Excerpt from Lee Allen Howard’s Dark Sci-fi Thriller,
Available for Kindle
THE SIXTH SEED, my dark paranormal novel that’s a mash-up of sci-fi, family drama, alien abduction, and suburban horror, is available for immediate purchase. Brace yourself for protagonist Tom Furst’s fateful vasectomy and then download for more.
Scroll to the end for purchase options…
Chapter 1
Tom Furst lay on his back on an examination table in Sterling Health Center, dreading the procedure he was about to undergo.
His mother-in-law had been delighted when he and Melanie were expecting their first child, happy with their second, concerned at their third, disappointed about their fourth, and disgusted when she deduced they were having a fifth. She cornered him alone in the kitchen of her suburban Pittsburgh home last Christmas before the family dinner.
“My Melanie is not a baby factory. Get fixed,” she said, snipping the poultry scissors at his crotch, “or I’ll fix you myself.”
Tom had always used condoms, unaware they weren’t entirely effective. The latest surprise compounded their financial pressures—they simply couldn’t afford any more children. So here he was, lying on an exam table, barely covered by a paper gown.
The door to the exam room clicked open, and a thin red-haired nurse stepped in.
“Mr. Furst? I’m sorry, there’s been a change in plans.”
Tom propped himself on his elbows and adjusted the blue paper over his groin.
“Dr. Lindquist was called away for an emergency. Another doctor is taking his place for the procedure. He’ll be with you in a moment.”
Before Tom could object, the nurse slipped out and shut the door. He swung his legs off the table and sat up.
It was bad enough that his healthcare plan forced him to use their medical facility, but when they switched doctors on him, they were going too far.
He considered dressing and rescheduling the procedure. But he had already arranged for time off work, announced the vasectomy to his mother-in-law, and shaved his crotch as Dr. Lindquist requested. No need to face all that again. Besides, if he left now he might never come back—the instruments on the rollaway cart were making him nervous.
He supposed one urologist was as good as another. Reluctantly, he lay back down.
The door opened, and a tall dark-complected man in a paper smock entered. He approached the table where Tom’s bare legs hung over. Tom leaned up on his elbows again.
“I apologize for the last-minute change.” The doctor’s swift speech flowed smoothly from behind the surgical mask. Over top of it, his eyes were two black marbles embedded in fading bruises.
“I am Dr. Prindar Krakhil. I will perform the procedure this morning.” Krakhil lifted the paper gown.
The doctor’s gaze darted about, and Tom grew uneasy. Had this guy never seen male organs before?
“Good,” Krakhil said and let the paper drop.
The nurse returned as Krakhil stepped to the sink. After washing and drying his hands, he plucked floppy examination gloves from a dispenser on a cabinet. He wriggled into them, snapping the milky material over his long, slender hands, which he finally flexed at arms’ length.
Krakhil rested his wrists on Tom’s knees. “We will start with a local anesthetic on the right side, make an incision, cauterize the right vas deferens, and then repeat the procedure on the left side. After that, I will suture the incisions.”
Krakhil folded back the gown. Tom flushed with embarrassment. Perhaps this was just another procedure for the doctor, but it was the utmost humiliation for Tom, especially with the nurse looking on. Yet, she was also a professional and had probably attended hundreds of vasectomies. If you’ve seen one guy’s bald junk, he supposed, you’ve seen them all.
Krakhil tore open an alcohol swatch. Tom spread his legs, resting his knees against the cold chrome stirrups. Krakhil scrubbed the cool patch in the crease of Tom’s thigh. The fierce antiseptic stung his shaved skin.
Krakhil reached for a hypodermic, poked the needle into a small glass bottle, and withdrew a measure of liquid. Holding the syringe before his dark eyes, he thumbed the plunger.
A few tiny drops arced from the needle, splattering Tom’s abdomen. A chill rushed through him.
“Just relax.” Krakhil’s voice was silken, but something about his manner disturbed Tom.
Krakhil sunk the needle into his groin.
Tom jerked, banging his knees against the stirrups. He gritted his teeth and gripped the table sides, silently praying for the searing pain to stop. His heart thrashed. Cold sweat formed on his forehead.
After a moment the doctor pulled the needle out and pressed gauze on the spot. “Sorry about that.”
Tom looked at the nurse. She was staring wide-eyed at Krakhil, her mouth ajar.
