Every small town has their own storyteller. Usually someone way past their prime, one whose own generation help establish the community. I

Highway 167 was a dead stretch of road that night. Martin had not seen any headlights coming from the other direction for over fifteen

Ted Andrews sat alone in the small, white room. His eyes were completely focused on the two way mirror, as if he could stare a hole right

I never seen the man enter my house. I was cooking my usual breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast when he first appeared in my kitchen.