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    Books

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Comes a Ferryman: Book One of the Ferryman Pentalogy, Spokane authors

    Comes a Ferryman: Book One of the Ferryman Pentalogy

    ebook | audiobook | paperback

    "The ferryman turned to face her and she quickly looked away—as if an owl had suddenly focused on her in the dark. Now that they’d reached the trunk of the river, he had relaxed the intensity of his rowing to a more casual pace, and was allowing the current to do most the work. (She didn’t dare risk activating the ring now!) Instead she looked at the floorboards, and after a few moments, remembered the book lying next to her. She reached toward it habitually—but froze when the raven cawed loudly and its red beam fell upon the back of her hand.

    A tense moment followed in which she looked from the ferryman to the raven then back again as her fingertips wavered over the golden cover. Then the ferryman motioned with his head, and the raven’s light swung away and switched off. She picked up the book slowly and placed it on her lap."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, The Tempter and the Taker: Book Two in the Ferryman Pentalogy, Spokane authors

    The Tempter and the Taker: Book Two of the Ferryman Pentalogy

    ebook | audiobook | paperback

    "Shekalane looked at him with something akin to pity. 'You speak as if Ursathrax were a person. A lover, perhaps.'

    Jamais laughed. 'I suppose that’s true. It is the hallmark of lonely people, to anthropomorphize. They do it to their pets quite frequently. But that is just one of her secrets … for while not a person same as you or I, she is, I believe, sentient. She is self-aware. Surely you have felt it, on those days when the leaves of the trees rustle even though there is no wind? She is alive … she has her moods and her trespasses, like every living thing. And also like every living thing, she is mortal. By which I mean she has a beginning, a middle, and an end, as do all things … and that, after five-hundred years, she is nearing her end.'

    There was another long pause, and Shekalane looked at Dravidian, who said, 'No. That is not possible. The Lucitor would not have created something so frail and temporal …'

    Jamais studied him for a beat. 'And yet the sky is falling, is it not?'"

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, The Pierced Veil: Book Three of the Ferryman Pentalogy, Spokane authors

    The Pierced Veil: Book Three of the Ferryman Pentalogy

    ebook | audiobook | paperback

    "He picked up one of the fur coats and helped her into it, then stroked the hair next to her temple, laying his head slowly back against the pillows. He gazed up at the gondola’s steel ferro (which loomed above them for the ship was right behind him and the flat-bottomed boat’s prow rested well above the waterline), and said, 'Take hold of my ship’s ferro, Shekalane. And hold on tightly.'

    She looked at the great black and gold ferro, which pointed like a scimitar at the ceiling of the cavern, and its comb of seven tines, six pointing forward and one back, then back at Dravidian, whom she kissed before pushing herself up by her arms and, with the assistance of Dravidian’s big hands on her waist, gripped the topmost tines, the forward of which was etched with the word ‘Jaskir’ and the backward of which was etched ‘Novum Venum.’

    She looked down at him as he hiked her frayed dress up along her dirty thighs and realized she was breathing far too heavy and fast, and tried to calm herself by observing the grotto around them, the piled treasure, the phantasmagoria of mushrooms. But then his cheek grazed the inside of her thigh and he began kissing her leg softly, and she surrendered all pretense to being in any sort of control."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Black Hole, White Fountain: Book Four of the Ferryman Pentalogy, Spokane authors

    Black Hole, White Fountain: Book Four of the Ferryman Pentalogy

    ebook | audiobook | paperback

    "The hologram faded away and a silence fell over the glade as Dravidian reseated himself upon the rock. Sthulhu remained respectfully silent. In his mind's eye Dravidian saw Pepperlung on the deck of their great dragger, The Vorpal Gladio, saw him glance over his shoulder at the prefect as his tone became grave: 'Beware, Dravidian. The bride is just sightseeing but Asmodeus is here for you. You are the only ferryman up for elevation this year. Watch yourself. There will be a test, surely.'

    The ground trembled suddenly and the remnants of the cage rattled as a minor Ursaquake shook the glade, and the sun orb went from gold to orange. A horse whinnied in the distance and Dravidian looked out across Parvus’ homestead to see a great steed leap up in its corral. The slightest push against the dilapidated boards would have freed it—but the creature either did not know or did not care. The horse, however mighty, knew its place. It knew in its primitive yet tamed wiring what Dravidian, in his advanced and now liberated own, did not: that nothing lay beyond its cage that did not already exist in abundance within."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, To the End of Ursathrax: Book Five of the Ferryman Pentalogy, Spokane authors

    To the End of Ursathrax: Book Five of the Ferryman Pentalogy

    ebook | audiobook | paperback

    "He refocused on Blotto just as the smile faded from the man’s lips and his mouth drew tightly closed, as if he were desperately trying to stifle a belch. His eyes shown suddenly wide and intense, yet their expression had not changed so much as become frozen in stasis. His shapeless body jerked once, his flesh seemed to roll as does water in a boat’s wake, and then his fat lips were parted by what first seemed his tongue, but was revealed to be a budding red rose, which emerged into the fire-light and blossomed its pedals, spilling blood onto the gangplank and filling the air with scent. Glancing to the hand with which the man gripped Rosethorn, Dravidian saw that she’d sprouted thorn-studded rose stems, which had penetrated Blotto’s beefy wrist and chewed their way through his body.

    His heel lifted off the wood and his ankle seemed to lock with paralysis, and then his body listed to the right and he began to fall. The rose imploded as if growing in reverse, retracting into his mouth which fell shut with the clacking of teeth, and an instant later Rosethorn fell to the plank and Dravidian stooped to snatch her up. Blotto’s body fell into the void."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, X-Ray Rider:  Mileposts on the Road to Childhood's End - 1, Spokane authors

    X-Ray Rider: Mileposts on the Road to Childhood's End - 1

    ebook | audiobook | paperback

    Jonesing for a drive-in theater and a hotrod El Camino?

    It’s the dawn of the 1970s and everything is changing. The war in Vietnam is winding down. So is the Apollo Space Program. The tiny northwestern city of Spokane is about to host a World’s Fair. But the Watergate Hearings and the re-entry of Skylab and the eruption of Mount Saint Helens are coming…as are killer bees and Ronald Reagan.

    Enter ‘The Kid,’ a panic-prone, hyper-imaginative boy whose life changes drastically when his father brings home an astronaut-white El Camino. As the car’s deep-seated rumbling becomes a catalyst for the Kid’s curiosity, his ailing, over-protective mother finds herself fending off questions she doesn’t want to answer. But her attempt to redirect him on his birthday only arms him with the tool he needs to penetrate deeper—a pair of novelty X-Ray Specs—and as the Camino muscles them through a decade of economic and cultural turmoil, the Kid comes to believe he can see through metal, clothing, skin—to the center of the universe itself, where he imagines something monstrous growing, spreading, reaching across time and space to threaten his very world.

    Using the iconography of 20th century trash Americana—drive-in monster movies, cancelled TV shows, vintage comic books—Spitzer has written an unconventional memoir which recalls J.M. Coetzee’s Boyhood and Youth. More than a literal character, ‘The Kid’ is both the child and the adult. By eschewing the technique of traditional autobiography, Spitzer creates a spherical narrative in which the past lives on in an eternal present while retrospection penetrates the edges. X-Ray Rider is not so much a memoir as it is a retro prequel to a postmodern life—a cinematized “reboot” of what Stephen King calls the “fogged out landscape” of youth.

    Want to go for a ride?

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, X-Ray Rider:  Mileposts on the Road to Childhood's End - 2, Spokane authors

    X-Ray Rider: Mileposts on the Road to Childhood's End - 2

    ebook | paperback

    Jonesing for a drive-in theater and a hotrod El Camino?

    It’s the dawn of the 1970s and everything is changing. The war in Vietnam is winding down. So is the Apollo Space Program. The tiny northwestern city of Spokane is about to host a World’s Fair. But the Watergate Hearings and the re-entry of Skylab and the eruption of Mount Saint Helens are coming…as are killer bees and Ronald Reagan.

    Enter ‘The Kid,’ a panic-prone, hyper-imaginative boy whose life changes drastically when his father brings home an astronaut-white El Camino. As the car’s deep-seated rumbling becomes a catalyst for the Kid’s curiosity, his ailing, over-protective mother finds herself fending off questions she doesn’t want to answer. But her attempt to redirect him on his birthday only arms him with the tool he needs to penetrate deeper—a pair of novelty X-Ray Specs—and as the Camino muscles them through a decade of economic and cultural turmoil, the Kid comes to believe he can see through metal, clothing, skin—to the center of the universe itself, where he imagines something monstrous growing, spreading, reaching across time and space to threaten his very world.

    Using the iconography of 20th century trash Americana—drive-in monster movies, cancelled TV shows, vintage comic books—Spitzer has written an unconventional memoir which recalls J.M. Coetzee’s Boyhood and Youth. More than a literal character, ‘The Kid’ is both the child and the adult. By eschewing the technique of traditional autobiography, Spitzer creates a spherical narrative in which the past lives on in an eternal present while retrospection penetrates the edges. X-Ray Rider is not so much a memoir as it is a retro prequel to a postmodern life—a cinematized “reboot” of what Stephen King calls the “fogged out landscape” of youth.

    Want to go for a ride?

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, X-Ray Rider:  Mileposts on the Road to Childhood's End - 3, Spokane authors

    X-Ray Rider: Mileposts on the Road to Childhood's End - 3

    ebook | audiobook | paperback

    Jonesing for a drive-in theater and a hotrod El Camino?

    It’s the dawn of the 1970s and everything is changing. The war in Vietnam is winding down. So is the Apollo Space Program. The tiny northwestern city of Spokane is about to host a World’s Fair. But the Watergate Hearings and the re-entry of Skylab and the eruption of Mount Saint Helens are coming…as are killer bees and Ronald Reagan.

