Richard Schiver

Tag: books

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 04/29/2026

    Weekly Writing Challenge 04/29/2026

    K is for Karst

    First off my apologies for missing last week. I’m in the middle of a bathroom remodel that proving to be the remodel from hell. I’ll share more details later when I get done.

    Continued from 04/15/2026

    The inside of the house had not changed much since her childhood. The same worn linoleum reflected the same dull light, the shadow of a solitary table with two chairs imprinted on a pattern that had been popular in the fifties. The entire kitchen, from the avocado refrigerator to the startingly white stove spoke of a time when life was much simpler that it was today. She felt like she had stepped back into a time warp and would at any moment spot her eleven-year-old self sneaking a cookie from the teddy bear cookie jar. A fragment of the past that still lived within these quiet walls.

    Leaving her purse on the small table she crossed to the cookie jar and looked inside, the familiar ring of the lid being lifted pinging against old memories that stirred in response. A few cookie crumbs lay at the bottom of the ceramic jar, remnants from the last time her mother baked, the cookie jar serving as a way back into the past with cookie crumbs to show the way. It reminded her of Hansel and Gretel and how they left a trail of breadcrumbs to find their way back.

    She closed the lid and turned from the memories clamoring for her attention, crossing the kitchen she entered the living room. The old couch she and her friends would sit on when they watched television was still standing in its familiar place. The wing back chair her mother used, and the recliner her father rested in had not moved in years. On the small table next to the chair a small wicker basket filled with bolts of yarn. Two knitting needles stuck out of one of the bolts while what looked like the beginnings of a scarf lay beside it.

    On the table next to the recliner was a stack of magazines. Pit & Quarry and Quarry Management being the most predominant. Again, everything looked as if at any moment her mother and father would enter the room and take their places for a quiet evening. The memories and the emotions they elicited were becoming too much and she debated on trying to get a room for the night, but Williamstown was a small place, and she doubted she’d find anything local.

    Instead, she returned to her rental for a few things and proceeded to make herself as comfortable as possible. Choosing her old room to sleep in was another trip down memory lane. From the posters on the walls to the small desk where she discovered the intricacies of the world in which they lived. Nothing had changed since she left.

    Worried she would be unable to sleep she slipped under the cool sheets and was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. The calling of the birds greeting a new dawn beyond her bedroom window pulled her from a deep sleep and she sat up to look around the room as the night sky outside slowly grew brighter with every passing moment. The remnants of the dream remained with her as she threw back the covers and swung her feet to the floor.

    She vaguely recalled hiding at the top of the stairs when she was supposed to be asleep, listening to her mother and father speaking quietly in the living room. He sounded both angry and sad. Her mother tried her best to console him as they talked about Jimmy. The name rang a bell, and she searched her memories for a face to go with it. The only Jimmy she recalled from her childhood was one of her dad’s workers who vanished one day.

    The memory elicited a chill, and she rubbed her arms as she tried to recall more details about what happened that day. Nothing came to the surface, but she was meeting with her dad’s assistant later this morning to discuss the quarry, she’d ask them if the name rang any bells.

    To be continued!

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 04/08/2026

    Weekly Writing Challenge 04/08/2026

    This week we come to the final installment of J is for Jogah. It’s reached a little over 6,000 words and will require a little editing to bring it up to a serviceable standard, but that’s how writing works. You start with the spark of an idea, build a concept on top of it then try to create an ending that will stay with the reader long after they read the story.

    As it stands right now I’m a far cry from its completion. But I have recently completed and published two from the very start of this challenge. A is for Alone on the Devil’s Doorstep, and B is for Brotherly Love. Both are available where ebook are sold and can be purchased for the price of a cup of coffee.

    It’s what inspired this idea to begin with. Create an alphabet series, but instead of writing the stories in solitude, share the process, and the first draft, warts and all, with those who follow my blog. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you’ll honor me by purchasing one or both of the stories currently available. You wont be disappointed.

    Without further adieu let’s get into the final installment of J is for Jogah.

    From the shadows came a soft voice speaking in a language he’d never heard before. It wasn’t Spanish, Italian, or German. The voice carried a pleasing quality to it, the individual words spoken in a sing song manner that sent a chill whispering down his back. Goosebumps broke out across his arms, and he stepped out into the hallway, the creak of a board beneath his foot, causing whoever was singing to stop. In the silence it felt like his heart was going to escape the confines of his chest it was beating so hard, and he was afraid that whoever, or whatever, had invaded his sister’s bedroom would hear it.

    After several moments of silence the voice continued its haunting melody and Jeffery managed to make it the rest of the way across the hallway. At his sister’s door he peered around the trim and spotted a shadowy shape standing over her crib. It looked like a person staring into her crib as it continued to sing softly. Jeffer reached around the door frame, his fingers searching the wall until he found the light switch.

    He flipped the light on, filling the room with a sudden brilliance, the singing punctuated by a surprised shout that was followed by the frantic sound of running footsteps.

    He stepped into the doorway as whoever was fleeing crashed into the dresser. A small figure emerged from the shadows on the other side of the dresser and raced across the floor to vanish beneath Melinda’s crib. Melinda began crying, drawing his mother’s attention as the sound of her approach came from beyond the open door.

