Well with the release of my new novel, Born of Black Bile, I wanted to put some updates out on the book itself, as well as the future of what was once called the Celestial Graveyard.

Note: I really keep this blog for me, just for progress purposes, so if you read it, it’s a little look on the inside, though nothing too detailed. Can’t give you too much.

My initial plans, as many already know, was to publish the Celestial Graveyard, a five story composite novel. The first of five was the prequel short story, Remnants of a Lost Angel—now a full chapter in the aforementioned book, yet still a tie in to the overarching story—with the second story being what is now the entirety of Born of Black Bile.

What was once a novella consisting of some 66 pages, now a fully fleshed out story about someone whom I know very well, Katlin Musco. Listen, I know how that sounds, but over the course of the past two years, this character I created—or better yet, ripped from my genes—Katlin and her story in Born of Black Bile really was born of the black substance itself. And I’m all the better for it.

Now, in 2025, I find myself proud and happy where the story ended up. So, with today being the release, January 10, 2025, it’s time to give an update on the rest of the stories that were once in their own, cozy coffins in the Celestial Graveyard.

NO, scratch that. I have two updates. I don’t want to spoil you.

First, a short story.

This one is a doozy. You ever drive home from your boyfriend or girlfriend’s house late at night? Take any backroads and wonder, “what the hell is that thing, and why is it chasing behind me?” No? That’s fine.

Second, it’s cold in hell. I mean, here, in Pittsburgh. It’s like zero degrees outside.

In the next story, the third in the Celestial Graveyard, which has a title I’m not quite ready to reveal, a familiar character—or characters, I should say—return, or make their initial appearance. That’s all I can say. I’m sure a Sanitarium in the freezing cold at the edge of the world would be preeeeetty comfy.

That’s all for now. Wanted to keep it short and sweeet. Like you. You can purchase my new book, Born of Black Bile on Amazon by clicking on the link the left, the button below, or through the books up top.

Stay warm; stay hydrated!

-Alec

So, before you get to reading about your new, lovely neighbor below, just a bit of brief news.

As I’ve been sharing for over a year now, I do have a new novel coming out, though things have changed.

Originally, the book itself was a collection of 4 novellas and a short story, which all tied into each other. It was a composite novel, if you will. *NOTE, that short story can be read HERE!

About 6 months ago, I changed lanes. Each story will now be its own novel. The reasoning behind this, among others, is that the more I read that collection of stories, the more I realized that each one had much more to tell and deserved to be their own thing.

With that being said, the stories all still tie into each other, even more so now than previously, so there was nothing lost along the way. That world only grew, and now you’ll get to see more of it.

The first story in the book has already gotten its full makeover, and I am currently gearing up for its release. (Cover and title reveal soon!) It’s definitely going to be something. If you’ve been keeping up with my short stories, you should know that the upcoming book(s) ramp up that creepiness, tension, and burn tenfold.

Now, the story below will be the last before the book will be published, which means it is coming VERY, very soon.

Until then, Happy Halloween, and enjoy reading about your new neighbor.

My Neighbor

By Alec G. Thein

My neighbor. He’s doing it again.

I know I shouldn’t be snooping like this, but it’s hard not to notice.

Beeswax? Buckets of plaster mix? I was thinking about asking him if he needed help to carry any of that stuff in his house, though it might be a little suspicious. He’s only been in there for a couple months, and he’s been nothing but nice, though a little on the quiet side. Not bad looking either.

It’s just interesting, is all. The combination of materials… I would have guessed renovations, especially considering its age. I don’t know.

Something seems weird.

I’m paranoid. Working too much.

It’s going to be a muggy couple of months down here. Like always. Not sure if he and that beeswax are ready for summer down here in the swamps. We’ll see.

*** 

I passed out in the chair by the window, apparently drooling all over myself before the sound of clanking metal woke me up.

My neighbor is doing something outside. Again. At two in the morning.

He has his pickup parked out in front of his house, but he’s not carrying any wax inside this time, surprisingly. But he does seem to have something in the bed of the truck.

I need to get a better view from upstairs before he leaves the street.

I would hurry up the steps, but my damn back, which is in dire need of a good stretch and sleep in an actual bed, keeps slowing me down.

No one to blame but me. I feel like an old mannequin.

I’m not sure if I can sneak a peek out the window without moving these curtains.

Ah. That reminds me, jeez do I need to dust.

Where are those binoculars, anyway? Whatever.

It looks like there is something in the bed of his truck. A blue tarp just haphazardly thrown over the rear end; there looks to be a spade sticking out over the tailgate.

It’s just a shovel, but this early in the morning? It almost looks deliberate to me.

Stop it. It’s none of your business. Paranoia striking again.

Go back to sleep. In bed this time.

It’s Saturday.

Thank God.

*** 

I only got a few hours of sleep last night, as usual. Bed or not. Where I sleep doesn’t seem to matter much anymore.

Still, what a beautiful morning it is. I think I’m going to stop being so creepy and venture over to say hello to the neighbor. If he’s not stockpiling odd materials, that is.

And if he is, maybe I can lend a hand, if my back lets me.

It’s humid as the seven circles today. I could probably lay flat and cook on this sidewalk.

There he is. Is that a cardigan he’s wearing?