    Enter ‘The Kid,’ a panic-prone, hyper-imaginative boy whose life changes drastically when his father brings home an astronaut-white El Camino. As the car’s deep-seated rumbling becomes a catalyst for the Kid’s curiosity, his ailing, over-protective mother finds herself fending off questions she doesn’t want to answer. But her attempt to redirect him on his birthday only arms him with the tool he needs to penetrate deeper—a pair of novelty X-Ray Specs—and as the Camino muscles them through a decade of economic and cultural turmoil, the Kid comes to believe he can see through metal, clothing, skin—to the center of the universe itself, where he imagines something monstrous growing, spreading, reaching across time and space to threaten his very world.

    Using the iconography of 20th century trash Americana—drive-in monster movies, cancelled TV shows, vintage comic books—Spitzer has written an unconventional memoir which recalls J.M. Coetzee’s Boyhood and Youth. More than a literal character, ‘The Kid’ is both the child and the adult. By eschewing the technique of traditional autobiography, Spitzer creates a spherical narrative in which the past lives on in an eternal present while retrospection penetrates the edges. X-Ray Rider is not so much a memoir as it is a retro prequel to a postmodern life—a cinematized “reboot” of what Stephen King calls the “fogged out landscape” of youth.

    Want to go for a ride?

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Algernon Blackwood's "The Willows" - A Scriptment, Spokane authors

    Algernon Blackwood's "The Willows" - A Scriptment

    ebook | paperback

    "We've stepped out of a safe line somewhere ..."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Flashback, Spokane authors

    Flashback

    ebook | audiobook | paperback

    Roadkill ... A funny thing happened to Roger and Savanna Aldiss on the Interstate--they hit a dinosaur. But that's nothing compared to what awaits them down the road. For something is at work to reverse time itself, something which makes the clouds boil, glowing with strange lights, and ancient trees to appear out of nowhere. Something against which Roger, Savanna, a motorcycle gang, and others will make their final stand. Prehistory lives as ferocious dinosaurs run amok! Science-fiction and horror fans (and especially B-movie lovers) will enjoy this gory, action-packed thriller in the tradition of Roger Corman and George Romero.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Napoleon, Spokane authors

    Napoleon

    ebook | audiobook | paperback

    "She was in the habitat—actually in it, not seated at her workstation on the other side of the glass. She was standing before Napoleon in her white lab coat, which, inexplicably, she unzipped and shirked from her shoulders, allowing it to slide to the marshy floor. She didn’t know how she had gotten there or how time had rewound so that the habitat and its great glass window were still intact … she only knew she was there to take the experiment to the next level. And as Napoleon looked down at her with eyes that had become strangely human, she knew that he knew why she was there as well …

    And then she was awake as fast as she’d gone out, and she was standing, slowly, amongst the trees again … wondering why she would dream such a thing. And wondering, too, about the hidden obsessions each and every human being might harbor in the darkest recesses of their subconscious. And then she scanned the trees, realizing, suddenly, that they were swaying—even though there was no wind—and saw Napoleon glaring back at her."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Behind a Pale Mask: The New Ferryman Novel, Spokane authors

    Behind a Pale Mask: The New Ferryman Novel

    ebook | audiobook | paperback

    "'You know me to be a ferryman,' I said, pushing the circlet up and over my forehead. 'How?

    "Why, by taking one look at you, that’s how! You've no mask, that much is true, nor have you a scythe, as I’ve said … you’ve the cloak, all right, but that can be purchased at even the lowliest of costume shops; I’ve one just like it in my wagon here, in fact. No, this is something in the face itself. It’s an aura." He paused, appraising me coldly. "You’ve the heart of a ferryman."

    After a moment I replied, "I knew a woman once who said the very opposite."

    "A woman, eh? She must have feared you very much."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Lean Season, Spokane authors

    Lean Season

    ebook | audiobook | paperback

    Lonny hesitated, trembling. "Y-you mean it's just trying to scare us?"

    Handlebar tweaked his nose. "That's right."

    The fire returned to the young man's eyes—almost. He looked around the shattered dock, at the riddled corpse and the oily, bloody water, at the spitting power lines and the dead lights, the peeling boardwalk on the shore.

    He shook his head. "No, it's not. It—it doesn't pretend, like you. It's gonna kill us, that's all." He stepped closer. "Can’t you see that? You posing hillbilly? The spill's given it a—a lean season. It's sick, and it's hungry, and …"

    He glanced at the corpse. "And we probably just killed its mate."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Killer in the Looking Glass, Spokane authors

    Killer in the Looking Glass

    ebook

    "I stare at her through the rain. Somewhere a siren is wailing. From the streets below, angry words rendered unintelligible by distance are being exchanged. Gunshots follow. Then screaming. Car horns are being honked impatiently. Somewhere a baby is crying. The Hard Mask seems to fit much looser than before. In fact, it doesn't seem to want to stay on at all."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Red Marillion, Spokane authors

    Red Marillion

    ebook

    "You're gonna smoke it with me, aren't you, Vic?" he asked, following me.

    I stopped in the living room and kicked off my hiking boots.

    "Huh, Vic? How about it?" He walked around me and plopped himself down on the couch, which was even greasier than the carpet, if that was possible. "It'll be just like old times."

    A towering, purple bong sat at his feet, ready to go. I sat down in the easy chair across from him, rubbing my temples.

    It's coming.

    "Sure," I said, finally. "Just like old times."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Flying the Fog Roads of Cascadia: Grover Krantz on the Trail of Bigfoot, Spokane authors

    Flying the Fog Roads of Cascadia: Grover Krantz on the Trail of Bigfoot

    ebook

    Dr. Krantz served as a full professor of anthropology at Washington State University from 1968 until 1998. Though he was a popular teacher with an almost cult-like following and highly regarded for his work on Homo Erectus, it was his pioneering exploration of the Sasquatch phenomenon which won him praise as well as condemnation from the scientific community.

    Though the ultimate veracity of Dr. Krantz' Bigfoot hypothesis may never be known, the fact that he captured the popular imagination has never been disputed. Indeed, due to his numerous appearances on national television and in motion pictures, as well as his published articles, essays, and books, Krantz may be said to have joined the likes of Carl Sagan and Joseph Campbell as a "popularizer" of scientific and/or mythological enquiry. In doing so he has helped bridge the gulf between serious scientific debate and worldwide popular culture, and drawn the attention of thousands to the greater Pacific Northwest.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Coffin Road, Spokane authors

    Coffin Road

    ebook

    Three went out in search of the Sound—Seeker, Teller, and Winder (though they weren't called that then). Only Teller returned, living long enough, just, to tell the Tale.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, How About a Coke and Some Fries?, Spokane authors

    How About a Coke and Some Fries?

    ebook

    I had a dream. In the dream I was running, I and a thousand others, through the Nevada desert. It’s open range out there: no fences impeded us, but the cows scattering before us slowed our passage, tripping us up. They mooed in terror even as we cried out, but they weren’t afraid of us so much as the Shadow behind us all.

    That shadow was an army, led by Ronald McDonald. He was grinning, leering even, blood-red lips frozen in a rictus. At his side was Jack, fell head bouncing. Little Wendy squeezed between them, screaming like a Valkyrie, braided red locks flying. They were a Calvary; they were riding Rainbeer. Their hooves churned up the dust through which burst a million antenna balls, cackling, bouncing, leaping …

    Behind them marched a sea of corporate shock troops, wave after wave, briefcases in hand. Trumpets sounded, like something from The Lord of the Rings, heralding the return of the Burger King—

    Ahead of us the cows starting vanishing, dropping from the face of the world. “It’s a stampede!” someone cried, terrified. There were screams that fell away sharply.

    We had come to a sheer drop-off—a few of us having realized too late. There was nowhere left to run. Above us, like vultures, attack helicopters circled. Turning to meet my doom, I saw that Ronald McDonald had become former President Ronald Reagan.

    “Well,” he said. “How about it?”

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Flashback Dawn (A Serialized Novel), Part One: "Naaygi," Spokane authors

    Flashback Dawn (A Serialized Novel), Part One: "Naaygi"

    ebook | paperback

    “Jesus, Corbin, your window!” shrieked Charlotte—too late—as one of the beasts’ heads darted deep into the cab and began thrashing about violently. The Jeep careened against the shelves as Red lost control, first to the left, then to the right, causing groceries to cascade down the windshield and to roll off the hood, as Charlotte slid the pistol from her holster and opened fire on the velociraptor, which bucked and leapt, banging its head against the ceiling, before reversing itself back through the window and falling away.

    Corbin cranked up his window and looked at her over his shoulder as Red regained control, and said, albeit begrudgingly, “Thank you.”

    But Charlotte was no longer looking at his face; instead she had focused on his shoulder—which had been laid open by the raptor’s flashing teeth and now bled profusely over his policeman’s uniform and down the side of his seat, causing Red to reach behind himself awkwardly and fish around for something even as he accelerated for the front doors of the supermarket.

    “There’s a First-Aid kit behind my seat,” he said, and Charlotte quickly joined in the search even as Red added, “It’s right here,” and took his eyes off the wheel just long enough for Corbin to shout, “Red!”

    He’d scarcely had time to refocus on the wheel before he noticed a lithe figure awash in the headlights, a figure shorter than the average person and swathed in what appeared to be animal hides, holding a spear, who turned its head to face them and regarded them briefly as its—her—eyes flashed with terror and the Jeeps push bar collided with her body.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, That Thing We Killed, Spokane authors

    That Thing We Killed

    ebook

    A young man's "blooding" can haunt him for the rest of his life.

    Especially when he's not even sure what he killed.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Wet Bark, Spokane authors

    Wet Bark

    ebook

    "A vignette of dream shimmers briefly in my mind. I remember I was crouched in a dark yard, this yard—staring at that same clothesline. I was cold, so cold, and frightened, and I didn't know why. It was far too dark to see anything clearly. I could tell only that there was something hung from the line. Approaching it, I saw how it swung back and forth in the night-wind heavily. It wasn't until I was close enough almost to touch it that I realized what it was.

    It was the pale woman's head.

