WRITING REQUIRES GREAT SACRIFICE
Ben Little's dream has just come true: he has signed a lucrative novel contract to co-author with bestselling novelist Jack Fleischer. But Fleischer and his publisher are cruel and demanding. And Fleischer's literary agent forces Ben into dangerous research trips involving binge drinking, strip clubs, grand theft auto and worse.
After each trip, Ben gets a terrible nosebleed, leaving him to wonder: What's real and what's a nightmare? Is there even a difference?
In his critically acclaimed debut, David Jacob Knight unmasks an evil publisher and its bestselling shark. Equal parts spy novel, horror novel, and legal thriller, The Pen Name will keep you guessing until the end.
Coming out of 2013, The Pen Name sold well over a thousand copies, and it still hits bestseller lists today. It has 75 reviews on Amazon, with a 4.2-star average.
Chapter 0
Ben Little knew writing required great sacrifice, but he never thought it would cost him his life. The man in the black suit waved his gun toward the doorway. “Go.”
Ben’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the shed. He saw shapes hanging from the walls. Farm tools. Handmade, old, their metal heads crudely forged, their handles made from crooked limbs smoothed with use and age.
He saw a hatchet with a chipped stone blade, saw what looked like a cat’s claw and heretic’s fork, and an entire wall of spiked clamps, corroded pincers and saws, and strange helmets equipped with various pieces of hardware meant to pry at or press different parts of the skull. Although from the shape, they didn’t look like they were designed for a normal human head.
“Down,” said the man in the suit, pushing Ben deeper into the shed with the barrel of his gun.
In the center of the wooden floor, Ben saw a darker patch. He had to squint before the stone stairwell revealed itself, leading underground.
The stones looked ancient, like ruins from medieval Europe. They reminded Ben of something, of the staircase from his dream; the staircase behind the rock.
“I can’t see a thing,” he said, taking the first step.
“Follow the wall.”
With one hand on the stone, Ben started down into the chill of the earth.
Soon the daylight filtering into the shed above dimmed to nothing but a distant ghost. With his free hand, Ben felt the air ahead, worrying he would run into something. He used his foot to search out every step, terrified that the next tread wouldn’t be there and he’d plummet down some terrible crevasse.
The wall stayed dry, dusty, and cold for several hundred feet before turning wet with what he assumed to be seep water, judging by the dank smell.
