Comic Scripts

Hey everybody, as many of you know I'm a huge fan of comics so of course I've tried my hand at creating some scripts for a few. The biggest problem with that is that sequential storytelling art isn't something that I'm good at and paying somebody to put together the art for a book is quite out of my monetary reach. But if anybody is interested I could always send the text only scripts to anybody who wants to read them. So if any of you are interested just drop me a line at jaycnystrom@gmail.com or via Twitter @DocHavok or through my Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/jaynystromauthor

Sending you a Dropbox link will require an email address, I will only use the email once for the purpose of sending the link and will in no way distribute, use, or contact through that email address provided. I believe in your privacy and wouldn't do anything to breach it.

Thank you for your time and I look forward to hearing from you.

-Jay Nystrom

Chasm (5 minute exercise)

The chasm loomed ahead, a sharp drop that had claimed an unknown number of hikers over time. What mysteries lay at the bottom, lodged between the rocks, forgotten by time. The snow whipped in a mighty fury, my vision nothing but a blinding white. My body was buffeted by the ever present winds. I planted my foot, the metal prongs of my boots digging into the permafrost, I was nearly there, a stones throw from the summit. I continued with steady hands and sure feet, I could make out a tattered red flag marking the top...so close...so close...so close. Then it was over, my destination reached, not the summit, not this time, not ever. 

