Richard Schiver

Category: works in progress

Update 03/30/2026

After eleven years of hard work I am finally reaching the end of a long road. What was to have only been one book turned into a six book post apocalyptic series and I am steadily coming to the end of. This Lawless Land began life as many of these things do as an idea that has slowly built itself up to something much bigger than I anticipated.

I have reached the end of the story, and a part of me feels a deep sense of sadness that I will no longer be speaking with the characters on a regular basis. Meat, Window, Billie-Bob and Einstein had become a part of my life while I worked to bring their story to the page.

But not to despair, there are other works bubbling through my mind as they seek their place in the spotlight.

Bitter Hollow is currently sitting at around 50,000 words, my first foray into a first person narrative and I feel like I’m really pulling it off, but we’ll see.

There is also a work I’ve tentatively titled The Bad Place, that is connected to my novel Cursed, and features Sheriff Paul Odenton. It’s at about 68,000 words right now.

Beyond these two will be the final book in the Paul Odenton trilogy that will be titled The Gathering, and will close out his story arc.

I’d also like to explore a number of other ideas from haunted houses to those quiet places in the world where the barrier between the living and the dead is at its thinnest.

I want to step away from speculative fiction for one book that will take a look at our country during two distinct periods. The Vietnam War, and The War on Terror. There is so much material to dive into in how the civilian perspective of our military changed over a period of thirty some years. As a veteran who served shortly after the Vietnam War, this story is important to me

With this in mind I’m planning to devote the next two to four months to completing This Lawless Land, During that time I will be taking a step back from my blog so i can focus on the work at hand. The weekly writing challenge will continue, but beyond that I won’t be posting like I usually do. But I will be back.

March 30, 2026
Weekly Writing Challenge 03/25/2026

My new story J is for Jogah, the little people, continues. I’ll be sharing more details next Monday but aside from my weekly writing challenge I’m taking a step back from posting so I can focus on finishing some projects that are nearing the finish line.

A chill raced down his spine, and he turned his attention on his book, trying to get lost in the story, as he did everything he could to ignore the comings and goings of those around him.

“Hey, sport, you want to see your new sister?”

He looked up at his father’s question as an old man vanished into the far wall. Of course he wanted to see his sister. Putting aside his book he followed his father and the nurse to the nursery where swaddled babies lay sleeping or screaming in three rows. Several other fathers along with sisters and brothers formed a small crowd at the glass window filling one wall.

“There she is,” his father said as he pointed at the crib third from the end of the second row back. Jeffery’s gaze found her lying peacefully in her crib. To any other outward observer she was staring at the ceiling. But Jeffery saw the shadowy form of an old man leaning over her crib as if he were speaking to her. Her gaze remained fixed on the point where the man’s head should have been, and Jeffery felt that old familiar fear rushing through him. Only this time instead of worrying about what these things might do to him, he was concerned about what they might do to his little sister. After all, as the older brother, it was now his responsibility to protect her.

He wanted to go in and try to scare the ghost away but knew they wouldn’t let him, and he understood it would be best not to say anything about what he saw. They would only worry about what was wrong with him as opposed to what might be attracted to his sister.

After their visit they were on their way out when he spotted the old man who had helped move them in. He was sitting in the cafeteria with a cup of coffee on the table before him. After telling his dad he had to go to the bathroom he crossed to where the old man sat.

“Hello Mr. Jeffery, how has life been treating you?”

“I have a new sister,” he replied.

“Congratulations,” the old man said. It seemed he wanted to say more but didn’t as he became aware of the concern on Jeffery’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“We just came from visiting her and there was the ghost of an old man talking to her. I’m worried they might hurt her.”

“That’s not unusual. Did you know newborn infants can see them as clearly as you and I.”

“But what if they hurt her?”

“They can’t hurt anybody, not physically, they can trick you into seeing things that aren’t there, like what happened with the blueberry muffin.”

Jeffery shuddered at the memory, and once again saw those tiny blue eyes opening after he had taken a bite. His stomach performed a lazy somersault as the bile climbed the back of his throat.

An old lady passed between them, cutting right through the table, the back of her hospital gown open to reveal a shriveled butt with shit stains covering both thighs. Even in death the hospital gown offered little privacy.

Both Jeffery and the old man watched as she vanished into the far wall, cutting through several more tables on her journey across the cafeteria. At one table she walked right through a couple of nurses who were busy eating and chatting, that shriveled butt passed through one young woman’s face. After she did the nurse shuddered and rubbed her hands on her arms as if she felt a sudden chill.

“Used to be an old hospital on these grounds,” the old man said, “the place is teeming with ghosts. But when you get her home she’ll be safe.”

It was something for Jeffery to cling to, that the house might prove to be a safe haven for his family, yet even at his age he suspected that wouldn’t be the case.

To be continued!

March 25, 2026
Weekly Writing Challenge 03/18/2026

J is for Jogah, the little people continues.

