Adeline Avenue CHAPTER TWO – A Charles Splints Case By Dan Leicht

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Charles Splints has taken a mysterious case on Adeline Avenue. A woman named Fay tells the detective she has ghosts living in her home, something he doubts. Who is right? 

READ CHAPTER 1 


Chapter 2:

Running his fingers through his hair he made his way back down the stairs and into the kitchen. He’d need a way to make it up to the second floor window.
He opened the door to the basement, “You have a ladder?” he shouted, but heard no answer. “You still down there?”

The stairs creaked as he made his way down into the basement, feeling for a light switch on the way to no avail. The ceiling was low, forcing him to bend his neck as he paced around, the cement floor wet beneath his feet.
“Hey, where’d you go off to?” He heard something move in the darkness in front of him. “What’s your deal? Do you have a ladder or what?”

“Please go,” whispered a voice, too grizzled to be that of the old woman. As Splints continued pressing forward the voice repeated its plea, until something struck the detective from behind. He fell to the floor; pieces of a shattered vase lay beside him. As he got to his feet he pressed his hands into the cold wet floor, cutting his palms on the broken ceramic. Read more ›

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Have A Good One – New Poetry Available @ Spillwords

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Have A Good One 

Please rate and share you if enjoy.

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Thank you,

Dan

 

More poetry available @ Spillwords

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New Poetry at Spillwords

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A few of my recent poems are available to read on Spillwords.com, along with a wide array of other poets as well.

A few of my most recent:

Priorities

Beside a Bookcase 

Replica of a Skull

 

Posted in Poetry

Charles Splints Newest Case Is Just Beginning

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But you can read his last supernatural case on your kindle. 

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After the events on East Ave hardboiled detective Charles Splints finds himself in another supernatural case. The people of Brooksend aren’t acting like themselves, and when Splints makes a visit to the house of an elderly woman he winds up being flung against the wall by a massive brute. Has Splints inadvertently awaked something in his city? Has he discovered something we were never meant to know?

The great detective of Brooksend takes on a case unlike any other he’s experienced in the past.

 

The first chapter to Splints latest case can be read for FREE. Check back for updates.

Adeline Avenue: Chapter One

 

Thank you for reading, 

Dan

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nightingale

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nightingale

It started out as a song,
the one that happened to play
as he made that sharp turn around exit twenty-five
on their first date. She was passing through the radio
stations not wanting to listen to a song
she’d heard before, she wanted a new experience,
something out of a fairytale to pass into her ears. Slowly
the song started, a trembling, lonesome, guitar,
frantic fingers speaking through the strings. They both became
lost and he almost missed
the exit; they were late for their dinner reservation.
He pulled the wheel to the right,
hand over fist; it felt as if the car were on two wheels;
then he pulled back the other way, straightening out
in a fear induced panic, the wheel of the car like the strings of the guitar,
slipping through his fingers yet under his total control.
It was a song that rarely ever gets played on the radio,
a song that comes only once every few years by request,
a song that sticks with you forever.

©Dan Leicht 2017

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Adeline Avenue: Chapter One – By Dan Leicht (A Charles Splints Case)

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Adeline Avenue – A Charles Splints Case

Chapter One

By Dan Leicht

©Dan Leicht 2017


“This had better be worth it.”

He hung up the phone and got dressed. It was midnight, the day of the week irrelevant to him, when he pulled up to the house on Adeline Avenue. He’d gotten a call from the occupant that someone was in her house, but when the police had arrived and taken a look they found nothing. She knew if only he could take a look, he’d be more open minded and willing to see what others have overlooked.

“Let’s see what’s so important,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Splints. Please, right this way.”

Her house was old, built in the 1940’s, with the floors and walls still original. Each panel squeaked and creaked as he made his way through the foyer and followed her up the stairs. The owner of the house was an elderly woman, a widow, who had owned the house since before her children were born. Read more ›

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New Apartment by Dan Leicht

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New Apartment
By Dan Leicht


 

There was something eerie about the lone crate
tucked into the corner of the room. He entered
his new cramped apartment, placed his boxes down, uncertain
what might have been left for him by the previous tenant.
The crate was fitted with gold trim, bound tightly by silver screws. In
one of his boxes was a toolkit his parents had given him
years prior, he’d since used it only once before to repair a kitchen chair
he ended up throwing out before moving.
From the toolkit he removed a screwdriver –
he then slowly approached the enigma;
he imagined ominous music filling the room.
He placed his screwdriver into the first screw on the top of the waist high crate.
The screw fell to the floor with a clank. As he began to remove the last screw
something in the crate moved. He stopped,
placed his other hand firmly on the crate,
placed his ear onto the wooden lid, listened.
A heartbeat?
A slow rhythm. Faint.
He lifted the lid slightly to peek in
and noticed glowing blue eyes. The last screw fell
to the pile on the floor. He pushed the lid off.
He peered down inside. It looked back at him.
Their eyes meeting one another. His heart sank –
he stepped back – he walked forward – he took in a deep breath –
placed his hands into the crate – the scaly skin was slimy – his grip loose –
it slipped –
he picked it up again – placed it on the kitchen table.
The two were bemused by one another.
It looked back at him as if smiling.
Finally free.