“Why, hello there, Miss!” He says from afar. “It is a mighty fine morning, now, isn’t it?”

He’ll hurt his cheeks, smiling that hard. His lips look like they’re stretching beyond a human’s normal capability. I can’t tell if that’s happiness, or a coping mechanism.

Now I’m projecting my overworked mind. His lips are fine. Though…

That is a magnificent smile.

“Yes! This weather is definitely something.” I say to him. “I see you’re still adjusting to it, huh? Aren’t you hot in that thing?”

His smile vanishes like it was just erased from existence with a snap.

“Adjusting just fine, actually.” He says.

Cue the awkward silence.

“So.” I break it. “You been doing renovations to that beautiful place of yours?”

His smile creeps back, but not as strong this time. Slow. Subtle. Cheeky.

“You could say that. Certainly planning for renovations, that is.”

“I’m sorry. I haven’t been snooping, but…I did notice you bringing in a heck of a lot of stuff, so I figured as much.”

His eyes begin a voyage of my body, scanning me up and down, leisurely. Smile is the same. A smile of my own pops up. Didn’t mean for it. It just happened.

“Say.” He says, locking eyes with me. “Think you could help me carry some things inside? It’ll only be a jiff. We’ll be done in two ticks.”

Perfect opportunity.

“Sure! I need to warn you now, though. My back has been pretty thrashed lately. But I’d love to help a great neighbor such as yourself.”

“I’ve noticed.” He whispers under his breath, though still with a tone loud enough to hear.

Did he really think I couldn’t hear that? Any louder and our other neighbors could hear him.

What is that supposed to mean, anyway?

“Come on! I’ve got some stuff in the back of my truck you can help carry in.”

Well, looks like I am helping. I’m too curious, anyway. Nebby. Nosy. And…probably creepy.

“Let’s do it.”

We walk to his truck. He has the blue tarp folded neatly, perfectly, into a square, resting under the rear window. On top of it is a cardboard box duct taped shut, labeled Organ in black marker.

That thing is really taped. Extensively.

Paranoia? Perhaps.

Expensive belongings? More than likely.

Body parts? Doubtful, though, that thought will remain in the back of my mind. Too late now.

I lunge myself into the bed of the truck and step to the Organ box, which is sitting next to a spade and a pickaxe.

“Organ, huh?” I yell back. “Do you play?”

There is a momentary pause from him while I carefully bend down to grab the box. Damn back.

“Y-yeah. Yes! Wait, what are we talking about? Play what?”

“The organ. This box. It’s labeled organ. I just assumed—”

“Oh, yeah! Not the organ, though. Well, I play the piano. I used to—well, I used to collect them. The movers mislabeled it when we moved. I know they just wanted to help, but I’m not sure why they wrote organ on there. Or maybe—hm. Yeah, I’m not sure, exactly. Organ is close enough, I guess!”

That was a lot.

“Why used to?” I ask him. “If you don’t mind?”

He clears his throat. “Ah. Well, my…previous love, it was our thing we did together. We loved instruments, specifically pianos. After she passed, it just wasn’t the same. I ended up selling some pieces and keep the rest in a storage locker.”

Pieces of a piano?

“Oh. I’m—I’m very sorry to hear that.”

I could see the grief rusted gears turning in his head. Maybe that’s why he’s so awkward.

“It’s alright. She’ll always be with me. In that box, specifically.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean in this box?”

He’s just staring at me with that reserved smile. He isn’t saying anything. I can’t even imagine what is going through his head right now. I’m not sure I want to know.

It’s starting to feel more like a doll’s eyes locked on mine than an actual human being looking at me.

Quit being judgmental.

“The things that I remember her by, of course. Little pieces we used to collect,” he says, as his reserved smile morphs back into a full-on teeth display.

Great. I’m terrible.

“I have some more things I want to bring in from the back. Just go ahead and take it in there. Set it in the room on the right.” He tells me.

“Oh, okay!” I say, uncertain of what just transpired. I don’t know what to think, other than this is my chance to see what’s happening in there.

Though, I will say, there’s no way he’d let me in if he was doing something sketchy, right?

Right?

I walk up his sidewalk. It borders his yard and shrubs, of course.

Though—I’m not entirely sure how I didn’t notice this before—the yard, bushes, flowers all professionally kept.

Professionally kept.

The grass, what little there is of it, looks as if a ballpark gardening crew took care of it.

The bushes are perfect boxes.

The flowers are glowing.

And the weirdest part is, I’ve never seen a landscaping crew do his yard.

I can’t help but stop and admire his immaculate balance of sweet olive bushes, gardenia, and hibiscus.

I got to say, I’m impressed.

Everything smells so fresh.

Maybe he’s just a pro.

I continue to the front door, propping his curio-filled, silver ladened cardboard box on my leg and reach for the doorknob.

I can feel it slipping.

“Oh, God. Please, no.”

I skid, trying to readjust and secure the box, but it starts to fall, and almost as if it came out of a pocket dimension right next to me, my neighbor’s hand steadies it.

“We wouldn’t want to drop this, now, would we?” He says, as the cheeky smile returns. “Let me get the door for you.”

“Oh my gosh. You scared me! I thought you were in the back.”

“Nope.” He says. “I’m right here.”

