Resultado de "David Boyer" em Todas as categorias

A young homeless woman suffering from memory loss begins to realize that she is actually actress Marilyn Monroe - who is supposed to be dead. Why is she out here on the streets? Who did this to her? As she begins her own investigation into the real truth behind her so-called "death", the truth behind it all is almost too bizarre - and terrifying - for her to handle without losing her mind altogether.

He smells like blood and opium and whiskey, and underneath that something sickly sweet, like rotten fruit. That's what starvation—and death—smells like. He is so thin and frail now, almost gaunt in his appearance, almost skeletal. His current accommodations, a musty, cramped room above a motel-saloon, have also been converted into somewhat of a shrine to him: his 1877 model Colt Lightning hangs on one bedpost, and his trusty Bowie knife from the other. His hand-tailored black hat with the hand-curled brim hangs over the bed, on the wall, like some would hang a picture of Jesus.

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

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

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

Sometimes, guardian angels can show up in the most unexpected places....

Our woodland had become a utopia; an wonderous place of ideal perfection. To us, at least, it felt this way. We had no concern what others thought of our world. They were considered nothing more than interlopers, threats, and were not welcome there. All was calm and peaceful. That is, until I'd found a trail of fresh blood, and determined beyond a shadow of a doubt it was not human blood, but animal blood, with spent rifle shells littering the ground nearby. It at that moment I knew that once again, our peaceful solitude was about to be interrupted by mankind's lust for blood.

The crazy lady—Kyra—wanders and wanders and wanders, and without ever really going anywhere. The town looks so different now—what's left of it, that is—and is in such violent disarray, it's difficult to tell where one end of the town began and the other ended. Burnt-out cars and houses, empty, lonely streets strewn with trash—or worse. Makeshift graves in the front yards of former owners. Yes...something really bad happened out here, and now she has to navigate it all—somehow. She's just trying to get home....

I am now the master of my domain. These woodlands are my Kingdom, and I rule them with a fair but iron hand. Just like my Brethren. The Brethren that were tired of playing dumb. Unlike myself, the undomesticated beasts of the wood, the task at hand would prove to be more difficult; they had to play wild and free, and play stupid. Easy prey for the man who walked the woodland paths with guns.

The day Miss Miriam passed away was the saddest day of Luther's life. It had been very sad for Jenny too, of course, but it hit Luther much harder; if it hadn't been for Miss Miriam taking him in as a child, he would have ended up being tossed from one foster home to another indefinitely. But, he was about to be thrust into yet another sad - and this time, evil - world in which a woman in black - who just happens to be a witch - intends to use black magic to take away the only other person Luther has ever loved; his beautiful young wife, Jenny.

Having been a true-crime buff most of my adult life, I have seen my share of dumb criminals. Then again, what criminal isn't dumb? Whether you have the IQ of a rocket scientist or the IQ of a common housefly, one fact still remains the same: Choosing to be a criminal is dumb. But...some criminals really are a lot dumber than others.... In all honesty? I don't think you could get any dumber than the criminals listed in the following stories. I mean, this is just plain embarrassing. Just how dumb is really dumb? Listen in to find out, and get ready to laugh out loud.

Well, here I am again, sharing part of my life with you, for better or for worse. Don't worry; believe it or not, there are actually some happy and sincere moments in this audiobook. This book almost didn't happen. I had always thought about it, but my first attempt at writing an autobiography was a miserable failure at best, full of my early days as alcoholic and the stupid mistakes I made along the way.

Come join me on our journey together, with tales of hope, inspiration, and redemption - and our long dark journey back into the light of God....

The thing was weary of life itself; it hadn't asked to be born in the first place - and sure as hell not like this...a freak. It was a freak in every aspect of the word; covered in scabs, maggot-infested wounds covering its lower body. Its tail was infected, gangrenous, as was its genitalia. He (it) was so tired; racked with excruciating pain, it wanted nothing more than just to die.

Alien vampires, bloodthirsty brats, annoying relatives, a small-town sheriff harboring big secrets, and a 300-pound football player with a severe case of constipation are among the tales in this repulsive - and quite disturbing - collection of Halloween stories.

Infamous Wisconsin murderer and cannibal Ed Gein reflects back on his days as a nocturnal grave robber and his odd habit of taking pictures of his victim's graves, which he believed enabled him to speak with the dead.

The following story is my take on the old Invasion of the Body Snatchers tale. Although changes have been made to the plot, hopefully it will do the original story justice.

After losing almost everything and everyone he has ever valued or love, an aspiring writer decides to write one last story before the COVID virus strain of 2023 claims his life. What he doesn't realize is that his last story may very well save the lives of future generations to come - with God giving the people of Earth a second chance.

Leo was a video game fanatic, who quickly tired of his Xbox, and wanted a real challenge. Scouring the dark web for a game worthy of his talent, he finally found one - but what he didn't realize was, he'd found a game - and an opponent - that originated in Hell...

Sixth Street Road, Vincennes, Indiana - 1998. The man, woman, and their terrified children huddled in the corner of the master bedroom, near the closet, listening to the mayhem going on outside, to their house being torn apart by some unearthly thing - and cowering in fear each time it began to make that sound; an loud, ear-splitting sound, almost deafening, a sort of a howling, shrieking sound, as if the thing was losing it's mind not being able to get to them.