William Knight
Sep 30, 2016 | 1st pages, Featured, Horror, Thriller
Prologue
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In 2001 the New Scientist reported that researchers had isolated a gene for regenerating damaged organs from the DNA of a South American flatworm. Within five years it had been spliced into the chromosomes of mice, pigs and rhesus monkeys, transported through the cell walls by a retro-virus denuded of its own genetic material.
Results remain secret, but success could yield extreme rewards. If ageing could be stopped or even reversed, and diseased or damaged organs regrown, life could be extended well beyond a natural span. No longer would you expect to retire and wait for death. You might remain fulfilled and active for ever, your worn out parts simply regrown and replaced.
Attempting to regrow impaired or elderly tissues, a scientist will one day modify the DNA of a human being by injecting the gene-carrying virus. It is just a matter of time.
Before consenting to treatment, you may want to ask a simple question: could there be a situation in which you would want to die but were unable to do so?
M C Raj
Sep 30, 2016 | 1st pages, Featured, Romance, Thriller
‘Mom, see who has come,’ Nyree shouted in excitement as she stepped into her house with her boyfriend from the college.
Helen didn’t share the same excitement as Nyree. She walked out slowly from her study to see who’d come with her daughter. She’d become used to welcoming many young men. There was, however, a difference this time. The young man standing beside Nyree looked very handsome, and she felt stunned for a minute. She remained motionless for some time without knowing why. All her organs became numb in unison, as soon as she saw him.
“Mom, why are you looking at him like that? I know he’s very handsome. The moment I saw him I fell flat for him. Now you don’t fall in love with him too,” Nyree teased with her usual playful nature. “It will complicate matters. Come on, mom, meet him.”
She moved slowly towards him and extended her hand, her thoughts scattering in different directions.
“Hello, Helen, I am Iniyan, from India.” He seemed to have picked up some English manners from the New Zealanders.
“Your face looks very familiar. Have I seen you before?” Helen asked.
“You must have seen me on the TV. Will you not allow me in”?
“Oh, I am very sorry, son. Come in. Let us sit and talk.” She held on to his hand as she led him to the sofa and sat next to him.
“I have got my masters in the Maori art forms and am part of a performing arts group in Massey,” Iniyan explained with pride in his voice. “We are occasionally featured on Maori TV. Recently, we gave a show, also on the New Zealand TV. It was much appreciated.”
“Ha, tell me that.” Nyree put her arm around his shoulder. “Yes, I watched part of it. Many of my friends spoke highly of it.” She kept watching him without batting an eyelid.
“From which part of India are you? I have some friends in India,” Helen asked.
“I am from a small town called Sira. It is on the way to Mumbai from Bangalore.”
“I’ve been to India only once and do not understand much about its geography. You two keep talking.” Helen wanted to be alone for a moment to get her thoughts together. “I shall bring something to drink. What would you like? Coffee or Tea”?
“I’ll have coffee. First, a glass of water, please?” Iniyan replied nervously.
“You can take water from the tap here, Iniyan. It is not like in your country. The water is safe.” Helen went to the kitchen to make some coffee. She needed to remove herself from his unsettling presence.
Chuck Van Soye
Sep 23, 2016 | Thriller, 1st pages, Featured
CHAPTER 1
{Three local Chinese males converse outside Terminal B’s Men’s restroom at China’s Chongqing Jiangbei International Airport}
“給我你的一些啤酒。” (“Give me some of your beer, Feng.”)
“沒有，讓你自己的。” (“No, get your own.”)
“嘿，黃，看著它！再次推我，我會打斷你的胳膊。“ (“Hey, Huang, watch it! Shove me again and I’ll break your arm.”)
“冷靜下來你們兩個。注意。和講英語。“ (”Calm down, you two goons. Pay attention. And speak English.”)
“The Big Boss says we need to practice English. We need to communicate with our hostages in English,” warned Guozhi, the obvious group leader. “Follow closely as I go over the plan one final time.”
Bill Powers
Sep 5, 2016 | Thriller, 1st pages, Featured
Andrea Harding had gone to bed late in order to finish packing. Her graduation from Princeton, followed by a party with her family, had been two days ago, and she had put off packing long enough. Today—actually yesterday—she had finished packing and prepping her condominium in order to lease it out for the summer. She planned to spend a couple of weeks with her father, Nicholas Harding, and would then go to Europe for the summer before staring law school at Duke University in Durham, North Carolina that fall.
Andrea heard an incessant noise—Rachmaninoff’s “Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini”—and coming out of a deep sleep, recognized the ring tone of her iPhone docked in its iHome base.
Now at least semi-awake, Andrea reached out to pull the phone out of the dock. She also glanced at the time displayed on the iHome front screen and wondered who could be calling her at three o’clock in the morning.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Ms. Harding?” replied a firm sounding, but unrecognizable male voice.
