Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Guest Post: Wolf - A Short Story by Corey Poff

Texas prairie, 1889. The wolf came in the darkness.
Henry Hanson woke at an unholy hour to an unholy din in the yard outside. He sat up, blearily wiping the sleep from his eyes with one hand. There was creak as he shifted in the bed, a thud as his feet hit the floor. Barefoot, he shuffled over the wood boards, muttering imprecations under his breath. He groped blindly along the wall until his fingers closed around the stock of the 30/30 Winchester that hung there. Then he opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.
The full moon cast a sheeny whiteness on three shapes furiously intertwined with one another. Teeth flashed, throats snarled, tongues lolled. Animal cries of anger and of pain rose from the chaotic struggle. Henry recognized his two hounds, fighting side by side against a third, larger creature. A second later he realized what that creature was.
He whipped the gun to his shoulder, pointing it at the sky. The barrel spat orange and blue fire. An explosion ripped a jagged hole in the night air and the fight in the yard ended abruptly as it began, the combatants scattering in different directions.
Henry pumped the lever of the Winchester and raised the gun again. This time, he levelled the barrel at a streak of gray running away through the fields on his left. He fired. The wolf swerved in its path, seemed to stagger. Then it was gone, melting away into the surrounding darkness. Henry lowered his weapon and stared after it. "Blasted animal," he muttered. One of the hounds whimpered. He stooped to scratch its ears. Then he turned and reentered the house and closed the door and replaced the gun in its bracket on the wall and crawled back into bed.
The following morning, Henry rose and got dressed and ate breakfast and saddled his horse. He slid the Winchester into the saddle holster, donned his hat, and set off through the eastern fields of his property, leaving the hounds tethered to the front porch. They whined as they watched him go. In the far east, the sun peered over the horizon, its blazing razor edge casting a pale hue over the land.
Less than a quarter mile from the house, Henry spotted crimson among the golden prairie grass. Blood. The wolf's blood, no doubt. Henry's shot had been true. He rode on, pleased with himself.
The blood trail continued for several miles, winding this way and that but always eastward. Henry followed it patiently, even though it was slow going. Sometimes the trail would veer sharply off in an unexpected direction or disappear altogether for a short distance, and he would have to dismount and look around until he found it again.
Over an hour and half had passed now. The sun was fully risen, bright and yellow, in the first stages of its trek through the heavens. Henry kept riding, both eyes fixed intently on the red trail that snaked on and on through the grass. Then, as his horse topped a small rise in the terrain, he came to abrupt stop. Icy needles pricked up and down his spine.
There, not five feet away, and partially concealed by the grass, lay a man. He was naked - not a stitch of clothing on him - and he didn't move. Just lay there, facedown in the dust. He was dead. Henry was sure of it. He slid out of the saddle and walked toward the body, all other thoughts driven from his mind. He crouched, pushing his hat farther back on his head, his eyes taking in the scene.
There was blood, lots of it, all around where the man lay. The strong coppery scent filled Henry's nostrils. He stifled a gag. Gingerly, he gripped the man's arm and turned him over. His heartbeat quickened.
Just under the lower left rib was a hole about the size of a dime. It was bloody and black and clotted with dirt and bits of grass, but the nature of it was plain enough. It was a gunshot wound – the type of wound that a round from a 30/30 Winchester rifle might make.

And the sun watched...

I am first and foremost a sinner saved by grace alone, and my chief aim in all of life is to bring honor and glory to my God, working to extend His Kingdom here on earth with every fiber of my being. I’m sixteen, and a lover of books, movies, music, logic, Reformed theology, history, guns, and the great outdoors. And Italian food.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

New Collection: After Hours - 13 Strange Stories published on Smashwords

This is a new collection I published today on Smashwords. Here is the info:

A collection of really short stories that are a little less than normal. Ranging from horror, suspense and the somewhat humorous.

Written with the tradition of H. P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe and Richard Matheson in mind.

The contents include

1: Waking
2: The Cat
3: Birthday Party
4: Infested
5: Lawn Care
6: Closing Time
7: The Lair
8: The Pet
9: The Library
10: The Plant
11: Trophy Room
12: In The Closet
13: The Reaper

Normally this is .99 cents but I generated a coupon for you guys to use so you can get it for free. Just enter this code where indicated and you will receive this as a free download in any format. If there are any problems just leave me a comment and I will get back to you as soon as I possibly can. 

Here's the coupon code:  TD28R This is good until October 1st 2011

Click here to get the book.

