Christopher Hiver
Publisher:
eTreasures Publishing
Purchase:
Publisher
Amazon
Genre: Collection, Horror, Short Stories
BLURB:
Don't scream. It only entices them, and when you stop, the real terror begins. In the moments between your cries, the monsters are released, profane and insatiable. Werewolves, witches, vampires and creatures never named prowl from the darkness. Soul collectors knock on your door while animals you won't find at the zoo slither through the yard around the dead bodies. Angels hover over your house, just in case.
Behind them, in the bushes, demons wait for the same reason. A storm brews in the distance, ready to sweep you up and take you away, but to where? And would it be better than here where you're afraid to stop screaming and machinery hidden in the clouds has covered the sky?
EXCERPT from the story Taking Jenny Seriously:
Martin Brawley sat in the police interrogation room smoking a stale cigarette. He could hear footsteps shuffling around outside the door and wished they would come in and get it over with. He wasn't going to tell them anything anyway. He couldn't if he wanted to stay alive.
The door finally swung open. Martin raised his head to see two men come into the room. The first was the one who had arrested him earlier in the day, Detective Ned Rothstein. Rothstein sported a wide body, too large for his small head. It made him look more than the twenty pounds overweight that he was. The second man wore an ill-fitting, brown suit with ashes from a cigarette dusting the jacket lapels. The man in the suit sat down, and Rothstein introduced him.
"This is my partner, Detective Smalley. He's going to take over the questioning, and I'd advise you to start telling the truth. Smalls here can get real pissed." Smalley stared at Martin with bored eyes. It didn't seem to matter to him whether Martin talked or not. Rothstein hitched up his pants and left, slamming the door.
"All right," Smalley said, as soon as the door shut, "let's get this over with. I'm going to ask you some very simple questions, and you are going to answer them truthfully, and then I'll go home and you'll go to jail."
"I told the other guy I don't know what happened."
"I haven't asked a question yet. Now, tell me, did you kill your wife?"
"No. I told the other guy that."
"What did happen to her?"
"I don't know."
"You were in the house with her."
"I didn't see what happened. I left the room and when I came back, she was in the chair, dead."
"Was she sitting in the chair when you left the room?"
"Yes."
"So, you leave the room, your wife is alive, sitting in an easy chair. When you came back, she's dead."
"Yes."
"You didn't hear anything, see anything?"
"No."
"What did you do when you came back into the room?"
"I said something to Jenny, but she didn't answer. I repeated it, and when she didn't respond again, I looked at her. She was slumped in the chair. I walked over to her and shook her, thinking she had fallen asleep. When she still didn't move, I checked for a pulse, but she was dead."
"Then what did you do?"
"I called the police."
"You didn't notice the five small puncture holes around her heart?"
The door finally swung open. Martin raised his head to see two men come into the room. The first was the one who had arrested him earlier in the day, Detective Ned Rothstein. Rothstein sported a wide body, too large for his small head. It made him look more than the twenty pounds overweight that he was. The second man wore an ill-fitting, brown suit with ashes from a cigarette dusting the jacket lapels. The man in the suit sat down, and Rothstein introduced him.
"This is my partner, Detective Smalley. He's going to take over the questioning, and I'd advise you to start telling the truth. Smalls here can get real pissed." Smalley stared at Martin with bored eyes. It didn't seem to matter to him whether Martin talked or not. Rothstein hitched up his pants and left, slamming the door.
"All right," Smalley said, as soon as the door shut, "let's get this over with. I'm going to ask you some very simple questions, and you are going to answer them truthfully, and then I'll go home and you'll go to jail."
"I told the other guy I don't know what happened."
"I haven't asked a question yet. Now, tell me, did you kill your wife?"
"No. I told the other guy that."
"What did happen to her?"
"I don't know."
"You were in the house with her."
"I didn't see what happened. I left the room and when I came back, she was in the chair, dead."
"Was she sitting in the chair when you left the room?"
"Yes."
"So, you leave the room, your wife is alive, sitting in an easy chair. When you came back, she's dead."
"Yes."
"You didn't hear anything, see anything?"
"No."
"What did you do when you came back into the room?"
"I said something to Jenny, but she didn't answer. I repeated it, and when she didn't respond again, I looked at her. She was slumped in the chair. I walked over to her and shook her, thinking she had fallen asleep. When she still didn't move, I checked for a pulse, but she was dead."
"Then what did you do?"
"I called the police."
"You didn't notice the five small puncture holes around her heart?"
***
Read the Interview with Christopher Hivner.
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