Blood and Breakfast: A Friday the 13th Story

By Alicia Dean

Blood and Breakfast is part of the "A Friday the 13th Story" Series. 13 authors ~ 13 individual tales of murder and mayhem on Friday the 13th.

Determined to boost the sagging ratings of her internet radio show, "A Dark Place," murder junkie Sasha Gillette checks into the Talley House Bed and Breakfast in North Kingston, Rhode Island. She and her co-host plan to broadcast an episode about the murders that took place there thirteen years earlier on a Friday the 13th, when a man butchered his entire family.

Not long after Sasha arrives, the other guests begin to disappear. Has a killer from the past resurfaced or is there a copycat on the loose?

One of the lone survivors, Sasha finds herself trapped with a sadistic killer and, suddenly, murder isn't as much fun as she thought.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alicia Dean
• Release date: Nov 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201546380

Alicia Dean

Alicia Dean lives in Edmond, Oklahoma and is the mother of three grown children. Alicia loves creating spine-chilling stories that keep readers on the edge of their seats. She's a huge Elvis Presley fan, and loves MLB and the NFL. If you look closely, you'll see a reference to one or all three in pretty much everything she writes. If she could, she would divide all her time between writing, watching her favorite television shows-such as Dexter (Before it ended, boo hoo), Vampire Diaries, Justified, and True Blood-and reading her favorite authors...Stephen King, Dennis Lehane, Michael Connelly, Lee Child, and Lisa Gardner to name a few. Please follow Alicia on Twitter: @Alicia_Dean_ and visit her website: AliciaDean.com, or feel free to drop her a line at: [e-mail].

Book preview

Prologue:

Thirteen years earlier...Friday, October 13th

Distinguished high school history teacher, Richard Talley, would never have believed he’d be out, alone, in the North Kingston woods searching for the Devil’s footprint. But here he was. His students had grown bored with his class, and he had as well. He was determined to stir their interest and, other than sex, which would get him fired, the Devil was about the most interesting topic he could think of to pique the interest of wild young teens. Although their enthusiasm might be dampened when they received their actual assignment. They would be writing their own legend on how the footprint came to be.

One of those students was Richard’s nephew, Daniel, who’d been living with Richard and his family since his parents had kicked him out. Richard had yet to connect with the disturbed young man and hoped an interesting topic like the footprint would help them bond.

Richard walked along the railroad track, huffing with the effort. He’d had to park his car down the road a ways and, although a mere forty-eight years old, he wasn’t the epitome of fitness. He paused and glanced around, relieved when he spotted the intersecting road signs—Foot Rock Road and School Street. Almost there. Richard lifted the binoculars hanging around his neck and peered through them. After a few moments, he found the rock. One of the prints appeared to be of a normal human foot. The other really did look like a cloven hoof.

In spite of his skepticism, a chill washed over him. There were many legends about the rock but the most popular was that, back in the colonial days, a Native American woman murdered a white man and, just as she attempted to escape, another man appeared, asking her to walk with him. The woman hesitated but, before she could flee, he grabbed her by the arm. She desperately cried out for Hobomoko—the Native American Devil—to save her, but her attacker informed her that he was Hobomoko. The man removed his disguise, wrapped his arms around her, then stomped the ground—creating a hoofprint in the rock—and whisked her away to her doom.

Richard could almost see Lucifer leaping upon the rock, gripping the poor woman in his talons and dragging her to Hades. He shuddered and cast a nervous glance around. Evening was falling fast and the woods were darker and full of shadows. He needed to hurry and get the Hell—no pun intended—out of here.

He traversed the last several feet and took his cell phone from his pocket, snapping photos of the rock. Night was encroaching, and he certainly didn’t want to be out here alone in complete darkness. Richard turned to head back to his car, tripping over his own feet in his haste. He flailed his arms, but lost his balance and crashed backwards, catching himself with his hands as he landed on his butt.

Dammit, he muttered. He shoved against the ground, trying to hoist his bulk so he could stand. A sharp sting pierced his skin, and he cursed, coming to his feet. Blood seeped from a cut on his finger. Richard instinctively stuck the appendage in his mouth, grimacing at the vile, rusty taste of blood and something else he couldn’t identify. He removed his finger and peered at it in the gathering gloom. Prickly seeds were embedded in the wound. He looked at the ground and noticed a leafy plant with purple and white funnel-shaped flowers. Panic sent his heart racing. He stared in horror at the jimson weed. Dear God, he hoped the stories he’d heard about it were not true.

****

He never should have gone to Devil’s Foot Rock. In the hours since he’d returned, things had gone to shit. Richard sat in the darkened living room and lifted the whiskey glass to his lips. Hank Williams, Sr. sang about Weary Blues and Richard knew just how he felt. His family was upstairs sleeping, unaware of the demons converging on their home. And here he sat, with nothing more substantial than a large-bladed knife to protect those he loved. He just hoped he had the strength to kill the demons before they dragged his family to the pits of