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    Dudleytown
    Dudleytown
    Dudleytown
    Ebook87 pages1 hour

    Dudleytown

    By L.B. Gregg

    3.5/5

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    Dudleytown
    A Cornwall Novella

    College sophomore Alexander Strauss has one rule: no messing around with straight guys. Especially not his mouthwatering roommate, Shannon. When their ride share drives off the side of a mountain, the two young men find themselves deep in an uninhabited forest searching for their missing friend. Wandering the famously cursed grounds of Dudleytown, Alex figures something truly unholy must be at play, because only insanity could tempt him to break his cardinal rule.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherL.B. Gregg
    Release dateAug 23, 2015
    ISBN9780986313219
    Dudleytown

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    3.5/5

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    • 4/5
      Dudleytown by LB Gregg is a very entertaining novella at 20,000 words from Aspen Mountain Press. It features a first-person viewpoint (Alex), and a couple of medium-to-hot sex scenes. The story has an unusual undercurrent of ironic, self-referential humor to the overall plot, which comprises suspense and action-adventure scenes. This is made possible by the pitch-perfect voice of the endearing narrator Alex, a college sophomore who is a total horror-movie nerd.

      With every step Alex and his companions take into danger, he remembers the gruesome ways in which these scenarios always play out in his favorite movies. He alternates feeling real terror with a disassociated-by-shock urge to analyze his own actions as he conforms, or fails to conform, to the time-honored behavior of a soon-to-be victim in a slasher flick. My one tiny regret is that the first sex scene felt too extended and detailed to be believable in the midst of immediate danger. Otherwise, I think Dudleytown sets the bar high and then succeeds beautifully as it manages a perfect balance of humor, genuine suspense and horror, and hot sexual tension.

      The novella opens with Alex, Alex’s handsome but straight college roommate Shannon, and a friend Ricky driving through the hilly Connecticut wilderness late one freezing autumn night, looking for a shortcut to get home. Alex frets over being secretly in love with Shannon. Ricky tells creepy stories about the nearby ruins of Dudleytown, a cursed colonial settlement. Shannon drinks beer, then hides the cans as they get stopped by a state trooper, who warns them of a prison-transport accident further in the woods that may have resulted in some escaped convicts.

      The boys promise to turn back, but soon get involved in a catastrophic road accident, which leaves Ricky badly injured. When Ricky disappears, it is up to Alex and Shannon to rescue him even though Alex wonders if life is imitating art and he and his secret crush are about to perish in their very own real life version of a horror movie.

      Val for AReCafe

    Book preview

    Dudleytown - L.B. Gregg

    Dudleytown

    A Cornwall Novella

    Copyright (c) 2015 by L.B. Gregg, LLC

    Cover Art by LC Chase

    All rights reserved

    No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from L.B. Gregg, LLC.

    ISBN: 978-0-9863132-1-9

    Printed in the United States of America

    This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

    Table of Contents

    Chapter One

    Chapter Two

    Chapter Three

    Chapter Four

    Chapter Five

    Chapter Six

    Chapter Seven

    Dudleytown

    A Cornwall Novella

    By L.B. Gregg

    Author’s Note

    Every day, I drive the twisted roads of Northwestern Connecticut. From high on Mohawk Mountain and down along the valley through Cornwall Bridge, I head to the higher elevations in Kent. New England’s changing seasons unfold before me. The budding red-tipped forests in spring; the dappled sunlight reflecting on the Housatonic River in summer; the famously vibrant colors of autumn leaves; and the stark snow and bitter winds blowing in winter—the world in that thirty-minute drive, hundreds of days a year, becomes a feast for my eyes and a playground for my mind.

