini-explosions. He ducked, firing several rounds in the direction of their origin, but as he turned, his heart dropped, and it was silent. Goddamn.
Scott Cranston was laying face up, and strained gurgling sounds were coming from him. Mark knelt by his head, realizing several rounds had penetrated his abdomen, but the most damage had been done by the nickel-sized opening in his throat. He covered the wound with both hands, trying to get any pressure he could to stop the blood. I can’t save him. Mark reached over, grabbing Scott’s own hands and placed them over the opening.
Scott stared up, whispering to him. “I’m sorry.”
Why was the kid sorry? I put him in jeopardy. Mark watched as Scott Cranston took his last breath.” Gotta end this!”
Mark stood up, slowly moving in the direction from where the shots came. He heard a rustling noise a few feet away, and he looked for anything he could use to keep him shielded from whatever was creating the noise. He then heard another sound, familiar to him with all his years of law enforcement. Two-way radio? He moved closer, hearing a soft voice just a few feet away. Mark approached the voice and saw the woman as she was trying to crawl away. She got hit.
Mark aimed his weapon. “Police. Don’t fucking move. Do you understand?”
The woman was clutching at her chest with one hand and grasped the radio with the other. “Ryan, I’m not going make it. My God, it burns so much.”
Mark walked closer. “Drop anything in your hands…now!”
Static came from the radio. “Astor, what happened? Where are you?”
Astor Chesley weakly reached under her, extending the gun.
Mark shook his head. “Don’t do it, Astor.”
The young woman ignored the warning, and she fumbled for the trigger. Mark eased the trigger on his weapon back, causing the projectile to bury itself inside her brain tissue. She hit the ground with a powerful thud.
Mark reached down, taking the radio and semi-automatic from her side. He tucked his own weapon back into its holster, deciding he would use hers until the rounds were expended.
The short silence was interrupted by radio static. “Astor, you okay? I know where that fucker Scott Cranston is, baby. Check the changing rooms by the electronic department. You there?”
No, asshole. She’s dead. Mark turned off the portable, clicked on the flashlight, making his way towards the front of the store. He searched each aisle, careful not to alert his presence to the gunman. When he was close enough to see the rows of register lanes, he turned off the
flashlight. The front was still very dark, but his eyes had adjusted since the onset of the takeover, and Mark was able to see about ten people lying on the floor. Where is this shithead? He scanned left to right, looking for his target. Mark kneeled behind a wooden book stand, listening for sounds that might give away the location of the madman. When he was sure there would be zero chance of being seen, he peeked out from his hiding spot. The faint sound of crying could be heard coming from the crowd, but the shooter was nowhere in sight. Mark slipped out, staying close to the end caps of each aisle. When he was approximately fifty feet away, a saddened look filled his face. How many? He inched closer, but his actions proved costly. The next thing he felt was the barrel of a weapon jamming him in the neck. Now, I’m fucked.

