caleb paschall
Bio
A Nashville native and MTSU graduate, I've spent my adulthood as, at various times, a bouncer, a fitness trainer (current), a graphic designer, a martial arts instructor, and an office drone. The office drone gig was by far the worst.
Stories (8)
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Woo Assassin
It began so mundanely: two pedal taverns in the streets of Nashville, each full of drunken rowdy bachelorettes. One tired trucker on hour 15 with no sleep, hauling radioactive goop. One innocent Minnesota woman on a business trip, exploring the city after hours.
By caleb paschallabout a year ago in Fiction
Challenge of the Spider
I slip shadow-like into the yacht's comm room, a trail of dead guards behind me. Another successful infiltration. In my line of work they all have to be successful. There is no second place in this game, unless you consider the destruction of the free world second place. It takes a certain type of guy, a guy like me, to pull off a mission like this. To stare death in the face until death blinks.
By caleb paschallabout a year ago in Fiction
Dog Star. Runner-up in Summer Solstice Challenge.
“So when are we supposed to start?” Roger Gibbs asked. The two men sat on the hill overlooking St. Luke’s Methodist church. From up here, Bill Whitt could see just how bad the steeple was getting. Reverend Marino did his best to repair what he could, and the flock helped, but the church had been here since 1802. Aside from the primordial tree near the eastern limits, St. Luke's was the oldest thing still standing in the town; one of the oldest Methodist churches in the country. That made repairs impossible even with coffers overflowing, and Big Root, Tennessee's coffers hadn't overflowed since before World War 2. He looked at the sky, then at Roger.
By caleb paschall2 years ago in Fiction
The Iron Claw
"There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Not that it was safe before, you understand. A wild, dark forest still covers the valley floor just beyond the plains, and it was teeming back then with wild, dark things: bears, vipers, great dusk-grey stags with antlers as sharp and deadly as any platoon of spearmen. Then there were the direwolves. They're not around much nowadays. People call 'em wolves, but they have about as much in common with regular wolves as their hulking wardens have in common with natural men. Big bastards, the direwolves, with enormous yellow fangs and shaggy, coarse fur. Their paws are as big as a man's hand, and tipped with rending claws. The wardens are giants, 8 feet if an inch. They wear wolfskins, and carry bone axes. They eat raw meat too, just like their companions. Tear it right off the bone of their kills. Hard to tell the two apart from a distance, and that's as close as anyone'd get anyway. 'S a pair vomited up by the Undergods themselves, if you ask me."
By caleb paschall4 years ago in Fiction
Saturday Night on Edgehill
I showed up at Rhinestone's Honky-Tonk around 10 pm, looking for Madeline's contact. I was jittery. It had been almost a year since I was on anything more than a shakedown for some meth dealer or low-level extortionist. Those were hard months financially, but the work itself wasn't particularly challenging.
By caleb paschall5 years ago in Criminal