Thank you for your wonderful support.

Friday, August 19, 2011

The Pet (A Flash Fiction Piece)

I WATCH him walking around. Sometimes he just cracks me up; by the way he just paces around, looking for whatever he may have lost. Pets are so funny that way. They just move about from place to place, running their little errands that they deem so important. I wonder sometimes why he spends so much time in the kitchen, but as long as he’s happy I’m happy I guess.

I turn back to the TV for a moment, watching the commercial for the dish detergent that is supposed to clean the dishes so much better than whatever brand you’re already using. I can’t help but to be completely bored by the lousily made commercial.

I look back to my pet, just to see what he was doing.

From where I sit I can see him heading for his beloved water bowl. Sometimes I wonder why he goes for it so often and empties it all the way every time, only to need a refill later. Good thing it was kept up with or he would be getting very thirsty and would have quite the problem. 

It’s the same way with his food, he’s always going to get something to eat, it’s like he’s a bottomless pit or something. I used to wonder why he ate so much, in fact I was beginning to wonder if something was wrong with him, but then I saw how big he was and figured he needed that much. Apparently that’s perfectly normal. He does have a very nice coat of brown fur; I can definitely say that. Whether or not that has to do with his diet is a mystery to me.

After he eats a lot and takes care of all the after effects he’s usually pretty tired and parks it on the couch while I watch TV. He’s kind of funny when he sleeps, listening to the noises he makes when he sleeps always amuses me. I just take a look at him when a commercial is on; he’s far more entertaining than the commercials are.

But that’s not all really. I must admit I also like it when he’s feeling cuddly. I’m not the snuggly type, but if he needs me that’s fine. I’m perfectly fine with a bit of snuggle when it’s needed. For me, if it’s important to him, it’s important to me. I’ll scoot over a little bit. No big deal, just a bit of couch, he can share it with me if he really needs me.

We get along fine, my pet and I. It does kind of bother me when he does some things, like get up in the middle of the night and rock the bed, or when he starts fussing when he has to go outside. Sometimes it’s just like: for real, man. Get over it. We all have things we must do after all; sometimes he just needs to chill. It’s amazing how he can get so worked up over nothing at all. But then again, we all get like that sometimes, I guess. It’s just the way we all are, getting excited over stupid things all the time.

It’s not just him getting upset about things though, he has his happy moments, like when I’m watching football on TV, he gets worked up with the crowd, that’s always really interesting, as you well know if you’ve ever watched one of yours do this. Just watch how excited he gets as if he actually understands what’s going on.
Ah, funny stuff.

He walks towards me, carrying the leash. He nudges me with it, asking me to take him for a walk. He loves his walks.

Being as wonderful as I am, I get off the couch and head to the door. He carries the leash with him as he follows me to the door. He knows what time it is.

I sit as he hooks the leash to my collar and slips on his shoes to protect his feet.

He opens the door and I step out first, just about as ready for our walk was he is. “Hold up, buddy.” He says.

I slow down to let him catch up.

From the forthcoming collection: "After Hours: 13 Strange Stories"

Monday, August 15, 2011

The Grave Digger Published on Smashwords

Well, this story doesn't have as much meaning as the other ones I've published, but The Grave Digger is a short story I wrote off of an idea I had and it turned out to be the story featured here. It is a terror/suspense type story and I would advise discretion as to who reads it due to violence. The subject is that the past will always catch up to you, you can't hide from what you've done. "Be sure your sin will find you out."

Find it here.

Following Him,
Michael Wright
Rom 1:16; Phil 1:21

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Short Story Collection Published on Smashwords

Dear friends and readers,

A new flash fiction collection has been published on Smashwords. What it illustrates are the doctrines of grace through fantasy short stories. It took me all week to write, so go check it out if you want. Here's the link.

Following Him,
Michael Wright
Rom 1:16; Phil 1:21

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Inside (A Short Story)

 This is a short story I wrote last week, and it has been published on Smashwords, and you can download it there for free. I would issue an advisory for reader discretion due to violence.

By Mike Wright

Gregory Chandler always kept the door locked. Period. On the hulking solid-wood door was a vast array of assorted locks and mechanisms. Three different deadbolts were safely secured, and were followed by three bolt and chain locks, a couple of padlocks and a crossbar for some occasions.

He looked over his beautiful locked door while sipping on a glass of water. The water was out of a bottle, but he ran it through his Brita just to be sure that it was really pure. The cool, crisp, clean water ran through his teeth as he savored the feeling on the liquid pouring down his throat.