    … but I don't want to think about that. It is a dream best forgotten."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Flashback Dawn (A Serialized Novel), Part Two: "The Devil's Shambhala," Spokane authors

    Flashback Dawn (A Serialized Novel), Part Two: "The Devil's Shambhala"

    ebook | paperback

    Corbin snatched the rifle off his shoulder in a flash and everyone ducked—but he was pointing it at the ceiling, not the Chairman. “Shhh,” he said, and cocked his head. “Just listen.”

    Charlotte did so, her ears still ringing. Slowly it became manifest: the sound of cavern raptors barking amidst the catacombs, barking and seeming to answer themselves, and something else, which answered them all. The Cat. The smilodon. The saber-toothed tiger which bore little in common with any of its modern-day ancestors nor any of its prehistoric ones, for it was the size of a small bus. And beyond that … another. Something closer in tone to the raptors and yet altogether different. Something bigger, more robust. Something none of them had ever heard before.

    “You all need to understand something,” he said finally, slowly re-slinging his gun, “and that is that before I found this place I was precinct commander of an entire police force dedicated to combating these … things. And if there’s one thing we learned …” He paused, smiling a little to himself. “‘We.’ He seemed to dismiss the thought. “If there’s one thing we learned before our unit was torn to pieces … one thing they learned, my men, before being bitten in half, beheaded, slit open by sickle-claws so that their intestines unspooled across the city streets like sausage links … is that these things are not animals.” He smiled to himself again as though reliving a lifetime’s worth of humbling nightmares. “No, an animal is something comprehensible, even relatable. An animal is something flesh and blood same as you or me, with the same needs, the same hunger, the same will to survive. But these things, these so-called dinosaurs and prehistoric cats, they’re not animals, not the way we understand them. They’re weapons. They have purpose. Intent. They’ve been infused with it somehow. Someone, something, has weaponized them against us.” He nodded slowly, distantly. “Those lights in the sky, I think. And I can promise you this … they will not go away.” The haunting smile returned as he shook his head. “They won’t give up, you understand. And they won’t stop until every man, woman, and child in this compound has been torn apart and devoured.”

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Flashback Dawn (A Serialized Novel), Part Three: "The Red-Eye Shift," Spokane authors

    Flashback Dawn (A Serialized Novel), Part Three: "The Red-Eye Shift"

    ebook | paperback

    He hadn’t run far when he came across the first body, as well as the first raptor (the body laying slit open from throat to crotch while the raptor devoured its unspooled intestines), and Red squeezed off a round, blowing a hole in its head which shot a stream of dark blood no less than six feet before the beast dropped like a sandbag and Red circled around to find the others—but mostly to find Charlotte.

    He heard her shout above the engine of one of the rides. “Red! I’m over here! The Scrambler!”

    He scanned the amusements quickly and saw her long, brown hair blowing from one of the ride’s carriages: she had activated the thing and sought refuge on it, and was now being swung and whipped about dizzyingly even as a trio of cavern raptors tried to attack. He ran to the fence which encircled the attraction and quickly chambered a round, but found it difficult to target any animals as they scrambled to dodge the carriages, darting this way and that with frantic precision even as they persisted in the assault.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Enter the Witch Doctor, Part One of the Witch Doctor Trilogy, Spokane authors

    Enter the Witch Doctor | Part One of the Witch Doctor Trilogy

    ebook | paperback

    They were the kind of musical notes men and woman once swayed to—even worshiped to—or so Jasper had told him, ground from an instrument called an “organ”—which had once been common, or so he’d said, but had vanished from the face of the world. So, too, were there cymbals, which echoed throughout the crew compartment of the War Wagon like tinsel—if tinsel could be said to have a sound—and mingled with the steely whispers of their muskets and tanks and other gear as the truck rocked and their harnesses held them fast.

    “When a maaan loves a woman,” sang a hearty and soulful voice both inside and outside the compartment, and Jeremiah knew they were close, else the driver wouldn’t have cued the music, and when he scanned the other Witch Doctors, strapped in six to a bench in the wagon’s cramped confines, he knew that they knew it too. What was more, he knew that, however fearsome they looked in their black jumpsuits and white flame-retardant vests, their goggled respirators, their buckled hats—they were frightened, too.

    But then the wagon ground to a halt and there was no time to be feel anything, much less fear, as Jeremiah unbuckled and piled out with the others. And yet, as he paused momentarily to take in the building—a ramshackle six-story brownstone which looked as though it had been built before the Betrayal, much less the Pogrom—a strange thing happened. He thought he heard a voice; not from without but entirely from within—a woman’s voice, a witch’s voice. And it said to him, as faintly as the cymbals at the start of the music, Why have you come for us, Witch-Doctor? And he found himself scanning the illuminated windows of the brownstone as if someone had perhaps shouted to him (rather than reaching directly into his mind), and saw behind one of the uppermost panes a figure so small and motionless that he might have thought it a piece of furniture, a lamp, perhaps, had it not slid to one side and vanished.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Faraway, Nearby

    ebook | audiobook | paperback

    "Now that the smoke had cleared, she saw that the bulge had burst open, and was hollow. Reams of tree sap dribbled from its fracture. She stared at it as piano music tiptoed up the hall—Maggie's radio, no doubt—resonating eerily amidst the sterile walls. Thinking she heard the ghost-voice of Karen Carpenter—what were recordings if not the voices of ghosts?—she noticed something different about the willow tree. Something other than the weird bulge, now split open.

    It was an odd configuration of branches, some thick as a person’s arms, others thick as legs. Had those been there before? She was pretty sure they hadn’t. She noticed there were unusual masses of vegetation growing from them; in addition to strands of weeping willow leaves, there were flowers, ferns, lilies, mushroom stools—she knew they hadn’t been there. Taken together, the branches almost formed a human shape—with shaggy shoulders and a mane of green hair—in profile. But since when did trees grow—

    Suddenly the shape turned its face to her, opening its eyes, and Tika shrieked."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Flashback Dawn (A Serialized Novel), Part Four: "Charlotte"

    ebook | paperback

    She supposed it was what they—or at least Sting of The Police—would have called synchronicity: that twangy guitar and soft-pedaled keyboard emanating so clearly from the RV’s speakers as she ascended the vehicle’s aluminum ladder. All she knew was that the song matched her mood perfectly, absurdly, as Karen Carpenter sang, Such a feeling’s comin’ over me / There is wonder in most everything I see …

    She gained the RV’s roof and looked around: at the motor homes being corralled in the parking lot of Bluebeard’s Cove, at the velociraptors gathered like spectators outside the fence, at the brontosaurus mulling its cypress leaves nearby and the pterodactyls circling in the blood-red sky and the volcano spewing lava not thirty miles away. Not a cloud in the sky / Got the sun in my eyes / And I / Won’t be surprised if it’s a dream …

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Flashback Dawn (A Serialized Novel), Part Five: "The Children's Reich"

    ebook | paperback

    The camera whipped back to focus on Dieter, behind whom the strange sky-lights moved, bleeding in and out of each other, like globs of wax in a lava lamp. “Alas, even our master race can, at times, produce … aberrations. A man or woman of perfect Aryan descent who, nonetheless … fails to display the proper traits.” He gestured with his hand as if to say, Bring him, quickly. “And such a man will be offered in homage today, my friends; to placate the beasts that are the sub-masters of this new world, and to introduce our new allies to how it is that we—the new Nephilim—do things.” He nodded slowly as a man was forced writhing and struggling up to the main gate. “How it is that we have survived, even thrived, amidst a world that has killed so many. And the level of cruelty we expect from any and all who would join us.”

    Jesus, gods, he’s talking about a sacrifice, thought Charlotte, even as another movement caught the corner of her eye. She focused on where she’d noticed it and saw what appeared to be a tail—like a great, green dagger—before it disappeared behind a stand of cypress trees. So, too, did something move on the opposite side of the lot, causing the trees to sway. It’s like we’re being triangulated, she thought—even as the man was thrown to the muddy ground outside the fence and the gate swung quickly shut.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Flashback Dawn (A Serialized Novel), Part Six: "Throw Wide the Gates of Hell"

    ebook | paperback

    Naaygi found them waiting for her—as she somehow knew they would be—as the cage doors opened, their forward-facing eyes glinting the same hue as the lights in the sky and their dark, storm-colored bodies held absolutely still (even as another animal joined them and brought their number to four). She even knew somehow what they were; that they were a breed of carnosaur the “evolved” humans had called nanotyrannosaurs, the “Pygmy Tyrants,” and that one of them, the one with the brand upon its tail, the leader, even had a name—Napoleon, for he had been bounced forward and back in time via another alien species well before the Flashback and still bore the scars of his sojourn among the humans. She didn’t know how she knew these things, no more than she knew just where, within herself, Naaygi ended—and they, the lights in the sky, began. She just did; just as she knew that the Nano-Ts represented a queer offshoot of the dinosaur population that was altogether fleeter and deadlier and cannier than anything that had come before it.

    And thus she bowed to them, her avengers, her killers—their killers, the lights in the sky—the rain running in rivulets down her body as she dropped to her knees and touched her forehead to the pavement, a pavement which ran red with blood and was strewn with the dismembered, disemboweled corpses of at least fifty men and women.

    And then she whispered to them in a language older than words, Follow me.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    The Dagger and the Chalise | Part Two of the Witch Doctor Trilogy

    ebook | paperback

    He went into the kitchen and poured her a glass of water. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

    “I’m not hungry,” she said. She seated herself slowly, tentatively. “Two, maybe three days. Ever since Sister Samain wrested control of the coven from the Council. Thank you …” She took the glass from Jeremiah, still looking at the paintings. “They’re all done by the same hand, aren’t they?”

    He took off his wide-brimmed hat and studied them. “The same eye. Sometimes Jasper’s hand shakes uncontrollably and I have to steady it with my own. Other times I am his hand, and he tells me what to do.” He laughed a little. “He says that I am an artist, just as he. But even I know it’s the eye that sees, not the hands.”

    She continued staring at them. “No, I don’t think that’s true. These pictures have lines of grace … look, see how the fingers are elongated, and tend to curve up or down depending on the position of the body. They dance upon the canvas … surely you can see that. I think you paint them together, Jeremiah.”

