Good Creatures: Book One - Rescue, the debut Horror/Sci-Fi/Fantasy from TLC-Press.
The greatest monsters of the past are now humanity's last hope in the future.

All contents of this site are © John Warren - TLC Press.

August 24, 1893. London’s fog curled like a lover’s breath, thick and secretive, cloaking Hyde Park in a shroud of mystery. Aisha glided through it, her stolen sapphire gown hugged her curves, a whisper of rebellion against the weight of her life, pilfered from a Regent Street boutique.
Four years ago, she’d fled Istanbul’s clamor, its spice-laden air, its mosques echoing with calls to prayer, for England’s gray promise of a new start. But her father’s fists, which had bruised her mother’s spirit and her siblings’ hopes, were replaced by her husband Mehmet’s iron grip. At sixteen, she’d traded one cage for another through an arranged marriage, her dreams of freedom bartered for stability that felt like suffocation.
In London, she watched women in tailored dresses, their laughter free as birdsong, their arms linked with men who treated them as equals. The sight kindled a fire in her, a yearning for a life unbound by the burka’s shroud or Mehmet’s decrees. That afternoon, she’d slipped into the boutique, heart hammering like a trapped sparrow. Beneath her traditional garb, she hid the gown, delicate gloves, and a bonnet to veil her foreign features, her olive skin, her almond eyes, the high cheekbones that set her apart from London’s fair daughters. She’d never bared her face in public; in Istanbul, it was forbidden, and Mehmet enforced the same traditions. Unknowingly, she hid a rare exotic beauty that could inspire poets to weep or kings to forsake their thrones. Though, no one had ever called her pretty, her father’s cruelty and Mehmet’s indifference left her blind to her own radiance.
In a shadowed alcove of the park, she shed her burka, emerging as an English lady, stepping into the fantasy of a lady unbound. Her dark hair pinned beneath the bonnet, her eyes alight with joy and dread. Each step was a defiance, a prayer to a God she feared might forsake her.
Unseen, beneath the gnarled oaks in the park, Count Dracula watched. His skin, kissed by moonlight’s pallor, glowed with stolen youth, Jonathan Harker’s vitality, and a slew of others now coursed through him. Dracula’s eyes, twin coals of ancient fire, tracked Aisha’s every move. He’d come to London not just for blood but for a heart to claim, a soul to share the eternal night. Aisha’s walk was a sonata of contrasts, joy in her swaying hips, unease in her darting glances, like a doe sensing the hunter’s gaze. She was a tapestry of strength and fragility, her veiled beauty a secret that stirred his ancient heart, but it was not beauty alone that drew the eye of Dracula. It was her lack of vanity, despite her beauty. He rose, his black cloak swirling like the night itself, and followed at a distance, his senses drinking in her scent: jasmine mingled with fear.
Aisha wandered into the city’s pulse, her gown a secret beneath her confident stride. She paused at shop windows, pretending to study lace and trinkets, her reflection a stranger’s face. In a crowded square, he approached, his presence parting the throng like a blade through silk. “Pardon my boldness, dear lady,” he said, his voice a velvet tide with a Transylvanian lilt, bowing with a grace that stilled the air. “Your radiance is a beacon in this fog-choked city. Might I inquire if you are lost? You seem... adrift in thought.”
Aisha froze, her pulse racing. No man had ever spoken to her so gently, so respectfully. Her husband’s words were commands, barked like orders to a servant, this stranger’s were a caress, stirring forbidden warmth. His eyes, deep as starless skies, held her captive, promising secrets she’d never dared dream. “I’m... merely walking, sir,” she said, her accented English soft but clear, honed by stolen books and secret lessons. Fear gripped her; if Mehmet discovered this, or worse, if someone from their community saw... But excitement fluttered in her chest, a forbidden thrill. He seemed like so much more than a man, radiating an aura that made her knees weak.
“I am Count Dracula, newly arrived from distant lands,” he said, his smile revealing a glint of fang catching the gaslight’s flicker. “And you, my star? What name graces such loveliness?”
“Aisha,” she whispered, blushing beneath her bonnet. They walked a few minutes along the business district speaking briefly of the city’s wonders, the chatter of markets, the gleam of the Thames under moonlight.
