I am very happy to announce another book available for AMAZON’S KINDLE that is only a dollar to buy.
Here is an excerpt from one of the stories in This Beautiful Darkness –
The Place Things Go To Die
For as long as this place has existed, they have come here to bury the toys. We have come here to bury the toys.
Our toys.
This is their place, this is where the toys must go, and it’s we, the children, who must bury them because you bury what’s yours; that’s how it goes.
Ah, but it’s been a great many years since I have had a toy to bury out here in the field, but I still come here sometimes, late in the night, drawn by some dark magic I can’t resist. I come and I’ll sit under the great, lone tree, and will look out over the empty field and marvel at the place and what it’s become.
A graveyard.
Our graveyard.
A graveyard for toys and toys alone.
I’ll come here, in the darkness, my body unrecognizable to the boy I once was, bowed and broken but trying to move as if Death were not holding the door for me. Moving to mock my age and trying to be as fleet of foot as I had once been. I come here and sit and look out over this place and watch the phantom lights move out across the acres of wasted land. I watch them dance over the ground and moving over the burial ground where so many memories lay at rest. They move slow but deliberate, as if there is a plan to where they move and when. I found that if you stand here in your bare feet, as I have done since I was a boy, you can feel the heat bubbling up to the surface and coming up in waves. And I swear it, I swear it and those who come here would swear it that it is the heat of the toys coming up through the ground. The heat of their rage as it radiates upwards. The rage of all forgotten and abandoned things.
And it is that rage that has kept me up these many years.
I don’t sleep much anymore and will lie awake in the darkness of my bedroom and think about all the things I have buried here, each thing something I had loved as only a child can love – absolutely and completely. I think about the toys I buried and then I will look out the window and see all those great yellow monsters as they sleep, these machines of destruction and the signs claiming this land for a developer, and I shiver, as if they are to be the conqueror of what was never claimed. As if they can claim land no one can really own.
The field, the graveyard, destined to be yet another cookie-cutter subdivision. Another smudged sketch of the American dream.
I can’t help but wonder if they feel it when they are out there each day, those men with their machines. I wonder if they feel the power of this place. The sick, malignant, waiting power that has been patient for all these years I can’t even fathom.
I wonder if they have nightmares like I do.
Everything began for me, the fear, and the secret knowledge of this place, when I was a child, the time when we learn the darkest of life’s secrets.
Want to read more?
Check out This Beautiful Darkness for KINDLE.
Only $1
(It says $5 but it SHOULD be $1 darn it so give it a whirl!)
The Spooky World of Chris Ringler 