"HITMEN"--An Excerpt

Hey, all. Here's an excerpt from my upcoming horror/crime novel HITMEN: Four Tales of Magick, Monsters, and Murder. The book will be here before you know it!

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Joey’s twisted ankle swelled. He spat out a curse, gripping his leg while hopping on his other. Sweat drenched his disheveled bangs and they dangled in his face, obscuring his vision. The late afternoon sun leveled its glare on him, casting everything in dazzling diamond sparkles, but he could not slow or falter.

He slipped against the alley wall, knocking over a trash can, but righted himself on the grimy brick, hobbling along. His chest hurt from panting so hard, but he forced himself to keep moving, to get away. Tossing a glance behind him, he was momentarily relieved to see that the thing was no longer following.

Maybe I got a shot at this.

Turning back to the alley mouth, he saw the highway traffic blitzing by up ahead. No way would anyone stop for him—not in his torn jacket with embroidered patches depicting topless biker babes riding atop anarchy symbols, and a prominent upraised middle finger with angel wings across his shoulders. Fatigue threatened to undo him, but he knew he could survive this encounter, if he could just get a ride. Trembling too-thin fingers reached underneath his denim coat to brush the handles of the dual Ruger Super Redhawk .44 Magnums he had tucked in shoulder holsters. He was ready to draw them, to make someone stop for him, when the dark shape stepped into his path seemingly from nowhere, blocking the sun’s warm rays, suffusing him in cold black.

“N-NO!” Joey screamed as a black-gloved hand—impossibly icy—palmed the left side of his face and slammed him against the brick wall. Joey grunted in surprise, spitting out a geyser of blood and a couple teeth. His whole body shaking with shock, he slipped to the wet pavement, sputtering. “Stop…” he pleaded.

One giant boot stepped over him as the shadow descended, reaching for him. The right side of his face was raw meat and he couldn’t see out of that eye anymore, but Joey wasn’t ready to die. Not today. Not by the hand of this thing. Weeping, he rolled onto his back and drew his revolvers. Roaring now, he fired at the looming shape, hurling expletives as fast as bullets.

The thing twitched under the lead assault and Joey laughed, triumphant. He scooped himself up and wobbled back towards the end of the alley, headed for the road again. I’m gonna make it…I’m gonna make it…

His vision was blurry with tears, sweat, and blood, but he could just make out the speeding shapes of traffic. “Pull over,” he mumbled, not nearly loud enough for anyone to oblige. “Please, let me in…”

Weakly he emerged out of the alley, waving his pistols. “Hey,” he said, dreamily, fearing he was slipping into unconsciousness. Upon seeing him, nearby drivers swerved out of his way, honking.

“Wait! Wait, you gotta stop…”

Horns blared, tires screeched, and motorists dodged him as he approached the highway shoulder. “Wait!” he wept after them. “Let me in!”

He watched in helpless dejection as, one by one, cars passed by, his only hope of salvation leaving him behind.

Then he heard the crunch.

Joey whirled around and saw the thing rising to a stand in the alley, no sign of injury. No sign of slowing down. “God, no…” he whimpered.

What horrified him the most was the thing’s face. As the creature stood tall, drawing its strength, its face—that terrible skull face—began to radiate a soft phosphorescent blue glow. Against the backdrop of the shadowed alley, that head almost seemed to float, detached, and Joey could see nothing now but the grinning blue death’s head staring back at him. Moving for him.

“No!” he held out his hands as though they would keep the monster at bay. The thing stalked for him, ready to leave the alley behind and join him any second. Joey stumbled back into traffic, still flapping his arms, begging, weeping. “Get back! Stay away from me! I didn’t do nuthin!” 
A thunderous horn roared in his ear and Joey glimpsed the eighteen-wheeler bearing down on him too late—

Copyright 2014 Greg Mitchell

Halloween Exclusive: "Enemies of the Cross" Excerpt!

I love Halloween. It's pretty much the only time of year when the entire country is watching my favorite movies, listening to my favorite songs, and telling my favorite stories. As a special treat for you trick-r-treaters this season, I've cooked up this exclusive excerpt from my upcoming novel Enemies of the Cross.

