Monthly Archives: October 2015

Fiction

Death Comes at Night – Great Halloween Read

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Death Comes at Night Cemetery Reading
The author takes a moment to read Death Comes at Night, in the Cemetery.

While outside the norm of my usual posts, I wanted you all to know it’s not too late to get your copy of my novel, Death Comes at Night.

It makes a great Halloween read, especially at night.

Death Comes at Night is available for Kindle on Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Death-Comes-Night-James-Dalrymple-ebook/dp/B014GCF3MW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1446324523&sr=8-1&keywords=Death+Comes+at+Night

For Nook on Barnes & Noble:

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/death-comes-at-night-james-dalrymple/1122514723?ean=9781612965642

Death Comes at Night is available in paperback, or as an e-book. It is also available at Apple’s iBooks, and on the publisher’s website:

Black Rose Writing

http://www.blackrosewriting.com/suspensethriller/death-comes-at-night?rq=Death%20Comes%20at%20Night

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Here’s an excerpt from chapter 1:

“In there,” she said.

Daniel shivered.

“What is it? What’s in there?”

She didn’t answer. She turned back to stare inside.

Now I must be crazy.

Daniel Monson had never really done anything crazy in his life. He lived a normal life, a perfect life, sort of.

Good things don’t last.

Shut up.

Go home.

What are you doing here?

Against his better judgment, Daniel stepped around the woman, into the barn.

The light was blinding. He had stepped out of the blackness into a light much darker.

There she was.

The black cocktail dress was torn from her shoulder revealing pearl white skin. A trickle of blood dripped from the corner or her ruby lips. Her arms were above her head as if she were lounging. Her legs were skewed and her black dress was pushed too far up her hips. She had the bluest eyes he had ever seen. She was staring up at him, pleading. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t see this. Who did this?

Run.

He couldn’t run. His arms and legs felt very heavy. He hadn’t realized it, but his teeth were chattering.

So cold. So very cold.

He heard footsteps.

Running.

He turned to look at the woman in the doorframe. She was bleeding on the floor of the barn.

 

Mostly True Stories, Places

Fall in the Wasatch Mountains

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I turned off the engine and got out of my car. The first thing I noticed was the quiet. My footsteps crunched. The sound shattered the quiet so I stopped moving.

Not even a breath of air disturbed the stillness.

Late fall colors.
Late fall colors behind Mt. Timpanogos.

I strained to hear something, anything. A distant bird cry, found my ears. A hawk floated on invisible air currents above a mountain meadow. It had seen me first. Its screech brought relief. I had not lost my hearing, rather, I had lost the noise of cities and people when I drove beyond the paved road. It would take some time for my brain to adjust to the back country silence.

Heavy footsteps echoed against the mountains, coming closer. A father and son lumbered past, walking a nearby trail with rifles and backpacks. Deer hunters. They were not quiet. The deer would hear them coming.

Aspen Grove.
The leaves are mostly gone from this aspen grove behind Mt. Timpanogos, although fall colors remain.

I turned from my overlook and hiked into the Aspens. The stillness of open land evaporated amidst the stand of trees. It was not that it wasn’t quiet. It was more that the trees were aware of my passing and were whispering among themselves. I could hear them, but I could not understand the words. I was not unwelcome, but I was watched.

Fall had come to the high mountains. The calendar did not yet speak of winter, but the nearly barren branches spoke of cold nights and shortened days. Fall colors still glowed beneath the trees, holding on to their end-of-life color. There must be an inherent knowledge in nature that life will come again in order to celebrate death with such brilliance.

Mountain stream, American Fork Canyon.
Time slows down near a mountain stream in American Fork Canyon.

In the distance I could hear the soughing of water. In a few minutes I found the stream. It wasn’t a big stream but it had been raining and the gentle babble was swelling to a rush. A persistent drizzle suggested more rain was coming. Perhaps the stream had river aspirations.

American Fork Canyon.
Rays of light penetrate the clouds just before sunset in American Fork Canyon behind Mount Timpanogos.

I would not stay long in these mountains, this day. My journey was meant only as a reminder of peace and place and permanence in Mother Nature’s cycles.

I would touch the earth to quiet my soul and take with me a portion of stillness.

Deer Creek Overlook, Wasatch Back.
The leaves are mostly gone from this aspen grove behind Mt. Timpanogos, although fall colors remain.
Moss grows rich and thick and green near a small stream in American Fork Canyon.
Berries brightly accent the fall colors of American Fork Canyon.
Berries remain, perhaps as bear food for the coming winter in American Fork Canyon.
Water drops bead on forest floor foliage in American Fork Canyon.
Although many leaves have fallen at high elevations, some fall colors remain along this stream in American Fork Canyon.
Mountain stream in American Fork Canyon.
Slowing time on a mountain stream in American Fork Canyon.
Moss grows on all sides of these woods in American Fork Canyon.
Late fall colors behind Mt. Timpanogos.
Fall colors reamin in an aspen grove near Mt. Timpanogos.
Rays of light penetrate the clouds just before sunset in American Fork Canyon behind Mount Timpanogos.