Showing results by author "David Boyer" in All Categories

Elnora was a young woman from Indiana who, after a horrific, abusive childhood, sought solace in the arms of men who didn't love her but were better than nothing when it came to being all alone in the world. Until she was a victim of the Blitz - a violent, brutal rape and beating in which her attackers left her for dead.

As an “amateur” filmmaker, I can't rightfully boast of being another Spielberg or Eastwood, but I know a really crappy movie when I see one. For example: the ever-present “final girl” chase scene at the end of most low-budget horror films. In reality? That is not the way it happens at all. I should know, from experience...

The subject of the “edgy Christian fiction” genre has been of great interest to me for some time, and I still have yet to figure out just what the term “edgy” actually means. As in all genres of literature, there will always be writers who push the envelope, cross over dangerous boundaries, and walk that thin line between what is considered “suitable” for viewing by the public eye and what is considered “un-sanitized” in mainstream literature.

When the ghastly thing opened its mouth, Alan could have sworn he could smell the overwhelming odor of death itself, coming from deep inside it's rotting guts.

In the late 1970s, at the height of the disco club scene's popularity, little did anyone know it, but a silent, invisible killer known as HIV would soon cause not only a nationwide panic, but an increase in sexual freedom, believe it or not. With such a deadly and wide spread killer on the loose - transmitted primarily by sexual contact - then why the increase in sexual promiscuity?

Unfortunately, even small towns - Vincennes included - eventually change, sometimes for the better, and other times, not so much. It's the natural order of things. Trees grow old and fall. Sidewalks split and crack and are replaced for public safety's sake. Old houses - and all the memories associated with them - are demolished and replaced with parking lots or duplexes. Even historical landmarks - Mother Nature, and Father Time having taken their toll - sadly, vanish - except for our own pictures and memories of them.

Leo Baynes, a rich, charming entrepreneur, whose personal tastes tend to lean toward the “exotic”, was so intent on discovering the secret of his own wanderlust, he would travel to the very ends of the earth just to satisfy his own insatiable thirst for things most men would run from. That is, until he met Chio - the cat woman. Now, the very doorway was now opening to more than just a handful of humans who had ever known existed, much less tasted, pleasures that would redefine the parameters of sexual sensation - and other unknown terrors...

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 janitor at the local hospital has been seeing dead people. Real dead people. They follow him around the halls, trying to speak to him, and showing him visions of unspeakable horrors. Why do they want to speak to him? Why the ghastly, nightmarish visions? Before the night is over, the truth behind it all may be a lot more terrifying than he could ever imagine....

A centuries-old vampire is captured and tormented over his past, and it makes him realize how lonely and lovelorn he really is. He longed in his heart for the love of his Jezel, his sweet Jezel, whose sweet, dark soul was taken from her as she slept beside him, a wooden stake driven through her heart.

So says a man named Davis, an aspiring writer who, after losing almost everything and everyone he has ever valued or loved, decides to write one last story before the Covid virus strain of 2023 claims his life as well - or the power and internet fails, whichever comes first.

The full moon rose up over the lake, its beams shining on the rippling waters and making them shine like hundreds of tiny little diamonds. Back in the shadows of the wood, beyond the tree line, a thousand tiny little eyes shined like liquid pools of blood in the moon's light show, resembling a thousand tiny Christmas tree ornaments.

A collection of interviews with true crime writers, who share their insight into penning a successful true crime book, including Stephen Singular, Barbara Bentley, John Gilmore, and Dary Matera.

Lucid dreaming: Experienced with the dreamer feeling awake, aware of dreaming, and able to control events consciously. Nightmares: A frightening or unpleasant dream; a terrifying or very unpleasant experience. Lucid Nightmares: Being awake during a terrifying experience, and helpless to do anything about it.

In the story “Beautiful Ghost”, an aging writer, reflecting back on his youth–and his first true love–finally realizes that the only way he'll ever see her again is in his dreams. In “Dancing with the King”, a lonely, awkward young girl who is terrorized by the local bullies finds solace in being able to dance with the ghost of Elvis. A heartbroken man grieving over the loss of his beloved pet is granted a visit to the Rainbow Bridge.

In Tiny Terrors: Part 2, author David Boyer once again thrusts the listener head first into a world we thought we knew all too well, but weren't aware of what may exist in that world once you've crossed the barrier between the light and the darkness.

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.

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.