While Tom waited for the mercy of the anesthetic to manifest, the nurse pressed a rectangular gray patch onto his left side. An insulated wire connected it to the table.
“This grounds you for the cauterization,” she said. Her eyes were a creamy blue, the color of the star sapphire on her neck chain.
Krakhil busily swabbed Tom’s privates with Betadine. The feeling faded away. When the doctor finished, he reached a gloved hand between Tom’s legs. “Can you feel this?”
“No,” Tom said, wondering what the doctor was doing. Wringing his scrotum like a dishrag? On second thought, he didn’t want to know.
“I will make the first incision.”
Tom concentrated on breathing slower.
“Do not move.”
Tom laid his head on the padded rest and willed his legs to stop trembling.
Leaning forward, the doctor stared intently below the rumple of paper gown over Tom’s stomach.
“Lee Howard stitches together a story where the suspense never lets up.” –Ron Edison
“THE SIXTH SEED abducted my imagination and unsettled me with its pitch-perfect blend of science fiction, body horror and domestic terror. What a weird read!” –Michael A. Arnzen, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of Proverbs for Monsters
“Lee Allen Howard is an imaginative writer with slick, vivid prose and high octane pacing. He writes like no one else, and I mean this in a very good way.” –Trent Zelazny, author of Fractal Despondency
“Howard brings alien invasion up close and personal… buckle up for a thrill ride.” –Scott Nicholson, author of Liquid Fear
Perry got rolled last night during a blackout. He’s looking for what he’s lost, and that’s more than his wallet and cell phone. He finds Talia; Talia finds him.
Reading Zelazny is like going on a drinking binge and waking in the gutter. But among the messy people in a sad, depressing world is existential philosophy cocooned in beautiful writing. Zelazny has a knack for turning phrases—not just on the page, but in your mind.
Along with despair, there is humor: “To Perry he looked like a kid who’d been picked on in school, which over time had given him the options of suicide, junkie, criminal, or law enforcement.” Priceless.
In the end, there is satisfaction. And thankfully, some hope. All while the butterfly watches.
I’ve read most of Trent Zelazny’s work, and along with TO SLEEP GENTLY, this is one of my new favorites.
Again, in DESTINATION UNKNOWN, Zelazny really puts the screws to his characters, and I relish that in a suspense tale. Just when you think you know where the story’s going,—blammo!—you’re off in a different direction and, by the end, careening downhill with no brakes. (I should warn you that I had to stop reading this one late at night because it was jacking my adrenaline and I couldn’t get to sleep.)
The characters are deep as they are wounded. Brian and Kate tragically lost a son and think they’ve received a boon when they come across some money. A lot of money. But the owner wants it back, and will do anything to get it.
DESTINATION UNKNOWN will keep you guessing to the end, and wincing at every development along the way. Classic TZ with an 80s music soundtrack. Loved every freaking page. Please write another.
Then tag 7 more authors to carry forward the 777 game. Add their links, and remember to link to the person who tagged you… (Also, let everyone know.)
From page 77 of DEATH PERCEPTION:
Antogonist Cecil Grinold puts protagonist Kennet Singleton to the test, to see if the young man really can discern cause of death by toasting marshmallows over the cremated remains of the deceased. But Grinold is up to no good, of course.
“I was just thinking of a little experiment.” Yes, why not find out whether my young employee is telling the truth or inventing tall tales? Knowing that his psychic “gift” was impossible, Cecil gloated about the time when he would fire Kennet for good. Hopefully, soon.
“Experiment?”
“Yes, Kennet. Are the marshmallows still here?”
“Unless you threw them away.”
“I should have, but I didn’t. Bring them out.”
“I hope there’s no problem . . . ”
“Relax. Just get the marshmallows.” Dummy.
Okay, so I posted a few more than 7 sentences, but it was a good breaking point. You can learn more about DEATH PERCEPTION here.
Rose’s links are at the beginning of this post, and here are links to 7 of my friends’ blogs. Check them out. Read their stuff. Support writers!
THE SIXTH SEED, my dark paranormal novel that’s a mash-up of sci-fi, family drama, alien abduction, and suburban horror, is available for immediate purchase. Enjoy the prologue and then download for more.
Prologue
3:00 AM.
Even the New Year’s Eve celebrations had dwindled to a drunken slumber in West Mifflin, Pennsylvania.
