Christmas Takeover 10: C. Derick Miller: Excerpt from Far From Home

Excerpt from Far From Home (Home Series 2)

By C. Derick Miller
6,550 words

A Curse Beyond Comprehension. A Power Beyond Belief. A Girl Far From Home.Katie Liberman is your typical eighteen-year-old college student…or at least that’s what her family thinks. Picking up five years after the events of A Taste of Home, Katie has dropped out of school and embarked upon a dangerous quest to find Kurt Jimmerson, the New York City attorney responsible for her family’s werewolf curse. Unknown to her, the attorney’s grip on the ‘City That Never Sleeps’ is tighter than imagined and she’ll need any and all help available to be victorious. But… where do you find friends when you’re Far From Home?


The bitter cold swirled around the young girl as the reflection of a billion lights glistened on the newly fallen snow. Since her arrival, Katie could only recall a few minutes here and there where there wasn’t some type of frozen precipitation pelting her from all directions. She was slowly getting used to it. Tonight, none of it seemed to matter much. It affected the mission in no way whatsoever. Besides, with her face covered in a light fur, it rarely touched the skin enough to make her aware.

The events of the previous evening had sent her reeling to the point she knew it was time to move on to the next level of the plan. As the day progressed, Katie had gotten little sleep due to the returning blurred memories of a sweaty night involving her new-found friend. Every time she closed her eyes, visions of

the beautiful, odd, young lady beckoned her to hastily conclude. Was this the most disgusting thing that ever happened to her or an experience altering her young life forever? Shaking the haunting visions from her head, along with the accumulated snow on her cheeks, Katie knew now was not the time to think of such things. Revenge and survival were to come first and they were jockeying for position of importance. Regardless of consequence, they were equals.

Her first stop of the evening had unfortunately been the Central Park Zoo. Animalistic hunger finally caused Katie to succumb to the unthinkable. In the early morning hours, subscribers to the local media would be slapped with news regarding the discovery of a slaughtered deer inside of its enclosure. She hated it, but the acts ranking would’ve been nothing compared to that of an uncontrolled transformation and similar treatment of an unsuspecting, innocent human being. It’s not like Manhattan could offer the comforts of home where Katie could just easily walk out the back door and run off into the woods. Necessity was a bitch.

The second stop of the evening had been to Saint Patrick’s Church to speak with Father McCormack again. With all destined to ensue, she wanted to make absolutely sure her soul was clean enough to endure her final moments with confidence and acceptance. Shockingly, he giggled at the misfortunes of the previous night and sent her away with his blessings. As a ghost, it wasn’t the first unexpected lesbian experience confession he’d bore witness to regardless of whether the poor soul offering up the confession knew he was even there and listening. Ultimately, it was the excessive drinking he’d had a problem with and offered up an ‘everything in moderation’ speech which sounded much rehearsed. The priest had become a good ally and an important part of her life. She hoped he’d be a shoe-in reference to the afterlife if things turned increasingly bad.

Finally, she’d stopped by her apartment to coax her mother into attending the night’s stake out. Sneaking around the normal people of this world undetected had become sort of a hobby for Katie, but werewolves were different. Only having to deal with one of them in anger before, she wasn’t aware of how easy or difficult this was going to be. For a fact, she knew all too well how easily she picked up on scents. Katie had also never been successful in sneaking up on her father after he had the curse bestowed upon him. This was a saddening part of her life. Gone were the days of creeping up to him in the shower to flush the toilet or cover him with a tall glass of frigid water. Toby’s senses were way more in tune than hers. More than likely due to age, she guessed. Unfortunately, someone had forgotten to include the handbook with the starter package when delivered. Jessica, as a spirit, would have a lot more luck sneaking amongst the unknown. She was a perfect scout for an imperfect situation. Although she’d never tell her, this was one of the main reasons Katie had brought her along to begin with. It was nice to have company from time to time who wasn’t going to wake up naked next to you with fuzzy thoughts about how it happened.

Following a set of familiar tracks around the Central Park lake, she now sat motionless and quiet in the tallest tree she could find a hundred yards from the entrance of Belvedere Castle. In the distance, children’s voices and laughter carried on the wind from the ice skating rink and Christmas tree lighting ceremony at Rockefeller Center. Unbeknownst to them all as they played carelessly, monsters of the night once thought to be imaginary figments in the minds of Hollywood writers lurked at the edge of the tree line of the darkened park in hopes they would come join them in eternity. If they only knew of the nightmarish fate awaiting them all upon the misfortunes of a nocturnal visit to Central Park. Other than the criminal element, they’d build a ten-foot-tall fence for their own safety. In the end, it was the criminal element who kept them all at bay and they knew nothing of the bloody myth that lay beyond the mental edge of their reasoning. To be young and uninformed was a luxury which no longer belonged to Katie Liberman. She was one of the monsters.

Jessica had been gone for nearly an hour with no sign of return. With little argument, she’d followed the

trail allowing her daughter to assume a more secluded position within the foliage. Ignoring her father’s teachings he’d passed along via the information from Jimmerson, Katie knew all too well any passing werewolf would be able to spot the ghost from a mile away. Jessica had gone invisible, which meant she could actually be sitting beside Katie on the tree branch at this very second. Katie knew there was no way possible her mother could’ve kept her mouth shut long enough to stay hidden for long. Would a passing pack of those like her just pass Jessica off as a random, wandering spirit? Did her mother even possess the stealth to talk her way out of a jam if she were to be discovered? It was a definite chance Katie was taking for sure! Detecting a cold spot in the weather of the evening was a useless gesture. As a matter of fact, with the time that passed in her absence, the once fresh trail leading to the castle had been long covered up by the celestial snowfall. This was going to make things difficult.

Willow mentioned Kurt Jimmerson was interested in the restoration of Belvedere Castle for quite some time, but Katie’s observation gave no signs anyone was there on this night. Research said nothing other than the fact it had been a museum and a weather station in its prime. Its beauty and grandeur was a heavily visited attraction during the hours of daylight. It was even used as a set piece in a few movies. Katie could guess of Jimerson’s obsession for restoration with this in mind. History and tradition seemed to mean more to those with wealth for some reason plus, being a well-known philanthropist would throw off the dogs or gain him sympathy with the media and public if ever his intentions were to be questioned. She couldn’t wait to meet him. For all Katie knew, she already had. She couldn’t wait to kill him. Sheriff Werewolf back home and his odd daughter would be making a return trip to normalcy when she did.

Seeing all was clear with the passing time, Katie closed her eyes in deep meditation. Her unusual abundance of hair began to retract into her body to reveal the image of a young girl once more. Claws returned to nails as a slight tingle of pain twitched throughout her fingertips and she could feel the itch of retracting skin on her ears as they rounded. She’d eventually grown to ignore the pain that went along with a slow transformation. It was the sudden, emotion fueled ones which were still excruciating. Nothing compared to the searing fire that accompanied the very first one that night in the Myrtle County Fairgrounds. Would she miss it when her power was gone? It wasn’t like it made her feel special or cherished among those around her because, unlike her father, she wasn’t allowed to reveal herself to anyone. Repeated reflection upon his reasoning had told her time and again it was indeed the proper thing to do when it came to the general public. Katie obeyed without interrogation. Sure, it was good for the tiny population of Twin Oaks, who couldn’t keep a secret if their lives depended on it, but in a city the size of New York? Katie could easily become a comic book worthy super hero the likes of which had never been experienced in reality. The fear that usually accompanied the unknown easily squashed the delusion quickly. For now, she was Katie Liberman, abused puppy extraordinaire, and it would have to suffice.

