Mr. Dark & Scary , published by D&T Publishing, is now on sale at Godless.com See what others are saying about Mr. Dark & Scary... “Deeply disturbing and character-driven, R.K. Latch pens a unique tale of terror, as Mr. Dark & Scary serves up his particular brand of vengeance, brutally and horrifically cold.” -Candace Nola, author of Bishop . "A boogeyman vigilante by way of Jekyll and Hyde. Latch is a painter of character-driven horror, and Winchester County is his canvas." -Damien Casey, co-author of Hot Pink Satanism In the summer of 1957, in the small town of Farmington, Mississippi, a jilted lover takes her own life on the courthouse square one early morning. Only one person tried to stop her, the courthouse janitor. Mark Borden is a simple man. He works a simple job and leads a simple life. Until he walked up to the pretty girl just as she ate the business end of a pistol. Shocked and star...
COMING SOON In 1933, Mississippi was in the throes of both the Great Depression and Prohibition. Dirt poor living was the way of life for most. Some folks were forced to turn to any means possible to put food on the table. In Winchester County , the Lawtons turned to brewing moonshine to make ends meet. Though dangerous and illegal, their operation ran smoothly until John Kirkwood, a highly ambitious federal revenue agent, came to town. Thanks to a dirty deal with a man with deep pockets, Kirkwood sees ridding Winchester County of its moonshiners as his way to fortune. Enlisting the aid of the corrupt local sheriff and a squad of bandits and goons, they launch a brutal rampage against local 'shiners, piling up bodies along the way. Henry Lawton works for his father in the family moonshining business. Henry also happens to be one of the best bootleggers around runs the dark country lanes delivering his daddy's corn whiskey. At 19, he's tough as nails and knows the ba...
For sale on Amazon Chapter 1 The corpse swayed gently in the summer breeze. Dangling legs half-danced to a tune only the dead could hear. A thick cloud of fat green flies buzzed about. Hanged by the neck from a tall oak tree just off his driveway, old Jeb Fowler died within eyeshot of his tiny clapboard shack. It was hot out. Too damn hot for a dead body to waltz upon the wind. Three men, two of them brothers, stood with wide eyes. They took in the sight, unable to look away. Something like this, once seen, couldn’t be unseen. It stayed with you, always, like a scar. “Cut him down,” Cletus Mayhart said. “How long you reckon he’s been up there?” Judd Mayhart, Cletus’ younger brother, wondered aloud. Despite the heat, Judd was chilled to the bone. He’d liked the old coot, as far as old coots went. Cletus considered. It was hard to say. Jeb’s skin was light blue in spots, sunburnt a mad red in others. Hands blackened, pooled with blood. I...
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