Faithful

By Dean Skinner

"It's been 30 days now, about four and a half weeks, but it might as well be forever because I'm in Hell. I am absolutely in Hell and apparently... I'm atoning for my sins..."

Body horror is just the start. Faithful is a suspense-filled novella that unwinds the relationship between a captor and his victim in a cold and agonizing thirty-day plot. With a purposeful and melancholic melody, it will have you holding your breath and body close. 

From the author who brought you Broken, Paths, and Healed, all reaching and maintaining number one spots in numerous categories (#1 in Horror Short Stories, #1 in One-Hour Literature & Fiction Short Reads, #1 in 90-Minute Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Short Reads, etc.), Faithful is by far Dean Skinner's darkest novella yet. As one reader described it, "This 90-minute book f@#ed me up for an entire week."

Within the first week of publication, Faithful made multiple Amazon Bestseller lists including:
#1 in Horror Suspense
#2 in Horror Short Stories
#3 in Psychological Fiction

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dean Skinner
• Release date: Aug 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223003946

Dean Skinner

Dean is an artist and an author of supernatural thrillers. His last book, Healed, was number one on six of Amazon’s best seller lists and remained within the top spots in multiple categories well over a year since it was published in 2021. And his first book, Broken, held multiple top ten spots, including number one in Horror Short Stories, four years after its release in 2019.  Dean is also an artist who has painted over one hundred large-format portraits. His work has been featured in galleries throughout the US and UK and he has been commissioned by numerous NFL athletes, including Derrick Henry, All-Pro running back. If you’d like to see Dean’s artwork, please visit instagram.com/deanskinner. In November of 2018, Dean went to 20Books Vegas, a yearly gathering of some of the publishing industry’s most notable self-published authors. Here, Dean was so moved and inspired by this talented group of people that three months later, he finished writing his first draft of Broken and published it later that year.  Dean is originally from Bridgeport, West Virginia and now lives in Cleveland, Ohio with his wife, two children and giant, fluffy Sheepadoodle.

Book preview

Chapters

Scene 1 – Geld

Scene 2 – Bernie, Baker & Jim 

Scene 3 – Three Blind Mice 

Scene 4 – Uneasy Rest 

Scene 5 – Missing 

Scene 6 – God, I Hope He’s Dead

Scene 7 – Storm before the Calm 

Scene 8 – Sins of the Father

Scene 9 – Avengers Assemble 

Scene 10 – Twinkle

Scene 11 – Aroma

Scene 12 – Diet

Scene 13 – Missing

Scene 14 – Hope

Scene 14 – Yellow Raincoat

Scene 16 – And so it Begins 

Scene 17 – Not Chuck

Scene 18 – Sister Francis Clara

Scene 19 – Little Pink Baseball Bat

Scene 20 – Carnage

Scene 21 – Tie a Yellow Ribbon

Epilogue

Scene 1 – Geld

"Whoa, tie a yellow ribbon 'round the ole oak tree

It's been three long years; do you still want me?

If I don't see a ribbon round the ole oak tree

I'll stay on the bus, forget about us, put the blame on me

If I don't see a yellow ribbon 'round the ole oak tree"

It’s been 30 days now, about four and a half weeks, but it might as well be forever because I’m in Hell. I am absolutely in Hell and apparently... I’m atoning for my sins.

The day starts like every day... Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree by Tony Orlando and Dawn (can’t believe I remember that) begins to play through the shittiest PA system ever... warped, grainy... broken. It reminds me of how old phonographs used to sound during an episode of The Little Rascals, when they used words like shucks, gee-whiz and sarsaparilla. Funny, how I associate the most innocent of times with undoubtedly the darkest of mine.

Sometimes the song plays once. Sometimes the song plays twice. Sometimes the song plays for what seems to be an hour... two... maybe more... I don’t know... I just know when the song starts, eventually so will the day’s torture. And inevitably, the song signifies that he will make his appearance. 

I don’t know who he is. And I don’t know why the fuck this is happening to me. Who did I piss off? Who did I cross? Sure, I can think of a million men that may have an ax to grind with me, but this... this... this is beyond anything any human... any animal for that matter, should have to...

My internal daily detective work is interrupted by his appearance. And today, like every day, he’s sporting the look that has terrorized me since the beginning of this living nightmare: a retro, Halloween Batman mask... you know... the ones with the rubber band worn behind the head, and the small slit in the mouth to barely breath; an old pair of blue mechanics overalls with an embroidered name tag that reads Chuck, and yeah... I’m guessing his name isn’t Chuck. I called him Chuck at first in a desperate attempt to connect with him and the beatings that followed were... raging... intense... personal; his relic of a gym bag that looks like it’s right out of a JCPenney catalog from 1979; and of course... those shoes... those fucking shoes. 

I see him, hear him... shuffle across the dirt and grime of this abandoned school. A school that hasn’t heard the screams of little souls for decades... but definitely hears mine....

Every...

Single...

Day.

Today... I notice an uncharacteristic and disturbing spring in his step... even more so than yesterday... fucking yesterday... fucking monster. Today, my maniac is frolicking. Performing. Sliding and gliding across the debris ridden floor, as I hear the dirt and dust crumble beneath his unmistakable shuffling running shoes. I don’t know what to make of this, and frankly, at this stage of this fucking horror movie that I am apparently the star in, I just want to die. But I haven't died yet. And I can’t take my eyes off my tormentor’s hypnotic yet somehow familiar dance. And then... it hits me... "Holy shit! He’s stealing this scene right out of Reservoir Dogs. You know... we all know... the infamous ear scene where Mr. Blond takes way too much pleasure in cutting off...

My thought stops as abruptly as it started. And all I can think about, over and over again, is the ear scene... the ear scene, the ear scene... he’s fucking doing the ear scene and I drop my head in exhaustion and stop witnessing this demented dance to submit to what I believe is about to happen. Fuck it, I think to myself. Fuck it all. At least today’s torture will be over with. And there are worse things than losing an ear. Much worse. 

He saunters his way directly in front of me and lifts my chin with a cold, steel object that I surprisingly did not see during his performance. 

Knife, I think to myself and again, succumb to what I believe is about to happen. 

He excitedly opens his gym bag with the ferocity of a child opening presents on Christmas morning and retrieves from it, of course, his infamous Bible and begins to feverishly flip the pages to find today’s lesson.  As he does, one of the many, miniscule, hand-cut sticky notes falls from the pages, fluttering down like an innocent little feather. I fix my eyes on the neon pink sliver as it whimsically spins its way onto the cold, dilapidated tiled floor, finding peace, solace in witnessing this little piece of parchment’s hypnotic plight, if only for a second... if only for a moment... a very rare moment in what is truly... my never-ending nightmare. He seems to sense my pleasure in witnessing this impromptu act of physics and jabs the steel object deeper into my Adam’s Apple...

Ahhhh! 

I whimper as the pain pierces me, snapping me out of my trance. He shoves God’s word into my face and of course, like every day for the past 30 days, it is opened to the passage of the day.

I focus... try to focus, through the monotony of underlines and handwritten notes from this zealot. But