Enjoy this spooky sample from HauGHnt
By David C. Cassidy
He slid the door closed so Erica wouldn’t hear. “I know you’re out there,” he said loudly. “I’ve got a gun in the house.” A lie.
Only the soft sound of the rain replied. He turned to go in and froze at the single knock behind him. It could only have come from one place. The tool shed.
He hurried inside and grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer. The flashlight was dead.
Outside, he stood in the rain at the top step of the deck. “I’ve got a knife,” he barked. “I know how to use it.” Like that wasn’t the dumbest thing ever spoken.
Another knock came. “The police are on the way. You better come out and leave. Right now.”
He waited. When no one came out of the shed, he took the stairs and stepped slowly across the lawn. At the shed door, he gripped the knife tighter. His pulse raced. Lightning flashed, and he stepped back in astonishment. The door was bolted shut.
A single rap came from behind the door. He turned away quickly and slipped on the slick grass. He fell on his side, nearly impaling himself with the knife. Thunder rocked above, and when he got to his knees, fear gripped him.
The man with the umbrella emerged from the dark woods. He hobbled. With every step his imposing form grew more distinct. In the rain he was faceless, nothing more than a shape beneath another—the dim outline of a hat. A long coat ran to his boots, making his body look like a flat, black coffin. He stood at an odd angle, as if one leg were slightly longer than the other. In his right hand, a hand of thin fingers with sharp fingernails, he held a cane. It was gnarled and twisted, thicker at the handle and growing thinner to the bottom, like a long dagger. Dead vines curled around it
“He waited. When no one came out of the shed, he took the stairs and stepped slowly across the lawn. At the shed door, he gripped the knife tighter. His pulse raced. Lightning flashed, and he stepped back in astonishment. The door was bolted shut.
A single rap came from behind the door. He turned away quickly and slipped on the slick grass. He fell on his side, nearly impaling himself with the knife. Thunder rocked above, and when he got to his knees, fear gripped him.
The man with the umbrella emerged from the dark woods. He hobbled. With every step his imposing form grew more distinct. In the rain he was faceless, nothing more than a shape beneath another—the dim outline of a hat. A long coat ran to his boots, making his body look like a flat, black coffin. He stood at an odd angle, as if one leg were slightly longer than the other. In his right hand, a hand of thin fingers with sharp fingernails, he held a cane. It was gnarled and twisted, thicker at the handle and growing thinner to the bottom, like a long dagger. Dead vines curled around it like snakes.
Paul trembled. He tried to speak, but nothing came. Slowly, he raised the knife.
The man motioned with the cane, slightly tilting it away from his body. Paul uttered a small cry as something bit his hand. When he looked down, he reeled at the snake in his grip—what had been the knife. He scrambled to his feet and threw the snake to the ground. It hissed and slithered through the grass.
He tried to settle himself. Blood seeped from his right hand, the bite a small wound between his thumb and forefinger. It stung. “Who are you?”
“I am known by many names … but Haughnt will do.”
HauGHnt
We’re all damned.
It’s just a question of when.
As his estranged father lies on his deathbed, horror novelist Paul Steele is stunned by the old man’s admission: Many years ago, he committed a ghastly crime and was never caught, his freedom bartered in a black-magic spell. On his last breath, he warns Paul that he should expect a visit from a mysterious stranger. “He’ll be coming son. A dark man. A man from the shadows.”
Soon, a chilling figure appears outside Paul’s home during a late-night thunderstorm—a vile and sinister man called Haughnt. When Paul confronts him, he is horrified to learn that not only does Haughnt possess unimaginable magic, but has come to collect on his father’s debt. Given two choices, both unspeakable, he must find a way to break an unbreakable contract, a curse sealed in his family’s bloodline. Stifled at every turn, as time ticks away and Haughnt’s relentless grip tightens, Paul faces a cold reality: We’re all damned. It’s just a question of when.
About the author

Award-winning author David C. Cassidy is the twisted mind behind several chilling books of horror and suspense. An author, photographer, and graphic designer–and a half-decent juggler—he spends his writing life creating tales of terror where Bad Things Happen To Good People.
Raised by wolves, he grew up with a love of nature, music, science, and history, with thrillers and horror novels feeding the dark side of his seriously disturbed imagination. He talks to his characters, talks often, and most times they listen. But the real fun starts when they tell him to take a hike, and they Open That Door anyway. Idiots.
David lives in Ontario, Canada. From Mozart to Vivaldi, classic jazz to classic rock, he feels naked without his iPod. Suffering from MAD—Multiple Activity Disorder—he divides his time between writing and blogging, photography and Photoshop, reading and rollerblading. An avid amateur astronomer, he loves the night sky, chasing the stars with his telescope. Sometimes he eats.
To learn more and connect with David, you can follow him on Twitter and Facebook, or visit his:





