Monsterland by Michael Okon Book Tour and Giveaway :)
Monsterland
Monsterland
Series Book 1
by
Michael Okon
Genre:
YA Horror
Welcome
to Monsterland—the scariest place on Earth.
Wyatt
Baldwin's senior year is not going well. His parents divorce, then
his dad mysteriously dies. He’s not exactly comfortable with his
new stepfather, Carter White, either. An ongoing debate with his best
friends Melvin and Howard Drucker over which monster is superior has
gotten stale. He’d much rather spend his days with beautiful and
popular Jade. However, she’s dating the brash high-school
quarterback Nolan, and Wyatt thinks he doesn’t stand a chance.
But
everything changes when Wyatt and his friends are invited to attend
the grand opening of Monsterland, a groundbreaking theme park where
guests can interact with vampires in Vampire Village, be chased by
werewolves on the River Run, and walk among the dead in
Zombieville.
With
real werewolves, vampires and zombies as the main attractions, what
could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 1
The Everglades
The sky was a sparkling, powder blue,
mosquitoes droned lazily over the tepid water, frogs croaked messages
while they sunbathed on waxy lily pads. The fire he created burned
bright, rabbit roasting on a spit made from hickory, the juices
dripping to hiss in the flames. Seven of them lay in scattered
repose, enjoying the late afternoon lull—two napped, the others
tossed a stuffed fur in the form of a ball around the clearing,
hooting with amusement when it rolled into the brush. They traveled
in a pack, his group, his makeshift family, foraging together, hiding
in plain sight. It had been that way for generations. But the glades
were getting smaller, the humans invasive. The sun started its slow descent into
the horizon, hot pink and lilac clouds rippling against the empty
canvas of the sky. Their color deepened as the sky filled, the rosy
hue morphing into a burnt orange as the sun hid behind the
condensation. The air thickened, moisture causing the leaves to lie
heavily against the branches. Here and there, fireflies lit the
gloom, doing a placid ballet in the humid air. The men moved closer
as the sun sank into the western treetops, the fading sky promising
another clear day tomorrow in the Everglades despite the moving
ceiling of clouds. A lone hawk cried out, disturbing the
peace of the glade. Huge birds answered, flapping their wings,
creating a cacophony of swamp sounds. The area became a concerto of
animals responding to the disruption of their home—wild screams,
squeaks, and complaints of the invasion of their territory. The lead male stood, his head tilted.
He heard it again. It was music, the strange organization of sounds,
predictable as well as dangerous. Where those rhythms originated
meant only one thing—they were not alone. They all rose, tense and
alert, searching the waterway. Billy pointed, his dirty hands
silently parting an outcropping of trees to expose a flat-bottom boat
with strangers floating slowly toward them. It was filled with
people, excitedly searching the banks of the swamp, their expensive
khaki bush clothes ringed with sweat. Many held huge cameras. It was
obviously a film crew, invasive, nosy individuals looking for
something, anything, to enhance their lives. Men’s voices drifted
on the turgid air. Billy stood, sniffing, his mates following suit.
He glanced at the sky, gauging the time, his eyes opening wide. It
was late. The bald top of the moon peeked over the ridge in the
south, the sky graying to twilight with each passing second. Night
came fast and furious in the swamp, dropping a curtain of darkness,
extinguishing all light except for the beacon of the full moon. That
chalk-white orb floated upward, indifferent to the consequences of
its innocent victims. A halo of lighter blue surrounded the globe,
limning the trees silver, the cobwebs in the trees becoming chains of
dripping diamonds in the coming night. What were the interlopers doing here?
Billy thought furiously. This was their territory. The humans didn’t
belong in the swamp. The moon continued its trip to the heavens, the
familiar agony beginning in his chest. Billy fought the demons
churning within his body, feeling the pain of metamorphosis. He
curled inward, hunching his shoulders, the curse of his nature making
his spine pull until his tendons and muscles tore from their human
positions to transform into something wicked. A howl erupted from his
throat, followed by another, and then another. Grabbing handfuls of
dirt, he tried to fight the awful change, but, as the sun dipped to
its fiery death, the moon took control of his life, and the unnatural
force tore through his unwilling body. Reason fled; his heart raced.
