ValentineDavis21

For Carlos it was slightly odd and simultaneously endearing to see Ramona and Moira together; they were so different from each other, and yet it was those differences that made their relationship work. Ramona, Carlos knew, had grown up on a farm which her father, a man just as difficult to love and understand as Enzo, owned. She was the embodiment of the tough-as-nails, take no bullshit small town girl. She had never left Adermoor Cove and unless a miracle from God were to happen, she prob

The man who had bailed Lane out of jail looked close to retirement age with a round cheerful face, a handlebar moustache, and watery brown eyes. Lane had been in his cell, asleep, or at least trying to. It was impossible to do with all the noise and activity happening around him: phones ringing, voices talking and laughing, keyboards tapping away. This is what it must be like to be an animal at the zoo, he'd thought. And it was impossible not to imagine what his fate might be. No matter if

Carlos sat at his desk, watching the suspect. Ramona had left a half an hour ago after typing up a report; Carlos had elected to stay here so she could go home and be with Moira. “Thanks,” she’d said, obviously grateful. “I owe you one,”. Now the station was quiet. The only other person in the station was Melvin the dispatcher. The longer Carlos watched Lane the more perplexed he became. Lane was sitting on the edge of the bed now, looking at the walls. To Carlos he looked like a smal

Ever since he'd returned to Adermoor Cove, Carlos Santino hadn't been able to sleep. Hardly a wink. One second he was hot and then cold the next, and he couldn’t keep his eyes shut even when they were heavy. When he actually did sleep he'd wake up thinking there was someone in the house. It was a problem that had only existed in Adermoor Cove; as a kid, up until he went to Boston for law school and to become a cop, sleep hadn't been a problem. In fact he slept like the dead, without the h

After living in Boston for over the past fifteen years, Carlos Santino has returned to Adermoor Cove, working as a deputy underneath his father, the sheriff. After a month of being back he begins to have horrific nightmares/flashback of a traumatizing experience he's long since forgotten. Upon being called onto the scene of Vanessa Stanton's death, he encounters the enigmatic Lane Hardy, who has been suspected for Vanessa's murder. As the disorientation grows Carlos finds himself delving into a nightmare-mystery of secrets and suppressed memories.

The hour draws nigh to post the first chapter for the third part of Adermoor Cove. While Lane Hardy is still the main protagonist and focus of the story, this episode focuses on a secondary protagonist, as will the first half of the fourth one (the one I'm currently working on). These characters each have had their own strange experiences that causes them to question the life-is-perfect appearance of the island, and ultimately being drawn into the conflict. This episode focuses on Carlos Santino, a man who has returned from his hometown, Adermoor Cove, after spending a little over the last fifteen years living in the city of Boston. For most of those years he has worked as a homicide detective. He now works alongside his father, the sheriff, Enzo Santino. Upon returning he starts have dreams/flashback of a traumatizing event that occurred when he was a child. These dreams keep him from getting sleep, therefore making it more difficult for him to do his job and hold onto his convictions about the strange events happening on the island. This episode (and the next) are very personal for me. For the past week or so I'm lucky to be getting 2-3 hours worth of sleep. The last two nights I've had, what I'm pretty sure are sleep paralysis episodes. The first one happened Friday morning (I've been getting to sleep 4 and 7 a.m.) For those who don't know, according to Wikipedia: Sleep paralysis is when, during waking up or falling asleep, a person is aware but unable to move or speak. During an episode, one may hallucinate (hear, feel, or see things that are not there), which often results in fear. In my cases, and I've accounted for about three, I've thought there was someone in my apartment. I could literally feel them staring at me. This last Thursday (the 19th of July) I heard someone screaming - or laughing - outside my apartment door and then it sounded like it was in the apartment, coming towards the bedroom. I couldn't move a muscle. I just laid there paralyzed and helpless. I didn't sleep for the rest of my life. And then sometime this last morning (I'm getting my days and nights mixed up) I recall having a dream where I dropped something made of glass and saw a bright flash of light, and then jerked awake, just like when you jerk awake after dreaming you've fallen. While none of the characters have separated from sleep paralysis so far I do know how sleep deprivation can affect our moods and perception of reality. In a place like Adermoor Cove that can be a very, very bad thing.