I step into the sight of a practically empty house. No boxes. A couch and chair in the room to my left, with a large TV resting on a stand with the fireplace sitting next to it.

There are pieces of chopped wood stacked up to the mantle that it rests below, hiding the fireplace’s mouth.

To my right is nothing but a stained wooden desk with a golden lamp accompanying it. His office, I suppose.

The house is empty. If I hadn’t known better, I would have guessed he was moving out, not in.

“You can just set it in there. On my desk. Please.” He says. “Thank you.”

I walk the box over and get a peek past the office. There looks to be thick plastic hanging, covering the entrance to the room around the corner.

It’s fogged up. I can’t see through it.

“That where you’re doing the renovations?” I ask. Paranoia and curiosity striking again.

“Yes, ma’am, though…I’m not so sure it’s ready to be seen just yet. Barely started, ya know?” He says, hands on his hips.

“Well, I would love to see it when it’s finished! If you ever need any help, you know where to find me.” I say, trying to match the energy his smile radiated earlier.

I look back toward the hanging plastic and can make out boxes upon boxes of beeswax, plaster mix, and stacks of silk rags.

“I still see her, you know.” He says, standing by the front door. The breeze that flows in moves the plastic around, though not enough to get a clear look at the rest of the room. “It’s more like quick visions of her, but it never really looks like her. Her face always looks obscured just enough for me to not see it. It feels like something is in the way. A dark spot.”

I turn away from the plastic and walk over to him, resting against the archway outside of the office.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like.” I tell him.

“It scared me at first. I thought I was being haunted. I couldn’t handle it. I swear I would hear this noise… It reminded me of water boiling. A rolling boil. But there would be nothing on the stove. The other possible culprit, the hot water tank, would be silent. Eventually, I saw dark silhouettes all around the house. I’ve never believed in ghosts. It’s why I moved here, to continue living without being pestered by—whatever.”

“Have you seen or heard anything since you moved down here?”

The neighbor looks past me and my statement, into the office, like his attention broke off and ran somewhere else.

“All the time.” He says. “So!”

What just happened?

He continues. “I appreciate the help, but I’m going to get changed and get to work.”

“Oh! Okay. I’ll let you get to it then. Again, you let me know if—”

“If I need any help. You got it!”

I walk past him and out of the house, getting about halfway before turning around. He’s standing at the office window, looking out. That reserved smile plastered on his face.

I wave.

He waves back, twitching his fingers before walking away and into the shadows.

*** 

My doorbell rings.

What time is it? It has to be at least eleven at night.

I’m up anyway.

I get up from my office and head over to the front door, flipping the porch light on.

I creak the door open.

It’s the neighbor. He looks distracted.

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you at this hour, but I wanted to give you a heads up. I’m going to be leaving for a couple of days. Family emergency. I was wondering if you could watch my house while I’m gone.”

“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. Yeah—yes. I’ll watch your place. Gladly.”

“Thank you so much. You’re a doll. Here’s the extra key. Just give her a once over every day and night until I get back. Maybe turn a light on here and there. On at night, off in the morning. Something.”

“I absolutely will. I hope everything is okay with the family.”

“Yeah.” He says, walking away. He throws his hand up in the air. “See you in a few days.”

I shut my door and look through the window. The neighbor drives away, coasting underneath the streetlight, which reveals that blue tarp again, covering the bed of his truck.

What kind of emergency needs that?

*** 

After a full day of work, it’s probably high time I go check on the neighbor’s place. It’s already dark.

No snooping. Just going to flip on a light, make sure there aren’t any spooky intruders, and be on my way.

I walk in through the front and shut the door behind me. I can hear the plastic moving from the air flow. I’ll just turn on the lamp in the office for tonight.

Flicking it on, the sound of the floorboards creaking startles me.

“Hello?” I ask, knowing full well that there isn’t anyone here.

Or at least, no one here that should be.

I stand perfectly still in front of the desk, helming the golden lamp.

“Hello?” I ask again. The dangling plastic moves once more. I peek around the corner and see it lightly fluttering, like someone had just brushed up against it.

I guess I do need to snoop a little. 

I walk over to the plastic, pushing it to the side as I glide through.

Everywhere. Covering every inch of the room. Plastic lining the floor and walls. Makes sense. Renovations and all.

Up close I can see that beeswax, plaster, and stacks of silk rags. Next to them, the box I carried in. The one labeled Organ.

I still don’t get the rags.

The urge to open the Organ box is growing.

I turned the light on. He isn’t here. What’s the harm in checking it out?

I carefully strip the duct tape off the box, ensuring that I don’t damage it or rip off any piece of the cardboard, so I can put it back exactly how I found it.

I open the box, partially bending one flap. No way he’ll notice that, anyway.

I look inside.

Piano wire. Lots of it. Wrapped up in a circle. Guess he wasn’t lying. There’s a mason jar inside too, with something written in black marker on the silver lid. It’s too faded to read.

Loads of duct tape blacks out whatever is inside the jar.

I’m already this far, might as well check this out too.

I give it a shake before twisting it open. Sounds light, maybe breakable. Fragile.

I open the jar and see what looks like large white marbles inside.

More floorboards creak. Someone’s watching me. I’m getting way too nosy. Time to finish up.

“Whoever is watching me, I’m sorry for snooping!” I yell aloud.