    He swung the strap of the respirator over his head and set it on a mantle. “I’m just his hands.” He moved to leave the room again.

    “Just? But hands are for feeling,” she said.

    He paused at the entrance to the hall. “And they’re for killing, too.” Then he disappeared into the dark.

    And she thought, It’s the heart that kills, Jeremiah. The hard one by slaying others … and the soft by slaying itself. Then she pushed it from her mind.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    The Shadow, The Siren, and the Sage | Part Three of the Witch Doctor Trilogy

    ebook | paperback

    It was a night for dreaming and for murder too, a night that would live in infamy or be celebrated for a thousand years, a night which lay over the Witch Doctor’s complex like a crisp, black linen. It was also a night for destruction, and for the holding down of triggers, for the flames to flow like water over everything he had ever known and the past to blacken and curl upon itself like so much burning paper. It was, in short, a night for monumental change—and for everything to stay the same—depending on the actions (and the fortune) of a few; a night in which the fates of many would hang in the balance, while the fates of five would be sealed—Chairman Kill-sin and Sister Samain, Jasper, Jeremiah, Satyena—a night that would decide everything from whether the Witch Doctors or the witches (but preferably neither) would at last be dominant to whether there would even be another generation to tell the tale.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    The Complete X-Ray Rider: Mileposts on the Road to Childhood's End

    ebook | paperback

    Jonesing for a drive-in theater and a hotrod El Camino?

    It’s the dawn of the 1970s and everything is changing. The war in Vietnam is winding down. So is the Apollo Space Program. The tiny northwestern city of Spokane is about to host a World’s Fair. But the Watergate Hearings and the re-entry of Skylab and the eruption of Mount Saint Helens are coming…as are killer bees and Ronald Reagan.

    Enter ‘The Kid,’ a panic-prone, hyper-imaginative boy whose life changes drastically when his father brings home an astronaut-white El Camino. As the car’s deep-seated rumbling becomes a catalyst for the Kid’s curiosity, his ailing, over-protective mother finds herself fending off questions she doesn’t want to answer. But her attempt to redirect him on his birthday only arms him with the tool he needs to penetrate deeper—a pair of novelty X-Ray Specs—and as the Camino muscles them through a decade of economic and cultural turmoil, the Kid comes to believe he can see through metal, clothing, skin—to the center of the universe itself, where he imagines something monstrous growing, spreading, reaching across time and space to threaten his very world.

    Using the iconography of 20th century trash Americana—drive-in monster movies, cancelled TV shows, vintage comic books—Spitzer has written an unconventional memoir which recalls J.M. Coetzee’s Boyhood and Youth. More than a literal character, ‘The Kid’ is both the child and the adult. By eschewing the technique of traditional autobiography, Spitzer creates a spherical narrative in which the past lives on in an eternal present while retrospection penetrates the edges. X-Ray Rider is not so much a memoir as it is a retro prequel to a postmodern life—a cinematized “reboot” of what Stephen King calls the “fogged out landscape” of youth.

    Want to go for a ride?

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    The Complete Witch-Doctor: The Collected Stories

    ebook | paperback

    He straightened his respirator and picked up his wide-brimmed hat, yet did not move further, remaining still instead, weighing the hat in his gloved hands, rubbing a blotch of tissue from its great, gold buckle. It was difficult to see clearly with the blood drying on his goggles; he took off a glove and wiped them clean, noticing as he did so that his hand was shaking—worse, that his entire body had begun to tremble. He looked around the corridor in a daze, first at the headless witch who was now an inanimate corpse, then through the door from which he’d exited, where blood and brains had begun to dry on the wallpaper, which was beginning to warp and to catch fire. That’s when he noticed something else, a crude sign on the fallen door--a sign which, when he moved forward to examine it, turned out to be a simple plea: ‘Please don’t kill the bird.’

     

    Her name was Miriam, and the bird was her only friend. And during her life she was ostracized by everyone, because she was like me, neither fully witch nor fully woman. When the High Sisters came with their judgements and their sentences, it was she who spoke in my defenseonly she who would still speak the truth as she saw it.

     

    The birdcage came into view as he rounded the corner to the kitchenette, for he had been moving through the flaming apartment without being consciously aware of it. “Six minutes until dust-off,” squawked his headset. “Doctors Oceanus and Damaris KIA. Mind your thoughts … there is a Whisperer at work.”

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Seven Tales of Blood and Beauty

    ebook | paperback

    "Take the fatal shot," said Horseshoe. He must have laid down his rifle because I remember him helping to steady my own. "Easy now, you'll own this forever—" I stared the thing in the eye and squeezed the trigger.

     

    It threw back its head, rising up. It gasped for breath, spitting more blood. It barked at the sky. Then it fell, head thumping against the deck. Its serpentine neck slumped. The rest of its blood spread over the boards and rolled around our boots and flowed between the planks.

     

    I was the first to step forward, looking down at the thing through drifting smoke.

     

    Its remaining eye seemed to look right back. I got down on my knees to look closer. The thing exhaled, causing the breathing holes at the top of its head, behind its eyes, to bubble. I waited for it to inhale, staring into its eye—I could see myself there as well as the others, could see the sky and the scattered clouds. The whole world seemed contained in that moist little ball. Then the eye rolled around white—it shrunk, drying, and the thing's neck constricted. And it died.

     

    Horseshoe slapped my back, massaged my neck. "How's it feel, little buddy?"

     

    But I didn't know what I felt. I could only stare at the eye, now empty.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    The Complete Ferryman | The Entire Ferryman Saga in One Place

    ebook | paperback

    His rowing slowed as he weighed her words. At last he stopped completely and said, “Then we will outwait them. Sthulhu will have transmitted images of the attack by now, and reinforcements are surely on their way. We have only to stay near the door. Time is on our side.”

     

    Shekalane looked at him forlornly. “Is it, Dravidian?”

     

    Something rustled and chirped above them and they both froze.

     

    “What was that?”

     

    Dravidian lifted his oar and, utilizing a specialized hook on its shaft, took hold of the aft lantern. He raised it slowly.

     

    The ceiling of the chamber was covered with inverted bat—things, for they couldn’t be called bats, surely, as each was half the size of a man, and they seemed more like small people, monkeys, perhaps, than any flying creature Shekalane had ever seen.

     

    “That settles it, then,” she said. “Time is definitely not on our side."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Flashback Dawn | The Complete Series (Illustrated)

    ebook | paperback | audiobook

    “You all need to understand something,” he said finally, slowly re-slinging his gun, “and that is before I found this place I was precinct commander of an entire police force dedicated to combating these … things. And if there’s one thing we learned …” He paused, smiling a little to himself. “‘We.’ He seemed to dismiss the thought. “If there’s one thing we learned before our unit was torn to pieces … one thing they learned, my men, before being bitten in half, beheaded, slit open by sickle-claws so that their intestines unspooled across the city streets like sausage links … is that these things are not animals.” He smiled to himself again as though reliving a lifetime’s worth of humbling nightmares. “No, an animal is something comprehensible, even relatable. An animal is something flesh and blood same as you or me, with the same needs, the same hunger, the same will to survive. But these things, these so-called dinosaurs and prehistoric cats, they’re not animals, not the way we understand them. They’re weapons. They have purpose. Intent. They’ve been infused with it somehow. Someone, something, has weaponized them against us.” He nodded slowly, distantly. “Those lights in the sky, I think. And I can promise you this … they will not go away.” The haunting smile returned as he shook his head. “They won’t give up, you understand. And they won’t stop until every man, woman, and child in this compound has been torn apart and devoured.”

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Flashback Dawn

    ebook | paperback

    She focused straight forward and saw that the gate to the parking lot was hanging wide open.

     

    Donny. He’d forgotten to latch it.

     

    She sat bolt upright, every nerve in her body suddenly on end, and was about to leap from her chair when Donny appeared at the edge of the windshield and waved back at her, as if to say, My bad, sorry. I got it.

     

    Then she collapsed back against the headrest, exhaling, as he pushed the gate closed and latched it, and relief flooded through her like so much cool water even as the saber-toothed cat’s huge head appeared outside her window and its whiskers brushed the glass and its black lips pulled back from its teeth and its eyes focused intently on Donny in the split second before it leapt.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Flashback Dawn: A Free Teaser

    ebook | paperback

    Charlotte popped the hatch and grabbed a couple baskets, began filling them with tuna. A cry sounded from somewhere near the back of the store which Red recognized instantly. Charlotte and he exchanged glances. “You hear that, Corbin?” he shouted.

     

    Corbin was but a tiny figure at the end of the aisle. “Yeah, asshole. I heard it. Let’s go.”

     

    “What’s the matter, Supercop? Afraid of something that might fight you back? Give her a minute.”

     

    Charlotte exchanged her baskets for empty ones and rushed down the aisle.

     

    The call sounded again and yet another responded, this one from the front of the store. “Those are fucking raptors, Michelangelo. She’s got about sixty seconds before I come down there and take that Jeep with or without you.”

     

    “Where did they come from?” said Charlotte, piling cans into her baskets.

     

    “Probably filed in after us,” said Red, or slipped through a back door we missed.”

     

    “They can appear out of nowhere, asshole,” hollered Corbin. “I’ve seen one materialize right where a man was standing.” Another call echoed throughout the store and he aimed his rifle into the dark. “Want to know what happened?”

     

    “No!” shouted Charlotte. She scrambled for the Jeep with her baskets laden with cans.

     

    Corbin began backing toward them. “It fused with the poor bastard—became sort of a man-dinosaur hybrid, just a jumbled mess of flesh with eyeballs in all the wrong places and their organs mixed together, like a casserole. Fortunately, it didn’t live very—”

     

    There was a tumult of cascading cans and jars which clattered and broke against the floor as a velociraptor leapt atop the shelves between them, and he instantly raised his gun and opened fire.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Tales from the Flashback: "Thunder Lizard Road"

    ebook | paperback

    “Wow,” said Annie, her arms tightening around his waist. “Are you feeling it too?”