The crack of a crashing tree branch under the weight of the accumulating snow startled Katie back into her ‘on guard’ state but it all too soon returned to quiet. Since the werewolf’s hair was no longer a luxury to her body in human form, the cold seemed to sneak up on her suddenly. Pulling the hood from her sweatshirt over her wind-blown hair and giving the drawstrings a hard tug, Katie shut out the intruder swiftly. Sniffing the air around her, she detected no hint of anything unusual anywhere nearby. The constant noise of the city around her masked any hopes of catching approaching foot traffic.

“Damn,” she said aloud as she shuffled her butt along the tree limb for a more comfortable seat “Now I’m just bored!”

This was not the adventure Katie was promised in her mind’s brochure when she agreed to endure the burden of this trip.

“Katie…” came the soft voice attempting to remain stealthy.
“Katie…” came the whisper again.
“Kathryn Liberman!” came Jessica’s voice booming directly in the young girl’s ear.

Startled awake from sleep brought on by severe discomfort, Katie flailed her arms in an attempt to regain her balance. Nearly falling from her high perch, the young girl glared at her mother disapprovingly with fire in her eyes.

“Damn you, Mom, I told you to keep it down!” she scolded “I’m trying not to give us away!”

“Oh pipe down,” Jessica replied “Nobody but you has been able to hear a word I’ve said in five years! There’s no need to get all snippy!”

Katie grinned slightly with her head bowed in anger. Sometimes, she thought her mother didn’t completely understand the severity of her situation. The slightest miscalculation could end up in tragedy. Why would she? Jessica was already dead and had absolutely nothing to lose.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Katie continued while brushing the snow from her sweatshirt “The people I’m looking for CAN hear you…maybe. I’m not sure. Anyway, there is a possibility they can hear you and I don’t want to take any risks. From now on, pretend as though they can hear you!”

“Look,” Jessica attempted to retort “You were the one asleep on the job while I’ve been out in the snow looking at footprints for an hour! You’re the one not taking this seriously!”

It was at this point Katie Liberman stopped caring about stealth.

“I’m not taking this seriously?” she stood in anger attempting to keep her balance on the frozen limb “Right now, I have a faceless nemesis who could be ten feet away from me or in the same room at any given time… and I’d never know it! I know he is my nemesis because I never think much about his demise or what he has planned for my ending if he were to ever get the upper hand. I often daydream about the battle, though. If this doesn’t qualify for the title of ‘arch enemy’, I don’t know what does. I’m not taking this seriously? Comic book heroes don’t have shit on me right now, Mom!”

The stinging cold burned her throat as Katie attempted to catch her breath from the argument as the winter steam escaped from flaring nostrils. She’d been trying to keep it together the best she could over the last few days but now it seemed as though the breaking point was in sight. So far, the only two good things that happened to her were soul preparation from a holy apparition and possible soul destruction from a bi-sexual Irish girl who may or may not be the new, proud owner of her virginity. Using those two examples on a sliding scale, the goodness factor was exactly where it started when she first reached New York. She’d gotten nowhere and she was getting desperate.

“Look,” Katie started again to remain calm “I’m not going back empty handed, Mother. I’m either going to be successful in killing this Kurt Jimmerson guy or I’m going to die in the process. I’ve just about blown every bit of money set back for my first year of college to get here, eat, and survive. I’m lying to the people who gave me the money by not telling them where I’m at. I’m too damn old to get grounded but Dad will damn sure try to make life difficult if I have to go back home and live under his roof, especially after he finds out what I’ve done. Most importantly, I refuse to spend the rest of my life cursed as a werewolf. I want to live like a normal girl, work a normal job, marry a normal guy, and have normal

babies. I’m never going to have any of those things if I don’t put a stop to it here and now. If I die trying, so be it. I’m no better off…”

“Oh, listen to yourself,” Jessica came at her “I’m Katie Liberman and I’m a werewolf! I’m Katie Liberman and I’m miserable! I’m Katie Liberman and I’ve got problems!”

Jessica’s mocking was beginning to anger Katie and she could feel the tingle of separating flesh around her fingernails. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do to shut a ghost up.

Jessica’s rant continued.

“Regardless of how you may have to live out the rest of your days, at least you’re still alive. That is something I can’t say and will never be able to say again! I miss being able to touch people or speak with random strangers! I miss the taste of food and the smell of flowers! I’d give anything for a freaking cigarette right about now! You’ve got some kind of weird death wish ‘thing’ going on and don’t care if tomorrow ever comes. Baby, you don’t want this. You don’t want to exist this way. At least with the ‘family curse’ as you call it, you have choices in the matter. I have no choices left. My soul is scraping the bottom of the barrel and I’m not even sure how much longer I’ll be attached to this world. One day I’m not going to be able to jump to you when you need me. One day I’ll be gone for good. Your rule book can still be written. You can make yours up as you go. My pen ran out a long time ago.”

Katie couldn’t argue with the points her mother was making. Jessica was right. In the end, it all came down to personal choices on where she wanted her life to go and how she wanted to live it. There were ways around the werewolf issue. It was just going to make things a lot more difficult. She felt sorry for Jessica and everything she’d been through over the years but it was her fault. Most things wrong with Katie and the bad things that happened to the other people she loved were because of Jessica’s actions. With that, Jessica wasn’t going to be able to opt out of the conversation at hand easily. She wasn’t going to be able to play the sympathy card or gain victory in a mother and daughter disagreement. In life or death, Katie had to win. There was no way she was going to give up an ‘I told you so’ in this or reveal the epiphany of a life lesson to her mother’s satisfaction. Something had to be said to stop the direction of the talk. Something had to be said in order to slam dunk the point in a way her mother would treat her like an adult with her own agenda. Something had to be said to shut her up for good.

“Mom,” Katie sang sweetly “I lost my virginity to a lesbian last night!”

Game point.

The awkward silence was broken by the rush of rapid footsteps in the snow below. Jumping to the ground quickly, Katie inspected them closely to reveal they indeed didn’t belong to humans. The shoe prints were too far apart for a normal stride and the clawed handprint in every other indention was a dead giveaway. This was it! There was no time to finish the conversation.

“Mom, get back to the apartment and wait for me!” Jessica flinched, still in shock from the previous statement. “You had sex with a lesbian?”

Before Katie could even tell her to shut up, the ability to use her human voice disappeared and the painfully quick cracking of her tiny bones echoed through the nearby trees. She pursued the pack of fleeing werewolves with determination.

Dodging in and out of the coming trees, Katie flung fallen snow in all directions beneath her feet. The tracks were becoming much sloppier meaning they were now moving quicker than before. Either the pack knew someone was following them or they were getting in a bigger hurry to reach their destination. From what she could tell, there were four of them. Three sets of tracks were all that could be seen by the untrained eye but the middle set was much larger than the ones on the sides. It had been stepped through by the one following making it only look like three. With one in the lead and three following, it was a definite sign there was a leader present in the group. If it were truly the case, he’d be the worst to deal with and the first one she’d have to take out. Once accomplished, the other three would attack in unison or flee in fear of not having a leader anymore. It was a gamble but a gamble she’d have to take.