Blood on the Floor: A Shinetown Story

By Jay Nystrom

The rain pelted the sidewalk unrelentingly, the harsh buzzing glow of neon signs reflected in the puddles that gathered in the uneven and unkempt pavement. The streets were lifeless and empty, a storm soaked ghost town with more secrets tucked into nooks and crannies than rats or mice. Make no mistake, the place was crawling with vermin but they all walked on two legs. Jerry Sticks was one such scurrying creature, and right now he was limping from out of a dive bar and into the roadway. Blood fell from his right hand dripping into the water on the ground mixing with the grime and muck. Jerry Sticks earned his name in the tough schoolyards of his youth, he had a penchant for assaulting others with a stickball bat. It had catapulted him up the ranks of hoods that worked for the local families. In the end fate would cross his path with that of a young dancing girl who heard things she shouldn’t have heard, a girl who would find herself on the wrong end of some bad men.
Jerry slowly made his way up the steps of his apartment building, he hated the elevator, it made him feel trapped and vulnerable. With each step droplets of blood left a trail, he was less concerned about being followed than he was about getting the blood to stop flowing from his arm. He fumbled with his keys and made his way to the bathroom, he stripped off his jacket and shirt and started to clean the wound. He swung open the mirrored cabinet and grabbed a bottle of iodine, he soaked a rag with it and held it to his shoulder, he yelped at the stinging. He closed the cabinet and saw her in the mirror, she was soaked from the rain. Her long auburn hair was pasted to her face, obscuring half of it but the pain and anger shone through.
Jerry turned around to face her, he had never seen her before tonight. She had burst into the bar looking for him, this dainty sweet looking little thing. She was only about five foot five, no more than a buck ten in her current water logged condition but damn was she mean. At the bar she had smashed two men to unconsciousness with a pool cue at which point another pointed in the direction of Jerry, that little snitch. Jerry charged her at that point, she pulled a gun and squeezed off a round that caught him in the shoulder. In the chaos and throng of confusion Jerry managed to sneak off into the night, but apparently she was clever enough to follow.
In the bathroom Jerry held up his one good arm in effort to stall her, “I don’t know who the fuck you are bitch, but I will fuckin’ drop you if you come any closer.” A crack in his voice diminished the weight of the threat, the girl didn’t move. He kept rambling, “Listen, I have a lot of money and you can have if you just leave me be. I don’t have anything against you, I’ll drop the whole shooting me thing just like that.” He backed slowly away from her but the bathroom was small and there wasn’t much of anywhere to go, still he bought time as he searched for something to defend himself with.
The girl just stared at him the whole time, she made small movements, just enough to never lose the angle on Jerry. Her chest heaved with each breath, tears filled her eyes as Jerry just jabbered on. “You take me out and you’ll have the whole Sevens crew gunnin’ for you sister, I’m a pretty big fish ya know, not a man to take lightly. Give me a chance and I’ll show you what kinda man I am, catch my drift.” He winked at her, then gave a small grin unsure of what to do next he just sat down on the toilet. “If you’re gonna do something just do it already bitch, I’m tired of this waitin’ game.”
From the sleeve of her jacket a wooden stick slid down, it was covered in dried blood. Jerry flinched at the appearance of the weapon, “Where the fuck you get that? What’s your angle dame?” He was visibly shaken at the sight, but his words continued to have an edge of macho swagger. She swung the stick at him, he managed to dodge the first blow and it chipped the sink countertop. Jerry had lunged to the right and he tried to catch the shower wall with his wounded arm, it didn’t hold and he fell awkwardly to the ground. The floor of the bathroom was now slick with blood and water, Jerry laid there unsure of what action to take next, the last time he was on the receiving end of any beating was by the hand of his father. He had been much smaller back then, just a boy trying to hide the fact that he had broken his Grandmother’s dishes by accident.
The woman stood above him, just out of reach of him lunging. When she spoke her voice matched her appearance, a little mousey, a squeak almost, but her words were cold. “I got the stick from evidence lock, my name is Officer Cara Hayes, Pike City Police Department. You are Jerry Sticks, two bit thug, and soon just a fuckin’ puddle of blood on the floor.” Jerry laughed so hard he started to cough, the wound in his shoulder sprang with new pains as his body was racked by the fit. “Oh that’s fuckin’ rich darlin’” he said, “a pretty little skirt like you is a cop. Wait till I tell everybody that the hot little piece who roughed up the Franklin twins is a copper.” He laughed again, this time without so much gusto. “What’s your stake in this little lady? Why all the aggression for little ol’ Jerry Sticks?”
Cara stepped on his ankle hard, Jerry screamed every obscenity he could think of at her. She swung the stick down and caught him in across the jaw nearly knocking him out. Then she squatted down, she firmly gripped his face and turned it to look at her, “My stake? Her name was Lacey, she was a dancer at the Lion’s Heart club, you beat her with this very stick and left her to die in the fuckin’ street. All because she happened to be around you when you started to run your big mouth, so you ask my stake in this. My stake in this is that she was my wife, my best friend for the last nine years of my life. And you killed her, you sick piece of garbage, I thought about watching you rot in cell for the rest of your life, to bring you in, to uphold the law. But I knew you’d walk, with your connections you’d be back on the street in a few days. Sometimes the law isn’t enough, it’s not this time.”
It only took one more swing to finish him off, Cara knew it wouldn’t be enough, it would never be enough. But sometimes the only way to survive in this cold, cruel world was to let it drag you down to it’s level. In this town it was the only law that ever meant a damn thing to anybody, survival by any means. In the distance sirens started to ring out in the night, a criminals lullaby in a city full of fuckin’ savages.

END    

Lucky Punch

Hey everybody, here to inform you that I've decided to give away my latest novella. Why you might ask, well... I guess because I feel like it. Even though I could just place it free on the Nook store or Amazon I decided to just go the direct route and offer it as a free to read, free to download PDF right here on my blog.  In order to read it, just highlight the link (located at the top right of this blog, under the heading "Lucky Punch") then open it in another window. Easy as that! From there you can read the whole thing or download it for later, whatever works best for you.

Now, if anybody is interested in reading it but would like it in another format please feel free to to get in touch and we can work something out via Email. I would be more then happy to convert and send it to you any way you like. Also feel free to spread the word or link to it in any way you see fit, and if you have a blog that you would like me to put on a links list I'll be glad to do that as well.

