Coming October 13, 2025, just in time for Halloween.
In the sweltering shadows of 1930s Atlanta, monsters wear many faces– some human, some not.
Jack Quinn is a detective with a badge, a trench coat, and a beast lurking beneath his skin. His partner, August Sullivan, is a reluctant vampire with a preacher’s guilt and a thirst he can’t quite drown. Together, they navigate a city cracking under the weight of corruption, secrets, and something far older than politics.
When a string of gruesome murders rocks Atlanta– victims left heartless and drained, posed like offerings– Quinn and Sullivan are pulled into a case steeped in blood, myth, and madness. All of the victims are vampires. And someone, or something, wants them eradicated.
As tensions rise between a pair of rival mayoral candidates– one preaching acceptance and peace, the other division and bigotry– the detectives join forces with the mysterious Miss Gray, a woman whose knowledge of the arcane might be the only thing standing between Atlanta and the abyss.
In a world where nothing stays buried, and the line between man and monster blurs, Quinn and Sullivan must face the truth: acceptance may be the only path to salvation… but some truths are too wide-mouthed to swallow.
Hard-boiled to the bone, and laced with cosmic dread, this Southern Gothic detective thriller dives deep into identity, monstrosity, and the things that whisper from beyond.
About the Author
A.C. Hessenauer describes herself as an author of folk horror thrillers with gothic romance vibes, and a little spice thrown in for good measure. A.C. is an active member of the Horror Writers Association.
When she’s not exploring the darkest corners of her imagination, A.C. enjoys spending time with her family; her husband, two sons, and border collie named Maximus. She loves a good horror movie, and of course, indulging in a good book.
I’m bringing back my weekly writing challenge. Every week I will add an additional 500+ words to a short story in progress. My plan is to write 26 stories, one for every letter of the alphabet. During my last foray into this I managed to write stories for letters A thru F.
I previously wrote 500 words for the short story for the letter G – God’s Chosen. Last night after my trip to Baltimore, I added another 618 words to the story in progress. Below is the story from its beginning to its latest point. This is raw work with minimal editing.
God’s Chosen
“Why is it so hard for us to forgive?” Reverend Wilkes asked from the pulpit as he scanned the parishioners gathered to hear his sermon. Many were fanning themselves with the days program, the heat inside stifling even with the windows open. Last night’s storm brought with it an intense heat wave that promised to be the worst they’d known in some time. The reverend also noted that Sally Umstead was shifting in her seat and he zeroed in on her. It was terrible what she and her sister were doing to the Plimpton girl. She’d never hurt anyone but to hear them tell it she was evil incarnate.
“Because the evil one is a good salesman.” Reverend Wilkes shouted, slamming his fist on the pulpit to get their attention. He was satisfied to see many of the younger ones stop their squirming and were sitting up straighter in their seats. They knew it was about to get interesting.
“He hates forgiveness because he knows that if he can persuade us not to forgive even one person, our own forgiveness from God will be cut off.” He stopped, letting his gaze linger across the parishioners who were all now paying close attention. For a moment it seemed the heat had been forgotten.
“The devil whispers very persuasive lies to us,” he said quietly, forcing the congregation to lean forward to catch his words.
“Did he lie to you?” He shouted, pointing at Sally.
“Did he lie to you?” He asked, shifting his attention to the widow Barnes. He knew she was responsible for the problems the Plimpton girl was experiencing.
Glancing to the back of the church he spotted the ushers gathered around one of the windows. Bobby Franklin pointed at something outside and turned to look in Reverend Wilkes direction. The terror on his face was clearly transmitted across the room and a ripple of voices followed his gaze.
“What is it Bobby?” The reverend asked, wanting to get this issue out of the way so he could continue his sermon.
“It’s the widow Franklin, sir.”
That wasn’t possible, he’d personally overseen the widow’s grave side services less than a week ago. The scattering of voices became focused on Bobby’s words as several of the parishioners closest to the window left their seats to see for themselves. Several ‘Oh my gods’ were punctuated by a woman’s scream. Reverend Wilkes pushed his way to the window.
The widow Franklin staggered down the center of main street dragging what looked like the lining of her coffin behind her on one foot. The clothes she’d been buried in were a muddy mess
Turning from the window Wilkes pushed back through the crowd and crossed to the doors for the church.
“Where are you going?” Someone shouted behind him. He stopped and turned to face the crowd.
“I don’t know what happened but I’m going to find out.”
“Don’t, please, what if she hurts you?”
“What if she wasn’t dead when we laid her to rest.” Reverend Wilkes said, “certainly, she’s terrified by now and needs someone to help her understand what is going on.”
On the street the heat hit him with a physical force that slowed his steps. The widow Franklin approached, staggering down the center of main street. It was early yet, and though not all of the inhabitants of Whisper Cove attended services regularly, the streets were empty.
Where does she think she’s going, he wondered as he stepped off the curb and moved to intercept her. With every step closer his resolve began to wane. It wasn’t his job to maintain order on the streets. His was to protect the souls of his congregation. When he was a few feet away he stopped and pulled his kerchief from his breast pocket to place it over his nose. The smell coming from the old woman was overwhelmingly bad.