     

    He focused on a dark shape hovering just above the wheat—several dark shapes—like hummingbirds, but big. Something glinted blue-black in the sun. “What do you mean?”

     

    “The mescaline … I’m still tripping, baby.” Her inner thighs constricted against his hips and he thought of the fantastic shag they’d shared in California—while standing doggie-style amidst the Vasquez Rocks, the famed location of so many westerns—and found the fact that she was hallucinating also reassuring, even if it did mean they were barreling down the Interstate at 74 mph while still under the influence. “Yeah. Me too. I’m going to pull over at the next rest stop until it passes.”

     

    “DJ is expecting us at five. And it isn’t polite to keep the head of a motorcycle gang waiting. They’re my friends, Sammi. This is important to me.”

     

    “God forbid, we miss a party. We’ll make it.”

     

    “Not if we take too long at the rest stop … Jesus, I’m seeing dinosaurs back here. What the hell did Jackie give us?”


    Her voice had dropped a couple octaves and the wind and engine noise were making it difficult to hear her. Not gave, he thought, a little resentfully. Sold. And the money’s starting to run out. “Say again?”

     

    “Dude, I’m literally seeing dinosaurs. There’s, like, a T-Rex back there. Trying to eat a tractor.” She laughed.

     

    He turned and looked over his shoulder, saw the tyrannosaur brushing its massive head against the cab of the combine, attempting to roll it over. There’s no way we can be seeing the same thing. There’s just no way except—

     

    “Baby …!”

     

    He spun around in time to see a blue-black thing, an insect, a dragonfly, which was at least as long as his forearm, hovering directly in their path—before it smashed against the windshield like a rock and splattered like a cantaloupe, hurling watery green blood and guts everywhere, some of which landed in Sammi’s mouth. And then they were careening out of control in the general direction of the gravel shoulder, and while he didn’t experience anything so dramatic as his life flashing before him, he did revisit, in a kind of time-out from time itself, the months since he’d received the Lotto payout and met Annie—a fast-living spitfire who was 29 to his 39 and whom he had nothing in common with beyond how well they got on sexually—and recognized in himself an increasing dissatisfaction with, well, all of it—the gambling, the drugs, the sex—everything. But then the time-out was over and they were laying on their side near the edge of the road—yet still in it—as the 18-wheeler bore down upon them, close enough so that Sammi could see the driver’s face, and thus knew the man had noticed them too late.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    The Men | A Tale of Alien Terror (Part One)

    ebook | paperback

    Dusk, in the middle of nowhere. Beth pulls into a rest area and shuts off the engine. Helicopters can be heard in the distance; Frodo whimpers and whines. There is a drone of crickets as Beth leans against the wheel. The place is abandoned save for a single pickup and camper.

     

    She sits back after a moment, stroking the dog’s neck, and rolls her head to look at the truck. It sits silently in the twilight about a hundred feet away: quiet as a tomb, with no sign of a driver. She experiences a wave of nausea—which sends her hurrying toward the restrooms—as the sound of the choppers rushes closer.

     

    She collapses over the toilet, vomiting repeatedly, as the helicopters thunder overhead. The pounding of the rotors diminishes as she spits and wipes her mouth. At last she reaches up with trembling fingers and flushes the bowl, and the water swirls down, gurgling. She slowly catches her breath. The crickets drone and Frodo barks. She sits on the floor with her back against the cold cinderblocks—notices a shoe covered in green plastic just outside the stall.

     

    She looks up. An eye is visible between the doorjamb and the wall. It blinks as she shrieks and suddenly disappears.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Tales from the Flashback: "Raptors on a Plane"

    ebook | paperback

    Just … don’t move, she told herself, understanding that if she moved even a little the thing would apprehend her at once, then virtually held her breath as the velociraptor—yes, velociraptor, just like in Jurassic Park, only this one was blue-black and had a mohawk of oil slick-colored feathers—cocked its head at the screen. At last it lowered its head and she dropped to the carpeted floor, but waited before drawing so much as a breath.

     

    The cabin was quiet except for the drone of the engines and the wet, gristly eating sound—even the TVs had fallen back into static—and she inhaled slowly. Then, just as slowly, she began crawling forward, toward the closed curtain of business class ... and the cockpit.

     

    Scarcely a moment had passed before she heard labored breathing and saw another raptor lying on its side between the seats, foaming at the mouth, dying. Something went drip … drip … drip nearby.

     

    It was headless man, his body draped over a seat like so much dirty laundry, his blood falling in droplets to the floor. And there, in the middle of the stained carpet, lay a gun. A revolver. A big one.

     

    An air marshal, she thought, and reached for the weapon. Yes, there. And there. Gold rings and bullet noses, just visible inside the chamber. But how many? She found the latch and popped open the gun—she was fortunate to know something about revolvers, having spent much of her youth target shooting with her father—and was disappointed to find only two bullets left. It would have to do. Then she crept forward along the carpet … until creeping forward more would expose her to the raptors, and peeked around the edge of a seat slowly.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    The Men | A Tale of Alien Terror (Part Two)

    ebook | paperback

    Everything becomes like a dream—it is the injection, of course—and she is dimly aware of getting into the pickup behind her and putting it into neutral. Then she is back in her car and reversing, pushing the truck clear, before peeling away from the scene with one of the green men riding the hood—like TJ Hooker. She swerves about the road like a mad woman until he falls off, then slams on the breaks and backs over him, just to be sure.

     

    She zooms back the way she came, careening against the guardrail, dialing Dr. Lairman, leaving a message telling him that she is coming back. When she passes the truck stop from earlier she notices that it’s gone completely dark.

     

    The motel, she thinks, incoherently. The old woman. Andy. They’ll help.

     

    That’s when she sees the Shape again. Sees it through the shattered passenger window—silhouetted against a flash of lightning, approaching over the desert hills, maneuvering impossibly.

     

    "No …" she whimpers, as Frodo barks and howls.

     

    Then a horn sounds and she faces forward—in time to avoid a head-on collision by mere seconds.

     

    By the time she skids to a stop on the shoulder of the road, a man is running up to her, apologetic, out of breath, asking if she is okay. She gets out, shrieking and gesturing with her arms, completely hysterical.

     

    "Did you see it? Did you see it?"

     

    He catches her wrists in his hands and holds them—an overly intimate gesture she could be offended by, but isn’t.


    "I saw a jet," he says, staring into her eyes, continuing to hold her hands. "A jet—they’re everywhere out here today. They must be doing maneuvers or something. It’s okay, all right? You’re okay."

     

    She begins to calm down at last, however slightly. There’s something about him, something about his mild eyes and soft but firm hands, his shock of dark hair, his soothing voice. She senses something and looks up, sees a fighter jet flying right over the top of them—low enough that she can make out the rivets in its fuselage. It is there and gone before its sharp-edged whine even cuts the air.

     

    "See?" he says, releasing her hands. "Just a jet."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Tales from the Flashback: "The Drive-in That Time Forgot"

    ebook | paperback

    He begins trembling violently, turning this way and that, knowing he cannot find the truck, knowing that if he did it would not make any difference, it would not stop the ground from rolling or the terrorists from coming or Tiangong-1 falling or Mt. Kilauea from erupting. It would not stop the transmission from bleeding or the windshield from cracking. It would not stop the projector from burning out, from leaving them all in blackness, to shiver and die alone. It would not stop time, either from marching forward or “flashing back”—nor the T. Rex and triceratops from appearing amongst the parked cars and continuing a fight begun 65-million years ago. It would not stop the strange storm front from rolling across the sky, or the mysterious lights within it—nothing could.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Tales from the Flashback: "The Ank Williams Story"

    ebook | paperback

    "Ha! The flu. You should see ‘em: pale and black-eyed as serpents, just lying there in the Rio Grande like zombies.” She leaned toward him over the bar again and he caught a whiff of her fragrance, and there was a stirring in his groin he hadn’t felt since, well, since he couldn’t remember.


    “What do you mean, like zombies?”


    “I mean like zombies, like men who are dead but still walking, or lying there staring at the ceiling. See, something attacked us only a few weeks after the Flashback … something … new. At first everyone just assumed it was a rogue raptor, because it didn’t have a pack—that was the first thing. But then it started talking, like a parrot, I suppose, saying things like ‘Pig’ and ‘Eggsucker,’” She laughed her contagious laugh. “Can you imagine? A raptor calling you names as it attacked you? Deputies Creebald and Teller put up one hell of a fight, you can be sure, and they did eventually kill it, with Rimshaw’s help, but all of them were wounded in the fight, and the deputies worst of all. After that, things started changing around here. At first it was just Creebald and Teller acting strangely, abusing their power, you might say, telling me not to forget to paint on my mole, or insisting Doc Allen wear that ridiculous little vest. But then Marshal Rimshaw started getting into the act, as well, and before any of us knew it we were living in a kind of police state. Decker was the only one who didn’t pile on, which is funny, because he was the only one not wounded in the fight with the raptor. It all came to a head when Deputy Teller had his way with one of the saloon girls—Molly, was her name—after which there was a full-blown shootout between the Marshal and his deputies—not Decker, he tried to maintain the peace—and the rest of the town.” She unscrewed the cap from a bottle of beer and took a swig, then concealed it behind the bar. “You didn’t see that. Anyway, the town didn’t fair so well, and now there’s a row of graves out by Serpent’s Butte.” She paused, locking her beautiful brown eyes up in his own. “They were good men, Williams. The best I’ve ever known. And now they’re just as dead as that raptor.” She snapped the bar towel in her hands and then wiped the counter. “And that’s why we all talk and dress this way.” She indicated his empty glass. “You want another?”


    “Sure,” he said.


    She pulled one from the wall and unscrewed its cap, sat it down in front of him.


    At last she said, “So what about you? What’s your story? And how did you come to be travelling with an armored dinosaur?”
     