Finale

Ryan pushed the weapon into Mark’s neck as he forced him to the front of the store. He shoved the lanky man to the ground. “Who the fuck are you, and why do you have the gun I gave Astor?”
He doesn’t know. Mark played it off, shrugging. “A cop shot her. She looked dead. I took it…didn’t want to end up dead myself. I did see the officer heading towards the warehouse.”
Ryan’s nostrils flared. “What does this cop look like?”
“He’s about your height with a medium build. In uniform, and I think he had a radio.”
“Fuck! Are you sure?” Ryan rubbed a hand through his hair. He started to weep.
Got him feeling…and thinking. “Pretty sure this place is gonna be crawling with them soon.”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “So, that doesn’t explain who you are.” He pointed the gun at him.
“Whoa, man. I’m Mark, the new assistant manager from Des Moines. See the dress shirt and ugly tie?” Mark grinned.
Ryan glanced at his long-time friend Greg Whitlow. “That true, Gregory?”
Greg nodded. “Yes, just came in a few days ago.”
Ryan smiled. “Welcome to Plaxton’s, then…where raping innocent college girls is looked on favorably.”
He’s avenging the rape of someone…maybe that girl Astor?
“Well, I guess I need to end this quick…then you can show me where the cop went.” Ryan leveled the weapon at Gregory Whitlow.
Greg put up his hands. “Ryan, don’t do this. Enough people are dead–”
Ryan laughed. “A few more really don’t fucking matter then…do they?”
Mark could see all of Ryan’s attention was focused on the husky employee. He quickly reached under the back of his shirt and unholstered his firearm. Mark took aim. “Ryan, it’s over. Put the gun down.”
Ryan whirled around, firing his gun. Mark managed to get off a shot and then realized the chamber was empty. Mark’s single round hit its mark, catching Ryan in the chest. Two of the gunman’s bullets hit Mark in the leg, sending him crumpling to the ground. Most of the hostages witnessed the gunman fall as they leapt to their feet and scurried in all directions. Mark cried out in pain, trying to get to his feet. He stared at the body of the former electronic salesman but was stunned when Ryan sat up. What the fuck?
Ryan reached under his shirt, ripping off the vest underneath. He flung it to the side, getting to his feet. “Surprise!” Mark saw Ryan Hempstead pick up his gun and run towards him. The thought of not seeing Presley or even her mother, for that matter, ever again flashed through his mind. Ryan got closer and raised the weapon at Mark’s head. Don’t want to see this. Mark closed his eyes, then heard the barrage of rounds coming from in front of him. Not the normal sounds a semi-automatic makes. He opened his eyes and saw the riddled corpse of the gunman ten feet from him.
A booming voice called out to him. “Chief, you okay? It’s Officer Moore.”
Mark tried to get to his feet but was weak from the loss of blood. “Moore, I’m hit…two rounds in the leg.”
The tactical officer motioned to several others. “Hey, the chief is down…get an ambulance up here.” Officer Moore looked around, witnessing the scattered bodies. “Chief, how many?”
Mark grimaced. “Moore, at least four up here and two in back.”
Another officer dressed in black placed an emergency blanket over him. Mark looked up. “When did the call come in?”
Moore chuckled. “Interesting you ask. Liquor store owner was bitching about the patrol car sitting outside his business for five hours. He said the city owes him money for his lost business. Plus, all the cars out in the lot had a little to do with it.” He thumbed in the direction of the parking lot.
Mark started to laugh. “Tell the store owner to fuck off.”
Moore smiled as the EMTs arrived and pushed a cart towards the two of them. After a few minutes of stabilizing Mark’s leg, they were wheeling him close to the front door when he noticed a white envelope lying on the ground. He motioned for Officer Moore to scoop it up and hand it to him.
He turned it over, looking at the name on the front. Greg Whitlow…at least he was alive. Mark broke the seal and lifted out what appeared to be a Christmas card. The front had a picture of a cartoonish reindeer, and the lack of any caption indicated it was one of the cheaper kind on the market. He opened the card and read the following:
If you’re reading this, it means Gregory is long dead, and the revenge set out on the people responsible for destroying a young girl’s innocence has been vindicated. I did something the court system was unable to do and feel no remorse about it. To me and Astor Chesley, today will be considered a holiday of its own proportion. Today is our Dead Holiday…
Ryan and Astor

Mark closed the card, handing it back to the young officer. “Moore, be sure that gets into evidence.”
Moore stuffed it inside his cargo pocket. “No problem. I will keep you posted what’s happening here.”
Almost forgot something. “Hey, Moore, come here a second.”
“Sure.”
Mark whispered something to him, as the officer smiled, running back through the store. A few minutes later, Officer Moore returned with a box. “Here you go. Must mean a lot to you?”
Mark chuckled. “More than you can imagine.”
He waved at the young officer as the ambulance crew pushed him out into the cold. Mark turned the box over, staring at the doll. A few flakes of snow hit his cheek. A white Christmas after all…and seeing the smile on Presley’s face when I give this to her will make it all worthwhile. This was going to be the best Christmas ever…

 

 

Welcome to the Haunted House of Misery

Posted in A Writer's Life, Just For Fun!, New Releases with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on 10-5-2012 by jeffreymartinsnovels

Trick or Treat. 