Slowing her pace, she noticed the prints had gotten closer together. Now, only shoe prints were visible because they’d returned to their human form and walked upright. Doing the same, Katie stood as tall as she could. She looked in all directions to see any sign of their presence. Slightly ahead of her in the distance, she recognized a large green set of shrubs which had no snow covering them amongst the white background. They’d been cleared. As she guessed, the shoe marks led directly to them. Katie snuck through the bushes quietly as they revealed a hillside clearing. Her targets gathered below.

Standing in a diamond formation around a park bench, four average looking young men surrounded what looked to be a fifth. Whoever this other person was, they showed no signs of fear or even any realization to the presence of the others. Either they were sleeping deeply or Katie had arrived too late. Patiently, she awaited the next clue looking down on the events about to unfold.

The four creatures of the night moved closer while remaining cautious of their surroundings. All of them seemed to be dressed the same with flannel jackets and torn blue jeans as though a clothing purchase hadn’t been part of their recent activities. Their long, straight hair showed darkness against the pure, white surroundings of the fallen snow. This was a pack like she’d imagined. They could’ve easily passed for quadruplets which was what had more than likely brought them together in the first place. They were moving toward the odd person out like a well-rehearsed team. It was as though they’d been through this ritual a million times before. Katie was starting to get nervous.

Just then, the person on the park bench came to their senses and screamed out in sudden terror. It was a woman! A homeless woman who’d been covered against the snow by newspapers and a tattered blanket now clung to the armrest of the park bench for dear life looking on to the approaching reapers in fear. It was a victim no one would miss, more than likely. This was it. This was how the packs in Central Park survived. Katie was sickened instantly at the realization about to take place.

In the grand scheme of things, this had little to do with the mission. She hadn’t come all this way to be the savior of homeless people. Katie came to kill werewolves. The dilemma banged around in her head until she could almost feel soreness against her temples. This wasn’t her normal line of thinking. No, this was the way of her father and his quest to defeat all forces of evil. Those that surrounded their home at any cost to keep his people safe and sound. Why was this happening? Why at this crucial moment of reckoning was Katie pausing in her efforts? Was her mother right? Was the family curse a gift in disguise? What if she did decide to live with this and use it to help others? What if it was fate?

Shaking her head violently, Katie removed the visions from her head and focused again on her prey. If she waited for them to attack, she could surprise them while they were feeding. But…if she could somehow delay their advance and give the outnumbered woman a chance to escape…

What would Toby Liberman do? What would Kurt Jimmerson do? What would Father McCormack do?

Giving into her final question, she exhaled deeply in disappointment.

Being a girl who never really cared much about the masses or how they perceived her, Katie was hesitant. The last few years, when she should’ve been socializing with other’s her age, she’d pretty much spent all her time caught up in her own little secret world held prisoner in her room for fear of how the public would react. Why would now be any different? Why protect those who would fear or harm her if they got the chance?

Walking up slowly behind the closest member of the greasy pack of men, the soon-to-be victim was the first to catch on to her presence. The homeless lady mouthed two tiny words through frozen lips that made Katie’s blood boil. ‘Help me’. Nodding silently in agreement, the would-be hero pulled the hood from her sweatshirt tight over her head to hide her face. It was time for the festivities to get underway once and for all. She cleared her throat aloud causing all four men to look her way in excitement.

“Don’t mind me, boys. I’m just here to watch the show,” she announced sarcastically “Proceed.”

Fanning out in a straight line in front of their victim as though they were protecting a meal from a stray dog, the leader stepped forward to confront the unexpected challenger.

“Leg it, you manky bitch! This doesn’t even concern you!” the leader spoke with a harsh Irish accent.

Giggling at the curse thrown her way, she began to pace back in forth in front of them in a gesture of taunt. Katie showed no fear. Her body was electric.

“Leg it, you manky bitch?” she inquired “I’ve only been in town for a handful of days and, so far, everyone I’ve met has either been Irish or fell asleep watching ‘Darby O’Gill and the Little People’ too many times.”

“Well then feel free to bugger off, young one, before you find out all too fast what thickness will get you in the wee hours here!”

“Hmm,” she mocked, still pacing “Well there lies the dilemma, boys. I’m all kinds of interested in what my thickness will get me in the wee hours in this city while facing down four leftovers from a 1992 Seattle grunge experiment… so I don’t think I’ll be buggering off anytime soon.”

Shocked at her defiance, the three followers looked on at their designated spokesman in confusion as though they’d never encountered anyone with the nerves to stand up to them. To Katie, this was pure gold. It meant they had little fighting experience underneath their belts and were used to overtaking their adversaries without much resistance.

“What?” she continued the taunting “You’re not scared of a little girl in a hoodie are you?”

Again, the other three looked at their leader for the answer he was obviously having trouble formulating. Finally, he managed to open his mouth.

“Not counting this morsel behind us, lass, I would say you were outnumbered four to one in a place where no one is going to come to your rescue. Why don’t you just go about your business before you get a bad dose of what we’re offering? Run off to your mama before you get grounded for being out past your bedtime?”

The four of them simultaneously broke out into hysterical laughter at the joke fired at Katie’s expense. Just for the sake of joining in, Katie began to laugh as well slapping her knee in delight at the fact a fight

was looming on the horizon. Finally, her chuckling ended and she glared at them seriously. Planting both feet firmly on the ground to prepare for a charge in their direction, she readied herself for the confrontation.

“What do you mean ‘the morsel behind you’?” she asked, “That bitch ‘buggered off’ just as soon as all of you started laughing. I guess she wasn’t a fan and didn’t care to hear the rest of your act.”

The four of them suddenly quieted their jesting and looked around at each other in confusion. The young stranger wasn’t lying at all. In the distraction, the unfortunate drifter had taken the first chance and ran for her life in an unknown direction. Katie could almost feel the sudden anger in the air as the four lined up facing her. These were definitely bottom of the barrel henchmen for a much bigger organization because they were far from being the brightest individuals imaginable. If packs were running unnoticed in a city this size, more intelligent people were calling the shots. Stepping forward from his cohorts again, the elected leader glared at her with eyes aflame.

“You stupid-ass hoor!” he cried in disgust “That piece of slime was ours fair and square and now we’re going to have to take down your scrawny bones instead!”

Fanning out again in a formation to encircle her, Katie knew she indeed had the upper hand. Not only did they not know what they were about to be dealing with, they were unaware their target was well informed of what they were. She’d been waiting for this moment for as far back as she could remember. It was as though a five-year addiction was about to be fed for the first time in ages. Katie remained calm and studied their movement for the precise moment to reveal all. Slowly, the three underlings sprouted their fangs and began to growl ferociously as they circled. A deep feeling of satisfaction came over her and she grinned in excitement. Katie had found her happy place again.

“Oh please, mister,” she mocked “Please don’t sick your puppy dog men on me! I promise I’ll be a good girl!”

