Twisted Perception — 5th Serialized Post

As soon as Detective Kenny Elliot stepped out of his car, he knew he’d slowed, stumbled somewhere along the way, for it had finally caught up with him, and like a twenty-nine-year-old boxer who grows old in the third round of a title fight, he would never be the same. It was what he saw in the vehicle, a late model Mercedes left beside a trash dumpster. It was in the parking lot of the Village at Central Park, a bunch of upscale, newly constructed condominiums just off Peoria Avenue.

Elliot silently cursed Captain Dombrowski for dragging him into this on his day off. It’d been 6:00 a.m. when the phone rang, and Elliot had come out of his sleep in a fit, fighting to rid himself of the bed sheets that trapped his legs and torso like some kind of malignant ivy. He hadn’t been sleeping well. It was the dreams; they’d started again. They’d become intense, occurring more frequently and leaving in their wake unsettling thoughts that rambled through his head—burdensome notions that something wasn’t quite right in his world, a problem just below the surface that he couldn’t quite drag into consciousness.


Here we go again

Hello Everyone.

Early in the month of April, I pulled to the curbside and parked along Sixth Street in Muskogee, Oklahoma, checking the map to see if I was in the right location, number thirty-eight of eighty-nine entrants, right behind Miss Keetoowah. I’d discovered a couple days earlier that my sister-in-law had signed me up for the annual Azalea Festival and Parade, and my wife, Kathi, and I hastily put together some pretty decent signs and taped them to the sides of my already somewhat decorated little car.

I stowed the map in its manila folder then climbed out of the car and leaned against it, waiting for parade time. I was starting to relax when I saw two men dressed as old-west marshals, guns slung low on their hips, walking toward me, and a burning sensation ran through my stomach. I didn’t know if a person could be shot for using a parade for personal gain, but I suspected I was about to find out.

As it turned out, the parade marshals were friendly – just curious about the signs on my car. I handed each of them a bookmark. With the ice broken, we began to talk and a few minutes later one of them said, “You’re not going to believe this, but I just saw the craziest thing. A few moments ago, a lady came driving up in a grey car with no decorations. I told her she couldn’t park on the parade route, but she jumped out of her car holding a handmade sign in one hand and a bottle of glue in the other.” He paused and nodded, as if I’d already ascertained the punch line. “That’s right,” he continued, “she glued that sign to her car right there in front of me. Just squirted that stuff all over the door and smashed the paper sign onto it. She was entry number twenty-one.”

After that, he said good-bye and walked away, laughing. He didn’t have to tell me who had done such a thing. I already knew, even before I saw my sister-in-law, driving her grey Saturn with number twenty-one proudly displayed in the windshield.

Please visit my website at There you can read chapter one of my mystery novel, Twisted Pereption, and register for a free autographed copy. Talk to you later.

Bob Avey


Pagan Research

For my next mystery novel, Beneath a Buried House, the second in the Kenny Elliot series, I plan to have the killer try to hang the murders on a pagan religious group. The killer is not religious, one way or the other. It's just a diversion he uses to throw the cops off his trail. I do, however, want to get the facts dealing with pagan religion right. So if anyone out there has any info, or could direct me to some good info, I would greatly appreciate it. I might even name a character after the one who gives me the best source. Thanks.


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When the appointed time finally arrived – after I’d waited in the bookstore parking lot, checked out the few shops in the area, and helped a struggling shopkeeper put up a canvass sign in near hurricane winds – I proudly waltzed into the bookstore and announced my presence. “Yes,” the lady in the store said. “We kind of figured the person in the car with a four-foot picture of his book on it must have been you.”

Well, with my near-celebrity status, I was kindly shown to my author’s quarters, a table, and I use the term loosely, in the back of the store where I pre-empted the coffee urns, both regular and decaf, for their spot; a strategic placement, located before the rear exit along a narrow hallway created by a bookshelf that housed books on alien abduction and the coffee table itself. In such a confined area, one had to put forth effort not to see the coffee on their way out of the store.

It might have been amusing, had it not been me sitting there, watching the customers raise the art of overachievement to unprecedented levels as they invented ways of getting through the narrow space between my table and the exit while pretending to peruse the UFO shelf, edging by in a near crablike manner, trying to avoid making eye contact with that strange man sitting where the coffee used to be; that being me.

And those were the customers that did show up. Never have I been in a library as quiet and bereft of human spirit as this, the patrons floating through like disembodied ghosts, completely unable to interact with the living. Even the stoic store employees, who, out of shear boredom, had resorted to dusting the shelves, commented on the store’s lack of traffic.

Paul Phillips from North London won the autographed book giveaway for the first quarter of 2006. Congratulations Paul.

Stay tuned. There’s more to come.

You have permission to reprint, forward, or use the contents of this newsletter in your newsletter or e-zine. The only requirement is the inclusion of the following footer:

This article was written by Bob Avey, author of, Twisted Perception.


Resistance is futile, but what the heck

Hello, everyone... or no one as it seems to be. Anyway still looking for Pagan Info.

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During another episode of book-signing wars, not knowing how long it would take to get to this particular city, I arrived somewhat early. Luckily a shopping mall was just across the street, so I whipped into the parking lot – because that is what one has to do to make the tight turn and avoid being rear-ended – and began to search for a parking spot. The traffic was atrocious. Finding an empty parking spot proved to be a challenge, but after several revolutions around the colossal lot I managed to grab one, receiving a through-the-glass lecture from an angry shopper in a Honda as payment.

I entered the mall intending to grab lunch, but found the food court even busier than the parking lot, so I walked around the mall until I felt conspicuous – I was really early – then went back to the car to pass the time. This was not a good idea. Other cars, which were looking for a spot, kept hovering around me, like buzzards circling a fresh kill. Finally, when the cars had stacked up three-deep on both sides, the drivers having given up circling, deciding there chances of getting a spot were better by participating in the intimidation ritual of the only guy in the lot still sitting in his car, I gave up and backed out. Why didn’t I just walk across the street to the bookstore? Let’s just say the street wasn’t designed for speeds under fifty miles per hour, let alone pedestrian traffic.


Pagan Research

Hello, everyone. For my new book, I'm looking for information related to pagan gods and goddesses. If anyone has any information, I'd appreciate hearing from you. Just email me at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

I have some exciting news. I’ve renegotiated the rights to Twisted Perception, and I now have a new publisher. The book is being re-released by Deadly Niche Press, an imprint of AWOC Books, and should be available under the new imprint by the time you receive this newsletter. Several people contacted me, saying they had tried to get the book, but found that it was unavailable. The distribution problems that caused this have now been resolved. The book can now be found in, or ordered from any bookstore, both on and offline. (ISBN: 0-937660-31-0)

On one of my recent excursions, I found myself driving along an old two-lane highway. Somehow I managed to get between a massive truck, carrying what looked like the next space shuttle, and it’s escort, which was complete with flapping flags, flashing lights, and a sign proclaiming; wide load. Okay, so I passed the big truck but couldn’t muster enough power from my mighty Neon to get around the escort in time to beat the oncoming traffic. There has to be a law against this, driving in the forbidden zone, violating the symbiotic relationship of tiny, flashing trucks and their slow-moving hosts. This situation lasted much longer than it should have. To make matters worse, the ostentatious escort slowly began to pick up speed. I guess my being on his tail made him nervous. I couldn’t help it. I was late for an appointment. You can probably guess what happened next. Soon my escort and I had left the wide-loaded behemoth behind. I was now the wide load. I got a lot of funny looks before I finally managed to get around that silly little truck.


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