Riley Lewis stands atop an enormous cliff with an abusive father, teenage bullies, and the demon inside the closet all ready to shove him over the edge. When he reaches his limits will he finally break free of the terror that threatens to consume him, or will he become the monster that everyone wants him to be?
This tragic novel examines the life of a boy who wants to be just like everyone else, but who must contend with emotional, physical, and sexual abuse while the world around him is oblivious to his suffering.
Targeted Age Group:: Any age
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
Although this is a work of fiction, there is a part of my history within the pages I felt needed to be told.
Book Sample
Not everyone is scared of the dark. I never was.
Until I saw those blood-red eyes peering at me out of the darkness inside my closet.
And this time, it didn’t seem to be a dream. More like a reality.
I was awakened out of my sleep by a long, drawn out whine from the hinges on my closet door slowly penetrating the air, making itself heard. Making itself known.
As the door swung open, the eyes bled in the dark. It was as if they were secluded in a closed casket buried deep within the ground, under the rich soil, now ready to climb out and join the living. Join the mortal civilization.
I lay there terrified, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to cry out for help. Goosebumps grew off my flesh and the hair on my neck stood straight up. I shuddered, baking in fear.
The eyes blinked. Fluttered. I could hear breathing.
I was frozen solid. Embedded in the sheets. The blankets. The pillow. My spine felt tingly, icy. A weird sensation began at the base of my lower back and started its ascent towards the back of my skull. Millions and millions of little pinpricks crawling. Clawing. I could feel my heart beat vigorously within the walls of my rib cage and echo deep in the canals of my ears.
Thump. Thump. Thump. It drove me nuts.
The breathing let out a long sigh, paused, then regained a normal breathing pattern.
And inside the closet, whatever it was moved.
God, I wanted to scream. I would have given anything to have been able to open my mouth and even whisper. Even whimper a word. But could not. Fear had engulfed my frame and I was all her’s.
Praying for it to all cease, I closed my eyes. The pinpricks still crawled upwards.
I could hear whatever it was slide across the carpet and make a ssshhhh! Sound.
Closer it came.
Closer I could feel its presence.
I wondered where my dog was. Did this thing already get her? Consume her fragile body? Hopefully, she was lucky enough to hurry out of the room and take cover.
Closer.
I could only hope and pray.
Before I realized it, it was upon me. My eyes were tightly shut. I felt its breath on my face, wretched and sour. I almost gagged.
The pinpricks closed in on the middle of my back and clawed away. The air stank.
Fear injected itself into my skin and coursed through my veins.
Please God, please God, I screamed inside my skull.
Closer the pinpricks traveled. Closer they were to the back of my skull.
Spine chilled to the marrow. Cold, like a block of ice. Hair still stood erect.
I was immobile. Distant from reality. Distant from remaining alive in this world, on this planet. I could not escape this wrath and kept my eyes closed tighter and tighter and tighter and the air still stank, and the breathing still lingered, and the pinpricks still traveled on and on and on and on a –
And then, silence. . .
About the Author:
Brick Marlin resides in Southern Indiana with his wife, a dog, and a schizophrenic cat while monstrosities from his fiction have taken up residence inside his home throughout the the years, such as a six-foot alarm clock in the shape of a clown, or even servo bed bugs that love masking themselves as Tribbles.
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