Falling on his hands and knees, he let loose a keening cry as his
face elongated, his body changing into a canine, fangs filling his
mouth. He raced in a circle in a demented dance, knowing his fellow
pack members did the same thing. Slowing, he regulated his labored
breathing, forcing the icy calmness he needed to keep some semblance
of reason. He peered through the dense brush. Lights from the search
party bobbed in the distance. The odor, the stench of humanity,
filled the clearing. He turned,
digging furiously on the ground, throwing dirt on the flames, hiding
their existence. It was no good. Discovery would ruin everything. No
one could live with their kind. Humans brought disease, humans
brought anger, humans brought hatred. They were there; he could smell
them, see their clumsy bodies invading his home. “They’ve found
us,” he growled in the special language they used. “Run!” he
barked as he turned to his pack, watching his friends’ naked skin
transform until it was covered with the same silvered fur. They cried
out in unison at the pain, howling with the injustice, and then ran
in fear from the interlopers threatening their habitat.
Monsterland
Reanimated
Monsterland
Series Book 2
After
Monsterland has imploded, the entire world is thrown into chaos.
World leadership is gone, economies have collapsed, and
communications are non-existent. Wyatt must go beyond the boundaries
of his small town to reestablish contact with the outside world, and
alert the government about a traitor-in-chief.
During
his journey he discovers a new threat released from the bowels of the
defunct theme park.
When
an army of relentless mummies, a life-sucking ooze called The Glob,
and a hybrid reanimated Behemoth rise from the depths of Monsterland,
who will survive?
"Another
true gem of dark fantasy action/adventure by a master of the genre,
Michael Okon's "Monsterland Reanimated" is unreservedly
recommended for community library Contemporary Fantasy Fiction
collections." - Midwest Book Review
Front
page of the Copper
Valley Sun
President
of the US, World Leaders,
and
Thousands Dead
Many
still missing as the world reels from the impact of the Monsterland
disaster
Multitudes
are still unaccounted for and presumed dead. Escaping werewolves,
vampires, and zombies of Dr. Vincent Konrad’s theme parks
inexplicably escaped en masse and massacred unwitting parkgoers ...
Massive government shutdowns as the world teeters on the brink of
chaos.
Chapter 1
The
Night After the Monsterland Catastrophe
A bright moon painted the
desert’s surface pewter. Here and there, dark spots soiled the
landscape like oil spills. Most of the bodies had been taken before
the troops were ordered to leave. They carted away the corpses,
bulldozing the zombies into mass graves, until radios chirped with
urgent orders deploying the soldiers to the bigger threats that
erupted in the main cities like a chain of angry volcanos. Monsterland
was extinguished, its carcass left for the vultures to pick, the
exhibits silent as a tomb. The
dead president and his equally dead entourage were whisked away on
Air Force One, along with the dark-clad special operatives that came
and left like the brisk desert wind that now howled through the empty
streets. A
gate screamed in the silence, slamming with a reverberating smash.
The uneven gait of someone with a physical challenge filled the void.