Thanks for your time everybody,

Jay Nystrom

Siren's Abyss

This is an experiment for me (and quite honestly a bit out of my comfort zone), in that this story is narrated by yours truly. I hope you enjoy this bit of Halloween inspired fun, and as always feel free to let me know what you think. So without any further interruption I present: Jay Nystrom's Siren's Abyss

Candles to Curtains

By Jay Nystrom

The clack of typewriter keys echoed in the small wooden shack that Alexander called home, sweat dripped from his brow, past his eyes and nose finally resting in the four days growth of hair that grew upon his face. The soft glow of several candles illuminated the cramped quarters, the room was a bedlam of half finished manuscripts, stacks of reference books, and piles of refuse and rubbish. Alexander had not slept in nearly a full five days but the fury of his conviction could not be stopped, this idea for a novel had swirled and coalesced in his brain for a full year and now it yearned, no… it begged to be unleashed onto paper and out into the world from the ether.
A half eaten bowl of soup sat adjacent to a warming glass of bourbon, the food and drink was consumed only as a way to keep his body from failing, he took little pleasure from it. Alexander was in the zone now, a stack of paper was piled high on the desk containing the words that would be his bestselling debut, it was a much stronger story then the previous four he had discarded into the corners and trash can. It wasn’t that they were all that bad but this, this was the one, he was sure of it.
His fingers stopped their frantic scrambling at a small noise outside, he glanced through the single window with it’s torn, dry, and old curtains hanging limp on the windless night. An owl had perched itself in the tree outside, the bird stared with it’s large yellow and unblinking eyes, then it slowly turned it’s head the nearly one hundred and eighty degrees to face forward again. Alexander felt unnerved by the sight but all at once excited by the sense of the macabre and he started at the typewriter with renewed fervor.
With a flourish chapter twenty four was complete, he took a small break to scoop a few spoonfuls of the cold soup into his mouth, he washed it down with the remaining bourbon in his glass. He got up to refill, his feet creaked on the ill built wooden floor with every step, he paused…to him it sounded like something else had also creaked the slats. He shook the thought away and grabbed the bottle on the mantle, he took a swallow right from the bottle then crossed the floor back to his chair. He thought briefly about other things, he often did when the loneliness got the better of him. His mind raced with thoughts of what ifs and maybes, this self exile was the best for him as far as actually finishing his novel but it was still depressing at times.
Alexander closed his eyes and thought of a pretty little redhead he knew from town, she was just the last in a long line of women he was too scared to approach. That was really the story of his life, a string of close calls and scares but nothing of any real substance to speak of. He wouldn’t change a thing about it though, it was the miles that made then man. He took another drink, loaded another sheet of blank paper and began to type again. He worked without stopping for another two hours before he jumped at the sight of something moving in the shadowed corner of his domicile.
He flinched again as something scratched at the wall, he swept out of his chair casting the bottle of alcohol to the ground breaking it into a million shards of penetrating glass. His heart was beating wildly now, the scratching increased in rhythm and intensity. He had heard the mice and rats in the walls before but this seemed to be something bigger, he pictured inch long claws trying to burrow into his skin. He cursed his over active imagination and rushed to the kitchen.
Alexander drew a long bladed hunting knife from the drawer and crept over to the source of the sound, he thrust the knife into the rotting wood with force. He wiggled the blade free but found no blood or gore stuck to it’s tarnished finish. He sat back down in the chair, his head swam with drink and lack of sleep, he knew he must be hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time he had had a breakdown, his last episode is what prompted his move out into the wilds in the first place.
A low drone woke Alexander hours later, he must have dozed off without realizing it. He stood up from the chair to stretch his tightened muscles loose, the floor groaned with his weight and he swung his arm wildly in fright. A nearly melted candle fell from the desk, it’s small flame licked and caressed a stack of papers on the floor. The dampness of the air prevented the paper from catching immediately, had Alexander paid any heed he could have stopped them from catching at all. But as it was he was screaming and swinging his knife with fear, the cold, cutting fear that only the unknown could produce in the pit of your stomach. His feet were cut and stuck with the glass of the bourbon bottle, as he moved across the floor he left bloody footprints in his wake.
The paper caught fire at last, the flames leapt with seeming sentience from the paper to a heap of unwashed linens. From the linens to the alcohol soaked floorboards, from the floorboards to the miscellaneous books that laid in uneven towers. From the books to the coarse wool of the bed sheet, and from the sheet to the curtains. So stood in flames o’ plenty, a madman with sharpened blade and frantic mind…consumed by imaginary ghosts born of insomnia and drowned with fire.