Yes, it's finished for the most part, I just need to finish editing. I'll start posting chapters on the 21st.

Lane sat up in the chair. He’d dreamed of his father again, only this time his father wasn’t trying to kill him, his mother had killed his father and he’d helped his mother to do it. Help me, Lane, she’d grunted, I can’t do it by myself - he’s too heavy. And at the age of twelve he helped Nora throw his father down the stairs, and together they watched him tumble down the flight of stairs like a multi-limbed boulder. Lane had never had this dream before. Mom, what did you do to m

The front door was open. Lane stared at it from the armchair and wondered what it was doing open. He’d fallen asleep in the armchair with a blanket spread across his lap, but it didn’t stop the chilly morning air from seeping into his bones. “Charlie?” he said. Only eerie silence answered. Charlie hadn’t answered because Charlie wasn’t in the house. He stood up, bones feeling stiff. He was afraid. The front door shouldn’t have been open, but for some reason it was. Had Nora retur

Lane found himself in a bar called The Netted Eel. It had a deck which overlooked the docks. From the bar he could look out the window and stare at the water. It was a dark blue color. He could see himself falling in the water and trying to break the surface only to feel slimy dark tentacles pull him under. That’s what he felt like, a drowning man. A group of middle-aged men stood on a small stage, singing what might have been a Nirvana song. There were a few people inside, sitting next to t

I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm having fun writing it. The fact you want to binge read it I take as a compliment.

A cheerful honk sounded from the driveway. Lane’s heart immediately kicked into high gear. She’s here! He pulled the water stopper out of the sink and wiped the soap from the backs of his arms with a paper towel. For the past four hours he’d run around like a chicken with his head cut off, trying to make everything perfect for when Nora Hardy got here. Each passing minute, the second her arrival grew closer, the more he grew more excited and secretly dreaded the moment. When did this fear

Nurse Audrey gave Lane no time to grab hold of his surroundings. She led him straight up the staircase, a beckoning smile on her lips. An eye catching crystal chandelier hovered above their heads; as they ascended the stairs Lane grabbed glimpses of the framed pictures lining the walls. The photographs, formally taken judging from the way everyone stood shoulder to shoulder, followed a vague timeline, going from black-and-white to color. They reached the landing and came to a long h

Yo, where are all my readers at? I've started part 2 of Adermoor Cove. Needing some love and attention!😝

Adermoor Cove is a serial I'm working on about a town on an island just off the coast of Maine and a young man who goes to the town in search for answers. The young man, Lane Hardy has been on the run for a year, being stalked by a supernatural force he doesn't understand, as well as his own uncontrollable powers. Adermoor Cove is supposedly where the dark source comes from. As he tries to find out more about the dark forces and his own past, he discovers the town isn't what it seems. Today I want to talk about the inspirations I had to write the story. Silent Hill: I saw the movie when I was eleven on a rainy day. My mom and I didn't have anything better to do so we went to one of the cheapy movie theaters. my mother hated it - she didn't understand it, and anything she can't understand she hates. I loved everything about: the premise, the creepy atmosphere and music, the sense of dread. Ever since I saw the movie I've always wanted to write something similar. Stephen King: I remember Mom read his books a lot in college. I was exposed to his work from a very young age. I started reading him when I was in middle school. Of course at that age I couldn't fully appreciate his work the way I do now. I tend to like his early work: The Shining, Cujo, Firestarter, Pet Semetary, and Misery being among my favorites. None of these books really scare me, except Misery because of the one scene with the axe (Stephen KIng as a way of writing where you can actually see what's happening as if you're there yourself). If anything i find these books to be tragic. They've stuck with me because of their bleakness. Even if the main character survives at the end it doesn't necessarily mean the story ends on a happy note (The Shining, Firestarter, Cujo, and Misery). I want to capture that feeling of tragedy, of true bleakness. And of course Stephen King inspired games like Silent Hill. H.P. Lovecraft: I have never read any of his stories but I love the mythos he's come up with and the idea around dealing with forces the world doesn't understand. And like the creatures he's created his stories truly have an alien feel to them. I've seen several movies based or inspired by his work that i found rather terrifying (The Thing, In the Mouth of Madness, and The Void). While Stephen KIng will always be closest to my heart without Lovecraft I don't think writers like Stephen KIng or Clive Barker (another writer I love) would be who they are. And finally last but not least: Myself. My experiences. Having experienced mental health issues and trauma Adermoor Cove is really just an analogy of how I feel: Running from my depression and anger, paranoia, feeling as if there's no one I can trust. In the story there's a saying: I'm going to quote a character from my story: "People who leave Adermoor Cove always comes back one way or another." And people who go there who aren't from there get stuck. That's how i feel after fifteen years of living in Indiana, where I'm from so I put that in the story as well. Oh and I also have a lighthouse fetish which is a central part of the story. Anyone who reads this entry please consider at least try reading the first part of Adermoor Cove. At 11,000 words it is a quick read. i am currently in the middle of posting the second part and almost finished with the third. i would like to hear your thoughts on the story.