I close the jar and put it back in the Organ box. I press the tape back down in the exact same spot it was stuck before I opened it and left the plastic room.

Wait, I told him I would watch the house, the least I can do is finish that.

I walk upstairs and check out the three bedrooms. The first two are on the left.

Empty.

I then check out the last one, on the right past the hall bathroom. The master bedroom. Where he sleeps, presumedly.

I walk inside the room to see a king-sized bed and brown dresser. Dated décor, but nothing out of the ordinary. No intruders, either.

My décor is ancient. I can’t judge.

There was another door as I left the room. Storage maybe?

I walk in to see another empty room, though not completely. A record player stands practically alone on top of a sound system that looks to be from a few decades back. It’s accompanied by a single wooden chair facing the window outside, toward my house.

I’m not really sure what to make of it. The man likes to sit and listen to music, is the only thing I can get from this. I’m not going to assume anything.

Let’s go home.

*** 

The neighbor didn’t say when he expected to come home. Another night to flick the lights on. No snooping this time. I swear. Turn the light on and go home. That’s it.

That’s it.

I go inside, head over to the light on the desk and turn it on. As I’m about to leave, the fireplace catches my eye. Why in the hell would he stack all that wood in front of the fireplace? I said no snooping, but this is just crazy.

The living room was calling my name, so I went in, past the couch, and over to the woodpile. I unstack the chopped wood that was up against the mantle, and I can start to see behind the pile. I can’t really tell, but something black and stringy looks like it’s sitting in there, though I’m not exactly sure what it is.

It’s resting on the concrete.

A couple more pieces of wood gone will give me a better look.

Wait.

Headlights.

Oh, no. He’s home.

I frantically start to put the wood back on the pile. I can hear his car door shut. His footsteps approaching. The front door opens.

My doom is here.

“Hey there!” I yell.

“Oh, hello. What are you doing over here?”

“I was just giving the place a once over. Making sure everything is good. You must have pulled in as soon as I flicked that light on!” I say with a light chuckle.

“Yeah.” He says. Straight faced. Dead eyed. “Thanks again. I’m beat. I’m going to hit the hay. I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure. Everything okay with the family?”

“It will be.”

“What does that mean? What happened?”

He stares at me for a few seconds. Emotionless. Did his soul poof away?

“Thank you for watching the house. Goodbye for now.” He says, as he puts his open hand out in front of me.

“Oh, the key. Sorry.” I placed the key in his hand. I was sweating up a storm holding that piece of metal. No way he won’t notice that moisture. He’ll think something suspicious.

Stop.

“And, uh—sure thing. Let me know if you need anything!” I say.

He rubbed the key in between his fingertips.

I give one last light chuckle to brighten the ending mood.

“I’ll see you later!”

I turn back once I leave, expecting him to be standing at the window, but he’s not. He’s walking toward the TV room. The woodpile.

Great.

*** 

Two days.

It’s been two days since I’ve seen him come out of that house. I’ve been extra snoopy lately. I’m just waiting for him to mention something about the woodpile, or even to tell me that I got into something that I shouldn’t have. Just. Something.

Something.

But no. He hasn’t so much as turned on a light since he got home.

Damn paranoia.

For all I know, he’s been throwing a party over there, but I just haven’t noticed.

No, I definitely would have noticed. I’m too nosy.

I think I’m going to go check on him.

Tomorrow. I’ll go check on him tomorrow.

I need to think of something to say.

Jesus. Listen to me.

***

No answer at his door earlier.

I haven’t heard a peep from him in days.

Now, it’s two o’clock in the morning and he just got home, parked in front of his house. What’s he doing?

Sitting by the same window in my office, I turn away for a second. I close my eyes and yawn. Figures. Yawning. Doesn’t matter how much I yawn and get tired.

I never sleep anyway.

The sound of crinkling thick plastic tickles my ear. It’s louder than the crickets and all their friends.

What is that?

More crinkling. It doesn’t sound like one of those plastic bags you get at the supermarket. Bigger.

What the hell is that?

The streetlights illuminate in front of his house.

I squint down at his truck and see him toss a large black garbage bag over his shoulder—at least—I think it’s a garbage bag.

Can’t find those binoculars again.

I move closer to the glass of my window to get a better look.

He stopped. Why did he stop? 

The neighbor turned his head toward me. I quickly slide down in my chair so fast I give myself a wedgie.

Did he see me?

I’m too afraid to move back up. My heart is in my bladder. I know he saw me.

God damn it, I know he saw me.

I inch my way back up.

That black bag is on the ground. Where’d he go?

Three knocks on my door downstairs.

Please. No.

I swallow so hard I choke on the spit.

I wander down the stairs and open the door.

“Hello there, neighbor.” He says.

I rub my eyes as if I was sleeping. He knows I wasn’t.

“Oh, hey there. What are you doing over here at—what time is it?”

“Late. Very late. I saw you had your lights on. I thought I’d ask you for your assistance.”

“I—sure. Assistance with what?”

“You know, just carrying something in my house. It’s not too heavy, at least with the two of us. Just awkward to carry.”

What could it even be?

“Well, if it can’t wait until morning—let’s do it.” I say.

We stroll over to his sidewalk where the—now I see it—long black bag rests on the ground.