The scrape and plod of his limp echoed against the wall of mountains
framing the theme park. His labored breathing huffed as he made his
way down the streets. A
door creaked loudly as it was blown by the wind. He stopped, his
distorted figure silhouetted in the pale moonlight, his body turning
silver. He looked at the broken glass littering the pavement like
diamonds, then up to the still, pre-dawn sky. He considered the sun
peeking over the jagged horizon in the east, its golden light
painting the dips and hollows of the hills. Soon the coming day would
chase the darkness away. Time
was the enemy now. He had to move faster, or it would be too late. He
picked up his pace, lurching along the winding road. A keening howl
ricocheted through the streets, bouncing off the walls. It sounded
like a ... no,
he thought, it couldn’t
be. The werewolves
were all dead. Destroyed by Vincent Konrad when he made their heads
explode. The
old man paused, listening for it again, and was not disappointed when
the animal whimpered. He gauged it to be inside the defunct vampire
exhibit. He moved toward the entrance. The storefronts had been
destroyed. A few body parts lay on the pavement, as if people had
discarded them in a rush. He heard the scraping of paws on the street
and a shiver went down his crooked spine. He
knew the werewolves were dead; he had seen it with his own eyes. A
figure detached from the shadows. Igor flattened himself against the
wall. He watched it move stealthily down the street, stopping when it
scavenged a morsel of rotting flesh. It looked up to stare at Igor,
its eyes glowing in the darkness. A
coyote? He waved a
hand, dismissing it. It had to be a coyote; it was too small to be a
wolf, too big to be a dog. The beast twitched its ears, then resumed
its meal. Igor
knew the coyote was not a threat, and he continued his mission. His
lame foot hit a can, sending a cacophony of sound like an explosion
in the deserted park. The beast dropped the bone it was gnawing on,
sniffing the area. Its iridescent eyes searched the streets. It
could be a baby wolf,
Igor thought, keeping himself as still as possible. He felt it
watching him, even from this distance. It was not a threat, yet. Igor
skittered away, hugging the walls of Monsterland, putting as much
distance as he could between them. Not an easy feat, considering his
distorted hips. He muttered to himself about carrion and the wind.
His eyes darted nervously, scouring the hills, not exactly sure what
he was looking for. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. His heart
pounded so loudly he was certain that the creature watching him could
hear it too. His
feet stumbling to a halt, he bent over, gasping for air, cursing
Vincent and those meddlesome teenagers, as well as the rest of the
world. The
beast gave another mournful howl that went right through him. Igor
glanced at his empty hands, berating himself for not bringing a
weapon. He searched his surroundings for anything to protect himself. Then
he saw it, one of the axes they had on almost every corner. All of
them had been pulled from their protective cases. One was lying in a
pool of coagulating blood, the blade long gone. He picked up the
broken axe handle, turning in a semicircle. He was ready for an
attacker. A
new, larger outline made his heart quiver with fear. It crouched in a
corner, its snout covered with blood. This one was bigger, not a
coyote, a wild wolf. Wait,
he thought. Weren’t
the gray wolves of California all but extinct? Igor
narrowed his eyes. The beast was a light reddish brown and not the
silver gray of a wolf’s pelt. A chain hung from its neck, the
pendant of a werewolf’s head dangling, emerald eyes flashing. What
was it? Was it a mutant coyote? A wolf? Some
weird hybrid, he
wondered for a minute, his breath harsh in his ears. They watched
each other soundlessly. A
hybrid then. He’d
heard about them, a rare mixture of wolf and coyote. What
did they call them? Coywolves ...? or was it Woyotes?
He shrugged indifferently. Perhaps someone’s pet, he decided.
Igor’s mirthless laugh came out like a snort. The
coywolf stood still, its ears alert, its head cocked as if it was
observing him. Igor
dropped the makeshift weapon, calling out, “Eat the rest of your
meal, you dumb beast.” The
animal continued to watch him, its two front paws on the remains of a
zombie’s chest. Igor
wiped his forehead, waiting, his eyes coming back to search the
village, confirming it was empty, except for the carrion eaters like
the coyotes and vultures. He looked up, noting the circling predators
waiting for him to move on. “Interrupted
your meal,” he chuckled. Just
the local scavengers looking for food.
