検索キーワード： 著者 "David Boyer" すべてのカテゴリー

In the tradition of Edgar Allan Poe, author David Boyer presents The Flesh Once Removed, a collection of dark poetry and prose guaranteed to elicit a shiver and chill the blood. Also included: "Edgar and Annabel", dark poetry dedicated to the late Edgar Allan Poe, as well as numerous other poems written with Edgar in mind.

As Billy approached the parking lot, he could smell it: a dark scent, musky and wild and tangy on his taste buds as he breathed it in. The smell of wet fur and dried blood were what he identified next and knew he had been here recently. It wasn't hard to track Sampson. He left dead hookers wherever he went. Sampson was much older now, but he was still very strong as an opponent.

Now, Billy did believe in ghosts. Missy, completely whole again, if only for a brief moment in time, moved into the real world so that he could see and hear her singing. She began with the song she chose five years ago, stepping out of the shadows into a convenient patch of moonlight filtering in through the dirty clouds above them, looming over them like big gray ghosts.

Sampson Faith lay in the darkness of the motel room, his hands, arms, and torso smeared with dried blood. As he opened his eyes, his vision tunneled once more. He stared into the abyss and it stared back into him. He felt the hand of God within him for the first time in years...but it wasn't soon enough to save the life of his most recent victim.

The Hoosier state has had more than its share of good ghost stories over the years. But ghostly hauntings aren't the only creepy and strange happenings that have made campfire tales all the more interesting and spine-tingling. Feel free to listen to Strange Happenings in the Hoosier Heartland. If you dare...

Trisha was one of the forgotten ones, the walking wounded, the expendables. Just like a lot of other young girls who inadvertently get mixed up with the wrong crowd, hang around the wrong places, live teetering on the very edge of society, she was nothing more than a statistic on a sheet, another lonely number among many others. She'd been classified as just another one of the "nearly dead", meaning that her lifestyle was surely going to kill her anyway, even if someone else didn't kill her first.

Right outside Jacksonville, in the pitch-black darkness, the guy stood naked in the moonlight, surveying his current surroundings in horrified awe and wondering how it all came to this. He noticed that blood appeared almost black in the moonlight. There was a pool of it at his feet, having dripped down his lanky frame in rivulets, only moments ago.

He’s a cutter. He uses the knife and I’m the Thanksgiving turkey that needs to be carved. I have blood all down my arms and legs. He cut on my backside and if I get out of here I don’t know how I can explain those scars without having to tell how stupid I was to get in his car...says Tina, a victim of a serial killer who enjoys slowly torturing his victims. But what he doesn't know is, he has finally met his match.

Tonight, as he stood over the body of the burger lady, he felt that way again - reborn. Powerful and invincible. He'd learned through horrible, ritualistic torture and trail and error how to feel power again, any time he pleased. Love is malice, and malice love. He'd learned this as a child. Now he was ready to show the world just how powerful - and crazy - he really was...

Serial killer Martin Campbell has planted his seed within her now, one he hopes will grow stronger and be nurtured by her to it’s full maturity. She can feel it coursing through her veins like a runaway train, her adrenaline pumping now as well, as she descends the dirt path behind their condo and into the darkness of the ghostly tree line. He will follow close behind her - only to make sure she is an apt pupil - but not too close, doesn’t want to throw off her concentration. After tonight, though, she will be on her own.

Every morning Missy Lone Dove finds herself locked in her lonely embrace, both arms wrapped about her abdomen, hands resting restlessly between the curve of hip and waist. She crushes her solitude against her chest, a grotesque parody of a lover’s hold rendered even more pathetic by the fact that she is alone, and she is not alone. Sampson is in her head, but in her mind her bed lays cold and barren. But she doesn't have to worry about being lonely for long. Billy Blackhawk will be her knight in shining armor tonight, as well as her killer.

The skinny little guy in the blue shirt lit another cigarette and walked closer to the highway, watching the cars and trucks zoom by, the wind parting his greasy hair. He felt as though he had the highway to himself tonight...which was fine with him.

The subject of the “edgy Christian fiction” genre has been of great interest to me for some time, and I still have yet to figure out just what the term “edgy” actually means. As in all genres of literature, there will always be writers who push the envelope, cross over dangerous boundaries, and walk that thin line between what is considered “suitable” for viewing by the public eye and what is considered “un-sanitized” in mainstream literature.

While Billy Blackhawk makes his escape from prison, Sampson Faith hides himself away in a cheap motel room above the Cantina, drowning his sorrows in cheap liquor and the company of prostitutes. Before the night is over, he will realize with terrifying clarity he is no better than Billy - a bitter, remorseless killer.

The films, TV shows, and music of the '60s, '70s, and '80s are still as classic and timeless as they were long ago. The TV shows and movies were family-friendly, yet interesting and exciting, leaving the viewer breathless and anxiously awaiting the next episode or sequel. TV and film directors knew that science fiction could be mind-bending yet thought-provoking, and horror could actually be frightening but instill that sense of fear without the obligatory graphic violence, pervasive language, and sexual overtones to bring their vision to life.

Deep in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, this maximum-security penitentiary held some of the most vicious criminals...One of them was Billy Black Hawk, a murderer and rapist...he was not only a master of mind control, but he was also a fluent out-of-body traveler and shape-shifter. Sampson Faith, a cold blooded assassin, wanders the wastelands in search of the man who killed his beloved wife. Little does he know that Billy Blackhawk, the man who killed Missy, will soon escape his musty prison cell and come looking to kill Sampson and claim his soul as well.

August 8, 2001, Vincennes, Indiana: A small town is shocked and stunned as a young married couple, just sitting back watching TV and following their nightly routine, are suddenly and viciously murdered - by one of their own relation for no apparent reason; May 31, 2000, Bloomington, Indiana: A pretty young woman, popular, happy, and carefree and looking forward to the future suddenly vanishes into thin air, only to be found later dead, a possible victim of murder by jealous classmates.

The shooting of Sheriff Ben Carter was ruled as self defense. After a full investigation, all of his past crimes came to light within the public eye, and a lot of unsolved crimes and mysterious disappearances were laid to rest, and many local families finally got the much needed closure they deserved. Everyone except for Elnora. The painful memories she thought would fade with time still lingered on, and she knew they would never go away unless she faced her own inner demons head-on....

The hospital, long decayed and on the verge of collapse, had apparently cut corners at every opportunity; the drab gray walls were peeling, the linoleum floors warped and discolored, and, in some spots, smeared with blood. Blood stains left behind by other victims of Ben Carter's white slavery ring.

Elnora turned to stare up at the stars again, hoping deep down that if she wished - or prayed? - long enough - that all of this would end up having been nothing more than a bad dream, and she would wake up and Sonia would be alive and well, and outside in the back yard playing with her Frisbee and her father would be sober and her mother would be happy. But she knew better. Drunk is drunk and unhappy is unhappy and, in Sonia's case, dead is dead, and there was no in-between.