“Just grab it from the end there, and I’ll grab it from his end.”

I pick up the smaller end of the bag.

Are these…feet?

He picks up his end, and we start to walk the bag in the house. He’s walking backwards, staring at me. A gleaming grin is stuck on his face. Not a hint of reservation.

“If you don’t mind my asking.” I say, out of breath. “What do you have in here?”

He scoffs. “Oh, you must think I’m a psychotic or something.” He pauses with a chuckle. “You see, there’s a body in this bag.”

My heart bursts through my bladder and onto the sidewalk. I stop.

“There’s a what?”

“No! Not a proper body—or carcass, I should say.” He doesn’t chuckle, but snorts. “I’m a tailor. This here is Josie. My model.”

Either I’m sleep deprived, dreaming, or both.

I begin to step forward, hopefully cuing him to get a move on.

“You scared me there.” I say. I couldn’t find any other words. “I didn’t know you were a tailor. You never said.”

We reach the threshold of his house. Thank the heavens.

He props the bag on his leg and opens the door. We walk in.

“I’m fairly new at it. Started right before I moved here.” He says. “Just set her down over here.”

Beads of nervousness dripping from my forehead smack his floor.

We step right in front of the hanging plastic, directly before the beeswax room, and place the bag down.

“You’re fascinating, you know that.” I say, even though I shouldn’t have.

He stares at me. No smile. No reaction. Empty.

His eyes go down for another voyage of on body, scanning me once again.

“Thank you for your help at such a terrible hour.” He says, as he raises his hand to the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Sure. Yeah. See you soon.”

I scurry out the door.

I speed walk over to my house and hurry to the second floor. Any light that I had on upstairs, I turn off.

Back to my chair. I can’t help it. I need to look. Where is he?

Looking all around his windows, until…

He’s in that room. The empty one. With the chair.

I know that, because he’s staring right at me.

I wave.

He stands there for a moment. No reaction.

He doesn’t wave back. He just stares.

I close my curtain.

Goodnight.

*** 

I wake up in my bed. I actually slept, even after last night.

Today is a day off for me. No work. No snooping.

Just laziness.

Though, I am curious…

One peek out the window won’t hurt. Not literally, at least.

With my cup of coffee, I’m back in the chair. Just for a moment. Nothing longer.

I look over at the window.

In the frame, a still body. Long black hair drops down from the head, standing still. Perfectly still.

I can’t get my coffee down. I can’t stop looking at it.

He’s a tailor. I know that. He told me that.

Since when do mannequins have hair?

My coffee goes down. I need to brush my teeth. Get rid of the bitter caffeine stuck in my mouth.

*** 

Back to the window.

The body—er, the fake body hasn’t moved.

Though…something’s different. Arms wrap around it. Squeezing it.

Who else’s arms could they be besides his?

He’s a tailor. Remember? A tailor. He’s probably measuring.

The body gets ripped out of view. The black hair trails behind, both completely out of sight.

I can see the neighbor walk over to the record player. He gently places the stylus down, I assume.

I could really use my binoculars right now.

Taking periodic looks out the window, I hunt for the binoculars. Though, it’s not long before a peculiar sight stops me.

He’s dancing. He’s dancing with the mannequin. Whipping it around like he’s done it before. Danced with it before.

I need to find those damn binoculars.

Lightbulb pops in my head. Downstairs in the den.

I sprint down the steps, spot them sitting on the table next to the couch. I snatch them as quick as possible and hustle back up to my nosy spot.

My nosy spot. God. I need to get back to work.

Not yet.

I bring the binoculars up to my eyes. Right to the window. The body is still again. The dancing is over, though I can see the face of the mannequin.

Something’s off.

Really off.

The face. The mannequin’s face looks…real. Or it was real.

It looks rippled, not wrinkled. Waxy.

Wax. The beeswax.

Is that a homemade doll?

I don’t know what to think anymore.

Can’t help it. I continue my stare.

That black hair. I’ve seen that black hair.

Since when do mannequins have eyes and—

The neighbor moves into the window frame—or rather, his face does. He begins kissing the mannequin on its painted lips.

I pull the binoculars down, then back up.

Its eyes are wide, stapled open, if my imagination is anything to go by.

Looking closer, the eyes look more like white marbles that have painted on pupils.

He’s licking the mannequin’s lips.

Kissing its cheek.

Kissing its neck, and—

I drop the binoculars on the table.

That’s it.

I’m done.

Well…

I pick them up one last time.

The man is gone again, and whatever was on that mannequin’s face looks like some of it came off with his tongue.

That face. The material of its skin.

Something is really wrong here.

Where did he—

A fat smack across the mannequin’s face scares the living hell out of me.

I fumble the binoculars enough for them to smack the glass.

My eyes widen.

The neighbor turns to face my house.

His eyes widen.

I drop to the ground.

I’m done.

*** 

My curiosity overwhelms my paranoia.  

It’s three in the morning. His truck is gone. I’m going in.

I need to see that mannequin.

I need to see that woman.

I go out through my back porch. Quietly. I never fixed the motion light facing the yard, so I should be in the clear.

There’s no fence, though I feel like the moment I step onto his perfectly cut grass, he’ll be waiting for me.

With one grand step, I push my foot into his one-inch grass.

