Direction of Madness : Unveiled Truths - Part 2

Welcome to Free Fiction Friday!

This is a piece of unedited fiction that takes place after the events in Stolen Seed, a novella about a Serial killer, Benson Rhoades, who visits the small town of Stevats and looses his ability to kill. This first person narrative resembles a true crime style in two parts. I doubt the entire thing will ever discover the light of day, but if the narrative intrigues you about Stevats, a serial killer, or even the cult involvement, you could always purchase the novella on the site here, signed and personalized, or head over to Godless or Amazon to purchase it. Thanks, and enjoy, Direction of Madness : Unveiled Truths, Part 2.

I arrived in Stevats driving over a bridge that crossed the Unega River and found Main Street. Businesses and shops abundant. There are urban legends about the dark woods spread thickly on Audubon Hill, home of Dark Rest University, being haunted. The road that wound up the hill was swallowed by oaks. The trees gnarled branches entwined overhead like a trellis. Stevats was a stark contrast to the lifeless, lonely drive on the lone road leading in through the spread of early crops sprouting from the fertilized soil. Commerce and human life bustled downtown and that was a sight for weary eyes. I parked behind an old Victorian bed and breakfast which was going to be home for a few weeks.

From the bridge entering the Midwest town, to the winding road leading to Darkrest University, standing in this little town was surreal. Reading about the infamous killings of Benson Rhoades, and the enigma that was Navina, I wondered if I could track down any of the people involved. The town was small, people stared at me as if I didn't belong, and the sense that they were all scrutinizing me was evident by the whispers that sounded like an eerie unfamiliar mantra. I walked through a bustling downtown. Most towns strewn through America were dusty, deflated, business boarded up, closed down, but Stevats, for some odd reason, was a flourishing community. There was still activity, events planned during the early summer heat, sidewalk sales, food vendors, and for being somewhat of a no man's land, was flourishing.

I made a turn down a back alley. A city street not quite big enough for two vehicles going opposite direction, but big enough for a small delivery truck or garbage truck. The brick facade was red. I recognized it immediately as the "Red Brick" district. This was the final place that Benson Rhoades killed the tattoo artist. I walked slowly, looking at the unmarked businesses, and ahead was the yellow crime scene tape surrounding a tattered black door. I stopped at the door and wondered how panicked, or how calm, cool and collected the cold blooded murderer could have been after he sodomized, slit and pissed on the artist. Shivers ran a course up and down my spine, and a cold breeze blew on my face. I swear I smelled someone's bad breath, or that coppery scent that I imagined wafted from the killer himself. I scurried away not because I was terrified, but because I didn't feel like I belonged, there were too many other places I wanted to investigate, and this area was clearly giving me a sign to get the fuck out.

Sorry for the abrupt ending on this narration, but I lost steam. I hope you enjoyed what I did have, and by all means, get your copy of Stolen Seed today, signed and personalized by me, the author. Thanks so much!

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Tim Eagle

Tim Eagle is an author of the novellas Stolen Seed, Life Ship, and the Vasectomus Collection. He lives full time, on the road, with his wife, Maria and their dog, Cocoa. He grew up in Michigan and is inspired by the dysfunction of America. His books are available on Amazon, godless and this site timeaglefiction.com