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Skinwalker Apocalypse

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Blurb

Escaping - Suspense/Thriller Writing Contest

Skinwalkers are known to steal human and animal forms and manipulate mind through eye contact. They are not often seen but are rumored to live on the sacred mountain of Death Moore guarding the town's treasures.

Mr. Yiska and Mr. Boyd, the founders of Westcoast International Collectibles (WIC) both lost their brothers to the mountain 10years ago in an amateur attempt to steal from it.

Now, equipped with the resources needed to employ the best of hunters, they fund a scavenger hunt on Death Moore for the sought after treasures.

Mr Boyd, however, has much more sinister intentions towards his best friend and long time partner for the trip.

The hunters do not know exactly what they have signed up for, and they realize too late that the Hunt is more than what they had been told, and they just might be the hunted in the game of a sick man.

Will they figure it all out in time? ...Or would it be too late for everyone involved?

Read and find out in this very suspense-full book.

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Prologue
Life is a series of unsolved mysteries, if it all makes sense, then you are living a lie. **Twenty years ago** The forest echoed with the blood curling sound of a howl. The stomach of the man turned as tension froze his limbs, his heart lurched in pure unadulterated terror. His legs shook in fear, the only movement his terrified form made, although uncontrolled by himself, but it was the only sign of life in the young man. He turned over on his back, his eyes shakingly scanned his surroundings, fearing the appearance of the horrid creature that he had seen earlier. The creature that had pounced on his own younger brother and tore him limb by limb right in front of him. He still recalled Stanley's screams of terror at the sight of blood, jagged pieces of flesh, the sickening crunch of teeth breaking bones and the sight of his brother's bones thickly stained with blood. He had run as fast as he could before the horrid creature could turn on him, crying tears pouring down his face as he went. He didn't stop, not when his legs began to scream from over exertion, not when his his lungs ran out of air and begged for more oxygen. Not even when he noticed that Stanley was not behind him. He had only stop when his foot caught an overgrown tree root, sending him spiralling down into the woods below. It was a dark night, either that or the canopies of the trees overheard were too thick not letting even a silver of the moonlight pass through to the ground beneath. He was pretty sure it was a full moon, but at this point, he wasn't sure of anything. It was pitch black all around and he could not tell where to run to or where he was just coming from? Where was the tree that had caused his fall? He could not see even two steps on front of him ...how could he tell the safe direction to run to? "H-help... Charles save me..." The sound of a familiar teen's voice to his left made him pause. He listened again. Was that really the boy? Did Stanley really survive? "C-Charles?" There was the voice again. This time, Charles was convinced that it was Stanley's voice. The boy had really survived.... He was not dead! Charles forced himself to his feet. He had to go. The boy was calling for him. Maybe... maybe he needed his help. Maybe he was stuck in a ditch and wanted Charles to save him. "Save me." The pitiful cry came again pushing the older into action. He cleaned the wetness on his cheeks, drying his palm on his cargo pants. Raising his gun up as a means of defense, or attack if the occasion called for it. "H-help!" Charles's leg moved him in the direction of the call. He moved as quietly as he could manage not to call attention to him. He was not the only creature in this forest that could have been attracted by the boy's call for help. He came to a pause when he saw the boy standing still and looking straight at him with unblinking eyes. "H-help... Charles save me..." He repeated again like a broken record which, Charles realized, he might as well have been. He noticed, his blood running cold, that the boy had a long deep slit on his throat running from one ear to the other and pouring out conspicuous amount of warm red liquid down his dirty outfit." "H-help..." Charles didn't wait to hear the dead boy again. He ran, and ran wild, praying to whatever deity cared to listen that he made it home alive. The incredibly loud and fast pounding of feet behind him assured him that he would not.

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