Ah, the phrase will be used in abundance in next few weeks as children and adults alike shed their everyday skin  to don outfits ranging from their favorite pop star to the most grotesque creatures imaginable. It’s a great time to celebrate and partake in devouring handful after handful of delectable treats, but as with the good, also comes unmitigated evil. Hence, the story I have for you today. House of Misery is not my usual, but given Halloween is right around the corner, I decided to focus on a story I will be including in the Harvest of Death anthology, coming to you in early 2013. It doesn’t necessarily take place during Halloween, but the atmosphere around it makes it seem like it does… Hehe.  I thought it would be fun to post it and give you all a sneek peek at the first portion. Well, without further ado, I wish you all a happy and safe Halloween…

Enjoy the haunt!!

House of Misery

“What do you think?” Brooke asked, flipping back her long, blonde hair. She parked the black four-door sedan in a space alongside the dark, dilapidated structure that used to be someone’s home.

“Well, this street is called Misery Isle.” Austin sat next to her, flashed his partner a smile as he finished setting up the long-range camera he held.

The two investigative reporters were selected to this assignment, not due to their journalistic acumen but because they were the only ones who didn’t get caught up in the circus surrounding the origin of the house. Blake Misery had been the architect of this gated residence, just as he was for a majority of Grand Island’s modern buildings. The man was the epitome of success, and the naming of a local street in his honor was just a small sample of what the community thought of him.

But just as there was with every proclaimed hero, there was a dark side. It was rumored that one night, Blake returned home early from a conference, finding his wife of twenty years and her much younger lover in passionate embrace. He became enraged, grabbed a machete, and sliced them into pieces and buried them somewhere on the property. He then doused himself with kerosene and lit himself ablaze. Local law enforcement kept the details of the case under wrap, despite the fact that Blake’s son was also missing. A few months later, people in the neighborhood started seeing apparitions of Blake, his wife, and her lover roaming the property. Several reporters had attempted to enter the house to uncover what had really happened, but before they could get inside, something scared them away. Brooke and Austin wouldn’t be swayed that easily.

“It’s just a name. Don’t freak out on me.” Brooke laughed, exiting the car and opening the rear car door to grab a dark plastic bag from the back seat. She undid the tie string and removed several digital recording discs.

“Me? Freak out? I wouldn’t call it that…exactly.” Austin looked at her over the roof of the car, both eyebrows raised. The comment was not accurate in describing the former bodyguard. He had a history of being in volatile surroundings, and this wasn’t anything close to those.

His partner on this assignment was Brooke Anders. She was a recent graduate from Purdue University, possessing the cookie-cutter good looks most women in her profession usually displayed. Austin Davenport, on the other hand, had gained a great deal of weight around his midsection. The combination of high fat and nutritionally extinct meals, along with the lack of any type of fitness program, was to blame for that.

“You ready with the camera, Austin?”

“Hold on. I’ll be done in a few seconds.”

“Hurry up; this is supposed to be the night. I want to be ready, just in case,” Brooke said.

“How did you find out it was tonight?” Austin leaned in towards her.

“Strange phone call from an unknown source…early yesterday morning.”

“What do you mean strange?” Austin asked.

“Well, when I answered the phone, the man’s voice whispered something I could barely make out.”

“What was it again?” Austin had a little grin on his face, as he stared at the old structure.

“‘The evil you seek will find you on December 24, at the hour of contemplation,’” Brooke said, as the hairs on her arm stood up and her body suddenly felt like it was dipped in freezing water.

“What in the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know, but the day, Christmas Eve, does seem a little out there,” Brooke said.

“Yeah, it’s definitely out there,” Austin said.

A flash of light from a window on the second floor caught Brooke’s attention. “Look up there!” She feverishly tapped on Austin’s shoulder, pointing at the window.

“Whoa. What’s gotten into you?” Austin brushed her hand away.