“Keep cracking on, little one,” the man dared as he continued to circle with his minions “You’re only going to make things worse on yourself.”

Lowering her head even more and spreading her legs in a defensive posture, she locked eyes with the leader as his face covered itself in a fine, black fur. It was time to move.

“Oh, you think this situation is bad?” she asked sarcastically “Mister, you haven’t seen anything yet!”

As though a bolt of lightning had struck in the middle of the circle, Katie’s alter ego came to life with a deafening howl. Reacting in both shock and pain from the ear-piercing sound, the four of them focused on the spot it originated. It was already too late. The young wolf attached herself onto the neck of the closest adversary and ripped his flesh in a shower of blood with undiscovered strength. He fell to the snow with a deadly thud, lifeless. Readying herself for the inevitable attack of the other three, she spun around to face them with glowing eyes against the darkness of the night sky.

With their defensive formation broken, the other two followers lunged in unison as the leader watched on curiously. Their attack came suddenly from both sides as they attempted to overpower her. Taking a quick step backwards, Katie gripped their flowing hair with her clawed hands and slammed their faces together in a crimson explosion. Katie slashed their bodies with frantic precision as she spun to her knees. As they fell unconscious to the ground beside her, Katie sprang forward like an armed swordsman tearing their skin from bone to reveal the pink of their internal organs. The young wolf flung her arms in a ready

manner sprinkling the pure, white surroundings with fresh blood. She locked eyes once again on the only target that remained. In a gaze of what could only be interpreted as panic, he fled.

Katie followed, flying quickly on all fours through the trees and brush of the abandoned park. Leaping gracefully into the nearest set of trees, she listened closely for any signs of movement that would give away the presence of the fleeing monster. She concentrated on the various noises surrounding her with eyes closed. The sounds of laughing children and a thousand passing cars engulfed her senses as though she were standing among them. Blocking them out to the best of her ability, she focused on the direction of the castle on the lake near where she’d left her mother’s side. Momentarily, she picked up on the rustle of underbrush heading away from her current location. Katie jumped and judged the closest tree for strength. She landed with ease, sinking her blood-stained claws deep into the bark. Eyeing others in the area, she made another move…and then another as though she was scouring the woods of Twin Oaks again in search of prey. Was this any different? Smiling from pointed ear to pointed ear, she moved on into the night.

The falling snow had stopped long ago. Due to the circumstances, she’d barely noticed the calm which had taken over her surroundings below the glistening moonlight. She descended from her arboreal perch and landed softly on her feet in a mound of deep accumulation. Fresh, sloppy footprints of an individual running for dear life lay before her. Slowly, she hunkered down again to follow the trail and prepared for any type of trap the desperate man may have lying in wait. She was ready.

Staying to the thick foliage that lined the sidewalk of the park, Katie paused to gain clues to her surroundings. He was near. Heightened and uncontrollable breathing could be heard on the wind from the direction of the frozen lake that normally licked the walls of Belvedere Castle. Sneaking to the shore, a dark figure could be seen scooting carefully along the icy surface of the lake to throw off anyone or anything who would prevent his escape. Standing tall amongst the winter dead reeds which lined the banks of the lake, Katie withdrew her disguise.

“Hey!” she shouted “Where in the fuck do you think you’re going? You were going to teach me a lesson, remember?”

Realizing he was no longer alone and in definite peril, the long haired man quickened his pace in panic. He’d changed into human form from no longer being able to concentrate on his transformation. With an echoing smack against the ice, he lost his balance as his feet were taken out from under him. He laid motionless in agonizing pain and glanced at the approaching girl as she drew ever closer. Katie paused. She was going to draw this out as long as she possibly could to build the fear within. It would make for an easier kill.

“Ouch!” Katie exclaimed humorously “I guess it would explain why you have to eat homeless people in the park at night. The tryout for the all Irish hockey team didn’t work out too well for you, huh?”

“Stay the hell away from me, you gammy bitch!” he screamed as he began to crawl closer to the opposite shore “I’m not slagging!”


The young Texan couldn’t wrap her head around all the slang and wondered how these guys ever made it long in an intelligent conversation. Then again, it would probably explain why they were running in packs and feasting on anyone who didn’t have the good sense to stick to the streets after dark. It was almost as though they were orphans of the darkness with a speech problem. This last one was going to have to be dealt with quickly before he alerted anyone else to his problems or her presence. She was almost certain there were cops in the park at night who would come running to the type of disturbance he was making.

“If you mean ‘joking’ I don’t think there is anything I’ve shown you or your friends tonight that could be confused with anything funny,” Katie informed the frightened thug “I don’t know how long you’ve been involved in the whole lycanthropic lifestyle but you can’t just go around killing people at random to fit your needs!”

“Oh yeah, child?” he called back to her “Then tell me how you stay alive without taking the lives of the scum who litter the streets of this town! Tell me how you stay alive!”

Thinking back to earlier in the evening, Katie recalled the scaling of the Central Park Zoo wall to take down an unsuspecting deer in the safety and quiet of its enclosure. She shuddered slightly as the thought of the animal’s metallic tasting blood flowed down her throat quenching the feelings which had intensified since her arrival.

“That’s none of your damn business,” she told him matter-of-factly “and I would be more worried about my own survival right about now because I’m not really one to leave any loose ends.”

Exhausted and injured from the fall atop the ice, the man halted his journey toward safety and awaited his deserved fate. As Katie reached the edge of the man’s feet, she could tell he knew the end had finally come. She’d witnessed this look once before. This was the silent plea for life Jessie McGee exhibited on the rain-soaked grass of the Myrtle County Fairgrounds on that October night of destiny. She was tired of conversation. It was time to finish the job.

By the light of the moon, she could see the odd twist of the man’s ankle as he stared at her in agony. Breathing as though he were attempting as many as possible, savoring all for fear each one might be his last, he gasped loudly against the quiet of the night. Jerking suddenly as Katie reached toward him, he sighed in relief as he realized she was only going for his wallet chain. He broke his silence and peered at her in disgust… even if it meant his last vocal stand.

“Oh, it’s not bad enough that you’re probably going to off me in a bit but you’ve got to go and swipe my wallet as well?”

Removing the stack of money from its leather shell, she tossed the empty projectile straight back into the man’s face with a pop.

“Hey, gammy bitches have to eat too!” she whispered quietly.

Katie removed the sweatshirt’s hood from around her stringy, sweat soaked hair revealing the remainder of her face to the man in a show of finite. He braced for the worst as he sharply closed his eyes and tightened his body to the point of shivering. Katie finished counting the money and tucked it deep inside her back blue jeans pocket for safekeeping. Three thousand dollars was quite an amount for such a nasty thug and a haul for her. This would keep her afloat a little bit longer in the city and she was sure the remains of the other three creeps had a little bit of money on them as well.

“Wow, money bags!” she spoke surprised “If I knew you guys were rolling in it like this, I would’ve started killing you days ago!”

Her waiting victim found no humor in her discovery.

Without warning, a light came on in the opaque blackness of her head that nearly caused her to laugh

aloud. If she insisted on living every day from here on out as though it could possibly be her last, then she might as well give it a cause. Something to live for, so to speak. Something to strike both curiosity and fear into the hearts of those who were to oppose her. Suddenly, the internal conflict from an hour before faded away. Katie discovered her answer to the questions that clouded her young brain and it contained just enough purpose to keep her motivated to pull it off and keep her enemies guessing. Locking serious eyes with the freezing man one last time, he spoke for the sake of clarity.