Read it and be sure to pre-order your copy. February is just around the corner.

***

Danny Carpenter needed to get away.

Little more than twenty-one-years-old, with scruffy features, dirty brown hair that hung in his eyes, and a thin, compact body camouflaged in several layers of mismatched and loose fitting clothing, Danny was a product of the streets, his once-handsome face marred by a hard and misspent life on the East Side.

After dropping out of high school and having a big blow out with Nana Loraine, the grandmother who raised him since he was about six, he left home to make it on his own. Sleeping beneath bridges and on friends’ couches, he earned a living causing trouble and selling dime bags on street corners. All in all, Danny was just another cog in the gritty machine of dilapidated downtown Greensboro.

But right now, Greensboro was the last place Danny wanted to be.

He needed to blow off some steam and figure out what he was going to do. He thought to leave town for good this time, maybe even make his way in the City. Nobody would look for him. He could just disappear and get a new life far, far away from this stupid town and all its responsibilities.

Like raising babies. Babies he didn’t want.

And Tabitha. Always clinging to him, wanting him to do everything for her. He never signed on for that. He thought that he might love Tabitha, but this family stuff, with commitment and kids, was too much. He was still a young guy. He had too many things to figure out—too much living to do—to give up his life for her.

And those babies. It always came back to those stupid babies.

He drove his Monte Carlo faster into the night, jamming out to AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell,” fighting hard to grip the curvy roads that led deep into the North Woods and onward toward Greensboro Park Lake, toward the old highway and the turn-off to the new interstate that had damned Greensboro to obscurity and opened up the path to the City. Toward freedom.

Not many folks went in the direction of the North Woods these days. After the police found Lindsey McCormick’s car in the lake, most parents stopped taking their children there to swim. Even though Lindsey’s body was never recovered, everyone whispered that it was buried beneath the muddy water, and Greensboro Park Lake could not be separated from her tragic death in people’s minds.

Plus, there were the creepy stories. All the fish died and the grass all yellowed and withered away around the water. The trees closest to the blackened muck were hollowed out by rot, and some even said they saw the lake eat a bird or two.

Yeah. Eat a bird or two.

Folks said old Greensboro Park Lake was cursed. Only Danny didn’t believe in that garbage. Nana Loraine was a superstitious sort, always babbling about evil spirits and angels and the like. What a bunch of nonsense, Danny thought. It was all urban legends and ghost tales. The North Woods and Greensboro Park Lake were still the fastest way out of town, and no talk of a bird-eating body of devil water was going to keep him from the path to escape.

He drove faster, taking another drink. It was his fifth beer since getting into his fight with Tabitha, and he struggled against the alcohol and his anger to keep on the road. Out here, traffic was rare and deputies weren’t too common, either, so he had the whole road to himself to dodge pink elephants.

He sped on, indifferent to the risk of losing his own life. So what if he died? Seemed better than having to be a father or a husband. He wasn’t ready for those things. Didn’t want those things. He and Tabitha could barely get along and stay together, let alone raise a family.

It wasn’t the life for him, just like it wasn’t the life for his old man.

He drank the bottle empty then tossed it out the open window. After spiraling through the air, the bottle crashed to the pavement and shattered with a pop on impact. Satisfied, Danny hung his head out the window and crowed wildly, the wind whipping around his face. He felt liberated. Like nothing could touch him. He had tried to leave Greensboro before, but he always came crawling back when he started missing Tabitha.

But this time, he was going to get out for good.

He was still riding on his high as he brought his head back into the car, but his laughter trailed off when he saw a strange sight in the distance.
Slamming on his brakes, he stopped just inches shy of plowing into an unusual roadblock. Parked sideways in the middle of the street rested a car, apparently abandoned. The driver’s side door hung open and the headlights shone brightly into the void.

Danny frowned at the holdup, shut off his engine, and got out of the Monte. “Hey! Get out of the road!”

He moved closer to the car, lighting a cigarette and preparing to brawl with the idiot who was standing in his way. However, his anger became confusion when he observed that the car was empty.

“What in the . . .” Craning his head in both directions, he called out, “Hey!”