    “Who turned on the light?” his mom asked as she reached the door to find Jeffery peering under the crib.

    “What are you looking for?”

    Jeffery put his finger to his lips to hush her and turned his attention to what was hiding under the crib. He could see it in the back, where the shadows were deepest, a slender figure no more than ten inches tall, and dressed in what looked like native American garb stood motionless.

    “I see you,” Jeffery said.

    “What do you see young man?”  his mother demanded as she came into the room, “why are you in your sisters bedroom? Why is the light on?”

    “It’s under there,” Jeffery said, pointing into the shadows under the crib.

    Melinda’s cries, coupled with his mother’s comments drew his father who appeared in the doorway with sleepy eyes and a messy head if hair. “What’s going on in here?” he said.

    “It’s your son,” his mother replied, “he disturbed Melinda. He says there’s something under the crib.” His mother crossed to the crib and gathered Melinda from her bed. When she did a solitary feather dropped to the floor to land next to Jeffery’s hand. It appeared to be a feather from a black bird, its surface shimmering with the light.

    “What’s under there?” his dad asked as he knelt where Jeffery was hunkered down.

    Jeffery looked away for only a moment, but that was enough time for the creature under the crib to make a break for it. Tiny racing footsteps came from the perimeter of the room as it made its way to the door. Jeffery tried to get to the door before it, but it managed to slip out into he shadowy safety of the hallway.

    He raced after the tiny figure, down the hall, to the steps, taking them two at a time as the little Indian crossed the foyer to the small door where it stopped and looked back once before vanishing into the night.

    Next week I’ll start a new story for the letter K. At this point I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I’ve got 7 days to come up with the first 500 words. See you then.

    Click on cover for more info.
    Click o cover for more info

    They live in the shadowy corners of our well‑lit world. Where reality is thinnest, where dreams curdle into nightmares, and belief becomes dangerous.

    This A‑to‑Z short story challenge explores ghosts, spirits, old myths, and the paranormal at the edge of reason. Each letter delivers a new doorway into the dark. Standalone tales linked by atmosphere, dread, and the uneasy question, what happens when you look too closely at the veil?

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 04/01/2026

    Weekly Writing Challenge 04/01/2026

    Happy April Fools day everyone. Sorry for not getting this out earlier. But here’s the continuing story of Jeffery and the little people. I do hope you enjoy it.

    J is for Jogah contd!

    The weeks following his little sister’s arrival were filled with crying, laughter, and a sense their little family coming together. While his mother seemed perpetually tired, what with the 2am feedings and being awakened at all hours of the night with a fussy baby, things slowly settled into a routine.

    Jeffery had given little thought to the blueberry muffin incident, and he noticed his parents were not as attentive as they had been before. It was a relief not to have to keep reassuring them every day that everything was all right. He had even fallen into his own little routine as the big brother responsible for watching over his little sister. A task he accepted quite easily.

    Two months after Melinda came home, with a new school year fast approaching filled with the worries any new student might endure. His biggest being his worry he might not fit in. He had managed to make one friend out here in the middle of nowhere, as he liked to refer to it.

    Will lived on the property adjacent to their own was his own age and in awe of the fact Jeffery used to live in New York city. He was always asking questions about life in the city. What if was like walking to school in a city that big. If he was afraid someone might snatch him off the street. If the naked cowboy in times square was real. The last had stumped Jefferey, they lived nowhere near time’s square, and he had only ever been there once, passing through in the early evening as night slowly settled over the city and the lights the square was famous for had not yet reached their zenith.

    With two weeks before the start of the new school year he was starting to drift off to sleep, snuggled in his bed, when he heard the unmistakable sound of a door opening and closing softly downstairs. He lay there for a moment, listening, any thought of sleep having been banished by the disturbance. It might be his dad sneaking out to have a smoke. He had promised to quit, but Jeffery found his stash behind the large flowerpot at the edge of the porch. He never said anything, but occasionally he’d hear his dad sneak outside when he believed everyone else was asleep in the house.

    It was the soft sound of a footstep on the steps that drove him fully awake and he lay there trying to determine if he’d been mistaken, or someone was sneaking up the steps, which made little sense as his parents slept on the first floor.

    He lay there listening as the soft sound of footsteps came from the hallway right outside his door. The soft light of a nightlight came through the narrow crack at the bottom of his door and he saw a shadow move across that narrow strip of light. The doorknob of his door turned slowly, the grating sound of the bolt being drawn back was loud in the silence of the room. Jeffery lay with his blankets pulled up to his nose, watching the door.

    The ghosts he’d seen had never used the door the way it was intended, simply gliding through on their rounds, so whoever, or whatever was at his door was not a ghost. The doorknob stopped turning and he released his pent up breath as the shadow under the door moved away. The door across from his room opened and he realized that whoever it was, had entered Melinda’s room.

    Throwing back his blankets he slipped out of bed and crossed to his door. Slowly, carefully, he turned the knob and opened it a mere sliver. The door to Melinda’s room stood open, a yawning put of emptiness filled with menace.

    To be continued!

    I’ll be back next week with more. Have you considered signing up for my monthly newsletter? This month subscribers will receive the fully edited short story Destination Unknown. If you’re interested follow this link for more info,

    Join the Adventure

  • Update 03/30/2026

    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.

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 03/25/2026

    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!