Monster Pit

By D.K. Ryan

"Sitting on the same bench, looking at the same slide, and the same swings, all on top of the same white sand, make everything that happened back then seem like a bad dream. Perhaps... no, not perhaps... that was the reason they put me where they did. I was a child for god’s sake, not even my parents believed me. But if you actually sit down and take a moment, who apart from the insane would? Sand monsters were taking the children, I’d seen them do it many times, but apart from the one’s who were taken, no-one else had."

Read this at your own peril... and remember, be careful where you let your children play...

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.K. Ryan
• Release date: Nov 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465891266

D.K. Ryan

I didn't pick up my first book until I was nineteen years old, and having now reached the ripe old age of thirty eight, I think that I've made up for all those lost years by reading every single horror novel I could get my hands on. From Stephen King's IT to The Doll Who Ate His Mother, by Ramsey Campbell. I've devoured them all. I can't get enough. Names of those authors became part of my everyday conversation, Edward Lee, Jack Ketchum, Graham Masterton, Richard Laymon, Robert McCammon, Bentley Little and Lisa Tuttle. It got to a point where I thought that I knew these people personally, and they all left a horrific taste in my mouth. So a year ago I decided to try my hand at writing. What happened was that now I have a number of self published short stories and an 85,000 word manuscript which I'm currently editing along with a head full of many more stories screaming to get out. I've never been one to take things too seriously but I will defend horror to my dying breath. I love reading horror almost as much as writing and hope through constant learning and feedback I can make the genre proud. D.K. Ryan.

Book preview

Monster Pit

D.K. Ryan

Copyright 2011 By D.K. Ryan

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Chapter 1

Twenty years is a long time to be away; they called it a Hospital, but it did nothing to heal me. The hours spent restricted in padded rooms, being forced down into ice filled baths, the electric shock treatment; and days being strapped to a bed with only my faeces to remind me I still lived.

Sitting on the same bench, looking at the same slide, and the same swings, all on top of the same white sand, make everything that happened back then seem like a bad dream. Perhaps… no, not perhaps… that was the reason they put me where they did.