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Tales from the Flashback: "The Ank Williams Story"

    ebook | paperback

    Erik peered out the window at the corpse, noticing how the falling snow was beginning to cover it, as it had his forgotten toys, and noticing, too, that the monsters, the velociraptors, which bore nothing in common with the plush toys he had in his bedroom, were nowhere to be seen. Nor were the lights of his father’s car—or anything, for that matter; there was just the corpse (one hand of which seemed to reach for the sky like a twisted, dead tree branch) and the snow, which had whited out everything, rendered the world void.

     

    “… this speaks for the most troubling aspect of what scientists are calling ‘the Flashback’: the sudden disappearance of people all over the world, including entire families …”

     

    He looked at the sky, at the ceiling of snow clouds, amidst which the lights mentioned on the TV pulsed and glowed, bleeding in and out of each other, shifting colors, none of which he recognized, and knew in that instant—the instant before the raptor came crashing through the glass with its splayed feet first—that nothing would ever be the same; that he would never see his father and sister again and would never return to school and would never, ever be a boy, not even for an instant. And then the raptor did come, and he was knocked backward against the floor with a violence he could not have imagined, and after a moment there was a flurry of gunshots which blew the back of the animal’s head apart so that its full weight fell upon him and he was spattered with blood and brains. And the last thing he saw before blacking out completely was the monster’s dying eye, which stared into his own, an eye which contained in it the same colors as the lights in the sky--until they, too, faded and became as the dead.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), Part One: "Radio Free Montana"

    ebook | paperback

    “Those I can hear,” said Luna—and began retreating up the stairs again. “They only talk when they’re about to attack.”

     

    Williams, meanwhile, had focused on Ank. “Jesus … it called me by name.”

     

    Ank stared at him from beneath his brow. <A survivor of Devil’s Gorge, maybe?>

     

    Williams nodded slowly. “But how in God’s name? The only one who knew our names was … Unless—”

     

    <Unless the town was attacked by another pack of were-raptors after we left. Which would mean those outside could be anyone—Sheriff Decker, Katrina …>

     

    Williams misted up as he thought of the saloon girl who had shown him such affection. “I won’t shoot them, then.”

     

    <Now listen, Will. Don’t let your personal feelings—>

     

    “I said I won’t shoot them,” he snapped, and turned toward Luna, who was cowering at the top of the stairs. “We’ll have to find another way.” To Luna he said: “It’s all right, sweetie. Everything’s going to be all right.”

     

    <Dammit, Will, I can’t handle an entire pack on my own, and you know it. Now are we serious about making it to Tanelorn, or at least Barley’s, or not? Or have all our plans changed because a saloon girl threw a leg up on you in a town we will never see again?>

     

    “Meh,” Williams sighed angrily and moved toward the building’s front windows, which Ank had blocked with pinball machines and video games, with only partial success.

     

    <Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you, dammit!> He lumbered after him, the tiled floor cracking beneath his elephantine feet. <We made a pact. And what about the girl? Would you see her torn to pieces by those things while you simply watched?>

     

    “Go away!” Williams hissed. He peeked around one of the machines and saw the raptors lined up in the gathering dark, waiting to make their move, waiting to rush the snack bar and overwhelm them, waiting to kill them or, worse, to turn them into creatures like themselves.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), Part Two: "Into the Badlands"

    ebook | paperback

    “You talk to yourself a lot, don’t you?” said Luna.

     

    Williams looked at her and finally smiled in spite of himself. “Or it just may be that he’s really talking to me, and you just can’t hear it.” He tweaked her nose. “Yet. Either way, you need to eat something and get some sleep. We all do. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

     

    “Why a big day?”

     

    “Ank, camping gear,” he said, and the dinosaur folded his front legs with a groan. “Because we’re going to head out for Barley’s in the morning.” He loosed his bedroll from the supplies strapped to Ank’s back and tossed it to her. “The place where the sounds on your radio come from. We’ve--we’re searching for something. A place we call Tanelorn. And we think that might be it.”

     

    “Tanelorn,” she repeated. “What’s that?”

     

    Williams rested his arms on the bundles of supplies, thinking about it. “I don’t know, exactly. I reckon it’s just a place someone feels drawn to … even if they don’t know why. A place where the homeless can find a home, maybe.” He looked at the lights in the sky, the Alien Borealis, as Ank called it, and wondered. “But it may be that it’s something else—a kind of Omega Point. A place where all the colors of the spectrum meet, like a prism. And become focused into a single, burning light. Maybe that’s what people mean when they talk about the power and the glory.” He tugged on a rope, releasing a waterfall of pots and pans. “Meh. It’s just something to keep us going.”

     

    “Like a magnifying glass,” she said, ignoring his last statement.

     

    He paused, thinking about it. “Like a magnifying glass,” he agreed. Then he added, “Now, what’ll it be? Beans or beans?”

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), Part Three: "The Beast in the Iron Mask"

    ebook | paperback

    “As for what it proves beyond that is anyone’s guess,” said the woman, sounding suddenly tired. “That they’re experimenting on us as well as exterminating us? We don’t even know who they are, much less what their relationship to the Flashback is. We don’t even know if ‘they’ applies; or if they’re just a force of nature, like the weather.” She pulled down her mask. “It just feels so pointless sometimes, this whole operation.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ll be all right, I just …”

     

    The man reached out to her and touched her shoulder. “It’s been a long day, Maggie. Why don’t we just … retire to the Tiki Tent.” He tried to sound optimistic. “There’s still enough vegetables for Bloody Marys—I’ll be the bartender.” He looked at her hopefully.

     

    “Please, God,” said the younger woman. “I’m dying here.”

     

    Maggie looked back and forth between them and then at him, at Ank. She stroked the side of his snout gently. “So we know now that you’re thinking … we just don’t know what. Nor what to do with you.”

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), Part Four: "Blues for a Drifter"

    ebook | paperback

    “You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”

     

    Williams didn’t turn around. “Yeah. I guess I am.” He exhaled cigar smoke. “It’s not like him to be so …”

     

    “Morose?”

     

    “Yeah. I guess that’s it. You know, he’s been at that pond almost since we got here … just drinking and staring … completely oblivious. Remember how I told you that neither of us could recall our previous lives? Well, maybe he’s recalling …” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “A different state of being. A different incarnation. I think he was a man once. A man who lived for a very long time.”

     

    “A lonely man, then …”

     

    “Yes. Sort of a last man standing. And I think when we met … he rediscovered something he’d been missing for a long time.”

     

    “Friendship. Someone to talk to,” she said.

     

    “More than that. A reason to live. I—I’ve felt it myself. All those weeks, months, spent walking alone. I told you about Tanelorn. Well that was what we called our reason to live … our reason for putting one foot in front of the other. Because without that …”

     

    “‘Gazelle Theory,’” she said.

     

    “What?”

     

    She laughed a little. “Something my husband used to say. It means, ‘move or die.’”

     

    He laughed a little himself. “That’s good. ‘Move or die.’ Whether it’s a physical death or an emotional one.” He stared at Ank in the gloaming before another hand touched him, this time Luna. “Is Ank all right?”

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), Part Five: "The Enemy Comes in Dream"

    ebook | paperback

    “This is who we are,” said the man in the bandana, who stood next to him on the grassy hill. “And this, fellow paladin, is what we do. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

     

    Williams watched as the steeples of a church burned and collapsed, then focused on a woman carrying a child from the wreckage.

     

    The stranger continued: “Don’t look to us for the method of carnage--fire is of the Other’s design. We only use it as a means to an end. But watch now as I show you what will happen when we descend upon your Barley—and what mercy to expect from us when we finally do. And tell me if it would not be better to simply turn around now, while you still can, and ignore the Call completely."

     

    Williams squinted through the smoke as a motorcycle burst into view and bore down upon the woman, its headlight creating a halo, its rider brandishing a sword. Then, before he could so much as cry out a warning, the rider struck, beheading the woman in one fell swoop before continuing on with a rumble and leaving the child abandoned in her arms.

     

    And then Williams was turning to the mysterious figure with the intent of killing him with his bare hands, but froze when he saw that the man was no longer there: that he had been replaced with something else, something about 9-feet-tall and covered with kinky hair, with a goat’s head and six golden eyes, which vanished as he blinked—awakening with a start—and heard Sheila say, with desperation in her voice: “Will, It’s Ank. And he’s gone.”

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), Part Six: "A Lament for the Dead"

    ebook | paperback

    All eyes turned toward Williams as the river raged and the sun continued to sink. At length he set down his rifle and eased the backpack from his shoulders. “Just one,” he said, retaking up his weapon. “Something I was planning on doing when we reached Barley, anyway.” He looked at Sheila, knowing that if anyone tried to stop him it would be her. “See, a mistake was made when we left Ank behind—a mistake I’ve been trying to reconcile ever since Lonepine. I don’t know, but it’s like—it’s like I had a lapse in faith … a lapse in brotherly love, something; one we’re paying for even now.” He paced back and forth with his rifle, trying to figure it out, trying to find the right words. “I read the tea leaves wrong—misinterpreted the entrails—whatever. But the fact is,” He looked at them one by one. “Ank was meant to be with us now. He was meant to ford us across that river. And the only reason he isn’t … is because I failed our friendship.” He paused as drop of rain flecked his nose and the clouds rumbled gently overhead. “Surely you can feel it, just as I do. The feeling that … we’re being tested. That the Flashback was not just an apocalypse in the physical sense. It was an apocalypse in the spiritual sense. That there’s more at play here than dinosaurs and strange lights in the sky—aliens, whatever—that the battle has now been joined by something else entirely. Something, I don’t know–”

     

    “Dear God, he’s going to say it,” protested Peter.

     

    “Yes, yes, I am,” said Williams rapidly, and added: “Something divine. And I guess what I’m trying to tell you all now, especially you, Sheila, and you, Luna, is that … well, I’m being called to go find Ank.”

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), Part Seven: "The Prairie and the Darkness"

    ebook | paperback

    He listened as the scratching at the metal door ceased, but took no heart from it: they’d only refocused their efforts on finding another way in, of that he was certain. Nor could he bear the thought of what would happen when they finally broke through—not the terror and pain of them gutting him like a fish, for Katrina would only wound him, he knew, but the inconceivable horror of walking the earth like them. Like a zombie. Like a dead man walking a dead planet.

