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John Derhak

Author of

Tales from the moe.Republic &

The Bones of Lazarus

 

 

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The 2013 Winner of the Golden Ghoul Medal for Best Story

The Return of

Mr. Poole

 

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A 2,000-year-old legend — Political Intrigue, Mystery, Betrayal, Murder

John Derhak's imaginative, darkly funny, supernatural thriller. An engaging, purely pulp, genuine page-turner.

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The Surprisingly Imaginative, Critically Acclaimed, & Hilarious Debut Novel

by John Derhak

 

 

The story of a small town inn, a bungling innkeeper, unforgettable characters, mystery, mayhem, and misadventure in rural Maine -- one very good book.

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 Howlin Minnie

The Witch of the Wailing Wood

Special Kindle Edition $1.95

With a new afterword

Deep in the forest, beyond the northern slopes of the Old Mountain by the Sea, upon the far edge of the Lost Kingdom of Moose Harbor, stretches a dark, mysterious tract of land known by those who know no better, and better known by those who do, as the Wailing Wood. For more generations than remembered superstition has held that the old-growth forest is enchanted by a witch—a witch that came to be in a dark time. At nightfall, it is said, the woods come to life, haunted by evil spirits under her spell. Locals believe that none shall pass through her woods after sunset—and live to tell about it—for no one ever has.

Howlin' Minnie, The Witch of the Wailing Wood

 

 

 

Greetings from the moe.Republic!

Located in the Heart of the Lost Kingdom of Moose Harbor

Halloween Storytellers Contest

The moe.Republic Hotel's Annual Ghoul-a-thon

 