Charlie collapsed into the empty spot of the bed next to Lane. His chest heaved up and down as he fought to catch his breath. Dan McCafferty of Nazareth sang about how love hurts on the old vinyl record player. “Goddamn,” Charlie said, “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep my hands off you for a whole weekend.” Lane grinned from over his shoulder. He laid on his side with his head propped up on his knuckles, so the Grim Reaper was flipping Charlie the bird. “It’s just for two days

“Hey buddy, are you okay in there?” the guy on the other side of the door asked. There came out sounding like theugh. Lane snickered, wiping his face with the back of his cast. Even after a month of living in Colorado he was still getting used to the Northern accent. The guy knocked on the door again, making it shake. “C’mon, guy, my little boy out here needs to use the can.” “I’ll be out in a minute,” Lane said impatiently. He pulled the nozzle on the toilet and watched his lunch, a

He opened his eyes and saw the right side of the bed was empty - Charlie was gone. The terror was still there, as stark and raw as the smell of blood. He could still feel his father’s hand on the back of his hair, shoving his head under cold bath water; the helpless feeling of not being able to fight back. And then the feelings of guilt and fear when the smoke cleared and he found his mother sobbing over his father’s dead body and he realized he was a killer. Charlie was gone.

Exhausted and reeling from the nightmare events at the Rainbow Beret, Lane has finally reached Adermoor Cove. There he meets Vanessa Stanton, a woman who's dying from terminal cancer. Meanwhile, in flashbacks, the truth about Charlie's death is revealed.

I always have formatting issues with the whole copy and paste thing. I will try to be more contientious of that in the future.

Lane was ready to pack up and start driving towards Maine, but first he had to get his last paycheck from Phillip. He was reluctant to see the nasty old bastard and would have rather just forgotten about it but he needed all the money he could get. The moment he walked through the door, he sensed something was wrong. There was no one in sight: no one stood behind the bar serving drinks or played pool or sat in the booths. The jukebox was on, playing a Johnette Napolitano song: “Who’s holding

Thank you, Howzat.

Brendan tossed and turned throughout the night. It was unusual, not being able to sleep. He went to bed at the same time every night and got up at the same time every morning - but he couldn’t stop thinking about Lane. The more he replayed last night's events in his head the more he began to think there was something with Lane he’d missed. Ignoring the voice that told him to leave well enough alone, Brendan got in his truck and drove to The Rainbow Beret. He peeked inside and saw Lane was

Thanks Carlos, fixed it.

Brendan pulled up to The Mountaintop Inn in his red Ford pickup truck. He’d put on a plaid shirt and jeans and cologne. I’m too old for him, he kept telling himself. Why would he want to be with an old man like me? But then he reminded himself he’d never been with a man who wore eyeliner and had piercings and tattoos, or was half his age. This was a first. Looking at himself in the mirror, he ran his hand through his thinning hair and tried to cover up the bald spot as best he could. When he