Bestseller
Robert Caulder wanted to be a writer, but not just any writer. Caulder wanted the critical acceptance of Steinbeck, of Hemingway, of Fitzgerald and he wanted the fame, fortune and everything else that came with success. Only problem was, he just couldn’t write, not very well, at least. Then after a near-fatal car accident, he suddenly can. From the bowels of a Mississippi small town to the top of the national bestseller lists, he is on his way to stardom. Unfortunately, the horrors that he creates for his adorning fans aren’t content to remain on paper. And that’s when the real horror begins.
Excerpt:
His sleep started peaceful enough. Random flashes projected on the big blank screen of his mind’s eye. Childhood memories, portraits of long ago friends, former flames, flickered on and off, then darkness.
And the darkness began to revolve, to spin, in a maddening rotation. How he knew that the darkness moved when he could see nothing, but darkness was an enigma. He could feel the motion as if it were as real as the blood coursing through his veins.
Death came like a thief in the night.
The words echoed as if shouted inside a cave or across a great canyon. The voice that carried them, however, was neither harsh nor asinine. If Rob were to call the timbre of voice anything, he would call it phantomlike, even ghostlike. Though powerful, the resonance was light, almost sublime.
Then, a light appeared, far off in the distance. Even as Rob saw it, he was beginning to be pulled closer to it. It began like a twinkling star in the black canopy of night. But as he drew closer, it turned into a huge rectangular crevice of light in a shadowed landscape. While his world was still absent of light, except for that ahead of him, the light that leaked from the edges of the doorway—yes, that’s what it was, he recognized it now—gave shape and form to his surroundings, a soft definition to his environment.
Rob weightlessly floated through this dark abyss toward the waiting white light. He paddled with his arms and legs as if he were swimming in a surging river, attempting to slow his unfettered inertia. But there was no stopping it. He was flying fast now, soaring like an eagle in the dead of night.
EBook available here
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