“Who are you, girl? Are you the finder of the lost? Are you some kind of wayward hero who just hasn’t been unlucky enough to meet the right villain? Are you the savior of Central Park?”

“Not really,” Katie finally confessed “I’m not even from around here. I’m just a girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I’m here to set things right. I know all too well who the villain is and I hope to meet him soon.”

Chuckling in discomfort, the man plead for one final bit of information before meeting his untimely end.

“I just wanted to know why I was lucky enough to fit into your story, love, and was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time as well? What do you call yourself?”

“No,” she replied “You were exactly where you needed to be when you needed to be there. They call me The Howler. You’re going to be my messenger.”

Slamming him hard across the bridge of his nose with her boot, he lost consciousness almost instantly. The board had now been set with its various pieces and the first chess move had been made. Katie’s pawn would soon be informing the other players of her existence.

C. Derick Miller is a dark fiction author, gonzo journalist, freelance A&E journalist, poet, ordained minister, and ASCAP songwriter born in the town of Greenville, Texas. A seasoned paranormal investigator and traveler for the art industry, his influences include Hunter S. Thompson, Kevin Smith, Shawn Mullins, and Del James. He is currently signed with Black Rose Writing and Death’s Head Press. Chad is also an active member of The International Thriller Writers Organization, The Horror Writers Association, the creator of Gonzo Wolf Press, and writer/co-host of both the “Butterflies Make Me Angry” and “American Justice” podcasts. He currently resides in the Bishop Arts District of Dallas, Texas and has a price on his head for his short story “Hell Paso” contained in the #1 Amazon Best Selling Death’s Head Press Anthology And Hell Followed.

Halloween Extravaganza: C. Derick Miller: STORY: Diary of the Wolf

If you have not experienced any of C. Derick Miller’s works, this is a great opportunity to do so. Quite an interesting story indeed.


October 31st, 2019

To the finder of this diary, Happy Halloween! If you’re reading this, then you’ve managed to survive the carnage which will probably be taking place over the next few hours. I am leaving this diary to explain things. A confession, if you will. I seriously doubt I will live long enough to explain it in person. My name is Baxter and I am a werewolf. This is my story.

I figured Central Park would be the best place to finish this entry. When the time comes, there won’t be too many people around for my killing spree, but in this “city that never sleeps”, it’ll be just enough to get the attention of the New York Police Department. They should put an end to this once and for all. Let’s just think of those few, helpless victims as casualties of war. That is the perfect way to describe this curse. The inner beast is winning the battle over my humanity and it’s time to bring in some outside help. I’m sorry this is the way it must be. I’ve found no other solution.

I always wanted to see New York City before I died. It’s everything I ever imagined. Getting off the bus at Port Authority and Times Square was breathtaking. The sounds, the smells, and the fast-paced lives of people fighting for position on the sidewalk were enough to make me want to cry. After diving down the closest subway tunnel, I stood there amongst the locals and observed their frantic way of life from a distance. The ancient scents coming from the tunnels were overpowering, especially to me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t explore them without drawing attention to myself. Instead, I hopped the train two stations down and landed at the gateway of Columbus Circle. If there was a way of avoiding this plan, I could see myself living here forever.

I’m skipping a bit due to excitement and overwhelming awe, not to mention the nostalgia from every television show and movie I’ve seen since childhood. If you, kind reader, are a New Yorker, I’m sure you no longer get this sensation daily. I weep for you. I’m sitting on a bench next to the Alice in Wonderland statue. Even though I am not facing it, I am excited by the sounds of children’s laughter as they climb all over it. There is a cool breeze blowing from the pond nearby and a dozen remote-controlled boats are riding the choppy waters. The scent of money on Park Avenue is what brought me to this exact spot, though. When it all comes to a head, I can only hope I take a few of them out before I’m gunned down like an old west bandit. They’re evil people, more so than I, and a shake-up of their lifestyle is long overdue. Oh, my dearest reader, I pray one of those destined victims isn’t someone near and dear to you. If so, you have my sincerest sympathies.

This all began exactly a year ago just before I separated myself from military service. Still a little on edge from an extensive tour in Afghanistan, I was ordered to live out the remainder of my Army days in the quiet confines of Fort Huachuca, Arizona. Not being the type of person who frequents the bars and malls of the nearby city, I would take long journeys into the Huachuca Mountains to explore ancient caves and abandoned mineshafts. For the sake of my sanity, I would go alone to quiet the nightmares of battle which still haunt me to this day.

A month passed and my wife and two daughters finally arrived at our new home. They were staying with her family in Texas. During my deployment, they preferred the familiarity and comfort of her parent’s home over living alone on the military base and hearing horror stories from returning soldiers. Seeing the truckloads of flag-draped caskets unloaded from cargo planes daily was something my wife and I didn’t want our children to witness. If I hadn’t been so desensitized by the military brainwashing I received during my initial training, it would’ve shaken me as well. In my opinion, the battles of those misguided souls had ended. When their energy reached the unknown of the great beyond, they no longer had to fight against an enemy hidden around every corner. It is a tough life but I somehow survived. God bless those men and women who endure the haunts of battle. It never seems to end, and you can’t run from it.

The more I tried to play the role of ‘father of the year’ while bouncing children on my knees and keeping the lawn looking green, the more I wished for solitude. My thrashing around from night terrors and waking up in pools of sweat was causing a wedge between me and my beloved. There was no way for her to understand what I’d been through and I wasn’t willing to take the time to explain every gory detail. She was better off not knowing. Besides, most of those experiences can’t be put into words easily comprehendible to someone who’s never witnessed a child being blown to pieces by the bomb strapped to his back. How do you tell an angel about the time you forced a bullet into a beautiful, young woman’s head just because your superior officer ordered it? The fact that Heaven will detain me at its gates due to what I’m about to do in this park doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Heaven barred me from entrance long ago because of my wartime actions, I’m certain. No big loss, right?

When I reached the point when I could no longer take any more, I packed a week’s supply of food, a lightweight tent, and disappeared into the wilderness. I told my family it was the only way I could cure myself before I chased them all away forever. My darling wife agreed without argument. It was almost like she was pushing me out of the house. I didn’t pick up on the red flag. I took off into the darkness without a second thought. This journey would soon become the undoing of all I held precious.

On the third night of my sabbatical, a famous Arizona monsoon swept through the mountains. As the trodden pathways became waterfalls, my tent and gear were washed away, and I was forced to seek shelter in one of the abandoned mineshafts which litter the mountainside. That was when our paths first crossed

The largest wolf I’d ever encountered in the wild stood before me in the shaft. He’d obviously had the same idea regarding shelter. He stood his ground at the entrance of the tunnel allowing me no escape. As the seconds ticked by like hours, I mentally pleaded for him to flee in the opposite direction. It was all I could do because I was too frightened to speak. The wolf proved quickly that he couldn’t read minds. Like lightning, he attacked me. As I fought for my life, I began to realize that I was losing the battle. He soon overpowered me, and my struggle and troubles of this world would be nothing but memories in the minds of those unfortunate enough to remember my presence. Suddenly, the fighting stopped. He stared at me with a satisfied grin across his canine face and left the tunnel. As I braved the storm, I bled profusely on the ground, mixing red into the collected puddles of rainwater along the mountain pathway. My vision faded in and out, but I could see his eyes in the darkened distance. I wasn’t sure if he was following to finish the job or escorting me toward my oblivion. Regardless, I lost consciousness near my vehicle parked on a nearby road. I was certain it was the end.