That was all; the shadows revealed nothing else. Satisfied he was
alone, he moved on. He had work to do. A
paper flew past him, hitting a kiosk as the wind plastered it against
its surface. It flapped like a dying bird. Igor reached over, taking
the fluttering paper, peering at the map of the park, the one they
gave people as they entered Monsterland. A bark of laughter escaped
his mouth. He
looked up at the giant monolith that was once the Werewolf River Run,
its hulking shape obscuring the horizon. “You are here,” he
giggled, pointing a grimy finger on the paper’s surface. He dragged
his deformed body further down the pavement. The storefronts that
used to be Monsterland’s Main Street yawned vacantly, the wind
whistling through the narrow alley- ways. “Now, you are here,” he
laughed. Shouting, he listened to the sound of his voice bouncing off
the blood-splattered walls. He
made his way to the back end of the zombie village, feeling like the
last man on earth. He glanced around at the desolate landscape. His
home, the beautiful theme park, was little more than ruins destroyed
by the army. His
nose twitched from the fetid smell of rot. The US Army had massacred
the zombies. The troops came like a force of nature wiping out
everything in its path, every last one of them blown away by the
troops. They
were black ops, special forces, he knew from their uniforms. He
wondered if things were indeed going as planned. He shrugged, knowing
right now nothing mattered except for what he had to do. The irony
that he was just about the most important man on earth brought more
amusement to his smile. The
local police force was gone, as were the leaders of most countries in
the world. He knew all was chaos outside, perhaps even war, each
nation blaming the next for the loss of their leadership. Not
to worry, he thought.
Vincent left America in capable hands. Dreams
do come true, he
snickered. Nightmares
too, he finished the
thought. A long line of drool pulled at his lower lip. He paused at a
pothole in the road, decomposing body parts glistening, the
disappearing moon turning the bits of bone and brains pearly. Anxiety
bloomed in his chest as he passed the opaque windows of Vincent’s
derelict Monsterland hotel, the Copper Valley Inn. He hated that
place. Abandoned construction vehicles were frozen in their spots,
testimony to the hotel’s unfinished business. Despite
the pastel colors of its exterior, it sat like an ominous crypt to
the part of the theme park that Vincent could never control. Told
Vincent it was a money pit.
Crews couldn’t work because ... well, it didn’t matter anymore.
The help was all dead. He thought he saw a light flicker in the
window, but when he turned, he realized it was nothing more than a
sputtering gas lamp that had never been disconnected. He
stood for a while, staring for more activity, and then jerked with
the realization that he waited too long and wasted precious time.
Surely no one expected him to go searching during the heat of battle. Vincent
said it was enough time to set up the timetable. Vincent knew
everything, and Igor felt his panic ebb. It had been barely
twenty-four hours since the attack. For all he knew, he could be on a
fool’s errand. He
pressed his hand on his hip, his back screaming with resentment at so
much movement. He was not used to any exercise. He sighed, wiping his
brow with the ragged end of his costume, the lace scratching his
skin. He caught the cuff, snagging the material with his teeth,
tugging it free from his velvet jacket. He loathed the show and was
glad he’d never have to endure the humiliation of performing again,
especially with the vamps. Those
condescending, blood-sucking parasites.
He wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore, he thought with
satisfaction. Vincent had promised he’d not have to endure them for
long, living up to his part of the bargain quite nicely. They were
gone, torn apart by the werewolves or transformed into a tasty dinner
by the zombies. Either way, they wouldn’t be bullying him with
their nasty insults. Something buzzed around him, and he swiped at
it. It
felt as though he walked to the other side of the earth. Why Vincent
had to pick Zombieville to make his last stand, he’d never know.
The Werewolf River Run would have been much more convenient. It was
getting lighter now, and he could easily make out the smoking
devastation. He
searched the horizon, his eyes resting on the burnt wreckage of a
golf cart, the torched skeleton listing at an odd angle. Pulling
his lame foot, he pushed himself as fast as his body could travel,
his breath hitching with the effort. The
corpse was gone. He knew they would have taken that for DNA testing,
proof that the enemy was vanquished. The only things left were the
putrid carcasses from Monsterland, the decaying zombies, massacred
vampires, and what was left of the werewolves after Vincent had
exterminated them. He
climbed a small hill, his bad leg screaming with pain. Igor crowed
with triumph when he saw it, the discarded lump of flesh, lying
forgotten in a ditch, face down. He shivered as the desert wind
stirred and eddied around him. Damn,
but it was desolate here. He
hunkered down, forcing himself to skitter on the hard- packed earth.