“Mrs. Franklin, are you all right?” It was a stupid question to ask. Obviously she was not all right. For one thing she stunk, for another her eyes had taken on an unnatural cast, and as if to add insult to injury her lips had been sewn shut. She was far from all right.
She turned in his direction, her feet becoming tangled in the coffin lining, and she fell headlong to the pavement. Reverend Wilkes tried to catch her, but was too slow, and she hit the ground with a wet squishing sound that strayed dangerously close to unnatural. It was enough to give him pause, and he stepped back as she thrashed about on the ground, grunting and groaning in a primitive manner that further distanced her from the prim and proper matron she’d been when she lived.
But she was alive. Wasn’t she? He wondered as he remained rooted in place, afraid to get any closer.
The sound of an approaching vehicle drew his attention, and he looked up as Deputy Frank arrived in his cruiser.
“What’s wrong reverend?” Deputy Frank asked as he stepped out of his patrol car.
“It’s Mrs. Franklin, we buried her last week, but it appears she wasn’t dead. How she got out I have no idea, but she needs help.”
“Well, what are you going to do?” the deputy asked.
“Me? What about you? Help the woman.”
Deputy Frank stepped closer, and though he stood a good six four, his expression collapsed into that of a frightened young boy confronting his first nightmare. “I don’t even know what to do.”
“Let’s help her up,” Reverend Wilkes said as he stepped forward and stooped down to grab one of the woman’s arms.
She nearly yanked him off his feet as she thrashed about, and the spongy way her arm felt under his hand left a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach. It felt like he was trying to grab something stuffed with wet noodles.
Deputy Frank managed to find his balls long enough to step forward and lend the reverend a hand, but he quickly backed away when she lunged at his hand with her face.
“She tried to bite me,” he said, his voice rising in an unmanly manner.
“Nonsense, her lips are sewn shut.”
“How do you even know that?” Deputy Frank’s expression had dissolved completely into that of a frightened schoolboy.
“I called an ambulance,” Derrick, one of the ushers, said as he came up behind Father Wilkes who continued to struggle with the old woman. “Let me help you,” he said as he tried to slip the old lady’s loose arm over his shoulders. She lunged at his face, pulling at the stitches holding her mouth closed as she tried to bite him.
To be continued!
I’m Looking For My Tribe.
Did you enjoy the story above? If so you might be the reader I’m looking for. I’m even giving away a full novel to find out for sure. A novel available nowhere else, written specifically with my idea reader in mind. Is that you? Let’s find out. Sign up for my mailing list today and receive my novel ZOMETHING DEAD THIS WAY COMES.
If you don’t like what I do, unsubscribe and keep the book. It’s my way of saying thanks for trying my work. You’ve got nothing to lose.
I wanted to give a shout out to a writer I have a great deal of respect for, Dan Franklin. I’ve read his previous works, These Things Linger, Down Into The Sea, and Eater of Gods. He’s a writer who is an instant buy when I see a new release from him. His latest is Steel Machines. It’s on pre order until August 19, 2025, and the kindle edition is only $0.99. Check out the details below.
Prague, 1945
Eight year old Otto Braum is the sole survivor of the massacre that claimed his parents and left him sustaining himself as best he can in the ruined attic hideout above his childhood home.
But Otto is not alone.
His father had a secret—a creation, unfinished, that he left behind. A secret that is pitiless in nature, relentless in design. A secret with the heart of a steel machine.
From the Amazon best selling author of Down Into the Sea and These Things Linger comes a horrifying reimagining of the story of the golem. Part I Am Legend and part Caging Skies, STEEL MACHINES is an unrelentingly tense tale of haunting, of vengeance… and of survival at any cost.
“Both Intimate and epic, brutal but beautiful, unapologetic yet restrained… STEEL MACHINES is a perfect novel.”
– Nick Roberts, bestselling author of The Exorcist’s House, Mean Spirited, and the upcoming Lyla, in the Flesh
“A heartbreaking tale of survival amidst tragedy and horror, this is a beautifully written dark fantasy that will remain with you long after you’ve read the last word. Highly recommended!” – Tim Waggoner, internationally acclaimed author of The World Turns Red
“This is the best kind of horror.” – Leigh Kenny, best selling author of Cursed, and Hush, My Darling
“If this was made into a movie, it would be an international blockbuster.”
– MJ Mars, best selling author of The Suffering and The Fovea Experiments
I grew up during the space race of the sixties. While the war in Vietnam raged my eyes turned to what waited for us beyond the earth’s atmosphere. I was a big fan of Star Trek, catching every new episode when it aired. I followed the moon landing like a religious zealot updating their progress daily as the they traveled to our closest neighbor. My father understood my obsession and on the night the video feed was broadcast live of Neil Armstrong stepping onto the surface of the moon, my father woke me up so we could watch it together.
My goal in life was to work for NASA, to be involved in some way with the space program. I had the smarts, but for me school was boring. I had been offered a four-year scholarship to the University of Maryland, that I turned down. I wanted to see the world so I joined the military with the intention of learning how to work on missiles, a skill set I believed would put me on a path to NASA.
