Saturday, October 31, 2015

A voice in the Shadows

       There was absolutely nothing that was going to keep the two of us in that building! We were screaming with what little breath we had, a stream of cold air condensation trailing behind us. Our hearts beat in anticipation of the shadow behind us reaching forward to pull us back.

As we passed through the lobby of the massive derelict mental facility, a chandelier came crashing down in the dark shadows. Broken glass shattered about the three story entryway, striking out and cutting my leg. Pain shot through my body and shook my bones, though not enough to fight past the adrenaline that drenched my body and charged my legs forward.

The scene that continued to run through my mind was that of the blood pool coursing down the hallway. Then a voice struck out of the hallway a screamed like thunder The darkness spoke out, and we obeyed, bolting like rabbits.

We ran for the safety of the forest road. Our breath behind us as we burst out of the hospital As our endurance ended several hundred feet away from the hospital, we slowed our pace, thinking in retrospection.

            A sudden breath of relief; we looked back at the darkened silhouette of St. Stiles Mental Facility. We walked down the road, beginning to feel safe. Which soon turned into humor and we began nervously chuckling. The screaming voice had been terrifying, and jolted our fears into reality, but it was over and we were safe from the darkness.

“Where was Charlie this whole time?” I asked, finding it still hard to speak, shrouded in cold and terror.

“Probably too scared to show up,” my friend said, trying to laugh as well. Considering who Charlie was, a brave and confident young girl, it would be out of her character to shy away from an adventure like this.

“If she showed up, she probably went in early and got bored.” I said, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

A slight sound that stopped our hearts interrupted us, not much more than a misplaced crack of gravel.  The quiet fall night made the sound of footsteps our only entertainment.  Soon we picked up on it, a walking pattern that differed from our own. It was distant, coming from the building we had just left.

Listening for the sound behind us, soon we turned our heads back. Within the shadow of the building, at its base, walking up the path was a shadow’s movement.  Gravel crushing beneath its feet, it trotted with purpose and direction, right toward us. By the time we could see the outline of the shadow rushing us with deep glowing eyes, we were already moving. A new streak of terror pumped out in our stomachs as launched forward into the night.

The shadows seemed to cling to our clothes. We pushed as hard as we could, no longer screaming, but focused on escape. No longer did we feel safe, no longer would we take the chance to recover, we ran for our lives. Breaking out of the forest, we made it to the car, and without skipping a beat we continued to my house. To the safety of locked doors and bed sheets, we fell asleep with the terror in our minds.

Sleep overtaking us, and despite nightmares chasing us throughout the night, we awoke to a crisp and bright autumn morning. The sunrise brought a sense of silliness. It had all been too real, but in the morning we could see that it was an overreaction. There had been no ghost, no demon, and no evil, only foolish clumsiness and bad timing

I got the paper after it thudded on the door, opening it to a fright that ran my blood cold. The voice that told us to run, the scream that had jumped our nerves and sent us flying; wailing back to me, the blood that ran into the moonlit hallway; running through my mind. As I read on the front page of the paper the most horrifying story.

“Local girl, Charlie Mendez, found dead in abandoned mental hospital.”

Saturday, October 24, 2015

My Portfolio

I know it's really not like any person reading this blog will care,
But here is a portfolio I created for a job I was applying for. I kinda like how it turned out.

Saturday, October 17, 2015


I know that This blog has be come less me writing and more me posting pics and stuff. But the fact is that I spend most of my writing time writing my actual book. Maybe when I get more writing time for myself, I will actually be able to blog constantly. At this point, it's more when times get slow at work.
But here are a few pictures of the book I printed out. The First book in a trilogy, and I will begin querying again in the coming month. But this is a cool post because its an accomplishment. If I wanted to, I could self publish. I have full ability to do so, yet I feel called to traditional publishing. Mostly because I want to work on Christ's time, not my own. If God tells me to self publish, then I will. As it goes now,  I don't feel called to do so, I feel called to continue to write and continue to write I shall.
So here it is. The Split-World: The Inheritance.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Desperation and Apples

 Today I tried to write something in my book.

I am sick, and groggy and everything I wrote I hate. I just pressed Ctrl + A then pulled the trigger on the life I had breath and committed writing homicide. I kinda feel terrible.
It's most likely cause of being sick. But beyond that I wonder sometimes if its all for not. This is going to be depressing, but that's the kinda mood I'm in right now. I just killed several thousand words of story and now I have to sit here and think about what a waste of day this is.

See, I can only deal with this life, these jobs the lack of security and subtle poverty because I have a goal. But days like this, where I'm reminded that I haven't accomplished anything yet, they are almost unbearable.

I'm not looking for sympathy or pity. I'm just venting.

Here's a comic book cover I did for a story a friend and I have been working on.