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Praise from ARC readers:
"Dead Season didn't just tell a story of psychological decay, it made me live it."
"Dead Season was a wild ride of supernatural entities, haunted houses/people, lust, gore and madness and I enjoyed every page!"
"This writer is great, and I would love to read more books from this author."
"This book will make you question how much you really want to move to that ideal vacation spot you fell in love with."
Dead Season: A Winter on Mackinac Island
Dead Season: A Winter on Mackinac Island
Looking to shake up his listless life, Clay thinks he’s struck gold when he accepts a winter dog-sitting job on the remote vacation haven of Mackinac Island. In a single season, he’ll live rent-free while chipping away at mounting debt, finally complete his perpetually unfinished novel, and maybe rekindle a summer spark with Olivia, one of the island’s locals. Instead, the ferries stop running, the tourists vanish, and none of the locals, least of all Olivia, seem to want him there.
Clay retreats to the isolated bluff-top manor, where his presence seems to wake something in a house long used to silent winter slumber. Unsettling sights, sounds, and even smells torment him daily until a mysterious woman in red slips into his bed at night, offering comfort and promising protection from the dark spirit locals call the Black Missionary. Fear of the malignant entity and frustration with his uneven relationship with Olivia pull Clay deeper into the lustful embrace of his protective female presence, and he slowly becomes wholly dependent, even obsessed, with her as he tries to survive the winter.
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Dead Season: A Winter on Mackinac Island is a debut haunted-house novel blending fantasy horror, erotic horror, psychological horror, folk horror, and occult fiction. This is for readers who like their snowed-in stories intimate, atmospheric, and merciless.
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The Trip
The Trip
Eight inseparable friends head to a secluded river cabin in Maple Springs for a couples’ weekend: sunbathing, kayaking, drinks by the fire - and a planned group acid trip they decide to film for their own entertainment.
The next morning, they wake up sick, scattered, and missing whole chunks of the night. What's worse is two of them are gone. No note, no goodbye - just cryptic texts that dodge every question about what happened and why they left.
Desperate for answers, the remaining friends turn to the camera.
What they see isn’t just a night that devolved into accidental swinging - though that causes enough problems. The footage also shows the door to the cabin’s previously inaccessible basement hanging open and a masked man wading through their tangled, drugged bodies. And even on video, they can’t tell if he’s one of them...or an unknown stranger.
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Coming soon in 2026.
Short Stories, Flash Fiction, and More
Storage: Do Not Open
Thrilled that this piece was chosen as a runner-up in Dark Holme Publishing’s monthly indie horror flash fiction (500 words or less) contest and appeared in the January 2026 issue of Dark Descent: Whispers from Beyond
Full story below… you might just want to stick with hotels after this one.
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It’s funny that people automatically assume when they’ve rented out someone’s home that the owner has in fact…left.
They walk into someone’s home - someone they have never met before. And they act with an astounding amount of confidence in the privacy they believe they have.
They never even check for cameras!
Not that they would find any of course.
Cameras are so…impersonal.
A single trip to a home improvement store and one morning of work was all it took to replace my bedroom closet’s door with one of those slatted doors you can see out of but cannot see into. I believe it’s called a louver door.
My guests are told it’s for storage. They’re told to leave it be.
Most do. Though some try and open it anyway. What a scare that gave me the first time!
But my lock is solid, and they cannot get in. I can get out, of course. One little click is all it takes. But I haven’t done so.
I’m not stupid after all. I know that once I do so, my little game will be over. After all, who would want to rent my home if they knew I never left?
Although sometimes I do wonder if my guests know they are being watched. If they even like it. I mean, the shows the some of them put on. My favorite are the women, but I do not mind the men. I’m not close-minded after all.
I love the human body in all its forms. And boy do I get to see all its forms because if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that my guests love to be naked. One guest spent her entire stay naked. The whole weekend!
Sadie was her name. Oh, I will never forget Sadie. She tempted me worse than any of the others. I’d even unlocked the door one of the nights before I got control of myself. Something held me back. Something was telling me to wait - that she was not the one. My ability to see into the future scares even me sometimes.
Because I was right.
Sadie was not the one.
Is Clara? She says she’s in town for a job interview, but I don’t believe her. She must be in town for me.
Clara keeps looking over at me. More than any of my other guests. She can’t see through the slats, not unless she presses up right against them. Believe me, I’ve tested this! So she must know that I’m here some other way. She must feel the same draw to me that I feel to her.
I should watch Clara for a bit, just to be sure. I’m a patient man after all. But seeing her dry off after her shower is testing that patience sorely. The curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts. She wants me to see them. She wants me to touch them. She is the one.
I flip the lock open.
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