From the Archives, Our First Winning Story   That Winged Thing: The Strange Halloween Odyssey of Malcolm Glover By Timothy Tucker   Timothy Tucker comes to us from a long line of geeks. Originally from Exeter, after serving a stint in the army and working as a doorman in a Tijuana brothel, he relocated to Downeast Way, whereupon Mr. Tucker established himself as the premier guide and outdoorsman in the Lost Kingdom. He is the proprietor of Timmy Tucker's Moose Safaris. He also volunteers at the local adolescent center counseling teens on the dangers of throwing rocks and other such projectiles. His curriculum on preventive methods for putting someone's eye out has been adopted by the State Council on Teenage Nervous Breakdowns. His true love is the great outdoors. He has written for Nature's Way, In the Buff, and recently published his first novel, Ungulates Gone Wild, one man's harrowing sojourn through the north woods at the height of the autumnal rut of the bull moose. In "That Winged Thing," Mr. Tucker continues his fascination with the creatures of the north woods by resurrecting one of the more haunting legends ever told in the Lost Kingdom.   That Winged Thing: The Strange Halloween Odyssey of Malcolm Glover   It's hard to believe that two years have passed since the town's strange encounter with that large winged creature. It was Halloween, late in the evening of October 31, when the reports started filtering in throughout town...   Two couples in a minivan were coming from the moe.Republic Hotel's Halloween bash when they drove past the old Pratt Sawmill, its phantom shell illuminated in the pale moonlight. The driver, Sheila Quigley, glanced at the old works as she sped past, bewitched by its eerie, cold emptiness. Her lapse was momentary, broken by the sudden shouts of her companions. There in the middle of the road was a shadowy figure, standing on two legs, at least seven or eight feet high. At first they thought it was a prank. It had huge feathered wings folded across its back and two very large eyes, brilliant as emeralds, made more so by the illumination in the van's headlights. In its arms it held what appeared to be a good-sized dog. Sheila slammed the brakes, causing the van to do a three-sixty, and was about to plow into the creature when it rose up, actually flew away into the night. The passengers jumped out of the van and watched it fly away, but lost sight of it after a few minutes.   What they didn't know was that old Malcolm Glover had called the Downeast Way Police Department an hour earlier, around 9:30. Glover, a widower, lived up in an old farmhouse off Mountain Road, nestled in under Uriel's Ledge. He had been watching a hockey game on television when he said he lost control of his set. The volume went haywire, he would say. First, white sound filled the room, followed by a low, distinct voice. Barely audible, but oh so clear, "leee-ave," it breathed in a deep, airy baritone. All at once, he found himself watching the hockey game again. At first he thought he had fallen asleep and was awakened by the old hoot owl that perched nightly on the high ledge. But he was awake and that was no owl. For his dog, Nutcracker, a border collie mix, who was on the front porch, began to bark when something thrashed loudly in the barnyard. Glover went outside without caution, thinking he, too, as the van load of revelers would assume, was a victim of an elaborate Halloween prank.   He saw Nutcracker, with her familiar red bandana tied around her neck, facing the barn, which lay across the wide yard. She was now growling ferociously. The dark, thick hair along her spine stood on edge. It made Glover smile, thinking that the prank was about to turn on the prankster. He turned his flashlight on and scanned the barnyard. He moved the beam across the yard slowly and stopped when he spotted two large greenish eyes, luminescent and blinking, peering out from over a row of bushes near the barn door. Malcolm stands a good six feet high. The bushes, he realized, about a dozen mature sea roses, peaked above his eyes. Malcolm gawked at the phosphorous-like orbs, which overwhelmed its featureless face. Its head rested on broad shoulders, which were graced by, or what looked like… wings?   That was all the dog could take. Highly protective, Nutcracker bolted toward the barn. Glover called for the dog to stop, but it sprinted into the darkness. Turning into the house for his shotgun, the old man heard the dog screech loudly, painfully. That's when he called the police, then nervously went outside with his gun and flashlight. He scanned the yard with the light. The green eyes were gone and Nutcracker had disappeared. He lowered his flashlight and gazed above, up near the jagged ledge. In a fleeting instance he saw a flash, two green dots, like a pair of fireflies hovering over a meadow. And then a silhouette resting on the ledge… No-could that be possible? he thought.   A few minutes after Malcolm Glover stood terrified on his porch Margaret Connor and a few girlfriends had just left a screening of The War of the Worlds at Bud's Bijou Theater. There were dozens of people filtering in and out of the movie house when they spotted a "funny greenish light" that hovered high in the sky above Market Square. They stood watching as it turned down Brighton Lane towards the theater. "It wasn't an airplane," Margaret recalled. "No one could figure out what it was, but then, no one gave it much thought." It flew out of sight quickly, sinking behind the row of low buildings.   