Corpus Vile: Death in the City, Chapter 1: The Red Judge

By Jim Beard

Pro Se Productions and Author Jim Beard return you to the horror and terror of Corpus Vile in this debut chapter of Beard’s serialized novel Corpus Vile: Death in the City!

Months have passed since a vile evil took hold of the city, resulting in the horrific deaths of many, from a beautiful young woman to the city’s own police chief. A mayor who refuses to be a target, a disgraced former District Attorney desperate to save the city, his replacement eager to make his own name for himself, and a woman possibly too close to all of it for her own good. These are the people that stand on the brink of danger when the strange deaths begin again as mutilated corpses begin to dot the city once more. And in the midst of it all, a strange masked figure in crimson robes rises to the call when fear grips the city once more!

Jim Beard’s Corpus Vile: Death in the City- Chapter One: The Red Judge is the debut of Beard’s serialized novel, a new chapter appearing each month and only for 99 cents. A Pro Se Single Shot Signatures series from Pro Se Productions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Oct 30, 2014

Book preview

Chapter 1: The Red Judge

By Jim Beard

Copyright © 2014 Jim Beard

Published by Pro Se Press

As when it began, it continued with a corpse.

Leaning over the thick stone barrier, he caught sight of the body down below in the water. It made him dizzy to look at it from that angle and height.

Can you fish it out? District Attorney Henry Wildenburg asked the cop standing next to him. He had to raise his voice somewhat to be heard over the sound of the rushing water.

The officer shook his head, shrugged his broad shoulders. Squinting into the rising sun, he took a few steps away from the D.A. to get a different view of the corpse.

Dunno. Maybe. Not gonna be easy.

The corpse faced down into the water of the river, caught on an immense branch that had lodged itself in the grating of one of the city’s water intake points. It bobbed there with the current, its dark coat ballooned from air caught underneath it, its thin, reedy arms floating to each side of it with strange, almost purposeful movements.

One spindly leg of the body hung in an unnatural way over the small waterfall that poured from the river into the grating slightly below it. Bent at the knee, it moved as if trying to propel its owner further into the intake.

Wildenburg, a handsome fellow of the slick, waspish sort, couldn’t tear his eyes from it. It seemed as if the macabre thing wore a formal tuxedo; he swore he could see its coattails being moved about by the current. Surely that was a trick of the light?

Finally, he looked up at the cop and grimaced. Come now, Cookie – how hard could it be? Surely you don’t intend to just leave it there?

The officer frowned, clearly annoyed at the D.A.’s personable use of his nickname.

You don’ know this city too good, Mr. Wildenburg. We don’ leave a mess like that around. We’re short on men, true, after November, but I’ll get someone down there to haul it up toot sweet.

Twenty minutes later, Wildenburg, bathed in the glow of the sun that had risen on that fine early April morning, watched as a city truck was backed up to the barrier and the crane attached to its bed was swung out over the intake.

He caught a few words of the cop’s grumbling to the driver over the "new D.A. stickin’ his big nose inta sumthin’ like this," but chose to ignore it. Instead, he hung over the stone wall again and assessed how they’d get the sodden corpse unstuck and up into their hands.

Nasty business, the cop opined, rubbing his hands and glancing at