“Massacre at the Comic Shop” Preview
After a successful Kickstarter, my fourth book and first horror novel, Massacre at the Comic Shop, can be ordered in my Etsy store. It’s available for pre-order on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and wherever books are sold. The official release date is Tuesday, September 12.
“Galaxy’s Comics & Games is a small, hole-in-the-wall store where comic book readers and tabletop gamers can be themselves. When a mysterious, masked, killer slashes through his friends and regular customers, Eric, the store’s owner, must wrestle with some hard truths.”
I’ve decided to post Chapter 8 in its entirety to get people to read the book. DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE SPOILER-SENSITIVE. If you’re already planning on reading Massacre at the Comic Shop, maybe just wait until the book comes out. But if you’re just curious about the book then please read this free excerpt! Thank you.
Chapter 8
I suffer from night terrors. When I sleep, I dream about all the worst things that can happen in my life — like the shop I own going out of business or my parents dying. Other times, what I dream about aren’t surface-level or even remotely logical fears. They can feel worse because, unlike dreams that involve real worries of mine, the whole world is a darker place in these dreams. The people I love will say the words of my biggest enemies. I lose all my strengths and I become irreparably hindered by my weaknesses. No one behaves like themselves. Instead, everyone around me behaves like the same monster tormenting me. I’m alone in these dreams. It’s just me against the world. It’s a place where nothing has worked out and I can count on no one for anything — not even myself.
When I have dreams like this, I wake up screaming.
My night terrors are rarely violent. I don’t “dream about cutting off heads with a shovel” like that one Insane Clown Posse song. I don’t dream about being victimized with a shovel either. But nonetheless, these dreams feel like what I imagine the final girl must feel like near the end of a slasher flick — terror, loneliness and devastation.
The final girl stands alone against the masked, blade-wielding killer. All her friends have been killed but she remains. She might have tears in her eyes, but she still stands tall. She is relentless and refuses to die. She does what she needs to do to survive. She will cut through the rope to escape from where the killer has trapped her. She will jump out the closed window of a two-story building and let the glass shards pierce her flesh. She will do everything in her power to persevere. Because the final girl must live another day. There’s still a whole world out there away from the killer and away from this horrible place he has forever tainted. She must escape and arrive at her next destination. Because life is worth living, God dammit. She’s gone through too much to let some psychopathic maniac end her story prematurely. She is stronger than this. She is stronger than him. That’s why she is the only survivor.
Who am I in the slasher movie? I’m pretty sure I’m the nerdy guy or the stoner who gets killed sometime in the second act — or as Cabin in the Woods called this character archetype, “the fool.” I don’t think I have the fortitude of the final girl. When I’m battling demons in my sleep, if it gets too much, all I need to do is wake up from the nightmare. But the final girl at the end of a slasher flick? She truly has to beat this monster. In her fight for survival, she has to win. And she uses all her might and wits to do it.
This is something I’ve talked to Anna about. She thinks I could survive a slasher flick. Because I’m a pop culture nerd and I know and understand all the “rules” of surviving the killer’s rampage — such as don’t have sex, don’t do drugs, don’t split up and never say “I’ll be right back.” She has a point. Not breaking these rules might be how I’d survive the Scream movies. However, the Scream movies are a meta commentary on the genre. In most slasher flicks, the characters not only don’t know they’re in a movie, but they have no reason to believe the killer is following horror movie logic.
I sat at home staring at the TV. Images of Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy and King Shark flashed back at me, but I wasn’t listening or comprehending anything. It’s a Monday night and David should be hanging out with me on my one day off like he always is. But he’s not here. David isn’t watching the show with me. Because a masked killer with a chainsaw ended his life, like something straight out of a slasher flick.
Ever since I witnessed four people get murdered, my night terrors have not only worsened but become guaranteed like gravity. While they used to be more occasional, I’ve had them every night since. And for the first time, my night terrors have started to become violent too.
Even if today weren’t a Monday, my one day of the week off, Galaxy’s Comics & Games is temporarily closed by order of the local police. It’s a crime scene. No civilian is allowed to go inside the comic shop until whatever they’re investigating is finished.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
My phone sat on the coffee table in front of me. It was on Silent Mode, but I heard the vibrations of a new text message I’d received. I reached over and grabbed my phone. It was Anna. She had sent me an article from a local newspaper. The headline read “Four Dead in Massacre at Comic Shop.” This article was accompanied by a text from Anna that simply said, “WTF?”
