Alexander Vayle, Storyteller
Alexander Vayle opens the door between our reality and the fantastic. His narratives are built on the foundations of human emotion, where relatable characters face extraordinary circumstances. Whether delving into the far reaches of space, the quiet shadows of a haunted mind, or the desperate underworld of crime, Vayle's storytelling pulls readers into the realm of his imagination for a journey they'll never forget.
Welcome to Effham Falls-Featuring Alex Vayle
$14.99
Featured Books
Among the Stray-A Collection of Supernatural Suspense, by Alex Vayle
$15.24
Return to Effham Falls-Featuring Alex Vayle
$14.99
Tales From the Frozen North-Featuring Alex Vayle
$14.99
Where Mosters Hide-Featuring Alex Vayle
$14.99
Tales From the Water's Edge-Featuring Alex Vayle
$14.99
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Excerpts from Vayle's Tales
"I fell hard." Casey looked at the blood seeping between his fingers. "Really hard. It's...it's..."
"Bad." Aaron finished.
"I'm gonna die, right?"
Aaron didn't answer; an answer in itself.
"Oh jeez, man. You gotta call an ambulance. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—" Casey wept. Swore. Peeked at his bleeding belly and begged for the ambulance again.
On the surface, Aaron remained stoic. Beneath the facade, he was wondering how much blood Casey had lost, and how much more he could lose before the lights went out. Behind that thought, he was seeing Heather as he'd found her in the bedroom, stone still and awkwardly sprawled over a stack of boxes. Red trenches carved down her bare back and the handle of a knife sticking out.
Anger came and Aaron grew hot with it. He'd momentarily closed his eyes to view the past. However, when he opened them, ready to strike, he saw a whimpering, bleeding man lying on the ice before him. No, not a man anymore. A weakling kid. An easier target for pity than anger. A voice, sounding much like his dad, spoke in Aaron's head. "Do the right thing, kid."
Aaron doffed his gloves and stuffed them in his pockets. He pulled out his phone and swiped the screen. His thumb felt the cracks at the same time his eyes registered the shattered glass.
"Oh, shit." Aaron recalled the accident. Trying to hit the brakes, the helpless feeling of having no control, then hitting the ditch and getting knocked into the passenger seat, his leg slamming into the gearshift on the way.
"I can't call. I really can't." Aaron flipped the phone around to show Casey.
Casey wiped away tears and stared at the broke phone. His sobs subsided as his demeanor turned to a blank stun. Eventually, his gaze floated up to Aaron and the men shared a speechless moment of understanding.
From the short thriller "For Every Action" featured in the Moorhead Friends Writing Group Anthology, Tales From the Frozen North
The way Bryan held the weight of Sheri's flaccid body, a single arm around her waist, appeared effortless. His frame was solid, the bulge of his muscle highlighted by moonlight. He looked like a lost statue carved my Michelangelo. Then the statue came to life, and Bryan turned toward me.
Goosebumps prickled my neck and ran down my arms. What should have been two eyes on a moonlit face were simply two dark patches. Darker than they should have been, even if shadows hung down from his brow. Voids, my mind whispered. But not like his eyes had been gouged. Deeper than that. Deeper than flesh. Endless.
I was paralyzed. All I could do was stare and think, Heaven help me. His eyes are...are...whirlpools. Those black patches moved. Spun. Like tunnels of shadow, they reached back, back, and ended who knows where. I can only imagine some secret place man was never meant to see. A dead world, maybe. A forgotten universe, ancient and used up. Discarded by God.
Those spinning voids were both terrifying and fascinating and I couldn't look away. After a few seconds, I didn't want to. The longer I stared, the more inviting they became. Dark, yes. But a comforting darkness. If I could've, I would have crawled into those eyes and been content forever while I drifted away into oblivion....
From "Back From Where You Came" included in the supernatural suspense collection Among The Stray.
Jerud wrestled out of his life jacket—prompting a hook of pain in his gut—as another shot tore a four-inch gash into the port side of his canoe.
The lake invaded the old boat. Jerud pressed both hands over his wound, then kicked the yoke once, twice, and broke the support out of his way. He rolled to port. The canoe leaned. Water fountained through the hole. Then he quickly rolled to starboard, flung himself over the edge, and splashed into the frigid lake.
His skin erupted in goose flesh as he coiled into a ball. His heavy boots and clothes countered the buoyancy of his lungs and he hovered a few feet underwater. A terrible thought came. He couldn't make the surface. He'd drown. He was drowning. He—
Count to five, his father's voice spoke in his mind.
One...two...The initial shock of the plunge began to abate. Three...four...His arms loosened, legs stretched out. Five...His eyes opened to the crystal-clear water.
The pebbled shoreline wavered fifty feet ahead, sloping steeply into the abyss below. He was neither rising nor sinking. A small kick rewarded him with forward motion. He was in control. But his breath wouldn't hold forever.
Debating direction was pointless. The dock was across the lake—a twenty-minute paddle by canoe. An impossible swim for a gut-shot teen. The only choice was the closest shore, where the shots originated. If he could swim parallel to the land a ways, he might have a chance to hide.
As if in defiance of that thought, a round struck the water. The bullet cut a line toward Jerud, but slowed quickly, arched downward, and sank. He wondered if the gunman saw him beneath the surface, or if it'd been a lucky shot. Either way, it was time to move.
Jerud let go of his abdomen—sacrificing blood for efficiency—and swam west. Hiking boots made his feet clumsy. Every stroke brought fresh, tearing pain to his wound, but his lungs held fast. For now.
From the short crime thriller "If I Never Told You" featured in the Moorhead Friends Writing Group Anthology Tales From The Water's Edge.
Branie eyed the distance across the sun-scorched land. Thirty meters? At least. She might make it to her brother on the downslide of one pulse and the ramp of the next, but not on the break. There's no way she could cover the ground on the break. Bennie watched her from the shade with big, longing eyes.
"You have'ta stay, Bennie," Branie said. "You have'ta stay 'til I come get you. Kay? Don't. Move."
Bennie knew better. At two, almost two-and-a-half, he knew better than to go out under the sun all by himself. Sometimes, though, kids do things anyway.
He had chased after one of the white-skins, the little animals who weren't quite bunnies and weren't quite mice but a little of both—one of the few animals that adapted when the Sun began to change.
The white-skin had shot back underground after leading Bennie through a narrow path of shade alongside an abandoned rambler. It was only luck that Bennie had jumped from the house's shadow to the shadow cast by the detached garage without catching the peak of the Sun's pulse. If he had caught the pulse, he'd be dead. As dead as the old woman whose baked remains lay out in the brittle grass between he and his big sister.
From the sci-fi story "The Pulse" included in the supernatural suspense collection Among the Stray.
Looking for more? Check out Among the Stray on Amazon to read thirty pages for free. Don't want to commit to a purchase just yet? Visit any branch of The Lake Agassiz Regional Library or the Fargo Public Library and request your copy of Among the Stray or any of the Moorhead Friends Writing Group Anthologies featuring Alex's stories "One Small Cloud in the Sky", "Let Me Dream in a Quiet Room", "Where the Not-Jack Went", and more.
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