“Yes, who is calling please?”
“Ms. Harding, are you awake?” the unknown, but commanding voice replied.
Andrea was now fully awake and beginning to become alarmed. Calls from strangers at three o’clock in the morning could not be a good thing.
“Yes,” she replied, “but I need to know who is calling.”
“This is Sergeant Thompson, New Jersey State Police, and Officer Harris. We are downstairs at your front door. It is important that we speak to you in person ma’am. Can you please come down? We have our identification to show you.”
Nick Christofides
Sep 4, 2016 | 1st pages, Featured, Sci-fi, Thriller
ONE
The end of the world for one man can be a new beginning for another. For the men who met in that barn, the end was here. It was January, just above freezing, but the Siberian winds swept over the land like Mongol hordes biting flesh with icy fangs. The rain fell like daggers; it rapped off the tin roof of the stone shed. They were south-west of Wooler, close to the Scottish Border.
The Cheviot Hills loomed in the darkness. The howling weather battered the already beaten structure, but there was an orange glow radiating from lights within, offering the warmth of the inn to a traveller. The heat from the assembled men appeared like smoke, rising from rain drenched coats inside the confines of the shelter. There must have been a hundred ruddy farmers rammed into the barn. They gathered not through choice — it was the fear of change that brought these normally solitary beasts together.
The smell of silage wafted through the space, while a muted hubbub filled the airwaves. The rotund, red-faced orator, who now hushed the crowd, was a man named Rowell. He farmed near enough four hundred acres outside Hexham. Fit as a fiddle though well into his seventies, the man was flanked by his three sons.
As he smashed his fist into his open palm, he bellowed and blustered about the choice these men had to make. Give up their land and livelihood to the local collectives or, with support from Scotland, fight the land reforms. For most, the decision was already sown in the land.
The howling wind which whipped the shelter foretold the storm that was to come. In a dark corner sat a hunched figure, head down with white hair hung loose, meandering around his weathered brow. His hands were clamped together, resting on his lap, swollen and sore from pulling sheep out of snow. As he opened his eyes, Nat Bell looked upon the throng; although he knew every face, he had nothing to say to one. Some looked towards him for direction, but he bowed his head once more, his mind ready to explode as the evils amplified within his skull.
Mike Wech
Jul 29, 2016 | Thriller, 1st pages
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 7, 2010 – 9:00 PM
I feel like I’m signing away my life. Literally. I just read through the consent forms I need to sign to cover this story. A story that has to be told. A story I uncovered as part of my investigation into seven missing death-row prisoners in the state of Texas.
My name is Eddie Hansen. I’m a freelance reporter. This journal, along with my audio and video diary, is my record of the Uphir Behavioral Health Center in Uphir, Texas. An unofficial ghost town that’s completely off the grid. A place without a zip code or mailing address.
My best guess is that this is a privately funded asylum where experimental procedures are being conducted without the consent of its patients.
While conducting this investigation, I will be voluntarily under the care of Dr. Alan Haworth, a clinical psychologist, and Rev. William H. Billings, a local minister who will act as counselor in charge of my spiritual condition.
It’s my theory that Annette Dobson, the SIDS Killer, is being held in Uphir, at the asylum, under the care of Billings and Haworth.
In case you missed the news, here’s her story. Over a thirteen-year period, five of Annette Dobson’s children died before they reached their first birthday. Each time, SIDS was determined as the cause of death and no wrongdoing was suspected.
When her sixth child, Anthony died less than three months after his birth in March of 2009, evidence suggested a homicide. A lengthy investigation ensued and Dobson finally broke down and confessed to all six murders.
After a speedy trial, Annette Dobson received the death penalty from the great state of Texas, with her execution scheduled for Friday, May 13, 2011.
While on death row, Dobson became pregnant. A media nightmare broke out when Dobson requested her execution be moved to November 19, 2010. No media, no family, and no outside witnesses were to be present. She stated that her privacy was to be respected, and she alone would suffer the consequences of her actions.
Right to life advocates protested believing Dobson would be consenting to a late term abortion by the time the court made its ruling. The state could not execute her if she was pregnant, but on November 19th the execution proceeded as scheduled.
Annette Dobson left no last statement. A death certificate was filed with the state and her case was closed.
Her infamous husband, Kevin Dobson vehemently denied knowledge of the murders. He told me in our interview that Annette was afraid to die and she would do anything to stay out of hell.
When the state informed Kevin that Annette’s wishes had changed, he knew something was wrong. So he came to me. He begged me to find answers.
So here I am sitting in the only diner in Dell City, Texas, a booming bastion of 413 people and the last vestige of civilization before venturing into the asylum at Uphir.
