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Friday, February 29, 2008

Satan's Scat: In Satan's Belly-Captured

Blinding fog, through which only God could see, consumed the street and all the objects around her as she stumbled to the right and into an alley. Half naked, her tight, old fashioned, ice-blue kirtle torn nearly off at the bust and sleeves, its hem damp and shredding as she stepped on it, she staggered face first into a dumpster and fell. Face swollen, her bright crimson cheek torn, she crawled to her feet and wept.
They were somewhere behind her, but where? Terror a spark that shocked her to her feet, she pushed away from the dumpster and ran on. Her feet vehicles with no driver, they flailed against the pavement as she careened her way along, crying, crashing into walls and trash cans, fire escapes and stairs. Bruised and bloodied, she felt nothing but fear.
Echoing her footsteps, magnifying her sobs, the fog was a radar for her enemies. She knew they were coming by their own footsteps. Coming quickly. Steadily. Gaining on her by inches, and then by feet.
Hysterical, she ran faster, overwhelming the sound of their footsteps with her screams. Light. Where’s the light, she worried, as she searched for the other end of the alley. If I can just get out of here.
Through the haze, in the brume, a nebulous, borderless glow appeared, and she ran for it. Oblivious of all that was to the right and left of her and that which was about her, barely missing the curb at her feet, she ran half blind toward the light. Comforted by its presence, only vaguely aware that the footsteps behind her approached, she felt nothing as tons of steel, led by a bumper, hit her, sending her sailing.
Excerpt from SATAN’S SCAT

© Shawna Ryan
Author: thrillers DESTINY'S DAMNED & SATAN'S SCAT
available:
www.pilchuckpublishing.com
amazon.com
books stores and libraries

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

DESTINY'S DAMNED: SERIAL KILLER - CAGED

Excerpt from DESTINY'S DAMNED:

Hands and feet bound with locked,
plastic, zip strips, her mouth covered with duct tape, she was helpless
as she stared at a four-inch-wide-metal disk, encasing something . Her
days and nights were measured only by light coming from a small crack
between the floor boards. With nothing to eat or drink except that
which he sometimes gave her while he was there, she lost count of the days after six weeks.
Her
mind dulled, sleep her only pastime, the memory of her family was
fading as she allowed her mind to slip away, slowly falling into
stupor. Her only respite, if you could call them that, were his visits.
Listening for him was her occupation. Hoping, yet dreading, he would
come for her when he came into the house, the horror he brought her
was, at least, living.
Forsaken and alone, the spiders in the corner
of her prison that built webs in her hair and a cat that sometimes
slept over the crack in the floor were her only other company.
Starving, seeming not to have eaten for an eternity, she listened,macabrely grateful when she heard a voice taunting her. “Honey, I’m home.”

© Shawna Ryan
Author: DESTINY'S DAMNED & SATAN'S SCAT
available:
www.pilchuckpublishing.com
amazon.com
books stores and libraries
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Tuesday, February 26, 2008

SATAN'S SCAT: Serial Killer: In the Body of Hell

Crouched beneath the edge, the pit his hiding place, a thin, nearly fleshless being peered over the rim and studied her. He had yearned, practically begged for death, for freedom from the bodies he inhabited, yet death brought him nothing, and he was cold. Hoping that in this state he could move unobstructed, explore without tether, he forgot what it was like in hell.
The Abbess looked comfortable, old and wrinkly like a well-used bed, and she was perspiring with heat, wonderful, consoling heat. The wounds from the torture he endured by Angelina still raw, vulnerable to the cold and agonizing, he longed for someone like her, a warm, uninjured sanctuary where for a time he could rest from his hell.
He had murdered the real Sisters Mary Benedict and Benedict Augusta and Michael; devoured their hands, faces and feet, the body parts that gave them their identity; and become them. Hoping through them he could find what his master had sent him for, he used them for access, worming his way into positions of trust.
They had been useless to him. Remembering their betrayal, the center of his yellow eyes turned red, and he glared at her. Would this old woman do the same?
He moved just enough to shift his feet beneath him. His body tensed, his long bony fingers gripped the edge of the pit, and he sprung.
Flames on the walls froze in place and all others died. Instantly, the room turned frigid.
Her breath sucked out of her, the Abbess froze, too, as she awaited his attack in terror.
“Damn!” he said, as he touched her, the warmth he sought gone.
Looking for fire, anything that still burned, to warm her, he became aware of something going on outside the room. A vault was opening. That which he was looking for was exposed.
His master was inside him warming and inciting him. The cold melted away, and while his master lured him with promise, he listened. For an instant, he was free from pain.
Evil flourished in a body already ripe with it, and he smiled as he moved away from the Abbess. Ignited by the power the evil brought him, inspired by Satan’s promise of their own version of heaven, the acids within him churned. Friction intensified, and by the powers that controlled him, he exploded in a ball of fire.

