Hello, friend.

It’s been some time since I last sent out a newsletter, as I haven’t had much to report. Of course, the main question on your mind must be when the third book in the Wards of Minera series is coming out, and I am pleased to confirm I’m currently in the process of editing it. I have no release date yet, but expect that soon. If you need something to tide you over, there are about a 2 dozen free short stories (and 1 novella) available to read on my new-and-improved website http://jameswcutter.com

And hey — if you read something you think someone you know might like, please share it with them. There’s weird stories on there, but there’s also some “normal” stuff, so there’s bound to be something for everyone. Some of my recent stories are:

• The Bite — Inspired by ancient Greek tragedies, a man is bitten by a dog that refuses to let go, no matter what.

• Nasty People — Read about rich people trying to screw each other out of an expensive property in a mystery told backwards.

• What They Found in the Frost — A cosmic horror about a Russian expedition to the Northern reaches of Siberia in search of a mammoth frozen in the ground. What they find will haunt you.

Thank you for remaining a subscriber. Allow me to show my appreciation by sharing with you an unpublished story called ‘The Man in the Culvert’. It’s a short one, but fun. I plan to share other exclusive stories with you in the future. Enjoy!

— James

The Man in the Culvert

Billy (or was he calling himself Bill, now) knew enough about the old culvert in the ravine near his house that he was nervous about going near it.

The ravine was a nice enough place to play, if you only had yourself to play with, which was often for Billy. He’d whack at young trees and little shrubs with his stick as he walked, producing a healthy thwack each time. The ravine was like Billy’s own little world; rarely did anyone else ever come down here, not even other neighborhood kids. It was all good for Billy — more trees for him to smack.

Thwack.

Billy followed the stream until it vanished up into the wide, circular culvert. His brother had told him there was a strange man living in that culvert, and he should never under any circumstances go near it. Billy confirmed this with another older kid that lived on his street. Investigative and curious, as pointed out by the adults in his life — he would go far with a brain like that.

The man was wild, with ragged clothing, so his brother had told him. With huge, yellow teeth and large red lips, on account of his cannibalism. He had eyes that could peer out from deep within his gaunt skull, and hair that grew in patches atop his head. Billy’s brother had heard him once, his hacking coughs echoing out from within the culvert, distorted and distant.

His brother beat him up sometimes, often, even — every day, if he'd had a bad day in school — but he was no liar. Billy knew he was telling the truth about the man in the culvert, and the fact that he could corroborate it with another boy was proof enough for him that it was all true, even if that boy was Jerry Kinkade, who liked to take his BB gun down into the ravine and shoot potshots at him from behind trees.

He tried to take his mind off the culvert and its entrance; a yawning opening that could swallow him whole, by smacking at a shrub.

Thwack.

It always cleared his mind, made him feel better when he could destroy something small.

Thwack.

Like trees or shrubs.

Thwack.

Or his sister’s hamster.

Thwack.

The adults around him saw the scores he got on tests, the homework he completed quickly and in good detail, the good home life provided to him.

Thwack.

They only saw Billy, though; they couldn’t see Bill.

Thwack.

Bill did things sometimes that Billy knew was wrong, but he took no blame for these things because Billy wasn’t Bill, not really. It was like a video game character that you played as, but between levels, in the dark, he did some not-so-nice things. Bill only did things like that when no one else was around. Secret things. Hush-hush things. Things that would make little girls like Suzy cry when she found them.

Thwack.

Billy looked up to the endless black interior of the culvert. He rarely felt scared, but Bill helped him when he did. Right now, he wasn’t scared of the man in the culvert. How could he be? He had never seen him.

Billy took a step closer.

He could go inside, couldn’t he? Check it out? Just poke his head in, look around, call it a day. Why the heck not? He was Billy Bronson, wasn’t he?  He got good grades in school, helped do the washing up after dinner, read every night before bed instead of watching TV. Could he not do whatever he wanted?

Billy went to the entrance of the culvert, the huge cement oval, planted a hand on its rough lip, and peered inside. It was dark, almost impossible to see after coming in from the light. He put a foot up onto the lip, the late-summer stream splashing up and around his shoe and seeping through to soak his sock. Nothing, not yet. He stepped up with the other foot, and now, crouched so he could fit his whole body in, he listened.

Coming down the pipe was only the sound of trickling water. No men, no weird guys, not strange sounds or requests that he come further in. No hacking cough. Just an empty, underground culvert.

Billy went further inside, splashing into the trickle of water with each step, tapping the stick against the steep curve of the wall as he went, producing a staccato noise. There was no one inside, only Billy. He stopped, turned and looked out the way he had come. From here he could see a circular cutout of the stream and rocks and the lushness of the plants, but it was distant and small, like he was looking at it through a paper towel tube. Sound swirled up the tube toward him, the distorted noises of birds, wind, leaves… and people.

“That’s the old culvert,” a distant voice warned. Female, adult, motherly. “You are not to ever go near it.”

“Why?” came a little girl’s voice, tinny and bent by the interior of the culvert.

There was a pause just long enough for Bill to start to believe they had walked away. He leaned toward the entrance, listening closer, hoping to hear the woman a little easier, pick up what her reasoning was. Her next words were low, nervous and filled with personal experience.

“There’s a strange man inside.”