Man writes one page a day to a series of seven novels, every day, never stopping until he is finished. Horror meets modern-day Lord Of The Rings in this tale spanning 70,000 years about a twenty-four year old named Marvin and his encounters with an ancient anomaly known only as the "Harvester".
It was 10:20 by the time Marvin felt his feet touch the springy green of the outside sod. He kept thinking about the man Mr. Rhodes had mentioned back inside of the apartment. He was also concerned with the wax face, stiff and hardened on the counter top in the recessed kitchen nook. Marvin knew it wasn’t just a coincidence, seeing as how he himself had been smiling that same strange smirk during his short morning slumber. Stephen seemed concerned for him, but he played it off in the splendor of the day. It was too early to make conclusions, and he needed a good meal.
The latch handle on his driver side door was hot, and burned him to touch it. Given the 4-runner’s black color, it was always that way during the summer seasons. He usually used the bottoms of his shirts as a second skin to pull up on it. Something about the day nagged at him, egging on his forgetfulness. The skin on his left hand seared, and he let out a shrill cry.
Damnit..It’s the beginning of September and this shits still hot as fuck..
Marvin wasn’t pleased with the rude awakening. A thin breeze whipped around him on occasion. The shorts he wore helped keep the heat in check. He had a plethora of clean shirts slung over the head of his passenger seat. He opted out of changing into one. The thought of going to the laundromat frightened him, and he would take measures to avoid the place at all costs.