By Rick Hautala
4 OCTOBERS - a set of Novellas
The days have become shorter, and the wind blows chilly from the north. After the maple and oak leaves flip from eco-friendly to brilliant reds, golds, and oranges, they wither, fall, and die, clattering like previous bones as they blow down the road within the twilight. The solar isn't as shiny because it was, and the nights are darkish and chilly and lengthy. this is often the time of the harvest … the time of Hallowe'en … and a time for recollections of the summer season simply prior and of alternative summers, now long past. this can be a time of puzzle and expectation because the earth prepares for the frigid onslaught of winter.
Four Octobers collects for the 1st time 4 loosely interconnected novellas from the bright mind's eye of best-selling writer Rick Hautala. each one tale is decided in October, the month of pumpkins and trick or deal with, of skeletons and haunted graveyards, and every tale is stuffed with nostalgia for occasions earlier … for summers and early life now long gone … for possibilities no longer taken … for possibilities now misplaced forever.
"Tin Can Telephone," set in 1957, tells the tale of a tender boy and his buddy who, within the pre-dawn darkness whereas ready to work out the Russian satellite tv for pc Sputnik velocity via overhead, adventure a secret and worry way more terrifying than the specter of Soviets in space.
"Miss Henry's Bottles," might be Hautala's top tale up to now, tells how the easy act of discarding empty soda bottles on a neighbor's garden brings to gentle secrets and techniques that are supposed to have remained buried … yet like every secrets and techniques, this one finally is published with devastating consequences.
"Blood Ledge," set in an Indian summer season of 1971, tells the story of a tender boy who discovers a depressing kin mystery that leads him to just accept a family members inheritance that has frightening results.
And eventually, "Cold River" is the tale of a guy so misplaced in loneliness and melancholy following the demise of his spouse that he faces a horror worse … a lot worse than drowning within the chilly, darkish river that flows through his house.
Taken jointly, those tales exhibit Rick Hautala writing on the most sensible of his video game, telling tales that won't in simple terms kick back you for those who learn them, yet will go away you with an icy dread on your middle … a dread a lot less warm than any October wind blowing down the road at evening.
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Extra resources for Four Octobers
I had a mind to just leave him there like that but... There was still work to do. "Punch in the passcode," I ordered. I'd marched him down to the Utility Wing. Shiftchange was over so the halls were clear. "No way," he said. "I can't. It's a security breach. The core's running— "Punch in the passcode and open the door, motherfucker, unless you want me to cook your nuts again. " He was crying now, blubbering like a baby. I showed him the sending unit, and that was all it took. He plipped in the code and the vault door sucked open.
Spooky," Spooky said. "Well. I'se pleased as punch ta meet 'cha. " The driver smiled. " Grub Girl in the Prison of Dead Women Sure, hon, I got some time. I'll tell you the whole thing while you make up your mind. And this is no bullshit, either. You can read about it in the papers. You know about Grubs, right? No? Shit man, you from overseas or something? I'll make a long story short. "Grubs" are what they call us, same way they call black people niggers. Nice tag, huh? But I guess we are a little on the pasty side.
Barrows' shoulders slumped. "She caught me eating her Kleenex out of the wastebasket. " "—whenever she had a cold or the flu... " He rubbed his face in his hands. "All that Kleenex. " It was like a treat, like a midnight snack. When Barrows looked back up at Untermann, it was shamefully, between his fingers. But the curt, elegant face remained unchanged. It remained inquisitive, calculating. Not shocked. He sat back up straight in the leather chair. " "For the same reason an oro-facial surgeon is not 'disgusted' by a critical burn victim, The same reason a dentist isn't disgusted by an abscess, Your job is ministering to the intricacies of finance, Mr.