He moved away from his door, the padded slippers on his feet shielded between him and the sterile tile floor, and he looked at his windows in the living room. Barred on the inside and the outside. The shining padlocks that he changed every three months were tightly secured. Nothing was getting in that way.

He had run a similar inspection on the entire lower floor, and he was about to retire to bed. After the exhausting day he had, bed sounded like pure bliss. That and the novel he had purchased that afternoon, perhaps he would read a few pages of that before he shut down for the night.

With a quick glance at his kitchen window, just being sure that it was still locked; he clicked off the light and began to walk toward the stairs.

The watch on his arm said it was about ten-thirty. He supposed he was retiring kind of early, but it didn’t matter. Gregory needed to sleep.

He counted the stairs as he went up, stopping at seventeen before he reached the top floor. A quick look around told him that he was safe inside. That was of the utmost importance. He was perfectly safe.

His mother had told him that he was a little strange, being so secure all of the time, but he saw nothing strange about it at all. Anyone who just walked around with his or her doors partially locked—or not locked at all—had to be insane. Didn’t they see all of the dangerous people out there? Have they any idea? Goodness, it was a dangerous world, and Gregory intended to be perfectly safe in it, thank you very much.

When he was a child his mother hadn’t been so safe, and it had cost them dearly. Very dearly, he didn’t intend to let that happen ever again.

He checked the window in the upstairs bathroom just to be certain it was locked.

Gregory walked back out of the bathroom and moved for his bedroom at the end of the hall. The lamp he had left on a few moments ago before making his final rounds still shone brightly through, welcoming him to the paradise of sleep. How he desperately needed it.

He had also left the television on before he left, and it was playing on one of the religious networks. He had left it on there because it was talking, but he could really care less. Religion was stupid in his opinion. He was perfectly fine just as he was, he didn’t need some “inner cleansing” all he needed to do was protect his outside. Forget being born-again, all he needed was to keep all of the pollutants and poisons out of his body and he would be perfectly fine. He planned to live forever. His mother may have needed that stuff but he didn’t. It was all a crock for a bunch of fat guys to make more money anyway.

With a click of the remote the screen went black and Gregory downed the rest of his water. The glass was set neatly on the table by the door so it would be available to him if he needed it in the night.

He set the remote on another table that was on the other end of a comfortable reading chair and moved for his bed, taking the small paperback with him. He had only made it a chapter or two in and was considering moving forward in it by just a few more pages.
He set the novel down on the pillow next to his on the queen-sized bed and kicked his slippers off in front of him on the floor. The padded soles landed solidly and he used his toes to guide them so they were perfectly in line.

Gregory peeled back the comforter and then pulled back the sheets, they parted for him just perfectly and he smoothed the lines together and began to climb in….

…and heard a crash in the house.

His heart stopped.

Someone was inside?

He looked around him for a moment, desperate for a weapon, but stopped. What was he thinking?

“Something must have just fallen over.” He said to nobody but himself. “That stupid lamp that’s always wobbling.”

That had to be all it was. That had to be.

Gregory moved for the door to check it out, surely it was that stupid lamp. He just had to stand it back up and go back to bed. The light switch by the wall met his fingertips and the bright light filled the hallway.

He moved for the stairs and looked down, sure enough there was the pesky lamp tipped over and on the floor, the light bulb was a pile of glass splinters.


He started down the stairs when a shadow shot down the hallway on the lower floor.

His heart skipped.

Oh, boy, he thought, someone is in the house.

He carefully backed up the stairs, trying to avoid the slight squeak of the step behind him. The last thing he wanted was for the guy to know where he was. That would prove disastrous.

Okay, okay. Think.

He moved back another step and went for the closet in the hallway, there had to be something in there. He should get to a phone, but he didn’t keep those on the second floor, they were too noisy.

Stupid, stupid! I’m such an idiot!

It had made sense at the time. Nobody ever got inside. He was safe inside, what did he need a phone upstairs for?

How did this guy get inside? The doors were all locked; there was no way that he could have gotten in. He had just checked the locks; there was no way for that man to get inside!

Gregory opened the closet and grabbed the hammer out of the toolbox that sat on the shelf, lying open. Primitive, but it would do the job. If this ended out to be a fight, then at least Gregory wasn’t completely unarmed.

He moved back for the stairs, cursing himself for not having a phone on the second floor, and hoping desperately that the man was not armed. Thought he doubted it.

He stepped down a couple steps and stopped, listening, watching the light of the hallway reflect on the stack of shards that used to be a light bulb. Nothing.