No response. With his eyes he followed the headlight trail into the tall, unkempt weeds that led to Greensboro Park Lake. Figuring the idiot was out there somewhere and in need of a good whuppin’, Danny balled up his fists and left the road behind. Trudging through knee-high grass and wildflowers, he waded his way to the yellowed edge of the lake. Ghost stories aside, he was still reluctant to go traipsing any closer to the water just in case it were poisonous.

Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shifted the cigarette clenched in his teeth and called out into the darkened ruins of the North Woods. “Yo! Anybody out there?”

Again, no response.

His vision impaired by the night and alcohol, he struggled as he ventured closer to the lake. “Hey! Moron! Get your car outta the road before I move it for ya!”

Before trekking too far into the dark, he met a shadow, the shape of a man. With his back turned to Danny, the man was kneeling beside the thick, murky waters of the lake, his head inclined over the surface of the sludge.

As Danny watched, something like a slick, black arm reached out of the waters and fixed itself to the man’s face.

Whoa. I think I had one too many beers.

Danny was startled at first, yet his irritation soon overwhelmed his initial shock. “Yo, moron! You deaf? I said move your car!”

The man did not move nor speak as the slimy arm slowly retracted from his face and returned to the lake.

He only stood.

Danny came closer, reaching out a hand to tap the man on the shoulder. Firmly rapping, ready to pick a fight, Danny said, “Hey, stupid. I’m only gonna tell you one more time. Move. Your. Car.”

Finally the man in the darkness turned around and Danny caught full sight of him. It was Ray McCormick. A relieved smirk rose to Danny’s face when he recognized the man as the local crazy who put those stupid MISSING posters all over town, but as he surveyed him more closely, his face fell. Something in Ray’s hand gleamed in the moonlight.

It was an axe.

Terrified, Danny opened his mouth to scream.

Copyright 2011 Greg Mitchell

Happy Halloween!

Exclusive Excerpt from "Flesh and Blood"

First, an update on "The Coming Evil" front. I have the edits from my editor and we're hard at work on making this the best novel it can be. We're getting closer, folks!

In the meantime, here is an exclusive excerpt from my very first Arbigast Group short story "Flesh and Blood" to be featured in Coach's Midnight Diner Volume 3.

In "Flesh and Blood", readers are introduced to Jon Arbigast, a mercenary monster killer. Along with his partner Rashonda Spencer, Jon is called to Haiti at the request of a friend and fellow hunter to take on a difficult job. What starts out as a simple hunt goes terribly wrong, as Jon learns that, when dealing with family, things can get messy.

Read on for an excerpt, and afterwards, be sure to order your very own copy.



Zabuto rounded another alleyway and disappeared from Jon’s sight. The older hunter spat out a curse, stood with creaking bones, and moved through the brush once more, trying to keep his visual.

When Jon reached his new position, though, Zabuto was nowhere to be seen.
He tapped his mike. “Spencer, you got eyes on Z?”

“I don’t see him.”

Jon cursed again. “Well, find him! He’s not in any shape to—”

A shrill cry split the night.

Jon froze.

Then he sprang into action.

He raced through the tall grass, clomping through mud, nearly tripping in the mire. Simultaneously, he brought out his Desert Eagle and held it aimed and ready. “I’m moving in, Spence!” he roared.

“No spook spotted,” she reported back, her breath hurried.

Another cry. A woman’s cry, wailing. The sounds of struggle.

Jon pushed his way in between the small shacks and the impoverished faces that stared back at the graying white man with the gun. They shrank in fear, retreating into their homes. Jon helped them along by waving them back with his gun. “Get inside! Get down!”

He absently realized that they had no idea what he was saying, but he hoped the urgency in his foreign-tongued command would suffice.

Emerging into the alleyway where he last spotted Zabuto, he heard a crash and a gunshot. “Spence, where is he, for God’s sake?!”

“I don’t know! I—”

The sound of another gunshot echoed in the hovel to Jon’s right. With a burst of speed, he hurled his foot into the door in a storm of splinters and leveled his pistol, prepared for anything.

Anything but what he saw.

To Be Continued in "Flesh and Blood"!

Order now:
http://www.reliefjournal.com/2010/08/05/the-midnight-diner-3-available-for-presale/

Copyright 2010 Greg Mitchell