Showing results by author "David Boyer" in All Categories

Most folks around town thought Lester Talbot was just a lonely, bitter old man who drank too much and talked to ghosts. But he was much more than that, much more. He had a power, a gift, to not only help others in need as if by magic, but to see into the past and future as well.

A meeting of the minds is held at Derrick's place, with Lester, Lincoln, Luther, and Jenny in attendance. Before the night is over, Derrick realizes with terrifying clarity that Kyra Talbot's killer has still been on the loose all along - and it is a member of the local community that nobody would have ever suspected.

Endings are easy. New beginnings are hard. It all seems like a life time ago now. Then again, when you’ve spent half of your life chasing ghosts, you tend to lose track of time in the sense that most of us experience it. That, along with having been a career alcoholic, tends to cloud a person’s mind just a tad bit after so many lost years go by like a blur. So says the author of this riveting memoir, who spent 25 years of his life as an alcoholic. Now sober since 2007, he provides the reader with a nightmarish vision into the mind of a man who, once a normal, average teenager, quickly turned into a chronic alcoholic to escape the loneliness of his sad home life - and looking for love in all the wrong places.

Deep in the heartland of Indiana, this maximum-security penitentiary held some of the most vicious criminals known to the United States. One of them was Sampson Faith, a psychopathic genius who was master of mind control. Sampson was not only a master of mind control, but he was also a fluent out-of-body traveler. He was only 38, but seven years in prison made him look much older. He had murdered 14 teenagers in numerous ways seven years before in a small Indiana farm town. He was what doctors called a missionary killer.

Nightmares and Daydreams is a collection of short fiction and two novelettes culled from nearly 12 years of work from Indiana based author David Boyer, who bases some of his fiction on true life events and people he knew growing up on the streets and back roads of Southern Indiana.

Jacob Enright's dead men stayed dead. But their memories did not. The nightmares persisted. They always did. Knowing it was a dream did nothing to lessen its horror. Gambling, drinking, whoring, and killing. It had become like second nature to the ex-lawman turned vigilante. Wanda Blackfoot had loved Jacob for as long as she could remember, but now Wanda didn't know who she was anymore, or more precisely, she didn't know what she was, without Jacob by her side acting as her touchstone.

The autumn wind of an Indiana night blows across the cemetery. It plays a malevolent, whistling tune through the trees of the cemetery as Peter Baker stands motionless, surveying the soft, brown earth that holds his beloved wife, Veronica. Tears well up in his eyes as he gazes down upon the inscription on her gravestone. He comes here a lot now, reminiscing over all the good times he had with Veronica, and their private conversations. An aspiring poet, something she wrote for him still haunts his dreams at night.

The saddest day I can recollect now is the day I left my clan alone. My brethren. I'll never forget the look on the faces of my clan; one of fear and anxiousness and most of all, sorrow. It wasn't only that they feared for my safety, either; they were afraid of being without their Master, their keeper. Their hero and best friend. We had not only developed a rapport with each other over time, but a genuine love for one another as well. Love, respect, and loyalty. And now I was leaving them behind, even if only briefly, to risk my life for them.

As an “amateur” filmmaker, I can't rightfully boast of being another Spielberg or Eastwood, but I know a really crappy movie when I see one. For example: the ever-present “final girl” chase scene at the end of most low-budget horror films. In reality? That is not the way it happens at all. I should know, from experience...

In the late 1970s, at the height of the disco club scene's popularity, little did anyone know it, but a silent, invisible killer known as HIV would soon cause not only a nationwide panic, but an increase in sexual freedom, believe it or not. With such a deadly and wide spread killer on the loose - transmitted primarily by sexual contact - then why the increase in sexual promiscuity?

In the story “Beautiful Ghost”, an aging writer, reflecting back on his youth–and his first true love–finally realizes that the only way he'll ever see her again is in his dreams. In “Dancing with the King”, a lonely, awkward young girl who is terrorized by the local bullies finds solace in being able to dance with the ghost of Elvis. A heartbroken man grieving over the loss of his beloved pet is granted a visit to the Rainbow Bridge.

In Tiny Terrors: Part 2, author David Boyer once again thrusts the listener head first into a world we thought we knew all too well, but weren't aware of what may exist in that world once you've crossed the barrier between the light and the darkness.

Marvin was sitting on the hood of his car on the edge of town, watching the sun come up over the horizon. He closed his eyes and tried hard to remember the last time he felt even remotely human–or at least what would pass for human–but, as always, he came up empty.

Ray Striker was a Gulf War veteran turned street vigilante who guarded his own neighborhood like it was his own family. But too many years chasing ghosts and taking the law into his own hands now made it impossible to chase his own inner demons away.

The grand re-opening of the saloon was the biggest event the Gulch had seen in 20 years–the last biggest event in memory being the local Radio Shack carrying cell phones and the only used car dealership in the county now selling cars and trucks that weren't manufactured in the 1970s.

I'd had too much to drink again. The demon alcohol, always there, tempting me to have another drink. He knows that if he just tempts me enough, pushes me enough, I'll give in. I always do. Because I am weak, and I am a coward. At times, I've wondered if the demon alcohol was really the Devil incarnate. How else could he always win the battle between good and evil, using only a bottle of cheap liquor? Evil does exist, my friends; never, ever have any doubt of that. I know from experience; I've shaken hands with the devil and lived to tell the tale....

When Sampson came back from the war again, he wasn't sure how happy his remaining family would be to see him, but there was only one way to find out. Who knows? They might welcome him back with open arms. Then again, they might hide up in the trees and take potshots at him with their hunting rifles. He hadn't exactly left his old home on the best of terms. His own father—or what almost passed for a father—had called him a demon. As if he had any reason to act self-righteous. But no matter now; he was back home again, and he had important things to take care of.

Had serial killer Henry Lee Lucas turned to God in his last moments, for redemption? Had he really loved Frieda "Becky" Powell? We may never really know the truth.

Even small towns can harbor big secrets. Jake Collins, the former Deputy Sheriff in Deadman's Gulch, Texas, knows this all too well.

When the ghastly thing opened its mouth, Alan could have sworn he could smell the overwhelming odor of death itself, coming from deep inside it's rotting guts.