Motioning towards a sidewalk café on Oxford Street, he pulled a seat out for her, taking a seat across from her, and began regaling her with tales of distant castles, of nights unmarred by city’s glare, weaving a spell around her. “You walk as if seeking freedom,” he said knowingly, his voice low, intimate. “A heart such as yours deserves it.” His charm penetrated her. She had never felt so seen, so desired without demand.
Her fear dissolved under his gaze, replaced by a trembling ache. “I will find you again, Aisha,” he promised as he rose from his chair, tipping his top hat with a smile.
“How will I find you?” she asked, voice quivering with want. He winked, vanishing into the crowd.

Supplemental Chapter ­- The origin of Joey Pierce
by David Mark McElligott

Joey checked his watch again. The new guy was late, and this was not a good night for that kind of crap. Being a roadie was a dream job if you could just lift a few pounds and be on time! Joey had met Lonnie at a diner in town. The guy had a rough, hungry look about him, with an underlying sense of almost desperation. He was huddled around a cup of black coffee at the counter, and Joey could see him stealing glimpses of the lemon meringue pie rotating in its plastic case near the cash register. Joey toyed with the idea of offering the guy some money, but some folks were proud and reacted poorly to offers of a handout.
After giving it some thought, he finally approached the man, unable to watch him lust after the pie any longer. “Hey, brother, any chance you’re looking for a job? Because you look like the kind of guy we could use,” Joey said. The guy studied Joey for a second before responding, “And what kind of guy is that?” “Young, big. I assume strong. I’m a roadie for the band Three Dog Night, and we are running a little low on manpower at the moment. I’m not the guy who does the hiring, but I sure can hook you up with him. There’s a lot of travel, plenty of pharmaceutical entertainment, if you get my drift, and chicks. There’s always chicks,” Joey told him. “Travel. How often do you move from place to place? How far do you travel?” the man asked. “Oh, dude, we’re all over the country right now. Probably be going overseas at some point, the way things are going. They really dig us in Japan! But hey, if you want to stay closer to home, you can still make a buck or two in the local venues.”
“Hey, I’m getting a piece of that pie. Want one? On me,” Joey said. “Yeah, sure, um...” “Oh, Joey Pierce,” Joey said, holding out his hand. “Pleasetameetcha!” “Um, call me Lonnie Tal, um, Talbert,” he said, shaking
Joey’s hand. That was three cities ago, and until tonight, Lonnie was a great worker.
Joey gave up waiting out back, flicked his cigarette away, pulled his collar up around his neck, and headed into the loading dock of the Anaheim Convention Center, where the trucks were parked. It was December 13th, and tonight was going to be a great one. Black Pearl was warming up, opening the show. Three Dog Night was next, and Steppenwolf was wrapping up the evening. Backstage was a mass of equipment, cords, and roadies. Everyone was scrambling about, trying to keep the equipment and instruments gathered and separated by band. Pearl’s stuff was being brought on stage and set up for sound check, and Joey’s crew was setting their stuff up behind Black Pearl’s. Three Dog Night had a larger setup and needed to be ready to push forward in short order when Black Pearl wrapped for the night.
Later, while Three Dog Night was playing their set, Steppenwolf’s gear would be placed on stage behind a curtain, tuned, and sound-checked. It was a smooth operation that they had performed over and over, city after city. Everyone knew their role, and Joey found himself doing double duty to cover Lonnie’s absence. The crowd had not been let into the convention center yet and was lined up out front, though, like always, there were a few wiseasses who thought they could buy their way in the back with a little weed or a couple of slutty girls who figured short skirts and low-cut tops would get them backstage. Sometimes it did, but most of the time, the crew had to police the loading dock and keep out undesirables. That was all Joey needed: to have some psychotic fan slip through and hurt one of the guys in the band.
After setup and sound check were completed, Joey had a bit of free time. The crowd had been let in and was already packed along the stage, and the smell of marijuana filled the Anaheim Convention Center. Joey stood at the dock in back, looking out over the city. The moon was full, and its bluish light reached everywhere the electric lights of the city didn’t. The muted sounds of live music reached him back here, tamed by the walls and hallways of the venue. He lit a Winston and blew a smoke ring into the night. It was still, almost windless. If you gotta do winter, he thought, it’s best to do it in Southern California.
