Shadow Watchers Progress

It’s been a while since my last post, because I’ve been busy editing and writing, but I wanted to release one more message before Christmas.  By the way, Happy Holidays to everyone, and if my wishing you that offends you because I didn’t mention the word Christmas, tough shit.

I also promised you a little snippet of Shadow Watchers and I will at the end of the blog post.  But first, I want to dedicate a little of my time to the victims of Sandy Hook.  The massacres in Oregon, and Connecticut are far more horrifying than anything I can dream up.  Please huddle together with those you love; they can be taken away in a second.

I’ve spent the past few weeks working up case files and characters for Shadow Watchers only to run into a delay.  I have to edit a good portion of White Death quickly, so I am slogging through a rewrite at the same time I’m supposed to write Shadow Watchers.  Sadly, it’s hard to write and edit at the same time, so I’m forced to pick and choose what I work on.  I’ll try to post my progress as soon as I have any.

The main character in Shadow Watchers is Walter Ezra Garrison (aka Wedge).  Wedge understands he was named after the football player.  He is from southern Oregon, but lives in Chicago.  As you will see from the sample at the end of this post, Wedge leads an intense life.  Let’s just say, his life is about to take a turn toward the bizarre. 

Well, that’s about all I have today.  Everyone enjoy your holidays and remember to always say I love you, because you never know what happens next.  Enjoy this little bit of Shadow Watchers and remember, this won’t be the final product, but it’ll give you an idea.

Excerpt from Shadow Watchers:

Yanking open the stairwell door, we all aimed into the darkened stairwell and found nothing but stairs on the other side.  The air in the building seemed to condense as we stepped in and shined a light up the stairs.  Somewhere above us, I heard another door slam and began climbing the stairs two at a time.  The second floor access door was lying on the floor, but King’s partner stuck his head in anyway, shining his flashlight inside. 

Shadows seemed to propagate everywhere in spite of the midafternoon sunlight streaming through what was left of the windows.  When we reached the third floor, I stepped through the door low and swept the immediate area with my gun and a flashlight I had borrowed from King.  Nothing moved, except for eddies of dust and shadows.

Climbing another flight we came to a closed fire door still attached to its hinges, closed tightly.  Pressing on the latch bar, the door refused to open.  Leaning into the door, the resistance from the other side was enough that I could only move it a little. King motioned me away from the door, waving his finger in front of his lips and swinging his foot back and forth in a kicking motion.  Stepping back, I cleared the way for King to lay one on the door.   The first kick didn’t work very well.  When King’s size thirteen foot connected with the latch bar, I heard something crack and thought it was King’s femur.  Then I saw him wave his hand then slam his shoulder into the door, driving it backward.  King immediately dove downward, rolling on the floor and rising into a shooter’s stance across the entry.

Sweeping the immediate area with the flashlight in one hand and my gun in the other, I didn’t see anything at first, then I saw movement fifty feet away in the dim light.  I heard something that sounded like many voices cease as we entered then peculiar susurrations seemed to surround them. 

“Stop right there, Escobar,” I yelled.  The movement ceased for a second, but as I shined the flashlight on him, Escobar whipped around and fired his gun.  I heard the bullet pass by the right side of my head and dove for cover.  King returned fire, but I only heard the round smack into the far wall.  Escobar was still moving.

“Get on the ground,” I yelled, but something was wrong.  The room abruptly brightened, but not with sunlight.  A sickly yellow glow seemed to exude from the walls, pulsating.  I felt something cold move past me, like a winter breeze, raising goosebumps on my arms, then heard Escobar grunt.

“What the fuck???”  Escobar said as if surprised, then he screamed.

Standing up, we all watched in horror, as a shadow seemed to envelope Escobar, he screamed, then all sound ceased, as if someone or something had covered the cop killer’s mouth.


About dlwhitehead

I am an author from Northern Nevada. My first novel, Darwin's Sword, is available now from and I've been writing since I was thirteen and hope to scare all of you soon with my second release, which is still to be determined.
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