Watchman Chronicles

By Stoney M. Setzer

When Glenn Sanders inherited a small town newspaper from his grandfather, he expected a major change from life as a big city reporter. What he didn't expect was to find himself anointed the Watchman of Crayton, a modern-day prophet charged with confronting evil, including a supernatural plague of gnats and a widow who is not what she appears to be...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tinnie Press
• Release date: Jun 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393884132

Stoney M. Setzer

Stoney M. Setzer lives south of Atlanta, GA, with his beautiful wife, three wonderful children, and one crazy dog. He is the author of the Wesley Winter trilogy, and he has also written a number of Twilight Zone-like stories with Christian themes. His works have been published in such online magazines as Fear and Trembling and Residential Aliens, as well as a number of anthologies.

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Dedication

To my loving wife Cindy ,

the greatest wife a man could ever want.

EZEKIEL 33:7-9

"S o you, son of man , I have made a watchman for the house of Israel. Whenever you hear a word from my mouth, you shall give them warning from me. 8 If I say to the wicked, O wicked one, you shall surely die, and you do not speak to warn the wicked to turn from his way, that wicked person shall die in his iniquity, but his blood I will require at your hand. 9 But if you warn the wicked to turn from his way, and he does not turn from his way, that person shall die in his iniquity, but you will have delivered your soul."

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication

Ezekiel 33:7-9

The Watchman

The Widows Greer

A Word From the Author

More by Stoney M. Setzer

THE WATCHMAN

J oel, I know that has to be a sight to behold, and we may be able to squeeze it in somewhere, but I’m not sure it’s exactly front page material, I was saying in my most placating tone. I mean, we are south of the gnat line, you know. The gnat line was an imaginary boundary dividing Georgia into northern and southern halves, accounting for why the southern half experienced so many more gnats than the northern. I’m sure a more scientifically detailed explanation existed, but such layman’s terms were good enough for most people in these parts, myself included.

My grandfather had been the owner and editor of the Crayton Chronicle for thirty years, and when I completed my journalism degree he left the entire operation to me in his will. At the time of his passing, I was twenty-five and still scratching and clawing to make it in Atlanta, so the chance to advance all the way to the top of the totem pole elsewhere was too much to resist. Without much deliberation, I packed up my belongings and moved some two hundred miles southeast to Crayton.

That had been ten years ago, and most days I still questioned my decision. I had known that I would be the editor and owner of the paper; what I hadn’t known was that I would be a staff of one. As long as this was the case, the Chronicle operated in the black, and I could live comfortably on the profits, but I couldn’t afford to take on any kind of payroll. Fortunately, the Chronicle only published three times a week. Had it been a daily publication, I surely would have worked myself into an early grave.

My biggest challenge, however, was the public’s perception of what was newsworthy. What passed for front-page news here usually wouldn’t have rated a footnote back in Atlanta. For all the other charms that small-town life had to offer, I never got over my hunger for the really big story—a hunger doomed to starvation in Crayton. More than once I wondered what purpose I was really serving in this little backwater.

People called me all the time with what they considered to be big news. Usually I would disagree, but I had to at least hear them out. My phone conversation with Joel Cobb on this Tuesday morning in early June was no exception.

Joel sounded like he would have gladly reached through the phone line and shook me if