Blood Writer and other stories...

By Joe Cleary

The exciting debut short story collection from writer Joe Cleary, containing thirty-five thousand words of original fiction. Seven short stories, including Blood Writer, In Memoriam, The Subway Knight, Eternally Late, Last Ride to Half Moon Canyon, Spare Room, and Who's a Good Boy? Joe kicks off four brand new series in a variety of genres.

The collection also includes an exclusive preview of Joe's forthcoming novel, The Truth About Ann, the first novel in the Shore Point series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barker Press
• Release date: Jul 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201713256

Book preview

Blood Writer and other stories...

Joe Cleary

Blood Writer and other stories... is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by Joe Cleary

All rights reserved.

joeclearyauthor.com

Published by Barker Press.

This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book The Truth About Ann by Joe Cleary. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming editions.

ebook ISBN TBD

ISBN TBD

Cover Design: Joe Cleary

Cover Illustration: [e-mail]/depositphotos

For Meg,

with love.

Contents

An Introduction

The Subway Knight

In Memoriam

Eternally Late

Blood Writer

Spare Room

Last Ride to Half-Moon Canyon

Who’s a Good Boy?

The Truth About Ann

An Introduction

As I sit here writing this, putting the finishing touches on my first collection of short stories, I wonder what there is to say that the stories won’t say themselves. I suppose you’d like to know what they are about, but to learn that you’ll have to read them.

What I will say is that these stories are varied in genre and tone, so if you are looking for a collection relegated to a single genre or style, you won’t find it here.

What you will find is a group of stories that I had a lot of fun writing, and that I hope you’ll enjoy reading. There’s a supernatural thriller, a ghost story, a super-hero story of sorts, an urban fantasy story, a paranormal thriller, a micro-fiction romance, and perhaps my favorite story in the collection, a story about a couple of dogs with a lot of personality.

Several of the stories are the first in a series, and you can expect to see more of them in future collections. Those series will also get their own collections at some point. And each of the stories will be published individually (eventually) for those of you who want to pick and choose your favorites.

In addition, I’ve included the first chapter of my forthcoming novel, The Truth About Ann, due out later this year.

That you are reading this introduction and the accompanying stories at all is an incredible gift to me. Thank you. I cannot tell you how much it means to me to offer you a few moments of entertainment and relaxation.

I’ve dreamed of writing for as long as I can remember, but somehow never found the time to make that dream come true. Now that I’ve started down this path, I can’t imagine ever stopping.

The world is always a difficult place, and fiction has long been my own personal escape. It has also been one of the primary building blocks of my heart and soul. I hope this collection helps you get away from it all for a little while, and, if I’m really, really lucky, gives you a taste of the love I have for writing, and reading, for this beautiful, broken planet, and most especially for all of its wonderful, struggling people. For all of you.

Thank you.

Joe Cleary

July 28th, 2021

Shrewsbury Township, New Jersey

The Subway Knight

Working Class Heroes #1

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Mickey McAllister sat in the enclosed plexiglass booth in the 23rd Street subway station and read while he waited for customers. It was after 11 p.m. on Tuesday night, and most of the people who flooded into the city every day for work and gone home to their suburban retreats. The few remainders of the day that passed through the turnstiles beside his booth were mostly people who lived in the city or one of the boroughs. A few Jersey folk straggled through after a late workday or after-work nightcap at one of city’s many watering holes, but mostly it was locals with topped off MetroCards. None of them needed information, and since the city had stopped selling tokens, Mickey wondered how long it would be before his job was obsolete.

As long as it lasted, though, Mickey liked it. The pay wasn’t great, but he had medical, and he didn’t have to do too much. He spent most of his shift reading.

Tonight, he was reading Once and Future King by T.H. White, an old classic that he’d read a dozen times. He’d always felt bad for Lancelot, who struggled to overcome his personal demons and prove himself as Arthur’s greatest knight. Mickey thought he had a lot in common with Lancelot, and often wished he’d grown up in a different time and place, one where he’d have a chance to undertake an epic quest and prove himself to the world.

Mickey had no idea that he was going to get the chance to prove himself tonight, right here in the 23rd Street subway station, and that it would alter the course of his life forever.