A shaft as bright as lightning blasted the roof of the suburban split-level below. As the ship settled over the house, the light twisted the shadows of the juniper trees across the empty driveway like the hands of a clock, racing through the first hours of 1975.
Big-headed, gray-skinned beings with eyes like saucers of glistening caviar floated through the open bedroom windows on drafts of frigid air.
Ten-year-old Melanie Holstrom levitated from the yellow canopy bed, her straight sandy-blond hair grazing the rumpled sheets beneath her. A curled paper noisemaker tumbled from her hand to the shag carpet.
They took hold of her with long, flabby fingers and guided her toward the window. She did not resist. Could not. Her face was locked in a rictus of fear.
In the adjoining bedroom, the small gray beings held down the mother.
Margaret Holstrom too was frozen with terror distorting her features, now wet with tears. White hands clutching the bedsheets, her polished fingernails glinted in the light from the hovering ship outside the window.
Minutes later, inside the vessel the girl lay prone on one of a hundred white tables, her flowered nightie hoisted to her chest for the examination. Now a surreal memory were the Chex Mix, the games of Yahtzee and Trouble, toasting Mom with sparkling grape juice in the fancy crystal glasses as the ball dropped at Times Square on Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve.
Without sound, she mouthed the words, “Please . . . don’t . . .”
The creatures paid no heed as they slowly drove the needle deep into her abdomen.
“Not again!”
do not be afraid we must
Tears coursed down Melanie’s freckled temples into her ears. Her mouth yawed open in a silent scream.
do not move we must extract—do not move we must extract
In the house, her mother knew but could not see. Could not help her. Could not stop them. The creatures held her down and gazed at her with eyes like black frost melting.
In the ship, they withdrew the needle from Melanie’s abdomen. It dripped with blood but contained what they were after: a single ovum. The probe-bearer stepped away from its fellow beings around the examination table and moved deeper into the ship, carrying their prize.
she is the one
she is chosen
Yet no one saw. No one knew—except for one man—and these words were no comfort to her.
The big-headed beings escorted Melanie from the ship through the glacial night air and replaced the girl in her bed.
Then they exited the house, drawn into the vessel on a beam of bluish light. The light blinked off and the ship rose into the night, its occupants acknowledging not a passing year, but the dawn of a new era in the evolution of both their races.
The plan of the ages was underway.
What writers are saying:
“Lee Howard stitches together a story where the suspense never lets up.” –Ron Edison
“THE SIXTH SEED abducted my imagination and unsettled me with its pitch-perfect blend of science fiction, body horror and domestic terror. What a weird read!” –Michael A. Arnzen, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of Proverbs for Monsters
“Lee Allen Howard is an imaginative writer with slick, vivid prose and high octane pacing. He writes like no one else, and I mean this in a very good way.” –Trent Zelazny, author of Fractal Despondency
“Howard brings alien invasion up close and personal… buckle up for a thrill ride.” –Scott Nicholson, author of Liquid Fear
Gimping through his grief over a lost love, lost in a way that can only damage, Blake Gladstone has much to recover from: choices she made, choices he made. As he struggles to go on with life in Santa Fe, he meets Denise, who introduces him to 24/7 spiced rum. And danger.
Has Denise come to rescue him, or finish him off? Blake must deal with more choices: choices she made, choices he made. She disappears and reappears, and when she does, Zelazny portrays it with an electrifying sense of doom. The characters are disturbing, their pain is palpable, the suspense is taut. Recommended.
do not move we must extract— THE SIXTH SEED, my dark paranormal novel that’s a mash-up of sci-fi, family drama, alien abduction, and suburban horror, is now on sale for only 99 cents. Download now for a summer scare!
Here’s what writers are saying:
“Lee Howard stitches together a story where the suspense never lets up.” –Ron Edison
“THE SIXTH SEED abducted my imagination and unsettled me with its pitch-perfect blend of science fiction, body horror and domestic terror. What a weird read!” –Michael A. Arnzen, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of Proverbs for Monsters
“Lee Allen Howard is an imaginative writer with slick, vivid prose and high octane pacing. He writes like no one else, and I mean this in a very good way.” –Trent Zelazny, author of Fractal Despondency
“Howard brings alien invasion up close and personal… buckle up for a thrill ride.” –Scott Nicholson, author of Liquid Fear
