Killin Machine

By JT Pearson

Jake Barnes, an odd man, is a struggling novelist that makes his living at a publishing house where the owner and the other employees find him too strange to fraternize with. His social life and his writing career change when a mysterious man shows up on his doorstep demanding that Jake hand over the man’s cat. Quirky humor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JT Pearson
• Release date: Jun 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301340675

JT Pearson

JT Pearson is possibly more myth than reality. It is widely believed that he has been around for thousands of years. Archeological digs have uncovered Grecian artwork that suggests that they prayed to him to cure ailments of the feet. Irish legend insists that JT Pearson is that movement in shadow that you’re not certain that you actually saw, or that image at the edge of your peripheral vision that vanishes when you turn toward it. In the upper Midwest of the United States people had claimed that they had several images of JT Pearson captured on film but they were all poor quality and eventually proven to be hoaxes. It is only recently that an artist rendering was discovered in the attic of an old convent that is believed to be authentic. President Richard Nixon had claimed before his death that JT Pearson was the specter that haunted his boyhood home, and quite possibly the reason that his mother left his father for a short time. Nestled among all of these legends and hearsay is the accusation that he is the author of this sight and responsible for the drivel that has been filling your head. Lawyers for JT Pearson advise that if you read his work you do so at your own peril and no form of compensation either monetary or otherwise will be offered for any injuries permanent or short term which are incurred within the pages of his stories. If you’d like to communicate with JT Pearson either burn a photograph of yourself and sprinkle the ashes into the wind at dusk or you may take the more conventional route at [e-mail] P.S. look for novels coming in the near future. For now, please enjoy the many short stories that he has provided for you to read for free. Feedback is much appreciated.

Book preview

Killin Machine

By JT Pearson

copyright 2013 Joseph Pearson

Smashwords edition

I kept trying to wait the person out and stay in bed but whoever was outside my house just kept knocking on my door. It had to have gone on for five minutes. I work at night and sleep during the day, vampire hours, with the complexion to prove it. What do I do all night? I write novels. But until my agent lands me a contract with a decent publisher I’ve got to manage to keeps the lights on and the toilet flushing so I edit manuscripts. Wait. I’d like to start out on the right foot this time. I’m always trying to impress people. In other words, I lie a lot. I’m going to try to be honest this time, with this story. So here it is. I edit manuscripts. Horrible, terrible manuscripts that turn into the awful books that line the stores at the mall that sits on top of the hill in the small city where I live. My manuscripts may be just as atrocious. I’m not sure. Lately my ego has become pretty fragile. Occasionally I become convinced that everything that I write is worthless and I delete file after file from my computer until I have nothing to show for the thousands of hours of work I spent on the keyboards month after month, year after year. And then, after a couple of days, I receive a letter from some tiny magazine that opted to buy one of my stories and suddenly I’m born again, completely renewed. I do what I can to retrieve my files from the recycle bin and get back to work. Maybe eventually I’ll be able to produce my own dreadful novel that will fit right in line with all of the garbage people are reading these days. If so, I’ll take any success I can get. My pride has been crawling away. The last response I got from a publisher that reviewed a manuscript for a novel I proposed came from the reputable Thorn Publishing. I was beside myself with excitement when I saw that the letter was from Madeline Thorn herself. I yanked the paper from the envelope so fast that it partially tore. I opened it up and saw just one word in all caps: DISTURBING. I tried to follow up with Thorn Publishing but got no response until a letter arrived from the publishing house one day. It was from Madeline Thorn’s assistant, Janice Myer. It simply said, please discontinue trying to contact our office and do not submit any more queries or materials to Thorn Publishing. They were treating me like a stalker. I tore it up and decided that I would write just one last letter to them and probably no more after that. You’re probably wondering about the guy that was at my door.

The stubborn son of a gun at my door had to be someone that knew that I was home sleeping. No regular mortal could’ve exhibited such ambition without a reasonable expectation that someone would eventually appear before them. I got out of bed, pulled on my robe, fumbled around for the glasses that kept me from being legally blind, and stumbled to the door, my hair a mound that angled up and to the left, tall and leaning like the famous tower. I opened the door while the man was still knocking, causing him to nearly pound on my chest. I was wrong. I had no idea who this man was that stood with one arm braced against my house, his head pointed down as if he was studying his shoes.

Can I help you?

A cat, he said, as if that should mean something to me. A small black kitten. Do you have it? He was still staring at the ground, rubbing his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in a year.

I don’t care for animals.

Not what I asked you. The man was thin and short, balding, probably late fifties, with that