Distant Early Warning: BROKEN BARRIERS....

I am excited to announce that have delivered the final files for Broken Barriers, my sequel to The House at Black Tooth Pond, to Crossroad Press, so it should be up for pre-order very soon. The release date hasn't been set yet, but I anticipate it for later this year or very early next. The image above is one I created for the book's interior, and I will post the cover (featuring art by J. Edward Neill) as soon as it's up for pre-order.

 

Here's a little teaser...

BROKEN BARRIERS
The compelling sequel to The House at Black Tooth Pond

SIX WEEKS AGO: A series of horrific events rocked the small, mountain community of Aiken Mill, Virginia — a horrifically mutilated body vanishing from the town morgue and numerous prominent individuals going missing without a trace — leaving both local and Federal law enforcement agencies baffled.

NOW: Celeste Muir, a former FBI agent with extensive experience in paranormal phenomena, allies herself with Aiken Mill Sheriff Bryce Parrott to face the unknown forces that have terrorized the town.

Enter Leo Bray. A sinister, grotesque stranger who appears to know more than anyone should about the recent calamities. Every person he contacts first suffers anxiety, followed by hallucinations, and then uncanny visions of other worlds. Other dimensions.

With their every step forward, Agent Muir and Sheriff Parrott encounter ever-more menacing terrors. Who is Leo Bray? What is his connection with the dire events plaguing the community? And what new, vast horror is stirring at Black Tooth Pond — a dark, legend-haunted body of water hidden deep in the surrounding forest?

Time is running out for the people of Aiken Mill.

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Read More About BROKEN BARRIERS
at stephenmarkrainey.com

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“Stephen Mark Rainey is the only writer whose prose ever gave me an actual thrill of fear. In Broken Barriers, he takes us back to the town of Aiken Mill for his own style of combined Lovecraftian and Appalachian horror. The plot hurtles along, gripping the reader with damn near unbearable tension as the characters scramble to make sense of the horror overwhelming the sleepy college town. I sure stayed up way too late, unable to turn the pages fast enough.”

—Matthew Carpenter, The Lovecraft eZine

“The cry of the whippoorwill is not what it seems, investigators are baffled, and the town of Aiken Mill—often known as ‵the cold case capital of the world´—holds ancient, terrifying secrets. Cosmic horror readers will devour this sequel to The House at Black Tooth Pond.”

—Mike Davis, The Lovecraft eZine

“A new novel from Stephen Mark Rainey is always cause for celebration, and Broken Barriers, a direct sequel to The House at Black Tooth Pond, does not disappoint. Rainey’s story is full of subtle wit and creeping dread, sitting somewhere near the intersection of Twin Peaks, The X-Files, Kolchak: The Night Stalker, and The Kingdom of Nye. I had a blast.”

—K. L. Young, author of The Secret Language of Spiders and others

Sylvan County's Voice of Love, Wisdom, and What All

Know what? I feel compelled to inflict this on you. When we were kids, my brother and I made tape recordings of a little fictitious radio station, WDUM, and on it, we did a show called "Mother Bell" which consisted primarily of prank phone calls. It occurred to me the other day that I should include Mother Bell as a podcast in the sequel to The House at Black Tooth Pond, tentatively titled Broken Barriers.. Prepare to be inflicted upon.

The Mother Bell Podcast
Sylvan County’s Voice of Wisdom, Love, and What All

Hello, children! This is Mother Bell, back with you on a chilly Sunday evening, hoping that come tomorrow, you survive your daring leap back into the workweek. I myself have had the loveliest weekend, and I trust you did too. My son, Scott, and his wife, Bethany, and my two grandchildren, Johnny and Mary Lynn, visited me yesterday, and I can’t tell you what it means to me that they give so freely of their time and energy in my old age. Without them, I could not get by. Oh no, I could not! And I know, many of my friends and neighbors are envious of this, and even some of you, too. But that’s okay. Y’all just envy away. Someday or another, everybody’s gonna get what’s coming to ’em.

Speaking of, whatever is coming, ain’t nobody knows, but I’m here to tell you things here in our town are spooky. It’s like, not so long ago, all these people from here vanished under 'mysterious circumstances.' So, what about our good ol’ sheriff, huh? Well, he and his people did their investigation stuff and such for a while, and then...they up and threw up their hands. Well, that’s what I heard. Then the FBI comes along, and they do their FBI stuff and such, and then they throw up their hands and go away.

I ask you, children, what is going on here?

Imma let you in on a secret. A lot of y’all know that I live up on Copper Peak, and in my lifetime, I have seen devils flying around up here. These are real, true devils, not just bad people who’ve never had the Lord in their hearts. I know, nowadays, we prefer to think that the devil is nothing more than the evil that human beings do, but I’m here to tell you, it’s not like that. These are the most frightening things you could ever imagine, and sometimes you can even smell ’em. Sometimes, that’s the only way to know they’re nearby.

