Sometimes a writer writes a book because its inspiration haunts him. Such was the case with Wolf Rider: a Tale of Terror. Here’s the description for the book, “After receiving an apparent crank call from a man claiming to have committed murder, fifteen-year-old Andy finds his close relationship with his father crumbling as he struggles to make everyone believe him.”
Strange but true: the opening episode in this book is something that actually happened to me. The telephone call came shortly after I moved into a new apartment and had just received my phone. It was in fact, the first call that came in—on a land line desk phone. The who, the why, and how, I never learned. It was nonetheless, very troubling, very disturbing. I could not get it out of my mind.
The way I worked my way free of the event was by writing about it—something writers sometimes do—inventing a who, a why, and how. Some of my readers tell me Wolf Rider is the scariest book I have ever written. Perhaps it is. It surely is creepy. And . . . it did really happen. At least the beginning.