excerpt from SATAN'S SCAT, THE DESTINY'S DAMNED TRILOGY - BOOK 2

© Shawna Ryan
Author: DESTINY'S DAMNED & SATAN'S SCAT
available:
www.pilchuckpublishing.com
amazon.com
books stores and libraries

Monday, February 25, 2008

DESTINY'S DAMNED: Serial Killer: Murder #1

From the third story of a house less then a hundred feet up the hill and to the right, a hazy, fog blurring light coming from a single group of windows was indistinguishable from the light of so many other houses nearby. Deep in concentration, his shades drawn, Eric Caldwell did not hear the cable car’s bell, nor did he know it had rained that day or there was fog outside. He worked at a modern, metal-framed, wood-top desk, finishing his latest article. A dedicated, investigative reporter with the mental discipline to close out almost everything, he heard nothing. Not even the footsteps on the stairway up to his room.
As he looked through small, light gray, titanium glasses studying the screen of the laptop, he had taken to every corner of the world with him, he absentmindedly swept back his long, dark-brown bangs. Small lesions on his face, from years of overexposure to the sun, were meaningless. The dysentery that followed him, everywhere, mere nuisance compared to a story.
To his right, always visible from the corner of his eye, always with him, no matter where he went, was a picture of a little girl and her mother, smiling and beautiful, taken eight years ago. He had wanted to be a good husband and father, to be the man his wife and daughter forever looked to for love and protection, but as Rebecca got older and his need to expose the wrongs of the world came to obsess and absorb him, he somehow lost them.
Taking a sip of coffee, long gone cold, he began to reread the article he wrote that day, making editorial changes along the way, he did not hear the lock being picked nor the door opening behind him. Seemingly mesmerized by a certain phrase, he put down the coffee, propped his square chin on his left palm, and mentally picked the phrase apart.
Stunned, as if shot by a rock with a sling shot, he gasped. Abruptly straightening, his body rigid, time stood still, as an object, hard and deadly, breached his flesh and bore into his heart.
Instantly limp, unable to stop, he collapsed and fell forward, his face smashing into the laptop. God! he thought, his arms slumping to his sides. I’m having a heart attack. His cell phone only inches away, he panicked as he tried to lift a hand and reach it.
Pain, like that of slowly cracking bones was emanating from his heart, filling his chest, and radiating down his left arm. He trembled. Desperate for help, yet not able to call, he heard the familiar squeak of his apartment’s softwood floor.
Help me. He opened his mouth but found no breath to say the words.
Within a couple of fleeting seconds, he was aware that someone was leaning over him. A deep, heavy breathing drowned out the sound of his own feeble breath. Eric tried again to speak but heard only a groan rattling inside him. Able to roll his head by letting its own weight topple it, he felt the right side of his face clear the key board and mouthed, “Help.” Glasses askew, trapped beneath his left cheek, with blurred vision he searched the room.
Only inches away, he saw a hand gloved in purple nitrile laying a .22 caliber revolver with silencer on the desk top in front of him, he suddenly realized the hot, sweaty body above him was, most probably, his murderer.
Why? Who are you? he asked in terror, without being heard.
Frantically struggling, yet unable to force himself to move, Eric felt the steel like, purple hand slide down his flaccid, dangling arm and grab his right wrist, pulling, then extending the arm across the desk, pinning his hand, palm down, fingers outstretched, to the top.
His strength and interest in what was happening about him waning, he was little aware that something rubbery and vice-like was holding in place his right index finger. Sensations numbing, the pain of the bullet wound mercifully lessening, he felt only a sting, heard but a thud, as a six-inch knife severed his finger tip. His heart struggling to beat, his mind and sight blurring, strangling from lack of oxygen, an irresistible, overwhelming horror overtook him, and he closed his eyes.
His life’s liquid pooling on the high gloss, oak tabletop, he fought to open his eyes in response to the angry voice, muffled and unclear, reverberating in rhythm to the pounding of his head. “Her...sc...ant...sions...and...votion...more!” A piece of paper with printed words was set before him, a corner coming to rest in the leaching pool of red liquid.
“Sign!” the voice ordered. Roughly lifting what was left of Eric’s finger, pinching as it wrote, his hand scrawled with blood oozing from the stump something unintelligible at the bottom of the page.
Like a sheet in the wind, the bloodstained paper flew by him, and the voice shouted,“Her...!”
He heard a shuffling, a zipper being opened and closed, something metal being placed on the floor and something very heavy beside it. And then, his attacker came back.
Digging crooked, clawed fingers into Eric’s shoulders, his attacker threw him against the back of his chair then casually propped him there, positioning his drooping head to the left. Eric saw, but could do nothing, as the purple hand retracted, lingered in the air an instant, and struck, fist doubled, into Eric’s face, knocking him to the side.
As his chair moved, as his attacker then flung him to the floor, there was a rolling motion, a tumbling. Unforgiving wood from the floor rose up against him, and he screamed. Fighting with the last moments of his life to understand what was happening to him, half hallucinating as he was sprawled on the floor, he caught a glimpse of a headless man dressed in black, his hands waving something in front of Eric’s eyes. A bumpy plate of some kind was placed against the center of his forehead, and as he watched, numb from his ordeal, a blurry, round stone dropped.
Prickles of pain were suddenly radiating across his head. Streams of blood were flowed into his eyes, blinding him. His skull was cracking under the pressure of the plate being hammered into his forehead, the agony that followed but a brief discomfort as Eric quickly expired.

