DEAD MALL – David Irons (1)

“Hard time? Your worried the old creepazoid is gonna cause you problems? His brain is soup! He should have Campbell’s tattooed on his forehead! His brain should be canned! Everyone knows his old man towed his sorry ass out of town. That mumble-mouthed motherfucker can only say one thing, ‘M-m-m-mall!’” Zak mimicked Jeremy’s voice. “What are you worried about?

That he might tell?” “No, not that. It shouldn’t have happened. What we did that day . . . It just shouldn’t have happened.” Zak reached over and grabbed Corey by the scruff of his collar. “Well, it did happen; you knew it was going to happen—we planned it that way.

All of us.” “We didn’t plan to scramble his damn brains! We didn’t plan to throw him down a flight of stairs!” “No, but that asshole tried to screw around with my Audrey. He got what was coming to him. This is part of the reason I asked you to meet here.

Why I had to track you down.” “What do you mean?” Corey asked nervously. “I know you’d jump at a mouse fart these days; that’s why I left that note pinned on Debbie’s door. If you didn’t want to talk to me when I called, there were other ways to persuade you.” Corey reached inside his thick winter jacket and pulled out a handwritten piece of paper that read Meet me tomorrow night at eleven o’clock by the east doors of the mall.

It’s about the creepazoid. “That made you come meet me, didn’t it? Scared?” Zak laughed. “You wrote this?” “Got you here, didn’t it?” “Well . . . what about him? What about Jeremy?” Zak’s lips peeled back like a rabid dog, and his nose wrinkled. “No. Not about him. I heard .

. . you spoke to Audrey.” Corey looked puzzled. “No.” “Sure about that?” “Yeah. Why, what have you done to her now?” “What have I done? It’s about what she’s done.” “What’s she done?” Corey asked worriedly. “She’s gone, that’s what! Up and left! She found a place at some dumb-ass art college, and she’s bailed town!”

“What?” “Yeah, she’s gone without even telling me!

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover designed by Billy Baxter Edited by Danielle Yeager, Hack & Slash Editing Find more books by the author at: www.davidironswriter.com/books Join for early releases and exclusive content: www.patreon.com/DavidIronsHorrorWriter Subscribe and listen to David’s Horror Stories podcast: https://open.spotify.com/show/2iHjl8LiDzMDuPEjHmODLn https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/horror-stories-by-david-irons/id1799558290 OceanofPDF.com OTHER TITLES FROM THE AUTHOR: COCKBLOCKER NIGHTWAVES POLYBIUS WOLF MOON 7 WINTERS ALONE THE BLOODY TRACKS OF BIGFOOT GRAVEYARD BILLY MY OUIJA BOYFRIEND THE SKIN ON THE SKELETON DON’T GO TO WHEELCHAIR CAMP OceanofPDF.com OceanofPDF.com OceanofPDF.com Dear readers, A constant reader of my books recently asked me if I base any of my books on things that happened in my life.

“No!” was my answer; it all comes from the imagination. Well, that’s not true. Parts of Dead Mall are based on situations that occurred in my younger years. Without giving the plot away, as a teenager— and under the influence of my friend—when purchasing a book, I once slipped a note to a girl who worked at the bookstore in my local mall asking her out and to meet me a week later for a date.

It was the ’90s—a different time—and she did look like Fairuza Balk in The Craft, so in my horny pea brain, it made sense. The week rolled on, and instinct and sense kicked in—they always do after the fact—that slipping a note or a love letter (yuck) to someone wasn’t a great idea. I had no idea who this girl was, if she had a boyfriend, or what the fuck I was doing.

So instead of meeting at the place I said I’d meet her —I didn’t even know her name, what a dweeb—I went to the top of a multistory carpark next to the designated rendezvous point to make sure she turned up before I turned up. This apparently was good thinking. I have no idea what the plan was, but a girl who looked like the girl from the bookstore turned up outside the Pizza Hut where I planned to meet—always the class act.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 519fcd3121773ba6
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 5,973,265 bytes (5.697 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 344
• Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

• Estimated Reading Time: 449.25 minutes
• Total Words: 89,851
• Total Characters: 497,346
• Average Words per Page: 261.19
• Average Characters per Page: 1445.77

Most Frequent Words

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