And listen. They’re not just up on Copper Peak. Oh, no, they’re all around in this old, old part of the country, lurking and skulking in the dark shadows.

So, I’m telling you, children, keep the Lord in your hearts and be vigilant. Be careful of these devils. If you see them, they may well see you. And if they do, you’d better be wearing the Lord’s armor, else they may not pass you by. I keep my armor on day and night, and I surely do thank the Lord every day for His protection and His mercy.

We gonna talk more about this in a bit, but right now, I’m gonna put on one of my all-time favorite praiseful songs, “This Is the Day That the Lord Has Made,” sung by the incomparable Mr. Fillmore Skillman, for you to contemplate and enjoy. And while I’m gone, let it be known, like I always tell you: you won’t see me, but Imma see you, because I’m gonna be around, children. So, bye-bye for now, and I’ll be back in five.

#

Country of the Snake

A little excerpt from my current work in progress, a short story titled “Country of the Snake”. I derived the title from the inscription on a plaque found near a geocache in the Uwharries, not far from Asheboro, NC.

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A faint, distant rumble told the Switchman the train was coming. He plucked his old pocket watch from his tattered vest, glanced at its ornate face, and slipped it back into his pocket.

3:30 p.m.

Right on time.

With a groan, he drew himself up from the wooden bench inside his makeshift shanty. The desert sun pummeled his face like a hot iron fist as he peered around the door and down the tracks. There it was: the faraway plume of smoke in the east, gradually moving closer.

There was never any whistle. No signal of its approach. But it was never a minute early, never a minute late.

Mr. Lancaster's private train.

The Switchman shuffled across twenty feet of sand and gravel to the switch lever. He spat on his palms, grasped the flesh-scorching metal handle, and tugged. With a scrape and a clank, the switch rails slid and locked into position to send the train onto the diverging track. He released the lever and stepped back. The approaching wave of sound swelled and washed over him.

The huge, black locomotive roared past and veered to the right, onto the northwest track. Apart from the engine and coal tender, there were only three cars. Most times, curtains in the windows blocked any view of the inside. On occasion, though, the Switchman might glimpse a random figure or pair of eyes peering through a murky pane. He never knew anyone on the train. He didn't know Mr. Lancaster or anything about his business. He didn't care.

The Switchman had only one job. To put the train on the right track, and then return the switch to its original position. This was what he did. This was what he lived for.

As the train thundered away into the endless northwestern desert, he took hold of the switch lever and dragged it back to its original position. With what sounded like a sigh of relief, the steel points swung back into place.

For a moment, the Switchman peered after the train, as he always did. Only Mr. Lancaster's train ever went that way. Once it diverged onto the northwest track, it might as well no longer exist. He had no idea where it was going. He had never known.

He did not want to know.

The Switchman ambled back to his shanty and sat down on his bench to wait. In exactly twelve hours, when he and the desert sun were long asleep, the train would return. Tomorrow at this time, he would throw the switch again.

He leaned back, closed his eyes, and was gone.

#

A few minutes ago, I went into the vault upstairs to find a certain book. Didn't see it, so I grabbed a random book off the shelf, opened it, and two dollar bills fell out. There's a shit ton of books in there. I guess I know what I'm gonna be doing the rest of the evening.

Ameri-Scares Ohio: Fear the Grassman! Excerpt #2

My next novel in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares series is for the state of Ohio. This one is tentatively titled Fear the Grassman! because it's about... you guessed it... the Ohio Grassman, which, according to local legend, is a kind of Bigfoot creature. In this scene, 13-year-old Landon Shrewsbury has experienced a terrifying, sleepless night. From the darkness outside his window, he has heard thumping, growling, and a strange, rhythmic rapping. When the sun finally rises, he gets out of bed before his parents, summons his courage, and creeps outside to look for evidence of a nocturnal visitor....

#

A gust of frigid wind slapped Landon in the face. From the woods at the edge of the yard, swaying tree limbs clacked, clattered, and groaned. To his left, an expansive meadow of dead, brown grass separated his house from the Wickliffes’ place, half a mile distant. In the middle of the meadow, he saw the jagged silhouette of an ancient, teetering barn, which he and Danny sometimes used as a clubhouse. Mom and Dad didn’t like him playing there. They said it was dangerous and might collapse. But that had hardly stopped him from claiming the place as his own. To the right, beyond a wide, withered cornfield, a steep, humpbacked ridge resembled a gigantic, sleeping bear. He didn’t know if it had a name, but he had always called it Bear Mountain. The rising sun’s rays created a golden halo above its “head.”