He’s not behind me, is he?

I turn around to see my house. No neighbor.

I continue into his backyard. No motion light. Still in the clear.

There’s a door that leads to—yes. It should be the plastic room.

I go for the handle. Unlocked.

I probably should be terrified at this moment, with the main reason being the question, “why was his door unlocked?”

But I don’t really care. I need to get in and get out before my curiosity gets the better of me.

I open the door to hear the plastic sway in the breeze.

Empty boxes of beeswax. Empty buckets of plaster mix. No rags.

In the corner of the room lie containers of all three. Unopened and ready to go.

Whatever. I need to get upstairs.

I ease past the plastic hanging from the ceiling.

Home or not, I’m staying quiet.

The stairs are right here, but…the woodpile.

It’s gone. It’s been a few days. What the hell happened to the wood?

It doesn’t matter now. Upstairs. The empty room.

I press the balls of my feet into the steps, hoping to be as quiet as a professional thief.

Making it to the top, I dart down the hallway towards the room as quiet as I can.

I open the door and flick the light on.

Below the light, a woman in a white gown sits in that empty chair.

She’s facing me. Looking at me.

Her eyes are black and white. No color.

Her lips look pasted on or pasted over.

Her teeth peek through, though they don’t look like human teeth, but more plaster.

Her skin resembles a crinkled Paper-Mache.

The black hair was a wig, poorly placed staples sit atop her head.

I’m afraid to get closer. She’s staring into my soul. But I need to. I need to know what is going on.

I reach my hand toward the woman’s face. I just want to poke her nose. Pinch her cheek. Something.

So, I do.

I grab her plaster cheek with my thumb and index finger and pull.

With that pull, her cheek breaks off.

Underneath all that beeswax and plaster is a stench so horrid I could faint.

Something worse than a dead skunk that was eaten and vomited up.

That kind of smell.

Though the plaster underneath the skin wasn’t more plaster, or beeswax, but rags. Just silk fabric.

I moved her gown down just to confirm what the hell I was looking at.

At each joint was piano wire, wrapped and fitted firmly, keeping her limbs together.

In between those limbs was rotted flesh and bone.

She’s staring at me. Butterflies. Goosebumps.

I want to cry. I feel like I can’t move.

I’m getting out of here.

As I turn around, a creak springs somewhere in the hallway.

I don’t care. If he’s there, I’m blowing past him, sprinting to my house, and calling the police.

I’ll find some sort of weapon and wait for him.

I creep out of the room, but no neighbor.

I tip-toe down the steps and head back through the plastic room.

I scan around, thinking that he’ll be somewhere, but he isn’t.

I leave my neighbor’s house and can’t help but think he wanted me to see her; for me to study is immaculate creation.

I open my back door and head upstairs. Back to my chair.

I take a seat and snag the binoculars.

I peer into that window, though there’s no one there.

No woman wrapped in plaster or beeswax.

No neighbor.

I don’t understand.

“You will understand. Join us.” The neighbor says.

I scream for my life. It doesn’t matter.

The rag in his hand reaches over my mouth while he pushes the back of my head towards it. Hard.

The muscles in my neck pull and bend in ways they shouldn’t.

More rag.

I don’t think I’m waking up from this sleep.

*** 

“What a lovely day it is today.” The neighbor says, as he reaches down to grab the newspaper thrown on the sidewalk.

Wearing his sweater that does not belong in this southern heat, he flips open the newspaper, though what he’s looking for isn’t inside, but on the front page.

He turns back to the front, and spots a picture of a missing woman, and a smile appears on his face.

As he heads inside, he walks towards his plastic room and sticks the paper on a pile of newspapers, next to the beeswax, plaster, and rags.

He then walks upstairs to that empty room to see the woman in plaster sitting in the chair.

His smile brightens before closing the door and heading back downstairs.

The neighbor then walks into the living room, where the fireplace is.

Sitting in front of the fireplace, in a reclining chair, is another woman.

The man sits on the couch next to the chair and looks at her.

“Hello there, neighbor.” He says.

View the original story page HERE

This is a quick one.

Celestial Graveyard

I just wanted to give a quick update regarding my new book, Celestial Graveyard. It’s page on my site, which you can find by clicking HERE or by using the menu and going to the Celestial Graveyard book page, has been completely revamped and updated. Each story inside the Celestial Graveyard now has its own home, with some special imagery to boot. The updates will continue periodically until the book releases. I want to make the Celestial Graveyard page as interactive and real as possible.

Other Projects

The other thing that has been recently updated is the Other Projects page on my site, specifically Artificial Intelligence Art and Photography. You can navigate there by clicking HERE or by using the menu and going to the Other Projects, then Artificial Intelligence Art and Photography. I wanted to add a gallery of all the pictures I use on here on my site, both AI art generated by me, and the small amount of (nonprofessional) photographs I take and use here. That’s all.

Thank you everyone for stopping by for a quick chat.

Stay scared

Alec

Welcome to the dream, my friend.

Though it’s been a few months, I wanted to hop back in the update pool and talk about a few things—three things actually.

This Fiery Engine.

