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111 pages

English

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Bounty hunter siblings Meredith Caplan, known as Murray, and Travis Peck are hired to catch a skeletal creeping figure roaming the neighborhoods of their small Mississippi town. Masking her soft vulnerability under a tough, thick candy shell, Murray packs up her shotgun Jinx and her dog Karma to prepare for the hunt. Meanwhile, two redneck ranchers provoke a roving pack of wild Dogmen and find themselves suddenly the prey instead of the poachers. As their paths collide with Murray at an abandoned ranger station in the darkest corner of the forest, two young amateur hikers, Janine and Holly, find themselves trapped amongst the instigators between two monstrous forces eager to savor the taste of their marrow. As if things couldn’t become more desperate, the vicious Officer Nathanial Dixon, scarred by Murray years before has also found himself at the center of the carnage. Hellbent on taking his revenge upon the woman, he won’t let the threat of warring supernatural beasts deter him from collecting his pound of flesh. Summoning an inner strength that has nothing to do with muscle mass, Murray must overcome not only the demons at her door but the demons from her past in order to survive.

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Publié par	AuthorHouse
Date de parution	20 septembre 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781665570763
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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The RAKE vs DOGMAN

and other stories

TIM SONSKI

AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: 833-262-8899

© 2022 Tim Sonski. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/19/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7075-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6655-7076-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022917075

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Illustrations done by Mr. X-Dreams.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Contents
Acknowledgements
Author’s Note
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Voicemails in The Dark
The Devil’s Picnic
Acknowledgements
First thing’s first.
Thank you, Lindsey Stirling.
You’re an earthbound angel with transparent wings, a heart of gold and fantastic legs.
Call me.
This project would not have been possible without the support of the YouTube community. The jagged point of that metaphorical spear being Unit 522, who humored my tendencies to scribble out an occasional story for his channel. If this project ever had a shot of finding an audience, it was because of his willingness to produce the original audio drama. His endless hours of heavy-eyed editing, weaving all the respective talents into a harrowing, macabre tapestry of excellence paved the way for this novelization. I’m sure he would have rather been drunk watching Resident Evil.
On the chessboard, the queen has the most range and power, and no analogy could better suit our leading lady Eden, who’s practically internet royalty herself. She not only provided the voice for Murray but gave her the heart of a lion and the soul of a warrior. Thanks to her range and power, she transformed a character on the page into the heroine of our dreams.
To the supporting cast of voice actors, narrators, artists, and musicians who helped bring the audio drama and the bonus stories to life, it’s ingenuity and support like yours that holds up the Roman Colosseum to this day.
Special thanks to Mr. X-Dreams for creating the illustrations for this novel. Had you been drawing during the Renaissance, marble statues of you would doubtlessly adorn our museums today. If mine is the only book ever to be painted with your brush, the world is truly unjust.
To the fans, there’s so many more of you than I could have hoped, and I’m forever grateful for your support. Thanks to you, a wish became a dream, and a dream became a reality.
To Neil Marshall, thanks for directing “ Dog Soldiers ” and “ The Descent .” Inspiration for this story was harvested from your creative labors.
To my family and friends, who entertained and encouraged my desire to write scary stories and gave me advice on how to load ammo, suture wounds, and restructure a sentence, your patience with me is greatly appreciated. An additional gold-plated cornucopia of gratitude to my cousin Brianna for allowing me to shamelessly make her German Shepard Karma look so heroic.
And finally, to Sean and Maria, thank you for waiting patiently beside that ravine as I constructed this story. It was the bridge that led me to you.
Oh, and I guess Drew...
Author’s Note
Just a head’s up for those who listened to the original Creepypasta, this is not going to be a verbatim transcript. Obviously, a script designed for an audio drama won’t read like a novel, so the narrative structure has been reformatted. As such, this provided me the opportunity to make some minor alterations to help the adapted story shine on its own. I hope the fans won’t begrudge me a little creative polishing.
Don’t worry, Karma’s still in it.