Excerpt from DESTINY'S DAMNED - BOOK 1 OF THE DESTINYS'S DAMNED TRILOGY
© Shawna Ryan
author: DESTINY'S DAMNED & SATAN'S SCAT

available:
www.pilchuckpublishing.com
Amazon.com
book stores and libraries

Growing a Serial Killer

Serial killers are often friends, neighbors, spouses or sweethearts of people who buy into the killer’s persona of normality. Some never even suspect the truth until the killer is caught or confesses.
But, how did it happen? How did this seemingly normal person become a monster, a sadistic, ruthless murderer? How could he kill once and relish the experience so much that he kills over and over again? How did it begin?
My father, an infantryman on the front lines in World War II, told me when I was a girl that there was nothing more exhilarating than killing another human being. I didn’t know quite how to take that back then, but I do now. He was teaching me that it is in our nature to kill.
Killing is easier for some than for others, and so addictive to a few they cannot stop. Those few most likely experienced the thrill of killing in their childhood. Their victims are small, helpless animals whom they torture and murder. Each kill feeds their need to kill, but only briefly.
When the kills get common place and boring, the murderer child moves on to larger animals, always with his eyes on the weak or injured. As he gets older and moves to humans, he usually experiments at first, torturing or molesting in some way, but not yet killing.
Each time he gets away with an attack, he becomes more confident, convinced he will get away with it again. He comes to believe he is too clever to get caught.
Each time, he tortures or molests the thrill is dulled by its repetition. He needs more.
He is self-absorbed, the satisfaction of his own needs paramount to everything else. By successfully fooling those close to him, he empowers himself and gains more confidence. He convinces himself his victims deserve to die for whatever reason he concocts. He feels their pain, but only because it elicits joy within him. The rush inside him is so addictive he cannot turn back, nor does he want to turn back.
When he begins to kill his human victims, his exhilaration is uncontrollable. It lingers, but when the exhilaration fades, he must kill again. Kill until he is stopped.
Think about it. Is there anyone close to you who's a killer?

by Shawna Ryan
author: DESTINY’S DAMNED & SATAN’S SCAT (Thrillers)

www.PilchuckPublishing.com
www.amazon.com

Sunday, February 24, 2008

SATAN'S SCAT - Book 2

SATAN’S SCAT is book 2 of the DESTINY’S DAMNED Trilogy.

What if Christ left His own Testament? And what if that Testament survived and is hidden? Why would the Christian Church want to find and destroy it? And who would be protecting it?