“Get the camera quick…something’s up there.” Brooke ran through the overhang of branches covering the sidewalk. She burst through, almost tumbling at the feet of the crumbling cement blocks that used to be the front steps.

“Wait! You’re gonna kill yourself if you don’t slow down,” Austin called, chasing after her.

“I think someone’s in the house,” Brooke said, almost out of breath.

“I think you’re seeing things.” Austin finally caught up to her at the top of the steps.

“I know what I saw. There was something in the window looking at us.”

The two reporters faced the front door of the mysterious home. Austin held the camera at the ready, while Brooke shakily grasped the ancient silver doorknob. She jerked her hand back, staring at it in disbelief.

“You all right?” Austin asked.

“I don’t know. The knob is freezing. What’s going on?”

“Brooke, hello…it’s winter. Of course the doorknob is freezing.”

Brooke stared at her hand, noticing the skin immediately showed signs of frostbite. “Damn it! Look at this.” She stuck her hand out for him to inspect.

“Okay, I see it. You don’t want to leave, do you?”

“No, but you go ahead and try to open it.”

Austin reached into his pocket and slipped on one of his winter gloves. He reached for the knob, slowly opening the door.

“We’re in.” He glanced back and could see Brooke wrapping her injured hand with her brown scarf.

“I’ll be alright, but stay close, in case I want to get the hell out of here.”

“Gotcha. You’re right, though…it’s a little strange.”

“A little?”

“Okay. It might have some paranormal aspects to it.”

Brooke finished wrapping her hand as the two walked through the entryway. A thin layer of frost covered everything within sight. Brooke could see the warmth of her breath cut through the icy air. She looked in Austin’s direction. He gasped, noticing the icy interior as well.

“You got the camera rolling?” Brooke shivered as she grasped at the pocket flashlight. Even though her hands were covered, numbness crept through her fingertips.

“Yes, it’s ready.”

Brooke glanced at the side of the device, realizing the recording button wasn’t working. She tapped at it with her hand, and soon, the red light activated. The two reporters had only taken a few steps when they were assaulted with an odor of rotting flesh and defecation.

“Oh my God…that’s awful!” Brooke put a hand over her mouth, the taste of vomit filling her throat.

“Probably some dead animals in here somewhere,” Austin said.

“In this cold? That’s nasty, Austin. And it looks like this place is pretty well boarded up. I can’t imagine anyone ever living here.”

“Well, they did.” His voice was terse.

Before she could respond, a cackling sound erupting from above the two. “Ahh, ahh, ahh…”

Brooke turned her head toward the noise. “What in the hell—”

“Sounds like someone’s hurt. You were right. Somebody’s up there,” Austin said.

“I told you I wasn’t imagining it.”

Brooke pointed up in the direction of a spiraling staircase, as it seemed to disappear into darkness. A small ball of red light screamed across the floor above them. Brooke clung to Austin, nervous and afraid. Austin guided her with one hand, as his other held the recording device in position. He aimed the lens in the direction of the unknown illumination. Brooke’s first instinct was to turn and run, but the firm grip Austin had on her forced her to move forward. Brooke gave her co-worker a sheepish smile. The two cautiously ascended the stairwell. The deep, penetrating sound became stronger, piercing the eardrums of the house guests.

Brooke tried to cover her ears but was unsuccessful. Tears started to well up in both eyes. “Austin, we gotta get out of here!”

“I know—”

A strong booming voice began to reverberate through the walls, as the two again grabbed at their ears. The light flared brighter, and suddenly, they heard a voice with distinct clarity.

“The hour is at hand, and many have come before you are waiting.”

The stairs began to sway and rumble beneath the frightened investigators. Austin tried to keep his hand around the camera and maintain his balance, but he was failing desperately. The camera slid from his grip, falling over the edge of the staircase. Brooke scrambled up the stairs, racing against the wooden planks that fell as they were torn from their foundation.

“Austin, what’s happening? Oh my god…we’re going to die!” Brooke cried out.