Unfortunately, between the moon walk and my graduation from high school, my father became quite ill. He had type 1 diabetes. He always tried taking better care of himself but as was the case with this disease, no matter how hard you tried, it eventually got you. I had spoken to the recruiter about working on missiles, and was scheduled to report to basic in Fort Bliss, Texas for my training. With my dad not working because of his health I chose to go into combat arms, armor to be exact, for the enlistment bonus that would help save our home. Sadly, my dad passed eight months after I joined, and we lost our home a year later.
While serving I had plenty of time to read, my tastes running to the more macabre as I devoured works by authors like Lovecraft, Richard Matheson, Graham Masterton, William Peter Blatty, to name a few.
Would I do it differently if I had the chance. I doubt it. I enjoyed my time in the military, the friends I made, the places I saw, the brotherhood I became a part of. It became a big part of who I grew up to become. Who I am now. I know there are many different paths I could have taken to follow my dream, but a new dream emerged for me, one I played around with when I was in high school, and that is to write about the things I love.
I still dream of going into space. I’ve watched all the movies, good, bad, indifferent. Alien, Start Wars, War of the Worlds, Interstellar, The Right Stuff, Armageddon. You name it, I’ve probably watched it. I also play a game called No Man’s Sky on my xbox. It gives me a chance to pretend, if only for a little while, that I’m exploring space. Here’s a little clip from gameplay.
I’ve had many false starts with my writing, but now, at 66, I’m fully committed to finishing what I started to do. You may have noticed I’m now sharing a new sentence every day from my WIP I’ve titled Bitter Hollow. I do hope you’ll follow along. Here’s the link.
Thanks for stopping by and listening to me rambling. I hope I haven’t bored you too much. Drop a comment below if your so inclined, I’d love to hear from you. I’d also appreciate a like, or a follow on social media.
It’s been a while since I’ve been here. My last update was the end of May, so it’s been nearly five months since we’ve last spoken. To be honest I really don’t know what to write about in these updates aside from what I’ve been working on, and what’s been happening in my life. The biggest problem I have is I’m a private person who doesn’t like to air personal matters with others. As for updates on my writing I worry no one really cares. I could be wrong, I know.
On the writing front I’ve been quite busy. Played around with Amazon Vella for a bit, posted a couple of short stories and an ongoing story that I eventually called complete and unpublished. The ongoing story was originally called This Way to Heaven, but the title didn’t really bring to mind the subject matter of the story.
If you’d like to check out the two shorts they’re still available here:
This Way to Heaven is about four boys trapped in an apartment building during the opening days of the zombie apocalypse. I know original right? But there’s a little twist in the tale I’m not going to reveal, you have to read it to see what’s going on. Which you’ll get a chance once I’ve taken care of some other things.
I re-titled the story to: Zomething Dead This Way Comes. At it’s core it’s a coming of age story that delves into the extremes people will go to survive. Jimmy, Wayne, Todd, and Robert will be forced to grow up or die as the dead come back to life and attack the living. I’ve completed the first draft and it’s coming in at around 97,000 words. I’ll trim this to around 80k by the time It’s done.
I know the title is a rip off of Bradbury’s Something Wicked This Way Comes, it too was a coming of age story. But my book will be available as a reward for everyone who signs up for my newsletter when I get that started up again. I’m looking at the early part of next year. Each month subscribers will receive a free short story and updates on my current projects along with the occasional contest for unique swag only available to my followers.
The biggest problem I face with my writing is I tend to compare everything I write to the writers I enjoy reading. At the top of this list of course is Stephen King, I’m a big fan of his work, but I don’t restrict myself just to his work alone. Two other writers get my money every time they release a new book. Ronald Malfi, and Greg Gifune. There are many other writers I enjoy as well. Dan Simmons, Christi Nogle, Ben Eads, just to name a few. Were I to sit down and focus on building a list I’d probably have a hundred names on it. But this post isn’t about them, it’s about me and my writing.
As I said every time I write something I look at it and think, Would so and so do it this way? I’ve got to quit doing that and trust my own instincts about my writing. I feel like I’m good at what I do, and getting better, and I’m, confident there’s an audience out there for my work. I’m looking for my tribe, those people who enjoy the way I write. Are you one of them?
Currently I’m working on Assimilation, book three of an alien invasion trilogy I started in 2012 with Adversary, then followed up in 2014 with Parasite. I’m about 40,000 words into the first draft and working strong towards the end, managing anywhere from 900 to 1800 words a day.
After I finish Assimilation I will then turn my attention to my series, This Lawless Land.
While writing book 5, Faces of Our Fathers, a new character introduced themselves and I realized they should have appeared at the beginning of the series. Work stopped on book five as I focused on this new character’s story, that is intertwined with the main characters of the series.
There will be two other books after Faces of our Fathers. book 6 will be Lair of the Broken Queen where we will learn about what happened to Window’s mother after his birth. Book 7 is tentatively titled, Birth of a Gunslinger. The circle will close, and the trinity will be joined as the forces of evil face defeat. From this cataclysm one will emerge to embark upon a quest to bring order to this lawless land.
Richard Schiver 