The girls came around the corner, giggling at some witticism one of them had just said. Blonde and leggy, and somewhat inebriated, they walked stiltedly in their high heels, hanging onto each other. Joey was about to head them off at the back entrance and turn them around when something moved in the bushes along the back lot near the garbage dumpsters. There was a low, threatening growl, and everything seemed to stop. The sound of music faded away, and the giggling of the girls ceased. Each of them stood still and held their breath. The bushes exploded with furious movement, and an unspeakable beast charged at the girls like a runaway car. Joey was transfixed as the beast crossed the back lot in only a couple of strides. The girls seemed paralyzed as it approached them, until one of them found the breath to scream.
The scream broke the spell, and Joey flicked his cigarette away and reached into the darkness alongside the dock door, where spare and unused equipment was stashed. There was a heavy-duty cymbal stand leaning against the wall, and Joey grabbed it and leapt from the dock into the loading bay, headed for the girls. In the split second it had taken Joey to arm himself and join the fray, one of the girls was already lying in a spreading pool of blood in the lot. The other was screaming breathlessly in a way that made her voice come out like a whistle that could barely be heard, like a scream in a nightmare. Joey swung the cymbal stand in a looping arc and caught the monster across the back of its neck. The stand was heavy and solid and would have put any six-plus-foot man in the hospital with the force Joey had put behind it. But the creature only flinched and turned its attention toward him. Looking into its blazing eyes was the moment the reality of the situation hit Joey. This was not a man, and it was not an animal. This was an honest-to-God monster, and Joey had just gotten its full and undivided attention.
Joey’s vision darkened as his adrenaline peaked, and his focus was entirely
on the beast. It towered over him, maybe six feet five inches, shaped roughly like a man but covered in coarse gray-brown hair. Claws covered with gore and teeth that glinted in the moonlight augmented the beast’s deep growl as it turned on Joey. Joey could only hope the girl was using this time to run to safety. What happened next was dreamlike and reflexive. The beast snapped its head forward to bite just as Joey thrust his arm forward to spear it with the cymbal stand, and the beast buried its teeth partly on Joey’s forearm and partly on the metal stand. The point of the stand jammed into the back of the creature’s throat, and for some reason Joey didn’t understand, his silver ring got very hot and began to sizzle on his finger and in the beast’s mouth. The monster reared back and gave out a bubbling roar, almost like it was gargling, as Joey fell back onto the tarmac. It reached out, grabbed the girl who had not moved an inch, scooped her up in its arm, and loped off into the brush where it came from. Joey lay there briefly and lost consciousness.
He woke to roadies and crew gathered around him, sirens in the distance, coming closer. His arm hurt, but his finger burned like it was on fire. He reached down and yanked his ring off; it was hot to the touch, like it had been sitting on a stove. He tossed it across the lot as he lay there and noticed a group of people also surrounding the body of the first blonde. She was obviously dead and bled out. “Dude, what’s the status of the chick?” one roadie asked. “Landfill, bro,” the other responded. Joey faded back out as the red and blue lights of the police arrived and danced across the loading dock.
Joey came to in a hospital room. His arm was bandaged, and he had an IV inserted, delivering some sort of liquid into his system, maybe antibiotics or pain meds. Wires and tubes connected him to a monitor that read out his vitals as he lay there. He looked around the room slowly, his head aching and unsteady. The room tilted and spun sickeningly. He must have gotten a concussion when he hit the pavement last night. Sitting in a chair next to his bed was Lonnie.
“Hey, bro,” he said. His voice was hoarse and raw. “I’m sorry about last night, the way things played out.” “I seriously doubt you could have done much to help, man. If you’d have been there, you’d have ended up in a hospital bed too. Maybe worse,” Joey responded. “You don’t understand. I was there,” Lonnie said, looking around. “I’m the thing that attacked you,” he added in a lower tone. “What? You been tripping? What attacked me wasn’t human. Not even a little bit,” Joey said. “I know that. I ate a girl last night. I know about not being human. I know what it’s like to have a cymbal stand jammed into the back of my throat. You haven’t told anyone about that, have you?” Lonnie said in a low growl.