“The Rake vs Dogman isn’t just a story about scary monsters. It’s a story about people. It’s a story about how far people are willing to go to survive. But more than that, it’s about how much of a struggle it truly is to maintain your sense of humanity when surrounded by monsters. Actual monsters and those pretending to be human. This story is an unforgettable journey that will leave you thrilled, spellbound, heartbroken and screaming for the heroine as she kicks ass.”
-Eden, aka “Murray”

1
AUGUST 2016
Jasper Womack washed the blood from his hands in the rapidly moving current of the street runoff right before it disappeared into the storm drain. The water was freezing cold and spotted with soggy cigarette butts, and he had a dismal certainty that someone had just puked not far upstream as well.
To hell with it. He thought grimly as he wiped his hands on the side of his jeans. Life was dirty, and he couldn’t afford to be seen with stained hands. It would draw too much attention. Although to be fair, that may be a moot point now. He had just caused quite a ruckus at the strip club up the road. One of the girls had been just fine getting on top of him for a long intimate lap dance, but the moment he had put his tongue in her ear she had freaked out and slapped him. He felt he had shown a good deal of restraint when he had reciprocated by simply knocking her front teeth out instead of putting her through the window.
The bouncers had tried to hold him down but the cleverly concealed knife in his boot and the brass knuckles he kept in his back pocket had ensured his escape. Not that he had evaded capture without experiencing any personal loss. He had left his knife sticking out of the bouncer’s shoulder, and he had the type of cut under his left eye that surgeons had wet dreams about. Not to mention losing all his cash and overall being bruised, bloody and slightly perturbed that his drink had been room temperature.
He made his way at a brisk walk down the street, keeping to the shadows and putting as much distance between himself and the strip club as he could. He could faintly hear sirens in the distance, but they didn’t concern him. The police had been after him for months, but no one had been smart or capable enough to corner him. He would just slip into the shadows the way he always did and disappear.
He crossed the street and began to cut across a motel parking lot when something caught his eye. Outside one of the motel room doors stood a woman leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. She was about five foot four with wild dark hair and a sagging tube top which generously displayed her exceptional cleavage to the world. On the ground by her bare feet sat a half-full fifth of Jack Honey.
He quickly glanced around the parking lot to make sure the two of them were alone, and then made a beeline to the woman the same way a starving wolf was drawn to a frail young doe. When he was within earshot, he called out to her.
“Hey there, lovely!”
She exhaled smoke through the curtain of her hair.
“Hey yourself.”
“How much of that booze are you looking to share?”
“With you handsome, all of it.” She responded with a hint of mischief.
Jasper walked right up to her and picked up the bottle without hesitating, throwing it back and taking three long refreshing gulps. The woman admired the cut under his eye through a crack in her low hanging bangs.
“You look like you’ve just come from being a big damn hero somewhere.”
He wiped at his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
“And you look like you just fell from heaven to give me a good time.”
Jasper leaned into her and fondled one of her breasts, his other hand still holding fast to the liquor.
The woman tossed her cigarette aside.
“My man keeps disrespecting me. He doesn’t treat me right. I’m looking for someone who will fulfill my dreams. Make me a rich woman.”
She leaned in and gave him a long kiss on the mouth.
“Baby, I’ll make all your dreams come true. What do you like? Rough stuff I’ll bet right? Maybe another girl joining in?”
The woman reached down and rested her left hand on the small of his back.
“I’m more into bon dage.”
Quick as a flash, she brought her right hand out from behind her back to snap a handcuff on his left wrist.
Jasper jolted backwards as the cold metal encircled his wrist.
“The fuck?”
The woman drove her knee up into his groin so hard he collapsed onto his knees and vomited up all the whiskey he had just swallowed.
She took advantage of his sudden paralysis to go through his pockets, but there was nothing to find except the brass knuckles.
“No cash. That’s a shame.”
Jasper clumsily tried to lunge at her from the ground.
“You callous whore!”
The woman pulled a stun gun from her back pocket and zapped him directly in the chest, causing him to collapse back onto the pavement unconscious.
“That was almost original.” She smirked.
With her right hand still awkwardly cuffed to his, she opened her motel room door with her left hand, rolled a wheelchair out onto the sidewalk and slowly heaved his body up into it. After she strapped him down, she undid the cuff around her wrist and attached it to the chair. Tucking the stun gun and the brass knuckles into the back pockets of her jeans she reached inside the motel room again for her leather jacket. Embroidered on the back in