She felt her body lift as it was hurled forward from the unknown force. Blood began to flow from a gash she had on her forehead as she bounced helplessly at the foot of the second floor. She turned and couldn’t see Austin.

“Austin? I’m hurt—where are you?”

Brooke realized the screeching noise had ceased, but the other noise was still deafening to her ears. Crawling to her feet, she braced herself against a wall. In confusion and disbelief, she fumbled for the flashlight but was unable to find it. She again called out for her partner.

“Austin…Austin?”

Just as Brooke regained a little balance, the unseen energy again struck her with little compassion. It propelled her backwards, smashing her through a hallway door, splintering her small ribs. She looked up and could see something approaching her. It was a man dressed in black with a hood around his head.

“Who are you?”

“I’m here. Everything will be fine, my child,” he said.

“Who are you?” she asked again, sobbing.

The figure in black stepped forward, then slowly slipped his hood away.

“My name is Austin Misery, and this is my father’s house.”

Brooke grabbed at her waist. “You’re Blake Misery’s son?”

He put a finger to his lips, removing a machete from under his cloak. “Shh. No time for talk now…lots of work to complete before daddy gets home.” He placed the palm of his other hand on her head and smoothed out her hair. “Welcome to your new home. And more importantly, welcome to Hell…”

(Death is only a click away.)

Kindle Free Downloads for Cupid’s Kill

Posted in A Writer's Life, General Information, Just For Fun!, New Releases on 05-27-2012 by jeffreymartinsnovels

The second portion of Cupid’s Kill should be released today. In the mean time enjoy a free download of Cupid’s Kill Part 1.

http://www.amazon.com/Cupids-Kill-ebook/dp/B0076AB4UC/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1338125899&sr=1-1

Remember, death is only a click away!

Chapter 1 of Weaving Evil

Posted in A Writer's Life, General Information, New Releases, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on 04-21-2012 by jeffreymartinsnovels


Tapestry of Silk

 

Today, I found an old friend. Death is his name, with pain and suffering accompanying him as comfortable roommates. Vanessa Servais read the newly written words over and over, until tears flooded her eyes. She adjusted her glasses, and brushed away the silky red hair, that her mother, if she were alive, would insist had grown way too long. The late Alexis Servais most likely would have also made less than flattering comments regarding her daughter’s current choice to wear non-fashionable eyewear, especially, with state of the art surgical procedures available to correct such a deficiency. That’s how Alexis had always treated her. A fucking deficiency.  The matriarch and elite socialite didn’t voice her disdain for the only child in an open forum, but distant behavior, excessive alcohol consumption, and numerous adulterous encounters, were strong indicators, the woman who had everything, was not satisfied with the life choices she had made. Opportunity to persecute and demean Vanessa appeared to be frequent on her agenda, especially, after the Servais family had learned, Vanessa’s father, Ripley Servais had developed a cancerous tumor, which all medical consults determined, was inoperable. Discussion between the family on the topic had been sparse, and the tragedy that was soon to befall, even catapulted Alexis’ unscrupulous behavior further. A few weeks before his rapid decline, Ripley Servais presented his only daughter with this journal. A short time later, it was the only piece of her father, or anyone for that matter, whoever cared about her that was left.

Enough down memory lane. Closing the worn journal, she scanned the small apartment, for signs her secret world had been invaded by people, who wouldn’t understand… couldn’t understand.  Satisfied her solitude was intact; she secured the gold-plated hasp locking device. She ran her fingers along the smooth leather, cherishing this gift. A girlish smile crossed her lips, as she gazed at the gold lettering that still managed to emerge through. The Keeper of Secrets was first used, to haphazardly scribble down her fantasies about teenage boys she would have casual conversations with, but was much too shy to ever act on. Since those awkward years, Vanessa had grown into a voluptuous scholar, who experimented with her compliment of relationships, which usually ended up in failure. But she never gave up hope, and continued to jot down a note or two in her journal, for future references, hoping to create a roadmap to find the right mate. Her undergraduate studies at Ohio State found her more focused in the field of entomology, and less concerned with romantic involvements… except one. The passion for work led her to the west coast, involving her more with the bio-chemistry side of the field. As Vanessa’s  post-graduate years passed, visible cynicism crept in, and the journal writings became less and less about dreams of love and being loved, and shifted focus on pain and little tolerance for the human species, in any form…