He drew a deep breath, gathered his nerve, and trudged along the side of the house to his bedroom window. He studied the ground around the window, searching, searching....

And then... there it was.

A footprint.

A big footprint.

Overnight, the ground had frozen as hard as stone. But a few feet from the base of his window, the dead, brittle grass appeared to have been mashed down in roughly the shape of a huge foot.

The impression wasn’t very deep, but when he knelt down and traced its outline with his fingers, he felt certain.

Grassman!

A short distance into the yard, he made out another impression. And another.

He stood up, lifted his foot, and stomped as hard as he could on the frozen ground.

Not even a dent.

Whatever made these had to be heavy. Maybe even as heavy as a car. Still, he knew he could never convince anyone these were actually footprints. Not without some other evidence. These impressions were too vague. Too fantastic for someone who didn’t already believe to believe.

Click-click-clack.

The sound came from far away. Barely audible.

It was nothing. Just tree branches rattling in the wind.

Click-click-click.

Click-click-clack.

CLICK-CLICK-CLACK! CLICK-CLICK-CLACK!

He felt a chill at his collar. All the hairs on the back of his neck had risen to attention. There could be no mistake. Something in the woods was rapping sticks together.

And another something—this one much nearer—was rapping in response.

#

Read Ohio: Fear the Grassman! Excerpt #1 here.

Excerpt #3 from Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior

Here's an excerpt from my now-completed second Ameri-Scares novel—Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior. Jeff Griggs, a 13-year-old who has been visiting Michigan's Upper Peninsula with his family, is in the dark woods fleeing from something that appears to have taken an interest in him...

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Jeff started forward but then froze. From off to his right came an earth-shaking thump and a deafening crash. The nearby trees swayed, and leaves rained down on his head. In the black spaces amid the nearby trees, a pair of huge silver orbs appeared. They moved toward him at frightening speed. He realized now he had only seconds to live!

The bright eyes blazed like molten metal as they approached. He could now make out a scaly head like a crocodile’s, and a long, snakelike neck weaving toward him through the trees. The thing was huge, all right, but it was nothing like the massive beast he had seen earlier. This had to be one of the young ones.

The head slid up close to him, and he could feel hot breath escaping from its spread jaws. The head was the size of his folks’ living room coffee table, its eyes as big as dinner plates. He wanted to clench his eyes shut, but he could not turn his gaze away. The creature glared at him as if sizing him up. So far, it didn’t seem interested in attacking him.

“Nice Pressie,” he whispered. “Good little Pressie. You can go away now. Okay?”

The creature huffed, and its hot breath swept over him. So hot, Jeff thought, he wondered if these creatures could breathe fire. The head rose high into the tree branches, but the eyes kept glaring down at him.

“If you’re the one I hit on my bike,” he said, “I’m very sorry about that. It was an accident.”

A low, grating growl vibrated from its throat.

“I’m sorry,” Jeff said. This had to be the end. It was going to kill him now. “I’m really sorry.”

The head lowered again, and the growling continued. The eyes remained locked on his. This time, the thing nudged him with its scaly snout. Not hard, but it nearly set him off balance. His heart was pounding so hard he could barely hear anything else.

Then he realized: the creature wasn’t actually growling.

It was more like purring.

Did that mean it didn’t intend to harm him?

Or was it just happy because it was about to eat him?

#

The novel is in copy-edit stage, and will be available from Crossroad Press within the next few months.

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First excerpt from Michigan: The Dragon of
Lake Superior

Second excerpt from Michigan: The Dragon of
Lake Superior

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Excerpt #2 from Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior

Here's an excerpt from my in-progress Ameri-Scares novel—Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior. Jeff and Anna, two thirteen-year-olds, meet for the first time at a mysterious waterfall in the forest....

Jeff looked out at the vast, crater-like gorge. To his surprise, he noticed a movement off to his left. There! A figure moving among the boulders. He realized it was a girl—at least, he thought so, judging by the long, flowing black hair. Her back was to him as she crept toward the path that led to the top of the gorge.

“Hey! You!” he called out.

For a second, she paused but did not turn around. Then she started moving again.

“Wait up, all right? I want to talk to you!”

This time she stopped. Slowly, she turned and gazed at him.

Wow, he thought. She must be a Native American. She had copper-colored skin, high cheekbones, and wide, very dark eyes. She wore blue jeans and a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt. From here, she looked pretty tall. He made his way along the rocky floor of the gorge toward her. She watched him with suspicious eyes. He raised a hand and smiled, hoping she would understand his intentions were friendly.

“Hi,” he said as he came up to her. She was taller than he—by a couple of inches—and she looked strong and muscular. Probably strong enough to pop him a good one if the mood took her. “I’m Jeff. I was just exploring back there.”

