The Beast of 1977 (Book 1)

Lake Logan went on for nearly eighty miles until it conjoined with Lake Erie. Isaac sat at the tip of the pier. The icy wind sliced right through his open coat and shirt and into his body like a rusty butcher knife.

His completely numb physique rocked back and forth on the ledge as though it were weightless.

The waves fiercely crashed and jostled up and down as if they were distressed or angered. Gripped strongly in the young man's right hand was a headless seagull. Its blood dripped down from out of its neck like water from a flowing faucet; being still a fresh kill.

Isaac's head hung low. His bottom lip was drooping, allowing the blood from the fowl to slowly funnel out of his gaping mouth. His eyes were slightly opened, but there was no life in them whatsoever that harsh afternoon as the brutally cold waves splashed onto both his pair of dress shoes and the bottom portion of his Sunday pants, causing them to become more damp by the minute.

Behind Isaac, in a fifty yard distance, sat a bright green 1975 Monte Carlo with its engine humming. The windows were darkly tinted to where only the clandestine individual inside could see out.

at the pier all by himself, appearing as if he were only inches

just happened to be in the perfect position to possibly

blink. It was as if his body was there, but his soul had remained back at the garage, along with

stood over his desk in his small, uncoordinated office while peering down at

him. He would catch only every other sentence that she was saying,

Jeremiah wined while focusing his blue eyes closer in on the x-ray. "Just think what it would look like if they walked in

For him, being a psychiatrist and not a medical doctor meant that he really had no idea