“I haven’t talked to anyone about anything yet. What, were you nearby watching the whole thing?” “Ugh, this is always the hardest part. They never believe,” Lonnie said, almost to himself. “I notice you aren’t wearing your ring. It got hot, didn’t it? It certainly was hot when it burned my mouth last night.” “Wait, how could you know? What’s going on, Lonnie?” Joey asked. “I’m a friggin’ werewolf, man. This is why I liked the idea of this job: traveling. Never in the same place from one full moon to the next. You did notice how bright it was last night, right? Full moon.” “So you’re telling me I’m a werewolf now? Dude, I’ve taken a boatload of drugs in my day, but I’m not stupid. Werewolves don’t exist.”
“You looked into my eyes last night. What do you think you dealt with? Was that a dog? Was it a guy? Did it kill two girls and disable you in under a minute? Look into my eyes now and tell me I’m lying.” After a time, just staring at each other, Joey began to believe. “So what happens now?” “Well, first we need to get out of here and go to ground before the cops start asking hard questions. Werewolf isn’t an acceptable answer to most of the questions they have.” “We can head south into San Diego,” Joey suggested, sitting up higher in bed and starting another nauseous wave of head spins.
“No. San Diego is currently Oliver’s territory. We’re not free to just encroach,” Lonnie said. “Oliver? Are you saying there are others?” Joey asked. “Absolutely. Wolves are pack animals, and there are many of us. Our Alpha, Henry, has instructed that we spread out over the continent so as not to draw attention to our existence. At this point, there are fifteen of us: David, Bela, Jack, Benny and his dad, Tony, Michael, Oliver, Henry, Kevin, Luc, Dee, John, Don, me, and now you,” Lonnie said. “That’s crazy! How do fifteen werewolves exist and nobody knows about it? You all hunt during the full moon, but it never comes to the attention of the authorities?” Joey boggled. “We’re spread out over the continent. Do you have any idea how many people go missing every month? Yeah, it goes unnoticed, mostly because we don’t allow witnesses to live,” Lonnie said. “See, that’s going to be a problem for me,” Joey replied. “I don’t kill. I certainly would never kill anyone just
because they saw me!”
“You’ll kill, bro. You don’t have a choice about that. You may try to keep it
to animals like deer. I hear David did okay with that for a while, but your need to feed will overwhelm you. You may have some control over who or what, but not a lot. I’m truly sorry, man. I didn’t want this to happen. I had no idea you’d be out on the dock, and I really had no idea you’d have the balls to attack me!” Lonnie said. “Grab me my clothes. I need to get out of here and get my head together,” Joey said, moving slowly but moving. He got dressed and headed out into the world with Lonnie guiding him. Things had changed forever for Joey Pierce.

Good Creatures was originally a graphic novel I wrote that took 3½ years to complete and publish in illustrated form.Thanks to Grok, the xAI language model created by Elon Musk’s team, it’s now a novel. Grok helped me convert the dialogue, narration, and scene descriptions from graphic-novel format into a cohesive, descriptive novel.Where Grok shines the most is its ability to write chapters in various styles, which can help you improve the narrative flow of your story by blending different approaches. Grok left my story intact, without altering my dialogue, but strengthened the overall story with descriptives and narrative enhancements.Un coup d’éclat retentissant came from Grok’s rendering abilities. Grok helped me create the book’s cover art and several interior images. I was never completely satisfied with the visual appearance of the graphic novel. I had a very particular way I wanted the characters and the scenes in the story to look. Having Grok as an assistant is literally like having an art production studio at your disposal. Grok would create hundreds of images of each character, as well as specific scenes in the story, that I was able to blend and piece together in Photoshop to create a definitive version of all of the characters and many of the key scenes.The experience felt much like being the lead writer in a studio producing a series I created, with Grok taking the place of the assistant writers, art production team, and editors. This book would literally not exist in its current form without Grok’s assistance. I would’ve finished it, but it wouldn’t be as polished and beautiful.

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