In Laymon's Terms

From this point, the story will be familiar to Laymon fans in the United States. No new books. No old books to be found at the flea markets and secondhand stores. No Internet access to find out more about this mystery author and where he disappeared.

Flash-forward about five years. I’m on the ’net. I’m frequenting the horror chat rooms. And I start to hear about this Laymon guy. Something about his books being huge in England, yet he can’t get arrested over here. I find a U.K. bookseller and order The Cellar and The Beast House. I discovered that The Stake wasn’t a fluke. This guy was great.

I ran up my Visa bill ordering Laymon books. Then came the Leisure news. And my opportunity to talk to The Man.

During the course of my broadcasting career, I’ve interviewed a lot of celebrities. I’ve never gotten nervous. Until I talked to Dick Laymon. Over the course of a couple of years, this guy had become a hero of mine. What if he’s a jerk? That was my fear.

He turned out to be one of the kindest people I’ve ever interviewed.

A few days after the interview I received a package with Laymon’s return address on it. Inside was an autographed copy of the U.K. edition of One Rainy Night, his next release from Leisure.

During my second interview with him, a few months later, I commented that reading a Laymon book brought back the thrill I got from seeing those great B-movies at the drive-in as a kid. I immediately regretted the words, afraid that he would take it as an insult.

Before I could apologize, he chuckled and said, “Great! That’s exactly the mood I’m going for.”

That’s the same mood I’ve attempted with “The Red Kingdom”. I hope Dick Laymon would have approved.

Mark Justice

1.

It started out to be a great night. Maybe the best night ever.

It was the kind of party he’d never been invited to in high school. Back then, he was the fat bookworm with the thick glasses and out-of-date clothing.

Now he was different. Better. Eighteen months of diet and exercise, contacts, and some new duds made all the difference.

“Hey, Bishop, this party gonna be a booty convention,” Greg said from the front seat. “Maybe you’ll finally get laid.”

Okay, some things hadn’t changed. Mike Bishop was a Nineteen-year-old virgin. But he was going to a big party with two of the coolest guys at UCLA. Chances were good that this would be the night. Hell, he didn’t even care how hot the girl was. He’d take the spillover from Greg and Duncan. Gladly.

His stomach was twisting nervously. That was okay. He had a good feeling about tonight.

For the first time, all the pieces were in place.

No one at the party would know him. He was a clean slate. All the nerd-dom of his past had been erased. All he had to do was relax, be cool, and let the party come to him. He was smart. He could be funny.

On paper, anyway.

Ten years of scribbling stories had taught him how powerful words could be. They were his only weapon and his only salvation in school. Words got him into college.

And, through words, he hooked up with Duncan and Greg.

Two star basketball players.

Who never missed a party.

They couldn’t say the same thing about classes, though. That’s where Mike came in. A simple recommendation from an instructor and he was tutor to the stars. The boys got to stay on the team and Mike Bishop moved up several social levels.

“Yo, Bishop, you bring any rubbers?” Duncan said, from the driver’s seat. He brayed like a donkey and gave Greg a high-five.

“‘S’okay, bro. We got extra.”

Mike felt his face grow warm. He was glad it was too dark for them to see him blush.

They hadn’t told him where the party was, just that it was going to be the hottest gathering in Southern California. They’d been in traffic for about thirty minutes when Duncan took an exit and began climbing.

The road ended at the biggest house Mike had ever seen. There must have been fifty rooms in the mansion, and it looked to be made mostly of glass. Duncan gave the keys to his SUV to a casually dressed valet at the front door. He looked like a bodybuilder. When Mike climbed out of the truck, he smelled the ocean. He’d bet the rear of the house overlooked the Pacific.

He thought it was the most amazing house he had ever seen, and he hadn’t gone inside yet.

As they stepped to the front door, Mike could hear the thump of loud music and the buzzing of conversation from within. Greg clamped a big hand on Mike’s shoulder.

“Nervous, bro?”

“Naw.” Mike’s mouth was so dry, it made a clicking sound when he talked.

Greg smiled. “Of course not. Anyway, we owe you. Just stick with us and it’ll be a night that will change your life forever.”

“’Sides,” Duncan said. “Just bein’ seen with us ought to guarantee you at least a blow job.”

“Yeah,” Greg said. “From Duncan.”

“Dickhead,” Duncan said. He took a playful swing at Greg.

They all laughed.

It’ll be a night that will change your life forever.

Mike wiped his sweaty palms on his Dockers.

They went in.

2.