He wondered what his son, the vice president—no, he corrected
himself, the new president of the United States, Mr. Nate Owens—would
think of his father now, scrambling like a dung beetle in the dirt. He
cursed. The drool was back, dripping from his mouth like a sparkling
spider web. Instead of rising—it was beyond him at this point—he
shimmied over to the severed head, reaching forward, reverently,
grabbing it by the matted hair, and grasping it to his chest. The
black eyes stared back dully, the dark depths reflecting the
hunchback’s twisted smile. Vincent
Konrad’s lifeless face lay in his hands, the pale lips open in a
soundless scream. “I’m
so happy I could kiss you, Vincent!” he told the decapitated head.
He cradled the face of his friend. “We’ll get you fixed up in no
time.” The
moon bathed the face a pale blue. The hunchback jiggled the dead
weight, cackling with delight as the one papery eyelid drooped as if
it were winking. In
the distance, that coywolf howled, making Igor suck in his breath
with fear. He tucked the head under his arm as he struggled back up
the small hill, mumbling something about Plan B.
Michael Okon is an award-winning and best-selling author of multiple genres including paranormal, thriller, horror, action/adventure and self-help. He graduated from Long Island University with a degree in English, and then later received his MBA in business and finance. Coming from a family of writers, he has storytelling in his DNA. Michael has been writing from as far back as he can remember, his inspiration being his love for films and their impact on his life. From the time he saw The Goonies, he was hooked on the idea of entertaining people through unforgettable characters.
Michael
is a lifelong movie buff, a music playlist aficionado, and a sucker
for self-help books. He lives on the North Shore of Long Island with
his wife and children.
How
do you pick your stories or subjects?
Movies.
I can watch any movie, and completely switch things up. For example,
I was watching Jurassic Park with my family, and wondered why there
has never been a theme park with monsters. The story for Monsterland
was born.
Do
have a bunch of characters in your treasure chest or do they each
develop with a new story idea?
Each
character is a piece of me, and someone I know. Their stories are
beaten o before I write so I know where every character arc is
heading.
How
long have you been writing?
Terribly
since I was 15. Better since I was 22. Much better since I’m 30.
What
was the first thing you published?
My
first published book was Monsterland under the WordFire Press banner.
Kevin J. Anderson signed me to a two-book publishing deal. I had
self-published under a pen-name until a publishing company picked me
up. I write all genres and love to jump around trying different
styles.
Who
is your favorite character that you've developed?
It’s
like choosing children, but if I had to choose one – Alastair from
Witches Protection Program.
Which
book gave you the most trouble?
Honestly
none of them. When you love what you do, your work shouldn’t
frustrate you.
Which
book was the easiest to write?
They
were all pretty easy. I would say Witches Protection Program was the
easiest.
What
advice do you give readers?
Read
as much as you can. Read all mediums Watch as many movies as you can.
We are so lucky right now and so much is being produced. Between live
streaming and regular production, you can satisfy all types of
imagination. I like to be diverse and sample a bit of everything
there is to offer out there. Learn how to tell a compelling story.
What
advice do you give new authors?
Read
Save the Cat by the late great Blake Snyder. Will change how you
write your stories.
What
books inspired you as a child?
There’s
a Monster at the End of this Book.
What
movies inspire you?
There
Will Be Blood, Back to the Future. Rounders. Caddyshack.
What
is your writing day like?
Plot
and research my story all day. Learn about my subject. Google is my
best friend. Read and watch YouTube videos about storytelling and
what makes people successful. Tuck the wife and kids in by 9pm. Write
until my eyes go, every single day.
What
trends are you seeing in entertainment?
It’s
a strange world out there. I’m getting into the entertainment side
of things through my film agent, so I can’t really say. From what I
see, some studios want the big budget type of movies. Some studios
want a smaller budget for more of the mediums available. It appears
right now that literally 'anything goes.'
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