As I reach the end of my newest book, I also reach the final update on this blog (regarding the book itself) until its completion. To say that I’m excited for everyone or anyone for that matter, to read it, would be underselling what I’m feeling. Living through these worlds, or world, and creating them has been an intoxicating experience, a feeling that I look forward to continue chasing for the rest of my life. I cannot wait for people to consume, and get consumed by this cosmic anomaly.

With that, I do wish I could share more about the stories themselves here, let alone the emotions that they portray, but I can’t spoil it. Which brings me to—

My initial plan, especially when I first started this blog, was to not only document my progress and state of mind as I went on this journey, taking on my first fictional writing, but to also give previews as to what will be in store for those that have interest in the unknown, and a hint of the familiar. The latter half of my initial plan has since been changed. Due to the evolution of this book, publishing any short story on here, or any preview, would now be spoiling it. This thing has evolved into a beast of its own kind, one that I wish I could compare to something, but I don’t think I could find an example. Like I said, I’m excited.

So I tell you, whoever is currently reading this, something new is approaching, and it’s right on your tail.

The Anniversary of Something Special.

Back in March of 2020, that wondrous, exhilarating month that will go down as the start of a pandemic, I published my first book, A Brief Story of an Exceptional Divorce. It’s been two years since the story of my family’s life was released out into the wild, something that I’ve contemplated putting out there for longer than that. I’m not going to go into that here, as I did in my last post briefly, but I do want to say: whether you’re divorced, happily married, know someone that is on the verge of splitting with their significant other, or are even just merely curious, my book might give one insight into something that people have plenty of preconceptions about, A Brief Story could be a short, but fruitful answer for you.

Take a Hike.

For those that aren’t in the know, some four years ago, I began scoring short films, writing music and creating musical cues for my favorite genre. This year, I returned to the medium, and scored a short horror film called A Walk in the Woods for the great Greg Vogt. I forgot how much I loved making music, but more importantly making music for movies that I love. If you want, check out the other short films by Greg, as well as the others that I scored, which will be linked at the bottom below, along with Greg’s YouTube channel.

And for those that enjoy my scores, even without the meticulously crafted pictures behind them, each score will soon be available to stream on all major platforms. I’ll post an update soon on when that’s happening. It’ll be a pretty cool collection. Until then, I have a book to finish.

Thank you all for reading. Hang in there. And don’t forget, life is too short for worry.

Alec

Links:

Gregory Vogt, Director. Youtube: Blacksheep'd Productions

Other Scores by Alec Thein:

A Walk in the Woods (2022)

Striges (2019)

Curtain (2019)

Not Alone (2018)

Nightsaw (2018)

It Won’t Leave (2018)

Wait (2018)

Hey you, welcome back to this cozy little spot where I talk about stuff.

I’m a little late on this post, as I’ve been hard at work on my upcoming book, putting every inch of typing power into it. While I currently don’t like the idea of writing anything that doesn’t pertain to one of the six stories in my new book, I do want to talk a little about my foray into the horror genre here today. But, I wanted to get a few things about my debut project out there, stuff that I initially wanted to talk about directly after release in person, an opportunity COVID denied me.

A Brief Story

My first book, a family memoir/non-fiction story about my experience with my parents’ divorce, released one year, nine months, and seven days ago. If you judge the book by it’s literal cover and its title, A Brief Story of an Exceptional Divorce, one might get the impression that it’s a self help book, merely a guide into traversing the terrain of separation. The truth is, it can be that, just as it can be an educational view into something you might not have experienced yourself. It could also be used as a comparison to one’s own divorce.

My initial intent, one that still reigns my goal of the book to this day, and the future, is just to share my family’s story and hope that people could relate, or learn from it. No matter what, it’s up to you to decide in how you interpret it.

What I’m trying to say is, A Brief Story of an Exceptional Divorce itself is just meant to tell a true story, one that I needed to share, one that I’m proud of. If you haven’t read it, or yet, even bought it, you can here.

The Dimension of Fervor

I don’t want to say too much yet, still, as the significant details of my next book are still soaking up some much needed darkness. I do plan to talk about the title and synopsis as the book gets officially ready for publish. For right now, the only information I want to share, is that there are six stories with different characters, as I’ve talked about in my previous post. It’s up to you to decide how they fall into the horror category. I will add, your emotions will have the biggest role in the book, not just fear.

That’s as much as I want to give away about the book for now, though keep your eyes peeled like Alex in A Clockwork Orange for more info. It’s coming, and I’m so excited to share the dread with you all.

Just a Little Bit of Social Media

Lastly, I’ve recently—and by recently I mean literally today—made a new Facebook page, as well as a new Instagram, both directly used for my author stuff. Give em’ a follow if you’d like. They are bare-bones for now, but I will be active on them.

My goal for the Facebook is ease of connection with anyone who’d like to talk about any of my books, business inquires (such a buzzword, I’m sorry), or any questions that one might have. My email is listed on there, just as it is listed on here, for those things as well.

As for the Instagram, it will be the place to check out some cool stuff pertaining my writing, as well as another place to connect with people. A new Twitter will also be coming, though for now, Facebook and Instagram are the priorities regarding the social media stuff.

I also have a Goodreads page you can check out and follow as well, listed at the bottom of every page on my site here.

Thanks for reading. You’re all amazing. Don’t forget it.

Merry Christmas.

Alec

Hello all, and happy October!

