The Society of Esoteric Knowledge and Technology (S.E.K.T) is available now! Happy Halloween!
The infamous Miskatonic University of Arkham Massachusets is well known for unexplained disappearances, mysterious mass hysteria, and unidentified beasties escaping from various departments. Even more so than the ivy league education the esteemed institution offers. So when a peculiar study group begins attracting the best and brightest the school has to offer, it soon becomes evident that the Society of Esoteric Knowledge and Technology is more than it appears. Hoping to expand their social circle and get through the rigors of their academic routine, the members discover something that will change their lives forever. After researching a famous witch from Arkham's past, the group stumbles into a reality they never knew existed, and their oddly named study group will never be the same.
EPub - https://www.amazon.com/Society-Esoteric-Knowledge-Technology-K-T-ebook/dp/B0BHRQFJ12/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1666113326&sr=8-1
Paperback - https://www.amazon.com/Society-Esoteric-Knowledge-Technology-K-T/dp/B0BHMS23YR/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1666113326&sr=8-1
EPub - https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-society-of-esoteric-knowledge-and-technology-1
The Seed Man and Other Tales is now available as an epub and in paperback as of October 31st.
This collection of stories marks my first venture into the world of self-publishing. I hope to launch this anthology through other channels if I can get enough traction. Currently, the epub is available through Kobo.com and Amazon. The paperback version is only available through Amazon at the moment but I hope to expand that distribution as time goes on. I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I've enjoyed creating them.
EPub - https://www.amazon.com/Seed-Man-Other-Tales-ebook/dp/B09KNV93YM/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1638060573&sr=8-1
Paperback - https://www.amazon.com/Seed-Man-Other-Tales/dp/B09KN65FJM/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1638060573&sr=8-1
EPub - https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-seed-man-and-other-tales
Thank you for your support and keep an eye out for the first novel in my S.E.K.T series coming out in 2022 entitled "The Society of Esoteric Knowledge and Technology (S.E.K.T)"
By: David Pitzel Nov. 27, 2021, 4:54 p.m.
You don’t see many children walking to school these days. Maybe it is because of the news media that seems to be laser-focused on keeping us all locked behind closed and barred doors, scaring the living shit out of us on a 24-hour cycle. We’re afraid of each other, our food, our water, our air. There doesn’t seem to be anything that does not hold some form of adverse effect when seen, heard, smelled, tasted, or even come into proximity of. The world is a dangerous and horrible place. We should all lock ourselves in our comfortable, connected, technologically advanced homes and fill them with endless piles of useless and unneeded convenience items. Why would you walk outside and say hi to your neighbor when you can quickly wish them a happy birthday on your favorite social media platform. You’ll even get the reminder if you’re too inconvenienced by having to remember the date or if you're less than interested but want to appear friendly. We live in a world of trapdoor spiders waiting to pounce on unsuspecting innocents who dare only to feel the sun on their face and the wind in their hair.
By: David Pitzel Oct. 31, 2017, 9:09 a.m.
Danny never cried out. It was too fast, too unexpected. He never believed in what we were doing. He never believed the words as I read them from those medical files. Even though there was no denying that what we were doing and what we were seeing was unmistakably real, I believed, and I knew we should have stopped. I can tell myself it was his fault for convincing me to go inside or for busting in that window, but I know I was to blame. I should have made him leave. We should never have been there.
By: David Pitzel June 5, 2017, 12:34 p.m.
Alto woke in the tiny cell-like room. It was pitch black except for a sliver of light peaking in from the crack at the bottom of the door. It was impossible to tell the time in these caves. Standing and pulling the dangling chain for the light, he looked at his watch. It was six am. He was glad he hadn't overslept. Today was the day they would take the trip with the shipment back to the states. He had to be on his game today. Everything needed to go as planned, Yassin still hadn't told him how the drugs got from here to the states, but he assured him it was no problem. Everything about the operation from the growing to production was very efficient. There was nothing Alto saw that gave him pause except for a group of men who seemed to be a third party in this endeavor. Yassin assured him they were nothing to worry about, saying they were crucial in the drugs' transportation. Alto, of course, wanted to speak with them and was told that he would be able to before they left. It troubled him. These men who were not Taliban and not simple villagers were a liability. They knew how the drugs got to America and were instrumental in the process, but where did their loyalties lie? If they were not Taliban, then they had no reason to follow Yassin's orders. If they were not part of the village, they had no reason to follow the Taliban's demands. It was going to be a problem. Once they shut down the supply chain stateside, there was no telling what kind of blowback would come from these men. He needed to find out more about them, but there was no time. In a few short hours, they would be leaving. Cutting it close was an understatement.
By: David Pitzel March 26, 2017, midnight
The beat-up white SUV barrelled down the road. It was half paved and half covered in dirt and sand. A trail of dust rose behind them as they drove, drifting off into the parched endlessness of the Afghan desert. In all directions was a vast expanse of tans and browns ending in dark, jagged peaks in the distance. The SUV bounced on the barely maintained road, occasionally slowing to navigate entire broken asphalt sections torn up by explosions from IEDs and missile strikes. It was a forsaken land of dead and dying vegetation, cruel heat and scarce water, compounded now by the wreckage from years of constant war. Oceans of sand in all directions, once they were at the compound, there would be no running away if something went wrong. Miles and miles of rocky desert that appeared the same in all directions. Himee looked out the window, wondering if this would be the place he would die. It seemed likely, but he wasn't about to go easily. Stay cool, follow Alto's lead, and keep his mouth shut. That was what would get him through this op, that and the heater he had tucked in his belt. It was hard to believe anyone lived out here, much less an entire farm of poppies. He stared off at the horizon, trying to determine the cardinal direction, East. He looked at the cheap gas station compass stuck to the dash. He was right.