She raised one eyebrow but said nothing.

He pointed to the roaring cascade. “Exploring. Cave. Behind waterfall.”

“I heard you the first time,” she said. Suspicion still gleamed in her dark eyes. “You’re not a Yooper, are you.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, I’m from Midland. I’m on vacation here with my parents. So I guess you are a Yooper.”

“Oh, yah.”

“Have you been to this waterfall before?”

“Yah, a good many times.”

”I didn't even know it existed till now.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I rode out on my bike this morning, headed down Miner's Castle Road, and I just sort of ended up here.”

“Odd place to just ‘end up.’”

“Speaking of odd—there’s something very weird about that cave. When you go only a little ways inside, it gets quiet—like you’re suddenly far, far away.” Trying to explain seemed awkward. He motioned to her. “It’s easier if I show you. Come with me, how about?”

She hesitated, once again eyeing him with suspicion.

“Hey, it’s not like I’m a serial killer or anything.”

She finally offered him a faint smile. “I know you aren’t. How do you know I’m not?”

Her question took him by surprise. For a second, he could find no words.

She must have found his expression amusing because she laughed. “Now I know you’re not dangerous,” she said. “A little goofy, maybe.”

“Well, thanks a lot,” he said, embarrassed. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Singing Bird of the Forest.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

“Huh?”

She gave him a mocking smile. “It’s Anna. Anna Hendricks.”

She seemed to enjoy poking fun at him. He sighed. “I’m Jeff.”

“So you’ve told me.”

“I mean, I’m Jeff Grigg.”

He must sound completely stupid. Why had he become so nervous?

“So, you want to go to the cave and see what I mean?”

“Actually, I do.”

“Okay, then.” He started walking back toward the waterfall. A little of his confidence returned when she fell in behind him. “What about you? How come you’re out here all by yourself?”

“It was something—” She cut herself off. After a moment, she said, “I spend a lot of time by myself. Today, I just decided to come here.”

Jeff stopped and looked back at her. Her gaze shifted away from his.

She was not telling the truth.

#

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First excerpt from Michigan: The Dragon of
Lake Superior

Third excerpt from Michigan: The Dragon of
Lake Superior

Excerpt 2: West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman

Another little excerpt from West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, now in progress and due from Crossroad Press in early 2019. Look forward to some marvelously fun frights....

“Did you see them?” Vance asked.

“See what?” came the voice over his phone speaker.

Clearly, she had not, or Marybeth would know exactly what he was talking about. “Lights in the sky. Like UFOs.”

“Well, I guess that would explain it,” she said. “Several people from school have posted things about aliens landing. Ken Surber said it looked like something out of Star Wars out there. I thought maybe his dad was shooting off fireworks again.”

“You’re friends with Ken Surber online?”

“I am friends with Ken Surber online. And in real life too. Are you jealous?”

“No,” he said, a little too quickly. “Except that…oh, never mind. Mom and Dad and I all saw them. First it was some red lights, almost like meteors. Then there was this big, glowing cluster of lights over the TNT Area. Remember what I told you about the call my dad got?”

“About lights in the sky. Yes.”

“Dad said that people saw things like this back in the 1960s. When the Silver Bridge collapsed. Do you know anything about that?”

“Not really, no.”

“I think I’m going to have do some research.”

“You think there’s some connection between what happened in the 1960s and now?”

“That’s what I intend to find out for myself....”

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Read Except 1 here.

Excerpt 1: West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman

A little excerpt from West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, now in progress.

Vance felt a vibration in his back pocket—his phone going off. That was odd, as he was sure no one he knew would be calling him during the school day. He drew his phone from his pocket and looked at the incoming number.

Local, but he didn’t recognize it. He stepped off to the side of the corridor, next to the water fountain. “Hello?”

For a moment, all he heard was strange buzzing and hissing. A strangely alive sound, he thought. Then a sharp, distorted voice said, “The coordinates are three, eight, five, five—”

A cold chill passed through his whole body. “Who is this?”

The voice continued to recite numbers. “Nine, two, six, zero, eight, two—”

“Who is this?”

“Zero, three, five, three, zero.” The voice stopped for a moment, but then started over again. “The coordinates are three, eight, five, five….”

“Oh, jeez,” Vance said and reached into his pocket to grab his ink pen. As the voice continued to say the numbers over and over, he wrote them down on the palm of his hand.

At last, the voice fell silent, but he could still hear a low buzzing, moaning sound in the background.

“Who is this?” he asked in a shaky voice. “What’s your name?”

There was no immediate reply, but the droning grew louder.

Then the caller said, “Indrid Cold.”

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 Read excerpt 2 here.