I’ve got a few publishing credits under my belt, from a few different publishers. My main genre of writing is superhero-based, but honestly, I’ll write about anything that piques my interest. You can check out my Amazon author page for my published works. Below is some unpublished works, stuff that I couldn’t publish on its own, but someday might be able to put it in a compilation book.

Flash Fiction

Admittedly, I was a self-taught surgeon, but this was new ground for me.  I guess you could say I was branching out.  I wasn’t overly familiar with plastic surgery, but I had about 10 minutes to get good.

I knocked Jake out completely.  As much as I wanted to see him struggle, it’d be easier for me to pull off his face if he was placid.  Plus my incisions would be more accurate.

Not that my body would have cared much.  It had undocumented healing properties.  Normally my kind would wither and rot away, but I discovered that this wasn’t always the case. My undead life could be restored simply by swapping out the failing body parts.

I hadn’t needed a new face, but the temptation was far too irresistible.

I wasn’t sure exactly when Detective O’Connor would get back, but I knew it’d be soon.  He always got off work at 5PM.  He was nothing if not predictable.  I guess one could say the same about me.

At this point it wasn’t even about revenge as it was sheer pleasure.  The idea of cutting off a kid’s face, his kid’s face, and then wearing it as my own was going to be the biggest thrill of my undead life.  The icing on the cake would be when O’Connor saw me.

For years we had been at each other’s throats.  He was actually the one behind my eventual capture.  Suffice to say, we had a lot of history together.  He was even there when they gave me the chair.

With a large grin on my face, I got to work.  I had already wasted enough time wandering down memory lane.  I wanted to savour every moment of this.

I started at his widow’s peak, plunging the scalpel into his forehead.  I swept the blade around his scalp, over to his temple and down to his chin.  They may have called a butcher, but I took my work very seriously.  I was extremely careful not to wreck the dimple in his chin. That was one of his distinguishing features and I didn’t want to mar it.

Repeating the same fluid motions on the other side of his face, I finally ended up with a blood outline.  Hindsight told me that I’d have been better off killing him instead of drugging him, because that way I wouldn’t have had to worry about wiping the blood off his face while I was cutting.  You take the good with the bad, I suppose.

The easy part was finished.  Now I had to skin the bastard.  I was quite adept with a knife but there was a still a fine art to skinning.  You had to pull the skin away just a bit and then make small quick cross cuts to separate the flesh from the muscle underneath.  At first it was only a small flap of skin hanging off his face, but that flap increased in size quite rapidly.

It was hard to savour the moment knowing you were on time constraints.  Regardless, you couldn’t rush art, no matter how much you tried.

Outside, the wind bays like a lonely wolf singing to the moon.  Whistles are heard near every window and door.  The old house creaks and moans its displeasure of the weather.

It is 3AM.  I lay awake, pillow pressed tightly against my ears in a vain attempt to shut out the noise.  It wasn’t the wind’s gusts that woke me.  No, it was the sound of footfalls coming up the stairs.

I live alone.


Creak.  Creak.  Creak.


They were slow, deliberate and delicate.

“Go away!” I screamed out.

The footsteps abruptly stop.  Pauses.  Then slowly dissipates down the hallway, and back down the stairs.

I hear them still, if only faintly.

I call out, louder than before.  “And do the dishes while you’re down there!”

Stupid ecto-plasm freeloader.


New place



Dogs everywhere
But no one to play with

Why am I here?
What did I do wrong?
Aren’t I a good boy?

Here forever, yet I just arrived
Where are my humans?

Unfamiliar sights and smells


Why can’t I go home?
Why doesn’t someone love me?
Am I unlovable?

I’ll be a good boy
I promise

Please take me home

Take me anywhere but here

Here is scary

In she walks
She sees me
I’m trying to read her face
Will she walk past me?

She’s stopping
Bending over to say hello
She’s kind, but I’m still scared.

Will she take me home?
Will she love me?
Will she hug me
And let me sleep next to her so I feel safe?


She picks me up

I’m going home.