I awoke the next morning in the Huachuca soldiers’ hospital attached to machines forcing life into my tattered body. To the amazement of the medical professionals surrounding me, my wounds had mysteriously healed in the night. There were no signs of the attack or the struggle with the wolf I’d met in the tunnel making the experience seem more like a bad dream than an actual event. I was treated for exposure to the elements and released to return to duty. I headed home.

Over the next few days, I spent every spare moment visiting the campsite but never found any signs of my belongings, blood, or the wolf. Not believing I had imagined it all, I accepted the fact the monsoon had washed it all downhill and I would never receive the answers I sought regarding our fateful meeting. I returned to my home earlier than expected and witnessed what is possibly the worst vision a man can endure. It made the experience of war seem trivial in my already troubled mind.

I stood in the doorway of my bedroom for an eternity before I realized I was no longer a mere human being. I never saw his face as I patiently waited for him to finish what he was doing. With each thrust of his lower body hidden by the blankets, the sanctity of my marriage was erased. Although I couldn’t be seen in the darkness, my vision was becoming clearer as my anger intensified. She gripped the unknown man tighter as her eyes rolled slowly upward into her head. That was the moment when everything disappeared. I have no recollection of the events which followed on that evening other than what I discovered the next morning. The pieces of the puzzle I’d left for myself were easy enough to put together.

I slaughtered the two of them before either knew what happened. The blood-spattered walls led me to believe it wasn’t a gentle passing. Although the man had been mutilated beyond recognition, my wife’s face was still intact. Oddly enough, her frozen expression was one of surprise and it showed none of the pleasure she emoted prior to my initial transformation. I was blanketed with an odd sort of satisfaction until I discovered both my daughters in the next room. Their lifeless bodies showed no signs of struggle as though they’d been taken while sleeping. A single slash to each of their throats and a spray of blood on the nearest wall was all the evidence I needed. My life was forever changed. I grabbed what little clothing and food I could carry and headed once again into the mountains on foot. I knew once the military discovered the horror on Jeffords Street, everyone would be on the lookout. A supernatural fit of rage had reduced me from a decorated soldier to a murderer over the course of one evening. I didn’t even have time to shed a tear for the loss of my loved ones on that fateful day. Almost a year later, I still haven’t.

For weeks, I searched for the wolf who introduced me to this hell and didn’t bother leaving me a copy of the rule book. Changing night after night in the forest, I knew I’d perfected the art of hunting because I never woke feeling hunger. As a matter of fact, I never felt hunger for traditional foods again. My basic human needs were being met upon the arrival of the moon by a monster I couldn’t control. It wasn’t long before the taste of wild game could no longer satisfy the animal who controlled my destiny.

I began waking morning after morning closer to the gates of the military base. Finally, I came to my senses in the living room of an officer’s house surrounded by a horror similar to the one I’d experienced in my own home. Luckily, this man was single and lived alone. He was the only human casualty on that visit, but his rank and stature within the military would bring the authorities down hard and my chances of survival were slim against their numbers and power. For the sake of survival, I ran as far away as I could. I knew my wooded sanctuary would soon be crawling with soldiers in search of the cold-blooded killer who brutally murdered one of their own. I took to the highways, changing my appearance and mannerisms with each town I visited.

I discovered that truck stops were an easy place to obtain what was needed to continue my freedom. During daylight, I made the money necessary for survival by changing tires and other things weary drivers didn’t care to deal with. By night, I preyed on the prostitutes who gathered in the truck yards to make a quick buck from the road barons. These ‘lot lizards’ were easy pickings. Most of them were drifters with little or no family to search for them or provide identification. It was enough to keep me going. No one missed them or inquired regarding their disappearances.

It was the ‘pop’, I believe, which kept me wanting more. There’s really no better way to explain it. The puncture of teeth through skin and into flesh as the majestic, coppery fluid sprays into your awaiting throat…that’s the true joy of murder. I’m not sure if it’s an animalistic pleasure known only to cursed individuals like myself or perhaps repressed, childhood memories of simpler times. I would sit and do the same with fruit from my grandfather’s knife on balmy, summer evenings. Neither of us would speak a word as the unforgiving sun set along the western bank of his favorite fishing spot. No, we would just sit motionless in the near darkness atop a rotting log, devouring apples, and praying for submerged bobbers. I can’t help but wonder if my family ‘popped’ on the night their lives ceased to be. Deep down, I know the true answer but refuse to acknowledge. They all ‘pop’. Every single one.

As the months passed fifty or so miles at a time, I began to realize it was a statistical probability that I would leave a loose end at some point. It was destiny. How long did I really think I could carry on that way without being caught? Were there only so many lucky breaks one man is allowed in a single lifetime? If so, I knew my supply was running dangerously low. I began to tire of hiding and nightly struggles to stay alive. Ultimately, though, was THIS truly living? Never again would I have the comforts of home. Never again would I kiss someone goodnight or hug sleeping children in their warm beds without fear of killing them when the beast turned off sanity’s switch.

As I was sitting in a Flying J waiting room with a dozen or so sleepy truckers, I became overwhelmed by my intense sense of smell. The harsh scent of the road was something I could no longer stomach. The smell of greased wheels and hard days without time for showering was making me weary of my newly adopted lifestyle. My first instinct was to linger in the room until after dark and attempt to take them all on at once. With any luck, one would reveal a hidden weapon and send me down my eternal path to redemption. Snapping out of it, I realized I was selling myself short. I was too good of a person to be remembered as a truck stop murderer. No. If I were to go out by assisted suicide, I had to do it in the most epic way imaginable. As the tired theme song of an overplayed, syndicated television show played through the muffled speaker of the flickering black and white television set, I began to devise my plan for the ending of this story. That is what brought me here. I may not be remembered as someone nice, but I’ll forever be remembered.

The usual fever has begun to set in as the sun disappears behind the apartment buildings of Park Avenue. The steady stream of taxi cabs is slowing as the residents of this great city find their way home to catch tonight’s episode of whatever. Most broadcasts will be interrupted by reports of the terror I’ll cause. Soon, this diary will end and be left for discovery upon this very bench. The lycanthropic curse won’t allow me to write after the transformation. Hell, why would I? The only thing the beast cares for is flesh. The frightened, unarmed victims of Central Park will have no way of stopping me once the moon has risen. Those poor, unfortunate souls. Still, they are necessary – necessary for me to live another day or for my death if the authorities arrive on scene in time to end me. I can only hope the parents of these children playing nearby are responsible enough to take them home soon. If not, they wouldn’t be the first child casualties of this curse. A harsh lesson to learn but one to be forever remembered.