Vanessa clutched the journal to her chest, as she hurried through the small apartment, only stopping when she reached her destination. The tidy but featureless kitchen housed the standard appliances and furnishings most would have in their residences, except perhaps the door to any pantry they may own, probably didn’t have two industrial sized padlocks keeping safe haven on their staple of Ramen Noodles and Pure Cane sugar from Hawaii. Vanessa reached at her neck, as she removed a gold chain from underneath her blouse. Two metallic colored keys, approximately the same size and shape, were positioned at the end of the chain, and within seconds, found their purpose rotating the tumblers in the heavy locks. She was careful in removing them, almost quiet even, as not to disturb what lay behind the private entry.

Stepping through, darkness swallowed her; she was momentarily frightened. Even though this was her Utopia, the unknown and unseen, especially in this place, would terrify anyone. She reached high above her head, until she located the switch, which quickly put a fluorescent hue upon the interior. My little angels. Her eyes lit up with joy, as she stashed the journal in a man-made cement crevice just inside the doorway. Gazing upon the packed shelves, Vanessa’s breath started to quicken. She smiled. “Did you miss me today? I certainly missed you!” A movement to her right caused her to smile in earnest. “Maxine, you must need some TLC. Come to mommy.” The tall red-head placed both hands around a glass container and removed it from the middle shelf. Careful not to take a misstep and damage the precious cargo, she placed it on a medium sized oval shaped table located in the center of the room. Vanessa gazed at the assortment of colorful foliage, as she mindfully tapped at the glass, trying to gain the attention of the sole inhabitant. “Maxine, time to work…don’t be shy.” At first, the consistent reverberation of Vanessa’s fingertips against Maxine’s temporary home was a mere disruption in the resident’s daily regimen. This was her world. The Queen ruled her Kingdom with a lack of forgiveness. All of her visitors, ended up in a tapestry of silk, only to be drained of their life juices and digested, so she could maintain her beauty and strength.

Vanessa’s efforts finally aroused the female creature to emerge from her shelter. My perfect girl. Vanessa’s face beamed with delight, as she removed the tin lid. She turned back to the rows of shelves, again choosing another container, identical only in description. A quick turn of the cover, unveiled several wrapped medical syringes. She plucked one from the group, and closed the container. Vanessa returned to the table, realizing Maxine was now making a full appearance to her public. The carnivore’s sleek dark body glistened, as her eight thin, but agile legs, glided her along the verdant floor of the glass. Her abdomen was highlighted with a colorful birthmark, which doubled as an identifier; one which could entice fear, intense pain, and sometimes even cause her victims to have a rendezvous with the afterlife. The bright hourglass design was the reason Vanessa had chosen her; a most important role in the demented world Vanessa was about to create.

The redhead removed the syringe from its package, slowly lowering it into the cylinder. The creature realized its’ home had been invaded, and tried to scurry to shelter, but her feeble attempts resulted in absolute failure. Vanessa’s steady hand guided the sharp steel into the depths of Maxine’s flesh, piercing the sweet spot, relieving the creature of her special elixir. Vanessa’s lips formed a devilish grin, as the clear cap of the medical instrument was quickly filled. She was careful not to remove the needle with recklessness; hopefully repeated use would be on the menu. Speaking of menu. She capped the needle, watching as Maxine didn’t waste time retreating to a safe haven under the foliage. “Thank you Maxine. I have a special treat for you.” Excited, Vanessa stored the syringe in the small fridge in the pantry. Returning to the row of shelves, she removed one more container. This one didn’t follow the cookie cutter model of the others. It had two major differences. One, it was square in shape, and secondly, the glass was more opaque than all of the others she used to house her guests. She reached inside, and removed the lone occupant. The tan eight legged arachnid sported many of the characteristics of his female complement, He even possessed the faint unique birthmark the species shared. But the male black widow was rather harmless and for that matter, helpless when compared to his female counterpart and this difference alone would soon cost him dearly. Vanessa slid the new guest into the Queen’s container, and admired how expedient Maxine responded to her mate. A ghoulish grin filled her face. A tapestry of silk ends it all!