    For a couple hundred years, the tiny area known as Dudleytown scraped a meager existence above Furnace Brook Road. My husband hiked the trails from Mohawk State Forest to Dudleytown and then over to Connecticut’s sliver of the Appalachian Trail when those pathways were still accessible to the public, back when he was a teenager and the world was a far friendlier place. His description of the cool mountain roads which always lie in shadow and the empty spaces where houses once stood—as well as my morning commute and personal knowledge of this amazing landscape—inspired my short story Dudleytown. I hope that you enjoy it.

    Happy Halloween.

    LB Gregg, October 2010

    Chapter One

    The Jeep whipped along the twisted blacktop at a knuckle-whitening clip, and I knew—way before that cop showed, or we went airborne off Dark Entry Road, or any of the other creepy shit that went down in Dudleytown—that tonight I was going to get royally screwed.

    Flirtin’ With Disaster crackled through the broken speakers, the song weirdly prophetic, but Ricky didn’t notice. He just hunched over the steering wheel and searched the desolate hillside for what he called his secret shortcut.

    A shortcut.

    Right. He must be smoking something special tonight, because there wasn’t a house or streetlight—even the stars were hiding. With the closed state park on one side of the road and the Housatonic River hugging the other, we had nowhere to go but forward on Route Seven. Every shop was closed, not that there were many lining this dead road. The one gas station was shut tight. Kent Falls loomed black as tar when we shot past doing fifty-five in a thirty. The only cut here was going to be the extended cut.

    Ricky said, It’s somewhere on the right. Keep your eye out.

    I’m keeping my eye out. All I see is a lot of trees. Shannon’s low voice rumbled from deep inside his sweatshirt. The sound made my mouth dry. He’d pulled his hood over his head and slouched against the passenger door, looking as energetic as an overgrown garden gnome. You remember that I have no clue where we are, right O’Leary? I’m from Pennsylvania.

    I piped in, It’s not like knowledge of the area helps. I’d lived two towns over from this stretch of road since fifth grade, and I still didn’t know where Ricky thought we were going. Unless the Jeep could fly, the quickest way from Cornwall Bridge (where we were), to Goshen (where we were headed) was to stay the course. Point A to point B kind of thing. Only a moron would try to cut through the hills. Those roads were dead ends, driveways, or closed to the public. There weren’t any shortcuts. Period.

    Keep looking, Alex. It’s on the right.

    I chugged my beer and squinted at the hillside. It was wicked dark out there. I’m looking, but I’m not seeing anything.

    Besides, I had my own shit to do. Like downing a third Bud Light and opening a fourth. Since we’d crossed the state line into Connecticut from New York half an hour ago, getting drunk and staying hammered until Monday became my new goal. I’d walked in on my roommate earlier today (the overgrown gnome in the front seat) getting sucked off by his curvy little study-buddy, and since then—man—I’d been pissed. The image of Shannon with his hazel eyes glazed, his jeans spread wide, and his cock at full mast had tattooed itself to the inside of my eyelids.

    Shannon and I’d been roommates for two months, so I’d seen him naked before, but I’d never seen him like that. The two of them sprawled on top of my bed while she mouthed his huge dick, his big hand guiding the back of her skinny neck like a porn king. His nostrils flared, his perfect teeth sank into his bottom lip, and his chest heaved on every breath.

    My own personal straight version of College Dorm Suck-Off 2—staring Shannon Murray—played right in front of me. Even so, those sweet hips lifting off my clean goddamn comforter sort of killed me.

    I mean, why was he in my bed?

    It had been weird and terrible and nauseating, and instead of kicking them out, or bolting like a good roomie should—silently shutting the door and retreating to the common room to tweet all our friends—I stood nailed in place, eyeing them like some kind of freak. Shannon having sex with his forgettable biology classmate had riveted me, and my dumb dick responded with a schwing.

    Worse, what I wanted most in the entire world was to switch places with her. Dijon or Bijion or whatever was living out my deepest, darkest college roommate fantasy—in my bed. It should be me sucking Shannon. Me buried in that brown bush of hair. Me dragging those noises from his mouth.

    At least, in my dreams.

    When I finally managed to move my

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