Dear Addaline,

My love I write to you as a man already dead. I live now only inside your heart where my eternal soul will rest from here on only to be identified in faint glimmering reflections deep in your beautiful green irises. Others may remember me then and even you shall remember me should you stare into the mirror in adoration as I was gifted the privilege all these long years.

In my last moments I am writing to you from the deserted cabin of the former captain Eli Ravenswold of her Majesty’s warship the Savant. Thirty two gun strong in her prime she is now not but a cargo hold for snapped rope failing to corral loose cannon balls. Banging and chipping away at her hull slowly they destroy her from the inside. Every dip and rise of the bow unleashes another clatter of assaults. The bang and rattle of unsecured cargo alone is enough to chill any man.

As I am yet her last crew, here, far out at sea riding a ghost ship to hell -I will remain loyal to whatever end.

We should have never went into those waters my love. Captain Ravenswold all but had a full mutiny on his hands when the quartermaster made the announcement to the crew. Shouts and growls rang out in support and condemnation of the Captains’ plan. Where he lead us to tread was the rumored home of a great Leviathan. No one dare speak or even whisper its name for fear of being gagged and bound to the anchor for bringing bad luck on the voyage.

As soon as we entered that wretched part of the map we were bathed in a twilight fog and the wind gave up on us. Drifting along like some oars-less skiff on a still pond it was three days before we heard anything but our own breathing. Without not but a small tremor in your own bones as warning we were set upon without mercy.

I tell you now Addaline, find it we did. The Leviathan is real. All men standing on the mighty deck of the Savant casting there gaze skyward saw nothing but a massive tempest of thick muscled limbs ripping down upon them as friend and foe were equally torn to pieces as brothers. Stinking hot breath rattled our sails with life but the creature snapped the masts easily enough rendering us all dead men.

I hid. Your dead husband the coward watched as the Savant’s last crusader ran up the quarterdeck sword drawn screaming in blood lust at the loss of his shipmates.

My cowardice forced me to stand still messing myself over and over again until I could stand the stink no more. Silence had befallen the ship for many hours now. The fog had lifted slightly and I noticed small tremors in the water caused by faint breaths of wind. I hazarded my way to the nearest skyward opening.

My boots slipped in the thick mud created from black powder and blood of the dead.

I was deceived Addaline. The beast was waiting for me. An eighteen pounder was swiftly ripped from Savant’s side tearing a great wound. Blood from her dead loyal subjects began to run among her splinters. Rushing out of the opening in great streams of crimson the droplets wept into the water turning the sea red.

I was quickly resolved to my haunches looking into a great blue and green eye.

Addaline it was unlike any great radiance a living man has seen. I bared witness to the awesome power of the universe with my own human eyes. I stared into twin galaxies Addaline. One green and one blue. Both were tangled in a cosmic dance of everything past, present and future Addaline! Oh, Addaline the Leviathan chose me. God chose me.

I bid you leave my love.

I go to die.

To prosper.

To live as a specter and spook among the prophets of old. Although I do not yet know what may become of the Savant and her true last Captain I am blessed to find out.

Be at peace.

Your eternal loving husband,


This letter brought to you by Percy Jackson and the Last Olympian’s page 29 word “Leviathans” and also the band Alestorm.



April 23rd, 2015

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A small boy adjusted the straps on his backpack as a strange man’s voice lingered in the air.

Looking down the street pensively for his school bus he wondered aloud, “Where does his power come from?

From you. He takes a little bit of you while you are sleeping,” the voice echoed.

“That’s stupid,” he snorted seeing the bright yellow bus roof down the road.

He tried to step forward but his feet had sank into the ground. Ankles clenched in a vice of sand he struggled and screamed for help as grit filled his mouth.

“Is it?” he heard.

I used to dream. I used to dream so vividly I half expected Red Forman was going to invade my mind and declare it an “Unauthorized thought process” like he did to Raiden in the movie Fortress (1992). I don’t dream that way anymore for a long list of reasons. -D

What are your dreams like?

April 18th, 2015

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This is my entry for GreatHites #63.  Lot of good authors over there I’m competing with – extremely pleased with the turn out for this topic.  There is a bit of extra at the end of the recording so if you don’t normally listen you might check it out this one time. 🙂

Download mp3


Download PDF of Silver Bullets (Letters) GH63 Entry

July 21st 1897

To my dearest friend and mentor Father Daniel,

I write to you with desperate haste.  I do hope the mail courier is able to procure this letter in a timely fashion for I require your knowledge and insight.  As you know, Bishop Crane bequeathed to me his post in the town of Fairview New Mexico.  The inhabitants here are finding themselves drawn to God and I find myself his living incarnation fighting for their salvation.  Silver fever has polluted the many souls here and they look to me to make it right.  We are also without a reputable physician so we have become reliant on the trite medical knowledge I acquired under Father Casper during my Monastery days.

The daughter of a prosperous business man Frank Winston, was brutally attacked.  The poor dear was taken from her bed while she slept by something awful.  She found herself clutching to life in their stable with a deep gash in her back.  Daniel, it was unlike anything I have seen in all my forty years.  No known animal or blade did that to her.  Towns folk here formed a lynch mob that did little more than prowl the out-land ranches and scare a few sleeping farmers.  These people are untamed and quick to band together, it makes me nervous.

I write to you because I fear something ungodly might be upon us.  Your work with the young Doctor Van Helsing will hopefully be able instruct me and guide me in this dark hour.

May the mighty shepherd keep you and bless you,
Father Thomas

July 28th, 2009

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