I’d already read the article. In fact, I’m quoted in it. A local journalist talked to me after it happened.
Even though I was one of the primary sources the reporter used in the article, I still learned something from reading it. Apparently, whoever killed those people used a simple, wooden doorstop to prevent the back door from opening. From the outside, the killer stuck one under the closed door. This sneaky trick practically “locked” the door so the victims couldn’t escape.
After finding out about this, I read online that enough brute force should’ve been able to open the door — like kicking or body slamming oneself into it. But I guess in their panicked state, James, Brian and Robert didn’t think to do that. Instead, they turned around and ran back in the direction of the front door and the deranged killer.
I texted Anna back, “Yep, David’s funeral arrangements are on Wednesday.”
I looked at what I just sent and thought about it. This may have sounded insensitive. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m traumatized for life so maybe people should cut me some slack right now. Nonetheless, I don’t want to make it sound like David was the only one of the four killed who I cared about. David was one of my best friends, but it pains me thinking about what happened to all those guys.
Also, maybe Anna was interested in the funeral arrangements of the other three. I know Anna knew David but I’m not sure if she knew the three Yu-Gi-Oh players. Often, I’m not paying a lot of attention to what’s happening at the gaming tables. However, I’m assuming Anna knew at least one of them. She didn’t play card games or Dungeons & Dragons at the store, but she did often hang out at the gaming tables and draw in her sketchbook.
Upon reflection, I then sent another text. It said, “Let me know if you want the info on that… or the others who died.”
Anna replied with “Yeah, text me about David’s funeral” and another text that said, “can I call?” I texted back, “yes.”
The phone rang immediately afterwards. I picked it up.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey there,” Anna replied. “How are you feeling?”
I didn’t know how to respond. There was a pause.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand,” Anna said.
Disregarding the last statement, I said, “I can’t believe I’m alive. I don’t feel like I deserve to be here. Why did I get to survive?”
Family members have said my autism is why I’m so honest. Maybe. But at this moment, I really did need to talk to someone.
“That’s tough,” Anna said. “I’m here for you, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” I replied.
There was another pause. I have no idea for how long. Since the killings, I’ve lost much of my conception of time.
“So, what’s gonna happen to Galaxy’s Comics and Games?” Anna said, breaking the silence.
I struggled with the previous question because I didn’t know how to put my thoughts into words. But this question genuinely stumped me.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Like, are you gonna permanently close the doors?” Anna asked.
There was another pause.
“Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about that,” I told her. “Probably not, though. Right now, the store is shut down by police order. It’s a crime scene. They got the tape on it and everything. Even I can’t go inside.”
“Why do they think the killer did it?” Anna asked.
“Who?” I asked.
“The police,” she said.
“Oh. I don’t know. They haven’t told me,” I said.
There was another pause in the conversation. I hope Anna isn’t thinking there’s something wrong with me. I already have a developmental disability that specifically affects the way I communicate. And watching my friend and three other customers die last week hasn’t exactly helped.
“I sympathize with what you’re going through,” Anna said. “I wasn’t close to David like you were. But I get it. I never told you this, but my dad was killed. Or at least cancer killed him. Brain cancer. It was extremely fast. He died just months after his diagnosis.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied.
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Your shit is new though. You have my sympathy,” Anna said.
Without skipping a beat, Anna said, “I don’t think you should shut down the store. My dad was in the hospital for a while, but then he had at-home hospice care. In his last days, I read Calvin and Hobbes to him on his deathbed. I read the book collections he gave me as a kid. Those Calvin and Hobbes books were some of the first comics I ever read. That tumor had him all kinds of fucked up. He drooled a lot and wasn’t all there. But he still knew why his daughter was reading this comic to him. And why it was special.”
“It sounds like you really loved him,” I said.
“Yeah,” Anna replied. “And I guess I’ve always viewed my love for comics as like an extension of that love we had for each other — if that makes any sense.”
“It does,” I said.
There was another pause before I blurted out a question of my own.
“What if this killer is trying to destroy my shop?” I asked.
“Well, you better not let this asshole win then,” Anna said.
