Amongst the brooding woods that line the field is a pond that constrains an evil of immensity and cunning. No one except Morgan has faced this evil... only Morgan knows what lives in The Dark Place. A must read from suspense thriller superstar Bill Wilson.
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Double Dragon Publishing
August 20, 2008
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Excerpt from The Dark Place by Bill Wilson
Morgan sat beside the pond, waiting for the dead boy to show up. Salty liquid flowed down his face, drenching the thin cotton shirt he wore on that warm July night. He checked the time on his watch, quivering as he fought to stay calm. The luminous watch dial read eleven fifty-five. If what the book said was true then Billy Conway's ghost would appear five minutes hence, in all of its horrific glory. His thoughts drifted back to Halloween the year before. It had been a good night... "Well, what have we here?" said Mrs. Taylor, looking down at the costumed figure that stood at her doorway. "A werewolf!" answered Morgan, gazing up at her through the eyeholes in his rubber mask. "And a hungry one too!" the grey-eyed brunette said, chuckling as she poured a generous helping of candy into his orange sack. Morgan took a peek at what she had put into the bag, smiling when he saw all his favorites lying there on top of an already sizable mountain of treats. "Wow, thanks, Mrs. Taylor!" he shouted, and then scurried off to her neighbor's house, in search of even more sugary treasures. Later he sat in his room, his costume stored neatly in his closet and the sack on the floor beside him. His belly groaned from its recent intake of chocolate and caramel. Eyes wide, he read a comic book by the light of his desk lamp. It was filled with tales of aliens and rotted, molding corpses climbing from their graves. He smiled as her turned the pages, lost in another world. Life couldn't get much better for a ten-year-old boy. "Time for bed, son," the deep, masculine voice said. He looked up, seeing his father's large frame fill the doorway. "Yes, sir," he said, "in a minute." "Not in a minute, now," his dad said, a scowl crossing his weathered face. "Is that one of those monster books you're reading? I thought you were going to give those up." Morgan's gaze fell to the floor; he looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I'm sorry," he began, his face flushing red. A small, feminine form appeared behind his father. "Don't be sorry, son," his mother said. "Your dad knows you enjoy your comics. He just wants to make sure you read other kinds of books as well. Right, Dear?" she said, giving her husband one of her "just go along with me if you know what's good for you" looks. He almost answered, but thought better of it. Turning to Morgan, he said, "Hurry on to bed. And don't forget to say your prayers." "I won't, sir," the boy replied. "Good night." As his parents shuffled down the hall, his mom grinned and winked at him. He smiled and winked back. He could always count on her to defend him. He sighed as he put the half-finished book down. It was almost eleven o'clock, and he felt his eyelids drooping. Switching off the lamp, he stood to undress in the moonlight spilling through the window. He would leave it open for the evening, since a cool breeze was blowing. Autumn was in full swing; winter came late to Northeast Georgia. He remembered one of the stories he had just read, and for a moment thought he saw an inhuman face glaring up at him from the woods. Then the branches swayed in the wind, and the image dissolved. He fell asleep soon after turning in, but woke at a quarter till midnight. His room was bathed in greenish light, so bright it made his eyes hurt. He sat up, and nearly screamed when he saw his plastic Dracula model; the weird glow made it look real. "What the Hell is going on?" he said, feeling guilty for cursing. His father would have whipped him for using the "H" word. He looked outside. The farm was bathed in an emerald glow. It reminded him of a story he had read once about a Martian invasion. He stared at the sky, but there were no flying saucers hovering above him. A heavy patch of forest lay past the backyard. The greenish light lit the trail that led through it to the pasture beyond. That was where their cattle grazed. It was a forty-acre parcel with a small lake in the center, where thirsty cows would drink. It would have made a great swimming hole, but his father made him stay away from it. He got his telescope and focused the eyepiece on the woods. The leaves had fallen weeks ago. He could see part of the pond. The weird glow was gushing out of it like a geyser. "Holy shit," he said, too scared to feel guilty this time. Pulling his chair up to the window, he sat and watched as the light reached up to the clouds, then faded away several minutes later. Darkness took the night, and all was still. He went back to bed, tossing and turning for several hours, wondering what he had seen. Each evening after that he looked for the light. But it didn't reappear. "Cool," Morgan said, as he stood in the town library months later, holding the book he had just found: Myths and Legends of Northern Georgia.