I wanted to get this thing started months ago, though all my time writing has been going towards the new book. So, with it now being the spookiest month of the year, I figured there wouldn’t be a better time to get the pumpkin rolling (sorry) on the future of what’s to come, as well as touch on some stuff that has been going on in the past year. Maybe it will help someone, I don’t know.

Let’s go.

Then

In April of 2020, I began work on the rough draft of a new book, specifically, a novel. Considering my previous book was the true story of my family’s life, you can find that here -> [A Brief Story of an Exceptional Divorce] which writing was a completely different experience, this time, my approach would differ in how I wrote. Instead of going off pure memory and a few statements here and there, I’d be creating people and worlds, something I have always wanted to do; it’s something I was looking forward to doing. This was it.

I made it to October of 2020, six months after the release of my first book, until overcoming my mountainous naivety and reaching the realization that becoming a full time author (as well as taking on the grandiose amount work I wanted to put into this novel) was more than just writing your first book, publishing, and getting it out there, with that last one being the biggest challenge. I was producing music for six or seven years before I delved into formally writing with intent, so I knew the immensely difficult task of getting your work out there was harder than creating the work itself, at least for me. With that, I decided that it was probably a good idea to get a job on the side until I could position writing as my career.

It started out great, though I was most certainly doing something I never thought I would partake in that wasn’t around the yard, or for my family, hard labor. I would start work at 7 a.m., finish around 3:30 p.m., come home, sleep, and try to write as much as I could before having to repeat that same process the next day. It worked, though as time went on, my stress and tired levels would rise higher, while my creative drive would get lower. Eventually, about six months into my job, the desire to write, create music, basically do anything that wasn’t relaxing or hang out with friends, was almost gone. The thing that drove me my entire life, to be creative, was leaving me. I never felt that feeling before, losing a massive part of me, that made me who I am. Alec was slowly leaving.

Fast forward another month, I was losing weight not because of the strenuous activity that my job required of me, but the stress it was giving me. I have always been an easy-going person, going with the flow, not letting things get to me, and that profile followed me to work. Though with this job, I would come home, attempt to decompress, but instead would start stressing about the next day, without the thought of writing even crossing my mind. I’d lose myself in a movie or show, a book or video game, until I’d have to go to sleep and go back to work the next day. When Friday came, I wouldn’t even be excited for the weekend, I would just start dreading Monday, and the thought of having to deal with all the stress-inducing ridiculousness all over again until that next work week was upon me.

That isn’t to say that I hated every day at work, no way. A few of the people I met there became great friends, and I wouldn’t have met them otherwise, so I am very thankful for that fact alone, but also, it made me realize that that place was slowly killing me, and I was comfortable with it. It wasn’t the work itself, though. I have done things that could resemble hard labor my entire life, as my family firmly believes in getting things done yourself, only hiring others if it is absolutely necessary (which is probably where I get my determination to do everything without help); it was the place. Barring those few people I had mentioned above, the place was perfect for shredding off any inch of happiness and leaving one with nothing but anxiety and anger. But, because I am who I am, I just took it. Whatever. That’s part of life, right? Work? Stress? Deal with it …It is what it is.

Now, this isn’t a debate on whether one should have to endure unwanted and unnecessary feelings in order to get what you want. I still fully believe and stand by the fact that hard work is important, and that will never change. Making money is an undeniably, crucial and inescapable part of life. No one is saying otherwise. Sacrifices are also part of life, which is why I quit that job, now almost two months ago. If my parents weren’t the most supportive people on this planet, I would still be there too, because I was comfortable, despite getting mentally and physically unhealthier by the day. My mom and dad saw what was becoming of me, and they didn’t like it. Neither did I. So, I took a chance, and started writing full time, committing every day to doing what I want to do for the rest of my life; just write.

Every day people sacrifice something they want to do, for something more practical. Not me. Life is way too short to just ride the same, safe train everyone else is taking. Why not take the fun one? That’s just me, though, and I couldn’t be more thankful that I am able to take the fun train.

If you have made it this far, it’s time for the—

Now

With that stuff out of the way, it’s time for the nitty gritty; the juicy stuff; the next book. Keep in mind, this will be quick.

I briefly mentioned earlier that I began my work on a novel before starting that job, and while that is still true, I put that particular book on hold while I worked at that job, and in the last month of my time there, I started work on a different book, one that was easier for me to work on (before I made the decision of quitting) while stressing my daytime life away.

The book itself is something I have always had immense passion for, I would say more than any genre or topic out there, it being Horror.

My upcoming book, containing a title that I am not ready to disclose just quite yet, will be a horror anthology. It will include six different short horror stories, all with different characters, settings, plots, etc. It will have a different take on the supposed genre, with the premise itself being the thing I am most excited for. I am hopeful that these stories will be unlike anything you’ve ever read or heard of before. I won’t go over my goal of the book, though I will say I hope to invoke every adrenaline inducing emotion the human mind can endure, not just fear.

More details will arise this month, since Halloween and horror just go hand in hand, but for now, I will leave it at that.

Last note:

I want to say, I appreciate all the support I have received since the start of this career path. Whether you bought and read my first book, shared a post on social media about the book or my writing, or are merely just looking forward to reading my books to come… You have no idea how much it helps and means to me.

I appreciate you. Thank you.

Alec