Miss My Radio Inteview with Trestle Press? Listen Now!

Posted in A Writer's Life, Get To Know The Characters! with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on 12-9-2011 by jeffreymartinsnovels

Just in case you missed my inteview on Gelati’s Scoop on Blogtalk Radio earlier this year, here it is, for your listening pleasure.

Jeffrey Martin and the announcment of the 1st Trestle Press Spring Submission Winner

Meet Me Tomorrow at The Great Iowa Book Event

Posted in A Writer's Life, Personal Appearances with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on 11-11-2011 by jeffreymartinsnovels

Brandon Thornley unzipped his jacket and removed the GPS device. Following the frost-covered trail, he reached the wooded sanctuary that was home to the tools of his real trade. He thought he could give it up and live the life of an honest man, but the hunger for killing was too strong and couldn’t be masked any longer. He forced himself through the dense tree branches, barely feeling their backlash on his exposed face and neck. A few steps further, he stopped in front of a large pine tree. The computer-generated voice from the GPS, which indicated he had reached his destination, startled him.

So tomorrow, what is your destination? If you’re in the Des Moines area, put the Southridge Mall on your GPS, and come meet me and many other great authors at The Great Iowa Book Event. From 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., we will be talking with readers and signing books. And if you haven’t picked up your copy of 3:16 yet, there will be plenty on hand. Look foward to seeing you there!

Happy B-day Cold Moon Press!

Posted in A Writer's Life, General Information with tags , , , , , , on 10-27-2011 by jeffreymartinsnovels

Hello, fans and friends! Check out the B-day post from my publisher! I can’t belive it’s been a whole year myself, but indeed it has.

The First Birthday
of Cold Moon Press

If I had to, I couldn’t pick an exact date that Cold Moon
Press began. Was it the day we held the first book in our hands? Or the day that
Jeff submitted his manuscript to me, and I thought, Hey! We’ve got something
here!
Or was it before that, when I was writing our business plan and
dreaming about who we were capable of becoming? None of those dates are right,
yet none of them are wrong. The truth is, I’d been dreaming about doing this for
so long that it had become part of me, the lines of time blurring enough that we
just…well…were.

We didn’t celebrate our opening. Too much was happening
too quickly. But I do want to pick a moment to take a breath and say yes, it’s
been a year. A wonderful, beautifully hectic year. So I’m picking our first
anniversary to be celebrated on October 31. Not only is it a fun day—my favorite
of the year—but it is also the day our first contract was drafted on our first
piece of Cold Moon Press stationary, complete with the logo Vonnie designed. I
mean, we were official. It was written right there in black and
white.

I wanted this post to be a humorous list of the things I
have learned over the last year, but instead, it feels right to just say thank
you. To my sounding boards (you know who you are) who listen to my ramblings and
day dreams and help me develop game plans. To the authors, who have placed a
great deal of trust in this venture and who have been working their…err…back
covers off to market and promote our team, who’ve graciously adopted our motto,
“What’s good for one of us is good for all of us.” To all of our
families and friends who have been supportive. To the professional and
convention venues, brick-and-mortar stores, and websites who have hosted Cold
Moon Press and the authors. And to each and every person who have come to see us
read or speak, who’ve read our blogs, and who may have (thankfully) purchased
our books.

So, to express our appreciation, I’d like to give one of
you part of us. Leave a comment on this blog
post or on our Facebook page from now until the end of October, and you go into
a drawing to get print copies of the books we currently have in print (or a copy
of the e-book, if you prefer something for your e-reader). Good luck. And thanks.

Remember…death is only a click away!
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