One of the things Mickey liked best about the job was that he felt safe. New York could be a rough city, and he wasn’t a big, tough guy like Lancelot. He stood five-six and a half and weighed one-thirty after a big meal. He had pale, almost translucent skin that never tanned, only burned. His hands were small and fine-boned, his shoulders stooped and narrow, and no matter how much he worked out, he could never seem to gain an ounce of muscle. Pale blue eyes were almost invisible within his perpetual squint behind thick glasses, and his reddish-brown hair was retreating across his skull at a pace that made him look ten years older than his thirty-two years. He wasn’t the kind of guy anyone looked at twice unless they needed someone to pick on. He’d never felt like he belonged anywhere and had spent his life looking for places to hide. The plexiglass booth and high counter of the subway station gave him that, along with the illusion of safety. He felt like nothing could get him while he was inside.

The clock crept towards midnight, when he’d be able to clock out and head home to his small apartment in the basement of a tired old colonial in Yonkers. He couldn’t afford to live in the city, so he commuted up and down Riverside Drive in a beat-up 1976 Toyota Celica he’d bought ten years back when it was already an antique. It wasn’t pretty, but as long as he changed the oil regularly, it seemed like it would run forever.

The later it got, the fewer people there were around, and by a quarter to twelve, even the MTA police who checked in and kept an eye on the station had gone for a cup of coffee. For a few minutes, Mickey was alone in the station with his book and his thoughts.

A woman ran down the steps from the street and towards the turnstiles, looking over her shoulder the whole way. The echo of her high heels on the concrete floor drew Mickey’s attention away from his book. She was medium height, pretty, with short brown hair framing an angular face and big eyes. She wore a jeans jacket over a red tank top and black stretch pants, and she looked panicked. Mickey sat up straight in his seat to watch her. He had a feeling she was about to jump the turnstile.

She didn’t. Instead, she stopped and searched through her purse, probably looking for her MetroCard. She couldn’t seem to find it, probably because she kept looking behind her. She was trying to hold her cell phone in the same hand she was rifling her purse with, and she dropped it. It bounced off the concrete once and then slammed hard on the concrete, face down, with an audible snap.

Shit, she said. Shit, shit, shit! She crouched down to snatch up her phone and dropped her purse instead, spilling the contents across the station floor. SHIT! She fell to her knees and started tossing everything back into her bag.

Mickey didn’t notice the man until he spoke, and neither did she. They both jumped when a voice heavy with mock concern said, There you are. I was wondering where you’d gotten off to.

He was coming down the stairs, taking one step at a time in a slow, stiff-legged gait. He was a big guy, a little over six foot, and wore a grey hoodie and jeans with work boots. His hands were in the front pouch pocket of the hoodie. The hood hung down behind him, and his hair was dark and unkempt. A long goatee covered most of his mouth, parted by the white slash of a sinister smile. Mickey thought he looked like a wolf about to descend upon a wounded rabbit.

Leave me alone, the woman shouted, panic clear in her voice. She continued to stuff her belongings back into her purse as fast as she could.

Hey, relax. Relax, said the man. I just want to make sure you get home safe. He approached her, unhurried.

She didn’t respond, focused on picking up her stuff. She threw the last of her things into the purse and stood up, and he was right next to her. His right hand came out of his pocket and stabbed out to grab her upper arm. She tried to twist out of his reach, but he caught her arm and pulled her towards him.

Stop, she said. Please, stop! She kept trying to break his grip but pulling away, but her face was contorted in pain. It was obvious he was holding her tight.

He stood calmly next to her, pulling her towards him and talking in a low voice. Relax, babe. Take it easy. I just want to make sure you have a good night.

She kicked him in the shin.

His other hand whipped out of his pocket and slapped her across the face. I said take easy. She stumbled and caught herself but looked dazed. Blood trickled from her nose, and she stared at the man with vacant, glassy eyes.

Mickey was frozen with fear. He’d watched the scene unfold like a movie set up for his personal viewing. At first, he’d wondered if the man was her boyfriend, and he didn’t want to interfere. But as the man had gotten closer, he’d become less certain. The panic in her voice was real, he knew, because he’d felt it himself a few times. It was a feeling of helplessness, a feeling that brought back too