By: David Pitzel March 6, 2017, midnight
Nina Polzin stood naked in front of the streaked hotel mirror. Her hair was dripping on the bathroom floor, revealing the piss poor cleaning job the maid service had done. She traced the outline of a star drawn on her skin. She wanted to rip it off, cut it from her, those bastards. Now she was pretending to be one of them. This had better turn up Whitelace. These men she was with, she worried they wouldn't make it back. Too many different objectives here. It was going to be a cluster fuck. She'd make it out. She always made it out. The only difference this time was that she was going off-book. If the Company finds out, they'll kill her themselves. There was no right way for this to go.
By: David Pitzel Feb. 5, 2017, midnight
Adrian Markov entered the large warehouse, just off San Fernando Rd. in Sun Valley. Surrounded by industrial buildings, storage facilities, auto shops, and junkyards, it was the perfect place for a meeting of this sort. Nobody around here is going to ask questions. Nobody around here is going to care at all. He felt as if he was a bit overdressed. Jeans and a blazer, around here, he looked like a fucking cop, and that was the last thing he wanted to be made as. He hurried into the metal door of the building, trying not to have too many eyes on him. It smelled of oil and old rust inside. Must have been a machine shop at one time. The place was large, with a huge roll door to the right of the smaller door he entered. Aerospace maybe, whatever it was, it was all gone now. A table and six chairs with a rolling whiteboard sat in the center of the empty warehouse. A man stood at the whiteboard, putting up photos and writing names. Another man in an all-black suit with a thin red tie sat about ten or more feet away from the table. Probably secret service, he'd never seen him before, Adrian was sure he didn't work for "The Company."
By: David Pitzel Jan. 29, 2017, midnight
Clutching the ring of keys Kent provided, Sam ascended the creaking, slippery wooden stairway leading up the cliff face to the lighthouse. He could see the coming storm as it approached. It was as dark and brooding as his mood and moving in fast. Sam knew he needed to finish his search of the lighthouse quickly. Kent wouldn't be able to keep the boat against the dock long before fear of being battered against the rocks would demand that he get out of there. Lashed by the rain, wet, and legs aching from the seemingly endless climb of the cliff stairs, Sam felt a sense of dread. The gray and black boiling sky and the crashing of ever-intensifying waves gave the feeling of insurmountable bleakness. He crested the stairs, and there it was before him, stark white against the gray clouds, reaching to the sky like the arm of a dying man calling for gods redemption, the Yaquina Head Light.
By: David Pitzel Jan. 17, 2017, midnight
It was a cold November morning when Sam Peters stepped off the train in Newport, Oregon. The rain was coming down, almost horizontal in the wind, lashing against him. He was not prepared for this rain. Stepping onto the platform, pulling his trench coat collar up and his fedora down, he stalked off in the direction of the lone building with a light in the window. The bell jingled as he opened the door and stepped in. He stood dripping water on the floor for a moment, surveying the small train depot until he spied the man behind the ticket window and said, walking toward him.
By: David Pitzel Jan. 4, 2017, midnight
Today I begin what is to be my single most significant contribution to humanity. Most assuredly, it will be the catapult to which my career will launch from mediocrity to excellence. I was given the grant today to begin, in earnest, my dream research. My hard work and dedication have paid off. Now I have only to produce the results, which I know will inevitably be achieved. In addition to operating money, I have been given a small lab on campus to perform my tests. It is not quite as large as I would have hoped, and the accouterments are lacking, but I can make do. The important thing is that I have gained the ear of the Dean and others; my research has been elevated from fanciful to legitimate and testable. A great day indeed. I must now acquire the necessary equipment for the endeavor and interview volunteers and subjects for the study.
By: David Pitzel Dec. 18, 2016, midnight
Officer Thomas Watts responded to a 273D at 20:23 on Monday 11-17-2015. The address of the home is 4006 NE Emerson. Neighbors complained of screaming in the house starting at 19:30 and continuing for approximately a half hour.
By: David Pitzel Dec. 4, 2016, midnight
Mr. Brooks was finishing up his work when I arrived and I could see that a considerable portion of the documents had been moved from the disorganized quagmire of boxes and folders to the neat and accounted for collection on the other side of the room. I asked him if there was anything to note from the days delving and I was surprised to hear that he had found some odd expenditures which were of no concern but left some questions in his mind.
By: David Pitzel Nov. 20, 2016, midnight
I am writing this in the hope that the next person charged with handling this case will read these notes before doing any research or work with this estate. I beg of you, leave this now, for in trying to right the wrongs contained herein you will only seal your certain demise, as I have done. I will provide a full account of my findings, which I hope, will satisfy your curiosity enough and give an adequate amount of evidence with which to bury this case file so deep that it will never again be brought to the attention of anyone. Let this file fall away and be forgotten, let the house which it suggests fall to ruin and be claimed by the earth and do not, under any circumstances, attempt to contact poor Agatha.
By: David Pitzel Nov. 13, 2016, midnight
I'll never forget how horrified I was when I first heard the tale of the Seed Man. Being only eight years old didn't help, but damn, the idea of the thing kept me up for weeks after. It was Stanley Whitestone who spilled out the local legend as we sat in our treetop hideaway that summer evening. While the woods behind my new house began to darken, casting crooked shadows on the ground below, he told me the story with quivering hands and sweat beads on his upper lip.
By: David Pitzel Oct. 18, 2016, 12:55 p.m.