Several more blue spots opened into eyes that watched him as his father knelt beside him, his hand on Jeffery’s shoulder. He heard his father’s voice as if it were coming to him from a million miles away, repeating his name as those multiple eyes blinked in unison and an emptiness swelled up from the center of his mind to drag him into unconsciousness.

He awoke to the soothing voice of his mother as she sang softly, a lullaby he remembered from his own earlier childhood. The sound of her voice made him feel safe and secure, the cool compress against his forehead helped ease the tension that had washed through him when those tiny eyes appeared in his muffin.

He opened his eyes to find his mother sitting beside him. His father stood at the foot of his bed, watching with a concern expression.

“Are you all right, buddy?” His father asked and Jeffery nodded.

“Where are the movers?” Jeffery asked.

“They had to go buddy, they had other jobs they needed to get done, why?’

“I was just wondering,” he replied, he wanted to talk to that old man, ask him about the eyes in his muffin. Jeffery understood what was happening with the ghosts he’d seen, but the eyes had been something he’d never experienced before, and he didn’t understand what was happening. He hoped the old guy would understand, he would know the answer, but he was gone now, and he was alone with this problem. One he could not bring up to his parent’s no matter how comforting they seemed. They had sent him to see the counselor after his first encounter. They wouldn’t understand, they’d think he was still broken.

In time Jeffery managed to get out of bed and joined his dad in the garage where he was getting the junk that had followed them from the city sorted out. It was becoming a typical day when from the house his mother called for his dad in a strained voice.

“Wait right here, buddy. I’ll be back.”

Jeffery stopped what he was doing and sat down to wait for his father. He could hear their conversation inside, coming to him through the open door. There was something unsettling in the tone of their voices. This was not a normal conversation. Something was wrong and Jeffery was about to go in to see what was happening when his father rushed back into the garage. His face carried an alarmed, yet hopeful expression that immediately set Jefferey on edge.

“We’ve got to go to the hospital, grab a book or something, I don’t know how long we’ll be there,” he said as he went around to the driver’s side of the car, hitting the button for the garage door as he rounded the back end. Jeffery ran into the house, to his mother who sat in a kitchen chair, her hands cradling her belly.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“It’s okay, baby, we have to go to the hospital, I think you’re sister is ready.”

Jeffery raced to his room and retrieved one of his books, rejoining his parents out front as his dad helped his mom into the car.

At the hospital Jeffery was taken to the waiting area by a young aid.

“What are you reading?” she asked after getting him situated, her gaze dropping to the book in his hand. He glanced down and noted that he had brought one of his dad’s old Goosebumps books. The Ghost Next Door was the title and he felt a quick shiver when he realized what book he had grabbed.

“I never read that one,” she said before she turned to the duty nurse to speak with her. Jeffery watched as she left the waiting area, his gaze tracking around the room until he saw an old lady wandering in from the hallway. She seemed so out of place, and he watched her for a moment before he realized what she was. The old lady seemed to glide right by the desk where the duty nurse sat, his gaze following her as she walked right into, and through the wall of the waiting room.

To be continued!

March 18, 2026
Weekly Writing Challenge 03/11/2026

We continue the story of J is for Jogah. You may have noticed I’m borrowing a bit from one of the masters when the story delves into an exploration of seeing someone’s ability, Like the shine Stephen King made famous in The Shinning. Of course aren’t we all standing upon the shoulders of giants when we write. I also feel I’ll be expanding the idea of the little people into a novella length work sometime in the future. Without further adieu let’s get into it.

Continued from 03/04/2026

As he lay in bed the aroma of fresh baked blueberry muffins reached him. Getting up he passed down that shadowy hallway to the stairs and started down the steps in his spiderman pajamas. When he spotted the movers bringing in boxes and the last of their furniture he retreated to his room to change into a pair of jeans and a tee shirt.

In the kitchen he found his mom working on the small island while his dad was on the porch talking with the movers who were nearly finished.

“They’re not done yet,” she said as he entered the kitchen and he turned to join his dad on the porch. As he crossed through the living room he came upon the older man who had just placed a large cardboard box on a pile of similar boxes along one wall. As Jeffery passed through the room his attention was again drawn to that little door as an unsettled sensation filled him. Something could get in that way. Something that might be able to hurt them.

“If you don’t look at them directly they won’t hurt you,” the older man said,

“Who?’ Jeffery asked.

“The little people.”

“What little people?”

The older man smiled as he knelt beside him. “When I was a kid growing up, a little older than you, my grandmother told me about the little people. Only she called them Jogah. She was pure blooded Oneida, the native American Indians who once ruled this land.”

“She was a real Indian?” Jeffery asked.

“As real as they come, the Jogah lived in the forest and sometimes played tricks on the braves who would go into the forest for food. But they were never mean, not unless you stared at them. I guess they were a little peeved about being so small.”

“Tell your dad the muffins are ready,” his mother said as she stuck her head through the door into the living room.