With any luck, they’ll all scream in fear causing my retreat deeper into the park. After all, most people don’t linger here after hours of darkness. Decades of negative media propaganda have stirred fear among the locals regarding the demeanor of Central Park when the sun goes down. I find it calming. Lovers at the beginning of their relationships walking hand in hand without a care to what lies just beyond the tree line will soon find out what really happens when you throw caution carelessly into the wind. Their deaths will be a public service aimed at future victims of purse snatchers and rapists who prey on the weak. Maybe I’ll get lucky and take a few of the criminals out in the process.

I can feel the beast coming forth as I write these final words. To you, the unsuspecting discoverer of this journal, I wish you well. Don’t keep this find to yourself. May you never take for granted your friends and family, for companionship is humanity’s only true treasure. May you cherish each breath entering your body and exhale with renewed life into this unforgiving world. Every sunrise is a new beginning, but each awakening of the moon summons the evil which hides within us all. I’m certain to not be the only one who’s ever possessed this curse. I’m sure I’m not the only one who looks upon the moon with both satisfaction and fear. Take those you consider dearest and hold them tightly. You never know when another one like me will come along. You, too, could unexpectedly become the victim of the beast’s hunger. You never know…

It’s starting…

I can feel it drawing nearer…

I can’t control it…

I can’t…

Good luck…

Happy Hallowe…

Home 1: A Taste of Home

Toby Liberman is nearing the end of his rope. After a fateful confrontation with his wife’s lover, he is chased into the woods only to be discovered by an unidentifiable creature. He is attacked and rendered unconscious. Upon waking at the scene of a gruesome triple homicide, Toby is arrested as the sole suspect and thrown into a jail cell with a strange man that knows way too much about his predicament. The stranger reveals to Toby that he now possesses the curse of the werewolf. Using his new-found strength to flee his captors, Toby begins to discover that things are not what they seem in the sleepy town of Twin Oaks, TX. Now hunted by law enforcement, as well as the town’s gun toting civilians, Toby seeks vengeance against his false accusers and embarks upon a quest to clear his name once and for all.

Home 2: Far from Home

A Curse Beyond Comprehension. A Power Beyond Belief. A Girl Far From Home.Katie Liberman is your typical eighteen-year-old college student…or at least that’s what her family thinks. Picking up five years after the events of A Taste of Home, Katie has dropped out of school and embarked upon a dangerous quest to find Kurt Jimmerson, the New York City attorney responsible for her family’s werewolf curse. Unknown to her, the attorney’s grip on the ‘City That Never Sleeps’ is tighter than imagined and she’ll need any and all help available to be victorious. But… where do you find friends when you’re Far From Home?

Diary of a Gonzo Ghost Hunter

Most people run away from the unknown. Me? I chose to run toward it and never look back. Unaware of the consequences of my actions in small town Texas, I dove deep into paranormal research. It consumed my entire life. Taken from a decade of personal journals and interpreted by Rae Louise, Diary of a Gonzo Ghost Hunter is an extremely honest journey down a road less traveled. What shadows lurk in the darkness outside of bedroom doors? I was determined to find out.

What’s it like to walk in the shoes of a ghost hunter? It’s all here. As someone who lived through what you’re about to experience, it is difficult for me to read. For some, it will be the fuel that drives their curiosity. But for others … let it be a warning. Every step you take toward the dead leads you further from the living.

And Hell Followed: An Anthology

Seventeen authors re-imagine the biblical apocalypse and all the hell that follows in sixteen horrifying tales. What if the prophecies of Revelation hit today? What sort of craziness and evil would ensue? With this list of excellent authors contributing, it’s sure to be a Hell of a read! 

Wrath James White 
Sam West 
The Sisters of Slaughter 
Jeff Strand 
K Trap Jones 
C Derick Miller 
Christine Morgan 
Patrick C. Harrison III 
John Wayne Comunale 
Hyäne Sawbones 
Delphine Quinn 
James Watts 
Wile E. Young 
Chris Miller 
Mark Deloy 
Richard Raven

Halloween Extravaganza: INTERVIEW: C. Derick Miller

Meghan: Hello and welcome to Meghan’s House of Books. Tell us a little bit about yourself.

C. Derick Miller: I’m a dark fiction author, Gonzo Journalist, freelance A&E journalist, poet, ordained minister, and ASCAP songwriter born in the town of Greenville, Texas. A seasoned paranormal investigator and traveler for the art industry, my influences include Hunter S. Thompson, Kevin Smith, Shawn Mullins, and Del James. I’m currently signed with Black Rose Writing and Death’s Head Press. I’m also an active member of the International Thriller Writers organization, the Horror Writers Association, and the creator of Gonzo Wolf Press. I currently reside in the Bishop Arts District of Dallas, Texas and have a price on his head for my short story “Hell Paso” contained in the #1 Amazon Best Selling Death’s Head Press Anthology And Hell Followed.

Meghan: What are five things most people don’t know about you?

C. Derick Miller: I’m a veteran, prior law enforcement, a father of 4, a grandfather of 2, and related to Lee Harvey Oswald’s widowed wife!

Meghan: What is the first book you remember reading?

C. Derick Miller: Where the Red Fern Grows

Meghan: What are you reading now?

C. Derick Miller: Catfish in The Cradle by Wile E. Young

Meghan: What’s a book you really enjoyed that others wouldn’t expect you to have liked?

C. Derick Miller: What the Valley Knows by Heather Christie

Meghan: What made you decide you want to write? When did you begin writing?

C. Derick Miller: I read a book of short stories by Del James titled The Language of Fear. It contained the story ‘Without You’ which influenced the music video for Guns N Roses November Rain. I woke up the next morning and wrote my first short story. Poetry was always easy for me as a school kid though.

Meghan: Do you have a special place you like to write?

C. Derick Miller: Nowhere special but loud, 80’s hair metal is a key ingredient.

Meghan: Do you have any quirks or processes that you go through when you write?

C. Derick Miller: I normally write the beginning, then the end, and fill in the blanks in between.

Meghan: Is there anything about writing you find most challenging?

C. Derick Miller: Writing? No. The publishing industry? Too many to mention.

Meghan: What’s the most satisfying thing you’ve written so far?

C. Derick Miller: My newest novel Extinguished. It’s the only thing I’ve written during complete sobriety. Some say it’s my best work so far.

Meghan: What books have most inspired you? Who are some authors that have inspired your writing style?

C. Derick Miller: I don’t think it’s fair for an author to describe his own style. I try my best not to pull influence from anywhere. I just do my own thing.

Meghan: What do you think makes a good story?

C. Derick Miller: The villain makes the story. Always. You can’t have a good hero without a good villain. Darth Vader, Lord Voldemort, Scar from The Lion King lol.

Meghan: What does it take for you to love a character? How do you utilize that when creating your characters?

C. Derick Miller: Honesty and the acceptance of weakness. I hate overpowered heroes. Disney has a bad habit of this. Not everyone can be a Jedi. Some of us must be Chewbacca.

Meghan: Which, of all your characters, do you think is the most like you?

C. Derick Miller: Johnny Haynes from the Taste of Home series. Loudmouth, oblivious to the consequences of his actions, and can easily turn anything into a sex joke.

Meghan: Are you turned off by a bad cover? To what degree were you involved in creating your book covers?