©copyright 2017

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Stained Ceramic – New Poem up on Spillwords

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Stained Ceramic 

 

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Other poems found on Spillwords: 

Possibility

Bleach

 

 

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Flammable

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Flammable

By Dan Leicht

He walked into the bookstore and took a match to the bookcase closest to the door. The first book to catch fire was written by a man who believed himself the best cook in all of South Dakota. The pages burned longer than the recipe called for, making them illegibale in the process. Marcus Silvo, the cook, would have been disappointed. His book did catch fire the rest of the shelf however, so even though his book wasn’t selling it was still having an impact.

Larry, the shopkeep with a glass eye, pulled in a long breath and let out a deep sigh. “Bonkers,” he uttered. Larry’s mother had used that word in place of swearing when he was a child and it stuck. The forty-two-year-old former car salesmen broke the glass and finagled with the fire extinguisher. By the time he figured out how to use it three firemen had broken his front door and put out the flames with a two-hundred-foot hose. The bookcase fire was put out but the floor looked like a makeshift aquarium. Larry once had a goldfish he’d won at a ring toss game at the carnival that lived five years.

Twirling the pack of matches between his fingers, whistling a tune he’d heard eight times, he felt invincible. His life prior to that moment had been nothing but homework and home cooked meals; nothing had ever happened to pull him into the next moment with enough tenacity to grab the world like a meager plaything.

“Edmund,” said his mother, he’d just entered the house and removed his shoes. “Dinner is ready.” His hands still yearning, like a man who’d just won a fistfight, eagerly grabbed at the taco ingredients placed about the table.
“I saw a peculiar story on the news just now,” said his mother, her voice bold.
“Oh yeah?” replied Edmund.
“That bookstore where Kristen works was visited by a pyromaniac.”
“Was she there when it happened?” he asked, pretending to be concerned.
“Edmund,” his mother said, her brow aimed down at her plate. “You can’t blame her for everything.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pushed his chair away from the table and excused himself to his bedroom. Alone he sifted through a book on his desk consisting of other way he might get Kristen’s attention. While dragging his finger across each line of page sixteen he was distracted by a succession of pebbles at his window.
“Edmund! Edmund! Edmund, open the damn window!” He closed the book and lifted the wooden window frame. Standing in his backyard was Kristen in a dark blue hooded sweatshirt, torn up jeans and soccer cleats. “If you were trying to get my attention you have it now,” she said. “My mom told me about the fire at the bookstore.” Her voice was insincere, but Edmund was happy just to see her face.
“You suck,” he replied. He pushed the window down and latched it shut.

 

Dan Leicht 2017©

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The time Jeremy ran into a burning building to save a lobster

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The time Jeremy ran into a burning building to save a lobster

By Dan Leicht

 

It was no ordinary Wednesday evening when Jeremy found himself standing in front of a lawn chair store. The weather was nipping at his nose, turning it red, perhaps even a bit shiny. He was enamored with the relaxing lawn chairs on display in the window. “I’d sit right there and eat a hotdog,” he said aloud to no one because he was alone outside wearing sandals with socks on in thirty degree weather.

In his mind, the world of imagination his pediatrician warned him about, he was picturing a world where he could sit back in the chair and crack open a refreshing bottle of ranch dressing. He’d be enjoying the sun as trolls stopped passersby (since he lives next to a bridge), all from the comfort of a brand new duck-print lawn chair with detachable cup holder and attached headrest.

“Stop drooling on the window,” warned the manager as he stepped out from the establishment to lock the door. “You should try actually coming in one of these days and sit in the chair to give it a try.”

“Someday,” Jeremy replied, his fingers caressing the glass as the shopkeeper rolled his eyes and walked away. On his way back home Jeremy took his usual route, which lead him right past the old abandoned flammable liquids factory. There was a sign next to the factory that read, in big red letters, “HOT STUFF IN HERE, KNOW WHAT I’M SAYING?”. He knew,  he knew all too well. The building had been closed for years now and every time he passed by he thought about that fateful night.

Read more ›

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