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Chapters (43)
  1. HUNTER SHEA
  2. For Tim Stanton.
  3. ‘Normality is a paved road. It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it.’
  4. ‘How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow? I must have a dark side also if I am to be whole.’
  5. Chapter One
  6. Chapter Two
  7. Chapter Three
  8. Chapter Four
  9. Chapter Five
  10. Chapter Six
  11. Chapter Seven
  12. Chapter Eight
  13. Chapter Nine
  14. Chapter Ten
  15. Chapter Eleven
  16. Chapter Twelve
  17. Chapter Thirteen
  18. Chapter Fourteen
  19. Chapter Fifteen
  20. Chapter Sixteen
  21. Chapter Seventeen
  22. Chapter Eighteen
  23. Chapter Nineteen
  24. Chapter Twenty
  25. Chapter Twenty-One
  26. Chapter Twenty-Two
  27. Chapter Twenty-Three
  28. Chapter Twenty-Four
  29. Chapter Twenty-Five
  30. Chapter Twenty-Six
  31. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  32. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  33. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  34. Chapter Thirty
  35. Chapter Thirty-One
  36. Chapter Thirty-Two
  37. Chapter Thirty-Three
  38. Chapter Thirty-Four
  39. Chapter Thirty-Five
  40. Chapter Thirty-Six
  41. Afterword
  42. About this book
  43. FLAME TREE PRESS

It was why no one had come to their aid, responding to their cries, the gunshots, or the roaring howls from the beast.

The creature had done everything in its power to keep them for itself.

The sun had just started to come up, bathing Kate’s face in a soft, orange glow, when he made it to the Bridge Mills Park.

Beyond exhausted, he gently removed her from the canoe, laying her on the sandy beach.

He collapsed next to her, Buttons settling on her other side.

They finally had their moment to watch the sunrise on the beach.

Afterword

After writing about ghosts and monsters, killers and demons for the past decade, this one proved a challenge I wasn’t sure I could handle. The whole thing hit a little close to home. You see, my wife has a host of autoimmune diseases, just like Kate, and what we’ve gone through is the very definition of horror. You name it, we’ve faced it – surgeries, life support, radiation, doctor and prescription merry-go-rounds, last rites, second chances, experimental treatments, third, fourth, and fifth chances, and on and on. The creature lives in her cells, has slipped into my skin and devoured my soul at times, has loomed over us at our darkest moments and continues to lie in wait as we take life one moment at a time.

Never one to shy from a challenge, I explained my idea for the story to my editor and friend, Don D’Auria, over cocktails one night in a dark bar. He asked me several times if I really wanted to put myself through this. I never hesitated. I’d already lived it. Writing it within the confines of a fictional horror tale would be a snap.

Well, as my wife will be quick to tell you, I’ve been wrong before. Creature was a labor of love and hate, of bad memories and worst fears. I wrote it while my wife was bedridden with a bout of pneumonia that defied everything the docs had thrown at it. She started an experimental treatment just as I was editing Creature. Talk about art imitating life and vice versa. Sometimes I get confused between what is real and what fresh hell has sprung from the black pit of my mind.