Road of Bones

"It is a broken road. Hard and sharp. A place where none are forsaken. A place where the demons hold you because no one else will. It is a place of the broken and the bones. In that place, the unsplit man is Lord. On that road, the Man rides alone. Along the path, there are only bones. It is a white masquerade. Puppets bleeding. Failing circles. Marionette pageants. On the path, I danced with wolves. I waltzed with lies. The road was a funeral. So, promise me. Promise that you will lay with me on this road of bones." --The Man Xander Crowley is a serial killer. Haunted by a gothic poltergeist in the air named Jocelyn, the soul of a woman he used to love and hopes to love again, Xander befriends and swoons broken women. At the apex of their love, Xander murders the women in hopes that Jocelyn will accept his sacrifice and return to him if only for a night. The wretched terror of it all is that Jocelyn is unpredictable . . . and sinister. Sometimes accepting his offer, most times rejecting it. Driven mad in her echo, Xander confesses his sins to the police in brutal, calculated precision. No detail is spared. In doing so, Xander is not proud nor is he content. He desires punishment in the worst way, seeking an end to his tormented existence beneath Jocelyn's strangling and suffocating, ghastly possessing spirit. As Xander confesses his crimes, his sanity begins to dissolve. The police force, with the help of a teaming psychologist, attempt to understand, define and properly reprimand Xander Crowley for the grisly crimes he committed. All while Xander himself continues to wither away beneath Jocelyn's echo. 'Road of Bones' is not a mystery to be unraveled. The bones are laid bare from the start. The demented beauty of the work lies in the journey, the tragic path we watch Xander suffer along. It reads more like a documentary, a first person account of a monster acting against his will. A story of doom and condemnation from the start. A modern day Frankenstein. And in that, is a far deeper shadow, the blood more sinister. It is a collection of grisly and tormented stories that cannot be shaken off, their visceral blood and graphic detail almost scarred upon the reader. John Huber proves with his second novel that his work has teeth, and if given the opportunity, they will draw blood. And they will take their pound of flesh. PRODUCT CONTAINS: Pervasive graphic violence, gore, sexuality, language, disturbing imagery, intense sequences of terror. Reader discretion is advised.

About the Author :
John refused to write his own biography. He said it would be 'pompous and arrogant.' I told him he still needed to write one--he refused. He's stubborn like that. He didn't know what to write or say about himself. But, I have a pretty good idea. He doesn't like doing the standard boilerplate. He doesn't like telling you what his interests or hobbies are, he doesn't think you care. He doesn't want to sound like everyone else and I'll tell you why. He won't say it, but I will. He's not like everyone else. He's not like any other author I've ever read and I've read over a hundred different ones. John was born in Webster, SD in 1989. He moved to Ellendale, North Dakota when he was very young. He doesn't really like talking about how he grew up, but it shaped a lot of what he writes. He writes horror, the likes of which I've never experienced. His horror is gripping and borders a lot of different genres. He merges a lot of different influences and he does it scary well. His writing is merciless most times, very visceral, almost primal. He's got a way of cutting to the moral core and fabric of what we are. I know what you're thinking, and for the most part, his writing is that sharp--the horrific parts, I mean. But what really makes him different is his heart. He's haunting and poetic about how he puts things. John's writing is almost more beautiful in his shades of shadow and ugly than any romance I've ever read or any book about beautiful things. My husband is able to do those things because he's come from a long road, a hard and sharp one. Those things, as terrible as they were, were almost his greatest gift because it gave him a voice that's the most unique I've come across. I'm no scholarly reviewer and I don't have any literary degree. But, I do read. I know what I like. I don't make time for drivel. I've tried to hate John's work cause I'm not really a horror fan . . . but, he convinces me every time the pen meets paper. I can't ever quit reading and that's the only time I've used that cliche and meant it that honest. We both got our degrees from Valley City State University and he did some graduate work. He was unfulfilled, so he opted for a full-time job, family time and as much writing as he can muster. I was so glad he did. He creates magic, he really does. His first novel, "The Big Red Devil," is as fine of a book as I've ever read. Give him a chance. You won't regret it. Trust me. Becca Huber Illustrator/co-conspirator