A couple of minutes later the women arrived at the lot behind the theater and piled in to an Oldsmobile. They started the car. The music was blaring so loudly on the radio it startled them all. Then the radio tuner moved across the dial on its own, stations faded in and out evenly, before stopping at the end of the spectrum. White sound filled the car. Deafening at first, then spelled by an airy, deep vibration that seemed to pulsate through the car's speakers. At that instant, before their eyes, a tall, winged figure rose up in front of the automobile. "It was though it had been crouching there hiding," Margaret would tell the police. "It came up slowly from the hood of the car. It was huge, wider and taller than a man, sinewy and muscular, with haunting, pale green eyes. It kept rising, too, right above the car. It held out a dog with a red bandana, which lay limp under its left arm, like it was trying to give it to us." The women were scared and began to scream. Margaret, who was driving, quickly hit the door locks. When she put the big old GM in gear it stalled. They were trapped and, were certain, facing their doom. The creature peered into the windows of the car looking at them closely, as though examining them under a microscope. The strange pulsing vibration increased to a high pitch. Each woman could hear it plainly through the radio.   There were at least a dozen people who were in the vicinity of the lot watching in stunned disbelief, amazement, and horror at the spectacle. The thing turned at them when the wail of police sirens alerted it. The creature rose quickly and ascended into the night, heading out towards the harbor, still clutching the dog. If this was a prank it was well staged. It defied the law of gravity and all known order of species in this and any ecosystem on the planet. By the time the authorities arrived the thing had vanished. Chief McO'Fayle heard the same story he had heard from Malcolm Glover, who was sitting in the front seat of his Commando. Was he really supposed to believe a winged thing was on the loose?   By now the news of a strange winged creature was spreading all over town. Everywhere it seemed but the moe.Republic Hotel, which was in the throes of its annual Halloween ball. The crowd was dressed in wild, outrageous, and frightful costumes, and was so big it had spilled out onto the side porch overlooking Moose Harbor. When the lights went out and the music stopped abruptly, at first the party-goers thought it was part of the evening's festivities. The flicker of candles in a dozen or so jack-o-lanterns and the silvery moonlight cast ghostly shadows across the faces of the revelers and grounds.   Then, above the murmuring and growing confusion there rose a low, but distinct, sound. A vibration pulsated in the air, coming from the lawn off the side porch. The throng startled, reeled in horror simultaneously, when from nowhere, across the yard, a tall man-like figure with broad wings could be seen aloft. Its eyes flashed green in the dim light, "like reflectors on a mailbox," one witness would say, and it was gliding in right at them. The creature alighted softly at the end of the porch. There was something in its arms, limp and unmoving, what they soon recognized as a dog. The thing shuffled towards them slowly. People retreated in fear and apprehension. Just as it placed the object down, there was a booming thunderclap from up on the mountain akin to a sonic blast. It shook the grounds around them. The winged thing then lifted and glided away into the night. The power returned. Lights flooded the porch. That was the last sighting of the creature.   Whatever it was or may have been, it seems clear, by the number of witnesses, that it was very real. But was it something of this world? Everybody had their own explanation-a parasailing hooligan, a jet packed maniac, a large bird-like creature, even an alien visitor-but none more so than Malcolm Glover. He arrived at the moe.Republic Hotel with Chief McO'Fayle moments after the creature's departure. He had been with the Chief chasing the reported sightings all over town. They ran up to the porch where the guests, in stunned silence, had huddled around the dog, which lay still. Malcolm knew that it was Nutcracker. He recognized his border collie with the red bandana immediately.   Just about everyone knows old Malcolm, and Nutcracker, too. That's why everyone was baffled and bewildered at what they saw, and then heard. Because at that moment the Chief's two-way radio went off breaking the silence. The dispatch screamed loudly, excitedly, that Uriel's Ledge had collapsed above the farmhouse off Mountain Road right after that thunderclap. Malcolm Glover's house had just been obliterated under tons of granite. The ledge had simply cracked, a fissure, the state geologist would later report. She made no mention of what was left on that ledge. What did that have to do with the fact that the old house was flattened instantly? Other than the old man and his dog would have been crushed if… it hadn't been for that… winged thing.   Malcolm looked down at the dog, which all at once became alert and began to lick its master's face. People stood in wonder, some in doubt. Yet, incredible as it seems it's all true. True as the color of Nutcracker's coat, which from that day forward was an oddly, pale shade of gray. The queer thing was, come each full moon, the fur took on a starry, silvery hue that radiated in the night. People would say she'd been touched by moonbeams on that flight. Enchanted by that winged thing. Malcolm would only laugh. There were no further explanations necessary. Not about the creature, anyway. Or why it came. He knew what it was. Those who were there would agree. They'd seen it with their own eyes. The two of them, man and dog, had been saved on that Halloween night, not by a winged thing.   What then you say? Just look up on the ledge. It's there, your answer, high above, jutting out, to this very day. For all to see. Just as plain as the first time Malcolm had seen it. A silhouette which appeared before him in that instant. How else would you explain it? That when the wall of granite collapsed all that remained above was that formation. Eerily precise. Clinging to the precipice. Forever watching over the Lost Kingdom. Its wings expanded. A fiery sword in its hand. Out of the rock a perfect sculpture of the archangel himself. Uriel, the guardian of the ledge.