     

    So, too, would they know then, having added his consciousness to theirs. They would know that Barley Hot Springs lay just beyond the Santiago River, which he suspected they could swim, and that nothing in the others’ experience would have prepared them for an attack from the rear. No, no, he couldn’t under any circumstances allow that—it alone was enough to justify what he couldn’t help but see as a surrender under cowardice, a spitting in God’s eye.

     

    For there was no God, otherwise the Flashback could never have happened. There was no light to counter the dark, no paladin to counter the Bandana Man, no magnifying glass to focus the sun. There was only the lights in the sky and a world gone mad, only death and pain and suffering without end--and time itself, which had been scrambled like eggs.

     

    He repositioned the rifle so that it pressed against his forehead then slipped his thumb across its trigger.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), Part Eight: "The Slim Hand of the Past"

    ebook | paperback

    She focused on her breathing, trying indeed not to hyperventilate, but feeling as though her heart might punch through her chest at any moment. The spot where he had touched her seemed to burn and freeze at the same time.

     

    “You don’t remember … do you?” His brown eyes suddenly twinkled and he shook his head. “No? You don’t remember calling on me in the depths of those first awful nights, when you were at your most exposed, when you were at your most vulnerable?” He stroked her long, brown hair with an almost impossible gentleness; it was as though a cool-warm breeze rifled it rather than his fingers. “When it was just you and the boy … alone, scared. Cold. Hungry?”

     

    She began to shake her head almost violently, her breathing and heart rate accelerating once again.

     

    “Oh, yes,” he said, squinting, smiling. “You did. All the world did. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You called on many during that time, in those hours and days and weeks after the Flashback--you wouldn’t have been aware of it. And you cursed the One who had brought it upon you … who had taken your husband and your daughter; who had taken so many husbands and daughters. It’s okay. We—we don’t judge. Not like them,” He looked at the hazy sky and the alien-colored lights, at the sun itself which was a white disk in the smoke. “Not like Him.”

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), Part Nine: "The Demon and the Avatar"

    ebook | paperback

    They both felt it at the same time, even as the train lurched forward and the cars jolted thunderously—a tremor in the very fabric of things, like a ripple in a foam of potentiality which contained in it the threads of all their possible futures. Something, somewhere, had just happened--something directly related to their current endeavor of delivering the bomb to Barley and detonating it amidst the Enemy.

     

    <An attack, you think, maybe an ambush? So soon?> communicated Ank, still smarting from his struggle to climb onto the flatcar with the added weight of the weapon.

     

    “You felt it too? Like one door closed and another had opened, but with disastrous consequences, for us all …” Williams looked at him, rattled and bewildered. “Ank, how could we know that?”

     

    <It’s possible that whatever this—this thing is, this event horizon, this convergence of power dynamics … it’s speeding up as we get closer, growing stronger. Meaning that the psychological link between us could be expanding to incorporate others. Regardless, it also means that our window for getting there has narrowed still further, possibly to the point of impossi—>

     

    “Ank, don’t.”

     

    <It’s something we need to prepare ourselves for, Will. At any rate, I’d suggest just now that you encourage our friendly engineer to step on the gas a little, or a lot.>

     

    Williams leaned forward until they were almost nose to nose. “Our friendly engineer, in case you haven’t noticed, is clearly insane!”

     

    <All the more reason to give it a shot. Just do it, Will. He may actually listen.>

     

    And then Williams was leaning over the side using one of Ank’s spikes for a handhold while simultaneously yelling at the engineer, who poked his head out the engine’s side window, his long, gray hair flying, and shouted, “You want speed, you got it, ha-ha! The world, she’s a comin’ back, yesiree!” He sounded the horn suddenly and Williams covered an ear, even as his hat blew off and fluttered away behind them. “The New World Special is back in service--and it’s taking its passengers to the Promised Land! Ha-ha!”

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), Part Ten: "The Hammer of El Shaddai"

    ebook | paperback

    They streamed out from the tree line in a veritable blitzkrieg, the guns of the tanks rotating and firing, the foot soldiers alternately taking cover behind vehicles and squeezing off bursts, the raptors and triceratops and stegosaurs charging—as Red and Charlotte and Roger and Savanna continued shooting and the children ran ammo and Bella lit the gasoline trenches, as Gojira and the clerk prepared shoulder-mounted rocket launchers. As hundreds of others joined the battle belatedly and began to kill and to be killed.

     

    And then they were there; they were at the gates, and the triceratops and stegosaurs had waded into the burning trenches and begun serving as bridges—sacrificing themselves so that the raptors and the foot soldiers could cross—even as a column of bulldozers fanned out along the perimeter and prepared to break the lines for good: dropping their blades—which rattled and clinked against the hail of gunfire—revving their engines, spewing black smoke.

     

    “Bayonets!” cried Red as the raptors fell upon them, thrusting his own so that it skewered one of the dinosaurs like a shish kabob even before he used its own weight and momentum to swing it over and behind himself.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Tales from the Flashback: An Anthology

    ebook | paperback

    Five new tales from the Flashback, from its initial outbreak to its effects months after. Featuring characters and situations that will feature prominently later in the series, Tales is both a prologue and supplement to Flashback Twilight. Essential reading for fans of the saga!

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Flashback Twilight

    ebook | paperback

    They streamed out from the tree line in a veritable blitzkrieg, the guns of the tanks rotating and firing, the foot soldiers alternately taking cover behind vehicles and squeezing off bursts, the raptors and triceratops and stegosaurs charging—as Red and Charlotte and Roger and Savanna continued shooting and the children ran ammo and Bella lit the gasoline trenches, as Gojira and the clerk prepared shoulder-mounted rocket launchers. As hundreds of others joined the battle belatedly and began to kill and to be killed.

     

    And then they were there; they were at the gates, and the triceratops and stegosaurs had waded into the burning trenches and begun serving as bridges—sacrificing themselves so that the raptors and the foot soldiers could cross—even as a column of bulldozers fanned out along the perimeter and prepared to break the lines for good: dropping their blades—which rattled and clinked against the hail of gunfire—revving their engines, spewing black smoke.

     

    “Bayonets!” cried Red as the raptors fell upon them, thrusting his own so that it skewered one of the dinosaurs like a shish kabob even before he used its own weight and momentum to swing it over and behind himself.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    The Complete Ank and Williams

    ebook | paperback

    “Those I can hear,” said Luna—and began retreating up the stairs again. “They only talk when they’re about to attack.”

     

    Williams, meanwhile, had focused on Ank. “Jesus … it called me by name.”

     

    Ank stared at him from beneath his brow. <A survivor of Devil’s Gorge, maybe?>

     

    Williams nodded slowly. “But how in God’s name? The only one who knew our names was … Unless—”

     

    <Unless the town was attacked by another pack of were-raptors after we left. Which would mean those outside could be anyone—Sheriff Decker, Katrina …>

     

    Williams misted up as he thought of the saloon girl who had shown him such affection. “I won’t shoot them, then.”

     

    <Now listen, Will. Don’t let your personal feelings—>

     

    “I said I won’t shoot them,” he snapped, and turned toward Luna, who was cowering at the top of the stairs. “We’ll have to find another way.” To Luna he said: “It’s all right, sweetie. Everything’s going to be all right.”

     

    <Dammit, Will, I can’t handle an entire pack on my own, and you know it. Now are we serious about making it to Tanelorn, or at least Barley’s, or not? Or have all our plans changed because a saloon girl threw a leg up on you in a town we will never see again?>

     

    “Meh,” Williams sighed angrily and moved toward the building’s front windows, which Ank had blocked with pinball machines and video games, with only partial success.

     

    <Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you, dammit!> Ank lumbered after him, the tiled floor cracking beneath his elephantine feet. <We made a pact. And what about the girl? Would you see her torn to pieces by those things while you simply watched?>

     

    “Go away!” Williams hissed. He peeked around one of the machines and saw the raptors lined up in the gathering dark, waiting to make their move, waiting to rush the snack bar and overwhelm them, waiting to kill them or, worse, to turn them into creatures like themselves.

     

    “Are you talking to me?” whined the girl, her voice seeming to bleed as if cut by invisible knives. “Why would you want me to go away all of a sudden?”

     

    “No—that’s not what I meant—I …”

     

    <I can’t do it, Will. They’ll swarm in beneath my armor and … they’ll tear me to pieces.>

     

    Williams held up his rifle—pressed his forehead against it.

     

    <We need your magic with that gun, Will. I need it. And if you don’t step up I’m going to have to … and, I won’t make it. Not this time.>

     

    “Come out, Williams!”

     

    “Yes, my love, come out!” A new voice. Her voice. Katrina.

     

    Williams squeezed his eyes shut.

     

    And then they were coming, he could hear their growls and the tapping of their awful sickle-claws against the cracked and broken pavement, and Ank was charging past him, breaking through the windows and walls, roaring defiantly, and when Williams looked up he saw the dinosaurs collide like thunderheads, heard Luna scream her piercing, drill bit scream, and knew they’d never make it to Barley, to say nothing of Tanelorn.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    The Complete Flashback Saga

    ebook | paperback

    They streamed out from the tree line in a veritable blitzkrieg, the guns of the tanks rotating and firing, the foot soldiers alternately taking cover behind vehicles and squeezing off bursts, the raptors and triceratops and stegosaurs charging—as Red and Charlotte and Roger and Savanna continued shooting and the children ran ammo and Bella lit the gasoline trenches, as Gojira and the clerk prepared shoulder-mounted rocket launchers. As hundreds of others joined the battle belatedly and began to kill and to be killed.

     

    And then they were there; they were at the gates, and the triceratops and stegosaurs had waded into the burning trenches and begun serving as bridges—sacrificing themselves so that the raptors and the foot soldiers could cross—even as a column of bulldozers fanned out along the perimeter and prepared to break the lines for good: dropping their blades—which rattled and clinked against the hail of gunfire—revving their engines, spewing black smoke.

