The shack had been built from scraps of wood. It was a chaotic assembly of junk heap odds and ends. There was a door laying horizontal, forming the base of one of the walls. Denton spotted an old-fashioned washboard fitting in like a puzzle piece higher up. The thing looked like a clubhouse built by children.
“You’ll want something to cover your mouth. The smell inside is pretty rank,” the state trooper said.
Out in the open air, the odor was unbelievably horrible; he couldn’t imagine how it could be worse inside. Denton wondered whether he had made a big mistake.
The trooper unlocked a padlock and held aside the police tape for him.
He proceeded alone. Bill stayed by the road leaning against the SUV. He called after him, “Just remember, look with your eyes not your hands.”
He took a deep breath and shielded his mouth and nose with a handkerchief clenched tightly in his fist, before opening the door.
It seemed somehow larger on the inside. It was dark. The only light came from the open doorway behind him and the little bit that managed to seep in through the cracks. He struggled to take in the details as his senses were assaulted. Even with his nose covered, the smell was overpowering. The heat was unbelievable; the dismembered cow organs were literally baking in the July weather. The drone of flies seemed louder than they had any right to be. The combined effect made his brain sluggish and he was slow to comprehend the things he saw.
Directly in front of the door was an altar. The centerpiece was a large, crude carving of a bull’s head. Several of the organs had been nailed to it. Each eye was bulbous and meaty, crawling with dozens of flies.
More organs lay on the floor. Some might have been placed there. Others had fallen, after rotting off of their hooks. There was a long length of intestine hanging from a ceiling beam.
As he thought about it, the intestines seemed to writhe and twist in his mind, until they formed a figure eight. The body parts—there were exactly eight of them—seemed to form two neat circles on the floor. The walls were covered in eights scrawled in blood.
Title: Mr. 8
Author: David J. Thirteen
Genre: Psychological Thriller / Horror
Psychology professor Denton Reed has been pulled out of the classroom to find a killer. Bodies are turning up all over the quiet town of Bexhill. They are found dismembered and burned beyond recognition in a snow covered farmer’s field, by the abandoned mill, and under the train bridge. The only clue linking the victims is the bizarre figure eight patterns left behind in their homes.
Denton must use his unique profiling techniques to uncover the murderer, who the police have dubbed Mr. 8. As he begins to unravel the mystery, a strange pattern begins to emerge. Before their deaths, each victim was seized by dark obsessions and inexplicable changes in behavior. Whatever strange forces are affecting the people of Bexhill, they may actually be more dangerous than any killer.
As a wave of insanity sweeps the town, Denton will put his life on the line to get to the source of the madness and risk all to protect the woman he loves.
But is it already too late?
David J. Thirteen has studied English Literature, Film Making, and Media Studies. He has lived and worked in the technology field for twenty years throughout the North East, in both Canada and the U.S. Writing has been a hidden passion for most of his life.
Mr. 8 is his first published novel and will be in stores on February 5th, 2015. It was first written as a serial story on Wattpad, where it became a #1 ranked feature novel. He still writes and posts new stories on Wattpad every week.
David currently lives in Toronto, Canada and lives a bright life, while dreaming dark dreams.