C. Derick Miller: I don’t mind a bad cover. I despise a bad synopsis. My son has been an internationally published graphic artist since age 15 and he’s designed my covers for the past few years. He’s leaving for the Army soon, so I’m screwed.

Meghan: What have you learned creating your books?

C. Derick Miller: The market is oversaturated with bad writers who possess amazing marketing skills. The same could be said about the music industry as well. Gotta love the internet, right? The best talent is brushed to the wayside far too often.

Meghan: What has been the hardest scene for you to write so far?

C. Derick Miller: There’s a scene in Far from Home where the protagonist is forced to watch his own daughter be sexually assaulted. I have three daughters. You get the picture. I wanted to write a disturbing scene and that was the most disturbing thing I could think of.

Meghan: What makes your books different from others out there in this genre?

C. Derick Miller: It’s a lot less extreme than most of the indie horror titles floating around out there. I was just contracted for my first ‘extreme’ horror novella. I’m a little nervous about putting those thoughts on paper.

Meghan: How important is the book title, how hard is it to choose the best one, and how did you choose yours (of course, with no spoilers)?

C. Derick Miller: I feel the title is the bait, not the cover. My upcoming novella was originally titled ‘The Screaming of The Trees’. It was too ‘on the nose’ for the subject matter. I wanted it to be a little more mysterious. One night, my wife reminded me to pick up the cat food because our cat Zoe was going to the veterinarian in the morning. Starving Zoe was exactly the title I was looking for, so I went with it!

Meghan: What makes you feel more fulfilled: Writing a novel or writing a short story?

C. Derick Miller: Novel. Novels are like relationships. Short stories are more like one-night stands. I can knock out a lengthy short story in a matter of hours compared to the months of dedication it takes to complete a novel.

Meghan: Tell us a little bit about your books, your target audience, and what you would like readers to take away from your stories.

C. Derick Miller: The ‘Home’ series and Extinguished are dark fiction but I’m beginning to cross the boundary into extreme horror. I don’t necessarily have a target audience, but most of my readers appear to be women! My protagonists are all normal, downtrodden people who rise to the occasion when needed. Now that I think about it, female characters have all been the victors in my fiction novels. For decades, women were the unlikely hero in any fiction. I hated that. I have three strong adult daughters and a strong wife. No victims in this family.

Meghan: Can you tell us about some of the deleted scenes/stuff that got left out of your work?

C. Derick Miller: When A Taste of Home was just a short story, I’d originally written the protagonist’s daughter Katie to die at the hands of her werewolf father, thus the title of the novel. Instead, I kept her alive for a stronger, unexpected ending. She’s the main character in the sequel and it really gave me a chance to flesh her out rather than have her torn to pieces!

Meghan: What is in your “trunk”?

C. Derick Miller: I have several songs I’ve written just sitting in a file on my computer. Four of them have been recorded over the years but there are tons more. Rather than wait on a needy musician, I’m learning to play the guitar. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll record them instead!

Meghan: What can we expect from you in the future?

C. Derick Miller: I’m part of an upcoming Splatter Western box set from Death’s Head Press. Think Splatterpunk with an old west twist. I also have outlines completed for a Far from Home and Extinguished sequel. My wife and I also have our first children’s book in the works using my story and her illustrations.

Meghan: Where can we find you?

C. Derick Miller: My website is a one stop shop. I blog often and have links to all my social media there. My wife and I also record a weekly podcast called Butterflies Make Me Angry! We discuss books, film, politics, and anything else on our minds. We can be found on Podbean, Spotify, iTunes, and YouTube!

Meghan: Do you have any closing words for your fans or anything you’d like to say that we didn’t get to cover in this interview?

C. Derick Miller: Surround yourself with creative people. Encourage each other. Build a family of writers and cling to one another for dear life. In the end, no one else understands us!

C. Derick Miller is a dark fiction author, gonzo journalist, freelance A&E journalist, poet, ordained minister, and ASCAP songwriter born in the town of Greenville, Texas. A seasoned paranormal investigator and traveler for the art industry, his influences include Hunter S. Thompson, Kevin Smith, Shawn Mullins, and Del James. He is currently signed with Black Rose Writing and Death’s Head Press. Chad is also an active member of The International Thriller Writers Organization, The Horror Writers Association, the creator of Gonzo Wolf Press, and writer/co-host of both the “Butterflies Make Me Angry” and “American Justice” podcasts. He currently resides in the Bishop Arts District of Dallas, Texas and has a price on his head for his short story “Hell Paso” contained in the #1 Amazon Best Selling Death’s Head Press Anthology And Hell Followed.

Home 1: A Taste of Home

Toby Liberman is nearing the end of his rope. After a fateful confrontation with his wife’s lover, he is chased into the woods only to be discovered by an unidentifiable creature. He is attacked and rendered unconscious. Upon waking at the scene of a gruesome triple homicide, Toby is arrested as the sole suspect and thrown into a jail cell with a strange man that knows way too much about his predicament. The stranger reveals to Toby that he now possesses the curse of the werewolf. Using his new-found strength to flee his captors, Toby begins to discover that things are not what they seem in the sleepy town of Twin Oaks, TX. Now hunted by law enforcement, as well as the town’s gun toting civilians, Toby seeks vengeance against his false accusers and embarks upon a quest to clear his name once and for all.

Home 2: Far from Home

A Curse Beyond Comprehension. A Power Beyond Belief. A Girl Far From Home.Katie Liberman is your typical eighteen-year-old college student…or at least that’s what her family thinks. Picking up five years after the events of A Taste of Home, Katie has dropped out of school and embarked upon a dangerous quest to find Kurt Jimmerson, the New York City attorney responsible for her family’s werewolf curse. Unknown to her, the attorney’s grip on the ‘City That Never Sleeps’ is tighter than imagined and she’ll need any and all help available to be victorious. But… where do you find friends when you’re Far From Home?

Diary of a Gonzo Ghost Hunter

Most people run away from the unknown. Me? I chose to run toward it and never look back. Unaware of the consequences of my actions in small town Texas, I dove deep into paranormal research. It consumed my entire life. Taken from a decade of personal journals and interpreted by Rae Louise, Diary of a Gonzo Ghost Hunter is an extremely honest journey down a road less traveled. What shadows lurk in the darkness outside of bedroom doors? I was determined to find out.

What’s it like to walk in the shoes of a ghost hunter? It’s all here. As someone who lived through what you’re about to experience, it is difficult for me to read. For some, it will be the fuel that drives their curiosity. But for others … let it be a warning. Every step you take toward the dead leads you further from the living.

And Hell Followed: An Anthology

Seventeen authors re-imagine the biblical apocalypse and all the hell that follows in sixteen horrifying tales. What if the prophecies of Revelation hit today? What sort of craziness and evil would ensue? With this list of excellent authors contributing, it’s sure to be a Hell of a read! 

Wrath James White 
Sam West 
The Sisters of Slaughter 
Jeff Strand 
K Trap Jones 
C Derick Miller 
Christine Morgan 
Patrick C. Harrison III 
John Wayne Comunale 
Hyäne Sawbones 
Delphine Quinn 
James Watts 
Wile E. Young 
Chris Miller 
Mark Deloy 
Richard Raven