Already Damned for murders in past lives, the vicious killer morphs into evil itself and joins forces with the Church. Despite powerful threats by the Church against them, Patrick and Alicia tenaciously search for The Issue, the only proof that the Church was contrived by a pagan to enslave the world. A wild woman in an asylum bites off Patrick’s ear. Confused and naive, he causes her suicide. Suspecting The Issue is at an abbey in the Burren, Patrick and Alicia go to Ireland, where Alicia becomes a postulate. Patrick becomes a handyman at the monastery up the road. An unwary nun is sadistically murdered. Searching for historical documents that will help heal the wounds when the conspiracy to resurrect the empire is revealed and the Church collapses, Alex and Kevin go to the Old Library at Trinity College in Dublin. Hunted, his life in danger, Kevin is tormented by fear as those around him are murdered. Women who are protecting a world shattering secret are imprisoned beneath the ground in a devil’s cauldron.

ISBN: 0-9785216-1-7
© Shawna Ryan
Author: DESTINY'S DAMNED & SATAN'S SCAT
available:
www.pilchuckpublishing.com
amazon.com
books stores and libraries

DESTINY'S DAMNED-BOOK 1

In DESTINY'S DAMNED, book 1 of the Trilogy, a sadistic, serial killer commits bizarre, ritualistic murders in the heart of San Francisco. Eric Caldwell’s finger is cut off at the first joint. His skull is crushed by a sledgehammer, and a mysterious symbol is stamped between his eyes. Stan Bartlett, a young, middle school teacher, is sadistically murdered after being mentioned in a Sunday school class. Professor Jeffrey Warren, Stanford University, is shot in the head after writing a paper comparing the holy week of the mythical god, Attis, to the Christians’ Easter holy week. Judy Bowers is caught up in the horror, and is one of a long list of women imprisoned in a box, deep within a crawl space, and then murdered. Near death, Retha Washington struggles to survive in the crawl space. Alex Caldwell, Eric’s brother, is an investigative reporter for the New York Post. When Eric is murdered, Alex comes to San Francisco and enlists Sharon Marshall, a successful trial attorney in San Francisco, to search for Eric’s murderer. Kevin James is a professor of mythology at the University of California at Berkeley. In helping with the investigation, he becomes a target himself. John Lester, the minister of The Calvary Gospel Church, is a Neo-Nazi under suspicion of diverting funds from the church to his Aryan Brotherhood and for hate crimes. Howard Blake, Lester’s henchman, is somehow involved not only in the disappearance of Lester’s wife, but in his own wife’s disappearance. The mysterious Lieutenant Sybil Meter’s investigative and arrest techniques are highly unusual. Monsignor Patrick Bodowski steals The Issue, the only surviving proof that a Roman emperor created, manipulated and promoted modern Christianity to save and unite the Roman Empire. The Issue is also the only proof that his legions survive within the Church today, ready to resurrect that empire. Troubled and alone, dangerous to himself and possibly others, Patrick is hunted by those modern legions. Peter Cook, minister of the Cross of our Savior Baptist Church, and his wife, Alicia, give Patrick refuge, but Peter is suspicious of him.
ISBN: 0-9785216-0-9

© Shawna Ryan
Author: DESTINY'S DAMNED & SATAN'S SCAT
available:
www.pilchuckpublishing.com
amazon.com
books stores and libraries

DESTINY'S DAMNED THRILLER TRILOGY

Summary

Attorney author Shawna Ryan's DESTINY'S DAMNED Trilogy is a thriller mystery of the bizarre, spiritual and supernatural. Delving into the heart, mind, and soul of a serial killer so evil he morphs into evil itself, the trilogy also dares question the legitimacy of the church that protects him.
Using her vivid imagination and analytical skills in scrutinizing the mind and compulsions of the vicious killer, the history of Christianity and the New Testament, and the threatening ramifications today of a religion created to rule the world, the attorney author, SHAWNA RYAN, creates a breathtaking, terrifying story.
Readers who enjoy exciting books that educate, as well as, thrill will love the DESTINY'S DAMNED Trilogy. Fans of Douglas Preston’s and Lincoln Child’s RELIC and their other thrillers; of Dan Brown's THE DA VINCI CODE; and of Stephen King's horror stories will be mesmerized by the DESTINY'S DAMNED Trilogy.

© Shawna Ryan
Author: DESTINY'S DAMNED & SATAN'S SCAT
Available:
www.pilchuckpublishing.com
Amazon.com
book stores and libraries