Excerpt: The Journals of Bob Drifter by M.L.S. Weech

Title: The Journals of Bob Drifter

Author: M.L.S. Weech

Genre: Paranormal Thriller / Urban Fantasy

Bob Drifter is a substitute teacher with a secret. He seems like no more than a polite young man who loves to read and mentor students in his free time. Yet, on the side, Bob takes part in some rather strange extracurricular activities that soon attract the attention of local police. For some reason, people have a way of dying around him.

It’s not his fault. Maybe he just hangs around people who are already dying. Maybe he has bad timing. But Bob knows better. He has a secret mission that must be completed before he ends up in prison or raises the ire of the most frightening individual in the supernatural world. No pressure.

A terrifying new force has set foot into Bob’s life, and a string of ghastly mutilations follows this figure wherever he goes. Now, Bob has to keep his own secrets, protect his students, and fulfill his mentor’s wishes. Welcome to the world of those who watch over the dead.


Author Bio

L. S. Weech was born in August 1979 in Rapid City, South Dakota. He fell in love with fantasy and science fiction at an early age. His love of writing quickly followed when he tried to write a sequel to his favorite movie. He didn’t know what copyright infringement was. He can’t remember a time he wasn’t working on some sort of project from that day on. He wrote for a junior high project. The only way his freshman english teacher could get him to settle down was to let him start writing a book. He completed what he calls his first manuscript when he was 17.

He got a ton of feedback that was honest, helpful, and not much fun to listen to, but instead of quit, he simply wrote another, and then another.

He fell in love with reading in high school when he was introduced to Timothy Zahn and the Star Wars novels. Then he was handed Anne McCaffrey, Robert Jordan, Dean Koontz, Brandon Sanderson and so many more. He went from reading to complete homework to reading more than three books a month.

He joined the U.S. Navy as a journalist in 2005. He served on aircraft carriers and destroyers. He served in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan.   He finished his time in the Navy in 2015, and currently teaches future Navy Mass Communication Specialists at the Defense Information School.

When he wasn’t taking pictures or writing features or news stories, he was writing fiction. Photojournalism was a hobby he enjoyed getting paid for, but writing fiction has been and remains his true dream.

He’s completed six manuscripts and is already planning a seventh. He took his third project to Archway Publishing, who helped him turn his life-long dream into a reality.








He could be terrifying now. They called him Death, after all, and he wanted to live the part. He could remember reading stories where the characters held that name. Those were foolish fantasies told by men who wanted death to be mysterious. They didn’t get the point. Death loomed over the dying man in all of his horrific glory. He roared in frustration and the dying man wet himself, which made Death smile for a moment, at least.

The smile faded as thoughts of the people who craved mystery returned. Mystery was the root of his frustration. Everything had limits. The pale man had only so much blood that he could allow to escape before he died and could only scream in fear for so long before his vocal cords gave out.

Death understood that it was through the process of discovery that one found these limits and could push beyond. If everything truly had a limit, even Death’s current limitations themselves must be limited. It was only logical.

If he could just push beyond … He roared again, but the dying man wasn’t actually dying anymore. He was rotting. Waiting for that process to begin was just another distraction. It wasn’t a long wait to watch a mortal rot, but any amount of time spent on that delayed his ultimate goal. He didn’t want to be called Death. He wanted to be Death.

Ah, the memory of killing. He missed it. Watching someone rot wasn’t solace. It didn’t make him feel any better. It enraged him, but watching them rot gave him power. He could learn from each rotting bit of flesh and meat. He could take every ounce of that experience and become more powerful. It was a comfort that was quickly losing its value, but with luck, it would tide him over until he could find the answer to killing. Anything worth having was worth waiting for, like the gift he received after watching a dead person rot. Even that had its rewards.


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