     

    “Bayonets!” cried Red as the raptors fell upon them, thrusting his own so that it skewered one of the dinosaurs like a shish kabob even before he used its own weight and momentum to swing it over and behind himself.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    The Complete Flashback Saga

    ebook | paperback

    "Looks like the gang’s all here," says Lairman, adding, "I trust security can manage to keep any errant fucking farmers away this time." There’s some muted laughter until at last he addresses Beth directly: "It’s okay … let it come. Let it come so that they may come."

     

    But they have come, she realizes, as a shadow falls over them all. They are above them right now. And everything happens at once as she convulses violently and something slips between her legs—something about a foot long and covered in blood, something shaped like a gigantic maggot—which sprouts arms and legs amidst the jumble of hay and opens its black, oval eyes …

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Napoleon: A Horror Novel

    ebook | paperback

    Lightning flashed above them, and thunder cracked. It was a sharp, ragged sound—like the crunch of a busting tree trunk. The man flinched, and Napoleon turned to face him. The two of them stared at each other through the rain and the steel mesh.

    “So, we meet again,” the man joked. He expected the sound of his voice would set the animal off.

    But nothing happened.

    The man swallowed.

    “I know you can see me,” he said at last, and found he had to holler just to pierce the storm’s din. “I know you can see me—because I can see you!”

    The Nano-T didn’t move.

    The man laughed brusquely, and shook his head. “What’s the matter—forget about last night?”

    Rain pounded on metal and roared down the gutter. The T remained still.

    Why wasn’t it attacking? Was it wary of the shock prod? Was it sick? He readied his thumb over the prod’s switch. There was only one way to find out …

    The Nano-T dipped its head to the ground suddenly, sniffing the mud, and the man hesitated. He withdrew the prod and shuffled forward, peering through the mesh …

    It wasn’t mud the animal was sniffing. It was its own—

    Something wet and foul hit the fence, splattering, and the man jerked away. The T’s narrow muzzle darted between the bars—and slammed to a stop. Its teeth gnashed; the fence shook. Its eyes stared out at him from its wide head, their golden coronas close to the mesh.

    The man fumed; it had flung its shit at him! He hit the LADDER DOORS plunger and the PADDOCK plunger simultaneously.

    Steel pulleys whirred, and iron doors slammed into the mud. Napoleon pulled back from the mesh, bleeding. He looked at the closed gates, owlish eyes blinking, and brushed at his lacerated snout with a fore-claw.

    The man closed the control box and jabbed him in the hip with the prod. The Nano-T jumped, squealing, and banged its head on a crossbeam. Hot orange sparks rained down in the mud. The man laughed, his mouth hung wide, and struck the animal again.

    Napoleon howled at the sky.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Dinosaur Apocalypse

    ebook | paperback

    Roadkill ... A funny thing happened to Roger and Savanna Aldiss on the Interstate--they hit a dinosaur. But that's nothing compared to what awaits them down the road. For something is at work to reverse time itself, something which makes the clouds boil, glowing with strange lights, and ancient trees to appear out of nowhere. Something against which Roger, Savanna, a motorcycle gang, and others will make their final stand. Prehistory lives as ferocious dinosaurs run amok! Science-fiction and horror fans (and especially B-movie lovers) will enjoy this gory, action-packed thriller in the tradition of Roger Corman and George Romero.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Dinosaur Rampage

    ebook | paperback

    And that’s when she stepped into the premium economy section and realized that it was empty too. No. No, it wasn’t. Something was moving. Several somethings, actually—dark, scaly, feathery, almost, swaying and curling above the seats, like huge cat tails.

     

    She froze, looking at them, unable to process just what it was she was seeing, or hearing, for that matter, for it sounded as though something were being eaten. That’s when the TVS, including the projection screen at the front of the cabin, snapped to life, and she saw the CNN logo below images of New York City (Times Square, to be exact), where people were running for cover as police lights flashed and colored smoke billowed—Jesus, oh Jesus, it is terrorists … they’re striking again just like 911 and they’re on this plane right--before what appeared for all the world to be a Tyrannosaurus rex entered the frame and the cameraman began running. And then something lifted its head amidst the swaying tails and she focused on it—even as it focused on the projection TV—and she realized she was looking at a living, breathing velociraptor, right there on Flight 33 bound for Houston.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Demonosaur: A Tale of Blood, the Sea, and Revenge

    ebook | paperback

    Handlebar stared at his own boots, which were soaked in blood. He seemed to be having some sort of internal crisis. He reached up with a trembling hand and twisted his mustache repeatedly. He came out of it suddenly and looked at Lonny.

     

    "Hey. Kid. Listen." He walked toward him, changing clips. "You're taking all this too seriously. It's toying with us, that’s all."

     

    He held out his shotgun to him. "Here. The goo--Chin—he's right. It's still beneath the dock. Probably scared. Why don't you do the honors?"

     

    Lonny hesitated, trembling. "Y-you mean it's just trying to scare us?"

     

    Handlebar tweaked his nose. "That's right."

     

    The fire returned to the young man's eyes—almost. He looked around the shattered dock, at the riddled corpse and the oily, bloody water, at the spitting power lines and the dead lights, the peeling boardwalk on the shore.

     

    He shook his head. "No, it's not. It—it doesn't pretend, like you. It's gonna kill us, that's all." He stepped closer. "Can’t you see that? You posing hillbilly? The spill's given it a—a lean season. It's sick, and it' s hungry, and ..."

     

    He glanced at the corpse. "We probably just killed its mate."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Dark World: An Epic Fantasy

    ebook | paperback

    It was the first night of the Sacrificium, a night of sacrifice and death, a night when the black coins tendered in the Lottery would be tendered back. It was also the Hora Mille Semitis, the Hour of a Thousand paths—for that is the day the Sacrificium had fallen on this year—the hour when best friends might become enemies, when lovers of longstanding might betray oaths, the hour in which anything and everything was possible. And the alignment was felt: from the upper echelons of the capitol to the poorest quarters of the downriver provinces. For the message of Valdus’ rebellion had spread—whether it was a tract nailed to a door before quickly being torn down or a blast in the night that caused the power to fail in entire regions. It was a night for dreaming and for huddled collusions, for the breeze to course through rustling leaves, for long dead hearts to awaken and start pumping blood. The Sacrificium had once more come to Ursathrax, but so had the Hour of a Thousand Paths, and Valdus’ Revolution, and something else, something elusive but impossible to ignore, nebulous, but as real as the River Dire, which seemed to have stolen into the world on the wind itself.

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    Get It Out of Me: A Horror Novel

    ebook | paperback

    A two-way radio seated in a battery-charger on the counter suddenly squawks to life, and Beth jumps. She catches bits and pieces of a broken transmission--something about having "secured grid 12" and "Zebra Base confirms I.A.C. entering grid 7"—before an old woman snatches it up, turning it off, and apologizes for the noise.

     

    The two women quickly warm to each other as Beth pays for a room and is given a key. The old clerk encourages her to use the pool before "Andy" closes it for the night. Beth says she will, indeed.

     

    As she leaves, the woman asks, "How's it feel?"

     

    Beth just looks at her. "I'm sorry?"

     

    "Your bundle of joy, there. How's it feel?"

     

    Beth is taken aback. "But I'm not even showing!"

     

    The old woman smiles. "It shows in your eyes. Your face."

     

    "It's terrifying," Beth says at last. "Being an expectant mother … isn't at all like what I expected."

     

    The woman seems to think about this. "Nothing ever is. And nothing's ever easy, or cheap. But make no mistake: that's a gift from above you got there."

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Faraway, Nearby, Spokane authors

    The Boy Who Fell to Earth: A Novel about Coming of Age

    ebook | paperback

    It’s the dawn of the 1970s and everything is changing. The war in Vietnam is winding down. So is the Apollo Space Program. The tiny northwestern city of Spokane is about to host a World’s Fair. But the Watergate Hearings and the re-entry of Skylab and the eruption of Mount Saint Helens are coming … as are killer bees and Ronald Reagan.

    Enter ‘The Kid,’ a panic-prone, hyper-imaginative boy whose life changes drastically when his father brings home an astronaut-white El Camino. As the car’s deep-seated rumbling becomes a catalyst for the Kid’s curiosity, his ailing, over-protective mother finds herself fending off questions she doesn’t want to answer. But her attempt to redirect him on his birthday only arms him with the tool he needs to penetrate deeper—a pair of novelty X-Ray Specs—and as the Camino muscles them through a decade of economic and cultural turmoil, the Kid comes to believe he can see through metal, clothing, skin—to the center of the universe itself, where he imagines something monstrous growing, spreading, reaching across time and space to threaten his very world.

    Using the iconography of 20th century trash Americana—drive-in monster movies, cancelled TV shows, vintage comic books—Spitzer has written an unconventional memoir which recalls J.M. Coetzee’s Boyhood and Youth. More than a literal character, ‘The Kid’ is both the child and the adult. By eschewing the technique of traditional autobiography, Spitzer creates a spherical narrative in which the past lives on in an eternal present while retrospection penetrates the edges. X-Ray Rider is not so much a memoir as it is a retro prequel to a postmodern life—a cinematized “reboot” of what Stephen King calls the “fogged out landscape” of youth.

  • About Wayne

    Wayne Kyle Spitzer (born July 15, 1966) is an American author and low-budget horror filmmaker from Spokane, Washington. He is the writer/director of the short horror film, Shadows in the Garden, as well as the author of Flashback, an SF/horror novel published in 1993. Spitzer's non-genre writing has appeared in subTerrain Magazine: Strong Words for a Polite Nation and Columbia: The Magazine of Northwest History. His recent fiction includes The Ferryman Pentalogy, consisting of Comes a Ferryman, The Tempter and the Taker, The Pierced Veil, Black Hole, White Fountain, and To the End of Ursathrax, as well as The X-Ray Rider Trilogy and a screen adaptation of Algernon Blackwood’s The Willows.

    Wayne hard at work, Spokane, Washington, 2018

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