“Just remember that you’ll be able to see them. They don’t mean any harm, but when you do see them, don’t stare.” With that the older man pushed himself to his feet and joined his dad on the porch. He wasn’t sure if he should believe that the older man said. After all his dad told him the door was for milk deliveries back in the old days. One or the other was lying and he was confident his dad wouldn’t lie to him. Maybe the older man liked telling stories to scare little kids. But he’d told him about his talent.

His mom joined them on the porch with a basket of blueberry muffins while his dad had set up the coffee pot, a thank you to the men who moved them for a job well done.

Jeffery helped himself to one of the muffins, the aroma making his mouth water in anticipation as he took a big bite. A blueberry popped into his mouth as he chewed, but it was missing the sweetness that would have normally flooded his senses. Instead, a saltiness cramped his mouth and his stomach as he looked down at what remained of the blueberry muffin. Spots of deep blue marked where the blueberries resided in the cake texture. One of the blueberries opened like a tiny eye, watching him with an unnatural stillness as his heart climbed into his throat and he threw the muffin to the floor of the porch with a startled cry. The muffin bounced once before coming to rest with the eaten part exposed while the eye lay there watching him as his mother and father raced to his side to see what was wrong.

To be continued!

March 11, 2026
Weekly Writing Challenge 03/03/2026

My apologies for not getting anything posted last Friday and Monday. Real life intruded. Without further adieu let us return to J is for Jogah.

Later that night after supper, and an evening spent watching game shows on TV, Jeffery struggled to claim the sleep he needed. As he lay in bed staring at the ceiling he went over the conversation he’d had with Bill, each time circling back to his statement they could not hurt him. He would have liked to believe it, but he knew Bill had been lying to him about that point. It wasn’t physical pain these errant spirits could bring. What they brought was something far more terrifying. A perpetual gloom that would shroud your soul in endless despair. He had experienced that firsthand in the apartment.

Boys being boys, it wasn’t long before he tried an experiment. He had grown so accustomed to the old lady’s presence that she didn’t even bother him anymore. He understood that they were merely ghosts, and ghosts couldn’t hit you the way another person could. One night in the old apartment he stood in the way of the old lady’s ghost as she glided through the deep shadows of the kitchen on her nightly visit to the sink.

Why she was visiting the sink was beyond him, he didn’t believe a ghost could drink or get thirsty, but what did he know, he was only seven at the time.

He almost stepped aside as she got closer but closed his eyes and held his ground as she came to him. There was no hesitation on her part, and he suspected her spirit could not see him, yet. In hindsight he wished he hadn’t done what he did. As he lay in bed he relived every emotion, ever feeling every sound and sensation that washed through him as she closed with him.

The first thing he noticed was a slight tickling at the base of his skull as the short hair on the nape of his neck slowly stood at attention. This was followed by a deepening chill as she reached him, a chill that grew as her essence began to mingle with his own. As it did goosebumps spread across the length of his arms him, his shoulders and down the center of his back following the line of his spine.

His mind filled with memories that were not his own. Brief flashes from her past slid across the screen of his mind. Her saw her as a young child in school, struggling to pay attention to the nuns in class, her knuckle sore from the beatings they took every time her attention wandered. Spring had arrived with the joyous singing of the birds, and she wanted to go outside and experience everything the season had to offer. Yet she was trapped in a dreary classroom, crammed into a small room with twenty other children whose only desire was to escape the hard lessons few believed would serve them in their life after graduation. He saw her meet a young man and fall in love with him. Their hasty marriage as her young man was called off to war and their joyous reunion when he returned safe and sound while so many other wives and parents only ever saw a flag draped coffin.

They built a life together, raising a family of three boys and two girls. Two of the boys were called up by the government to do their part and she learned the sorrow of a parent outliving their child when the oldest returned in a flag draped casket.

Weddings followed, along with the births of grandchildren who brought a measure of joy to her and her husband as old age crept up on them. The loss of her husband, and the home they raised their family in when the money started to run out. Moving to the apartment in the city had been the last straw for her and the carefree young woman who had become old and slow, deliberately stepped away from this life. In the wee hours of the morning she took a handful of sleeping pills, washing them down with a glass of water from the kitchen sink. Hence the reason for her nightly visits. It was like she had been cursed to relive her final moments for eternity.

As the 0ld woman’s ghost emerged from the other side of him, a small part of their mingled essences became trapped with the other. Afterwards Jeffery was filled with a craving for blueberry muffins, something he had never eaten before. Aside from that it appeared his encounter had left him no worse for wear until the following night when she returned. As the moon slowly rose above the city skyline she came gliding into his bedroom, passing through the door as if it didn’t exist and stood beside his bed looking down at him with sorrowful eyes.

He had taken something from her and she wanted it back.

Now, in the present, he lay in bed staring at the door, waiting for her return. Sometime after midnight he drifted off to sleep and awoke to a new day to what sounded like a million birds singing beyond his bedroom window. It was the first good night’s sleep he’d had since his little experiment, and while he was hesitant to celebrate, he felt it best to wait and see what happened.

To be continued!

March 4, 2026