Neil Leist

Neil Leist


Yesterday, I met a famous photographer, Tony Vaccaro, who had photographed my brother in 1981. It was a year before my brother’s car accident. After two years in a coma, Neil passed. I’m more determined than ever to write a book on my brother’s life. Tony took photos of Presidents Kennedy, Obama, and Nixon. Famous stars like Sophia Lauren. Artists like Picasso and Georgia O’Keefe. And my brother, Neil Leist. Neil had just become the CEO and President of American Bakeries. He made his fortune in the commodities markets and was on his way to the top. The accident ended his dreams and mine.

This isn’t the photo taken by Tony Vaccaro. This photograph is the last one I have of my brother. 



I step from the restaurant

into a dark alley.

My footsteps click on the cobblestones.

Footsteps echo behind me.

Lights glimmer ahead.

I hurry to the beacons.

Footsteps ring closer.

I run.

The footsteps follow.

People walk the avenue.

Stores twinkle their lights.

A voice calls, “Miss,

You forgot your charge card.”

I freeze and turn.

The waitress hands me the card.

I smile.

She disappears in the darkness.

I swallow.

Another night in the city.


dark bridge

I walk alone at night

when the moon is full height.

The sky black as tar,

but I won’t walk far.

I search for the shadow

on a road so narrow.

I want to see who he’s become;

The Dead leader, the evil one.


Book Two of The Dead Game Series


1 Friday the 13th


Friday the 13th is here.

There is no need to fear.

Step into the manor.

Ignore any banter.

The party is for you,

only a select few.

I have a secret to tell,

one involving an old spell.

A witch cast her spell.

Our lives went to hell.

Beneath End House, we were banished.

Please wait, I know you must be famished.

Listen to my tale.

The bread won’t turn stale.

Banished for years, we were.

Trapped in the earth by her.

We were freed by a priest,

accompanied by a beast.

We haven’t eaten for many years.

Do not bother to shed any tears.

Please step onto the food platters.

Our hunger is all that matters.






Daniel Merriam


I open my eyes to strange creatures.

Why are they in my bedroom?

Their thrill laughter makes my skin crawl.

They wave knives at me.

I need to escape.

I can’t.

I’m tied to my bed.

They move closer.

I close my eyes.

Silence fills the room.

I slit my eyes open.

The room is now empty.

I glance at my chair in the corner.

A red balloon is tied to it.

Oh no.