Gregory shifted the hammer in his grasp and slipped down three more steps, only twelve left, and listened again. Nothing.

The last twelve steps he downed in a blur and swung around as soon as his soles hit the tile, raising the hammer high, ready to strike…

…. but there was nothing there.


He looked around, glanced in the living room. Still didn’t see him.

There was a quick flash in the hallway and he knew that he saw something move in there. He barreled after it, his heart beating at warp speed. He skidded to a stop and swung around, just as before, ready to take out whatever would be waiting for him to discover that yet again there was nobody there to unleash the blows of his hammer onto. Where the devil was he?

Gregory slowly crept into the kitchen, his hammer raised again, the wooden handle was warm and slippery with his sweat.

The kitchen was dark, just as he’d left it, the coffee maker blinking, the timer on it set for the next morning. The pans were hung on their rack; the counters were spotless as usual. The man had not snuck around him into the kitchen.

He glanced behind him and moved forward into the kitchen a little, trying to see if the man had crouched behind the island counter. Nothing. Again.

Gregory moved slowly around the island and exited the kitchen carefully, looking in all directions for the intruder, still baffled that the man had somehow made it inside. Nobody made it inside.

He looked at the lamp again, and noticed that the pile of shards was no longer as organized as it had been; it was shifted off to one side…moved.


He bolted for the stairs and swung around to see the shadow disappear around the wall. Gregory ran up the stairs after him.

How did the man move so quietly? It was impossible that he had not heard him!
He tightened his grip on the hammer.

Nobody gets inside.

He the seventeen stairs were behind him in an instant and he turned to the hallway. “Get out here!” Why was he yelling?

The hallway was empty. There was nobody there.

“Get out here!”

The bathroom door moved slightly.


Gregory burst into the bathroom with his shoulder, sending the door flying into the wall, the doorknob making a fresh hole in the drywall. He felt the throb begin in his shoulder, but he ignored it and instead was fixed on taking down his intruder.

But the bathroom was empty.


He turned to the shower and opened the curtain, greeted by only half-filled shampoo bottles. Nothing more.

Gregory lowered the hammer to his side and slowly turned around, not before glancing at the bathroom window, making sure that it was locked.
He came nose to nose with the shadow.

“Ahh!” He swung the hammer and the sink shattered, sending bits all over the place. He had missed. How had he missed?

The shadow stared at him, and smiled. Gregory watched it reach out to him, and he cowered from its grasp, and the shadow grinned wider. It then used its other hand to reach for it’s hood that stayed firm over its eyes and nose, and it slowly began to draw back its cowl.

Gregory watching in horror, and the hand reached out farther and grabbed him by the neck, pulling him closer, the clawed hand dug into his jugular, he found it hard to breath and impossible to scream.

The cowl was pulled back, the grinning face plainly visible, looking at him. Gregory lost the ability to think when he saw the face. He felt his hand swing the hammer again into the mirror, and the mirror smash into hundreds of pieces, but it didn’t’ stop the shadow, it only kept pulling him closer—closer to it’s face.

He stared at the face and in unbelief, watched as the shadow raised a hand with a shard of the mirror grasped tightly. Then he felt the shard become lodged in his chest, embedded quickly and violently.

Air began to leave him, his lungs were filling with blood, and he knew that. He was dying quickly, his heart was beating harder and harder, he was sweating profusely. It was all over. In all of that he remained in stunned silence.

The last thoughts he had were of the face, and how the face of the shadow—of his murderer—was his own.

The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?” – Jeremiah 17:9 (King James Version of the Bible)

For from within, out of the heart of men, proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders,” – Mark 7:21 (King James Version of the Bible)

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Two More Stories Published on Smashwords

Here are the two stories published on Smashwords. "Inside" will be published here sometime this coming week. If you would like to go ahead and read them here are the links. Again, I would advise care in who reads due to violence.

Click here for "Inside"

Click here for "Do Something"

Also, check out my author page.

Thanks for your awesome support of the blog so far guys (and gals)! Truly.

Following Him,
Michael Wright
Rom 1:16; Phil 1:21

Friday, August 5, 2011

Indifferent Published on Smashwords

Dear readers,

I have now published the short story "Indifferent" on Smashwords. It is available there for free in any format that you please. If you enjoyed the story, go ahead and download it. The story had been previously published on this blog, and you can get it in any format by clicking here.


Following Him,
Michael Wright
Rom 1:16; Phil 1:21