This was a tough one – Suzi Albracht has a triple set of horror books, and it is almost Halloween…
WARNING: This is not for the faint-hearted or language-sensitive! Suzi is a real horror writer!
I love to write horror thrillers with intense personal relationships between characters. I started reading earlier in life than most of my friends and spent many hours hidden in closets and under beds, sneaking in just another ten minutes of whatever book I was reading. As soon as I was old enough, my mother would send me to the library to pick up books for her. This delighted me because it opened up a whole new world of books not available in school.
I read everything I could get my hands on but was drawn to sci-fi, horror and thrillers. As I matured, I would say my main influences became Stephen King, Dean Koontz and William Faulkner. My writing definitely reflects those influences.
I can honestly say my twitter bio describes me to a T – Write, scare myself, turn all the lights on, write some more. Take a break, play pool, kick butt/get butt kicked, go write more horror, double lock door.
To reach me regarding my book (s) or to just say hello (please, no spam), email me at SuziAlbracht@aol.com or tweet me on Twitter: @SuziAlbracht.
Send me an email if you want to be alerted of new book releases.
Excerpt from The Devil’s Lieutenant
Mikael palmed the Walther and started across the street. He was ten feet out when he thought he heard the smallest sound, a clicking noise, metal on metal. He turned to look but he didn’t see anyone or what could have caused the noise. His heart fluttered and skipped a beat. Mikael shook it off. He told himself to focus on getting the hell of there.
His car was a block and a half down the street so he picked up his stride. He was worried enough that he pulled his one remaining vial from his pocket with his free hand. The vial was nearly empty. He prayed there’d be enough if that noise turned out to be what he thought it was.
The noise came again, this time louder. Now there was no doubt, someone was taunting him.
Of course, it was them. But how did they find him? He had covered his tracks the entire day. He wondered who they sent this time. He hoped it’d be a new one. They were the easiest to handle.
Keeping to the dark side of the street, he did a low jog toward his car. He transferred the vial to his gun hand and fumbled around in his pocket for his keys, found the leather tab and pulled on it. They clattered to the pavement. Jesus, he was acting like a rookie. Mikael fell to his knees, fumbling around on the pavement. Where the hell were they?
Then the footsteps came. They were slow, deliberate and male.
The bastard was toying with him. It had to be someone he knew. A new one would be more careful. A name flashed through his head. No, it could not be him. He didn’t dare to look. Mikael focused on finding those damn keys. There they are. He snatched them up and sprinted the last few feet. Fumbling the keys into lock on the driver’s door, impatiently he pulled on the latch until it gave and he ripped the door open.
Mikael chanced a quick look back. And then he saw him. The bastard was marching out of the shadows. Tossing a red vial up in the air and then snatching it out of thin air, over and over.
His vial! No. He must have dropped it when he dropped the keys. No. No.
Mikael scrambled into his car and locked the doors. He shoved the keys at the ignition but his hand shook so hard he couldn’t get the car key into the ignition slot. When he finally jammed them in, the car roared to life. He tried to position the Walther on his lap but it slipped off his thigh and clunked onto the floorboard near his feet. He reached to grab it but the damn thing was stuck on something.
Come on Mikael, grab the damn Walter and shoot the bastard’s face off. Jesus, what’s wrong with you? This is nothing new. You’ve faced death many times. Shoot him before he tags you.
Something crashed against his window, shattering the glass. The car’s alarm system screamed. Splintered glass exploded into the car.
A meaty ham hock of a hand reached through the driver’s window and grabbed the collar of his jacket.
An inhuman screech pierced the air… it was moments before Mikael realized that it was his screech.
Mikael shouted aloud to himself, “Get a grip. Fight back. Damn it. Fight back.”
Still he was frozen, unable to act as he had been trained. Finally, he forced himself to consider the potential implications for his son. Did he want the bastard coming for Ivan? Because that’s exactly what the bastard would do if he thought it might get him leverage with the Master. That thought pushed Mikael into high gear, kicking in his training.
Mikael pulled away. He grabbed the first thing he saw and threw it at the attacker. The attacker cursed and then laughed. Then Mikael realized that he had thrown his dinner leftovers from the Corner Stable at him. While his attacker laughed in the background, Mikael started to scramble over the gearshift to the passenger side of the car. He had one leg on the other side of the gearshift knob, when he was dragged back across the seat by his shirt collar.
Mikael was unable to twist his neck enough see where to aim, but he threw a wild punch over his head. Miraculously, he felt his fist connect to something solid. The blow must have hit a vulnerable spot because his attacker grunted and loosened his grip on Mikael’s collar. He head other sounds that suggested that the attacker staggered backwards a step. Mikael took his chance and shrugged out of his jacket. It flew out the window.
Moments ticked by without another movement toward him so Mikael decided the man was either reconsidering his options, or had accomplished his mission. Meanwhile, Mikael searched for his gun. He got his fingers on the butt of the gun but it wouldn’t budge.
“Mikael… Mikael,” The voice spoke his name with his native accent, taunting him.
“Did the old man send you or did you come on your own?” Mikael managed to wiggle the Walther to one side but whatever it was hooked on wouldn’t give.
“Why does it matter? You know what you’ve done. Tick tock, Mikael. Tick tock.”
Mikael knew then that his attacker wasn’t going to grab him again, so Mikael gave up on getting the gun loose. He rammed the gearshift into drive.
“Tell him you failed, asshole. Next time, I’ll send you to hell,” Mikael snarled out the window.
The man didn’t follow. It didn’t matter, he’d be coming after him on another night.
As he raced away, Mikael felt something on his face. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Without a doubt, there was movement just under his left eye. Was it a twitch? It had to be.
It moved again, this time near the side of his nose. His eyes froze on the movement. Jesus, it was real. It was happening.
And then Mikael’s face settled back into normalcy. He decided it must have been his imagination. The stress of the attack had caused his imagination to run wild.
Well, he was done fooling himself. This attack proved to him that they weren’t going to let him leave. When they came for him again, they would not find a sniveling coward making mistake after mistake.
He’d have to kill his way out or die.
(All materials used in this post with permission by the author)