END  

Scarecrow Grins in Moonlight

By Jay Nystrom

Travis perked his ears at the distant scratching sound, he listened closely…the tiny electric motor that controlled the sliding panes of glass whirred. A small chime rang out over the speaker system but he couldn’t hear any footsteps, he grunted as he placed his hand on one of the lower shelves and lifted himself up from the kneeled position he had taken on the floor. The scratching could be heard again, this time a whoosh and howl of the wind accompanied it, Travis laughed at himself, a small huff of derision that chided himself at his edginess. The sliding doors were stuck open again, they did it often at this little grocery store that was his second home.
He watched as the wind from outside blew the crisp maroon and golden leaves further into the store, he wiggled the door until the motor engaged and the doors slid gently together. Travis scooped the leaves into the waste bin and cursed his luck of having drawn the late shift tonight, he knew the rest of his crew would be halfway to wasted by now and here he was being frightened by the wind. He hoped that the party would still be going by the time he locked up, he so desperately wanted to show Teresa that he was a funny and sweet guy in a setting other then work. Travis took a deep breath and let it out with depressed huff, not that she would even notice him, not that she would even care.
As he rounded the corner back to the aisle he shook his head at the mess he still had to fix before he could leave, he struggled to get back onto the floor again. After a few minutes of turning soup labels forward he heard the doors open again, this time the noticeable clack of high heels could be heard on the tile. A woman in a blue dress turned into the aisle, he could see her from the corner of his eye. He readied a charming smile, a pretty woman was about the only time he bothered to provide anything close to good customer service. He turned his head with a snap only to find that nobody was there, she must have headed to another section of the store in the time it took him to muster the effort to help.
He heard the heels again but a little more towards the door this time, he waited for the familiar beep of the register scanning but found it silent. Just as Travis turned his attention back to the shelf the lights shut off, the entire store was pitch black. He cursed the night janitor who must have forgot there was still employees here, with the wide glow of his cell phone Travis made his way to the switch located in the back hallway. The light shone on the knob, it was still in the on position, he turned it off then back on and the lights flashed to life. After another half hour of tedious, pointless work he called it a night and rushed to his car. The drive wasn’t more then ten minutes to the little farm where his coworkers and friends would hopefully still be partying, he pulled up to the edge of the property and continued on foot.
The moon hung big and bright in the sky, as he walked Travis began to remember snippets of a dream. He found it odd that he would take this long to remember a dream from the night before but somehow it bothered him that he couldn’t form the scene in his mind. The cobwebs of his head swirled around confusing him further, he remembered something about Teresa being there, although to be fair he dreamed of her often. Then he remembered something about a scarecrow, then he felt a whispered breath on his neck. He turned violently but nobody was there, it must have been nerves from strange events earlier that had him on edge.
Travis neared the spot where his friends would be, it was a clearing in the middle of an orchard where nothing would grow. It was a near perfect circle of blackened ground that was rumored to be the site of a witches coven from long ago, it was now just used by teens to drink and paw at each other in the night. He stepped into the circle and his mind was flooded with memories, it wasn’t a dream from the night before that had bothered him so much. No… it was the nightmare of remembering what had happened, in the middle of the circle was a lone scarecrow that had long worn out his clothes and spilled his straw. Now it was just an empty sack with a torn hat upon it’s head, at the foot of the scarecrow were the bodies of his friends.
He started to cry at finding them again, the nightmare relived and remembered. It was like it was fresh again, he looked around the circle and saw the wraiths and apparitions of the people he knew weeping at the sight. He was always the last one to show up, he was last on the night when this happened the first time. It didn’t spare him the blade of the madman who had lurked in the shadows, the man who dug himself from a prison and rampaged across three states taking sixteen lives before being stopped.
Travis watched as the bodies on the ground faded away, he looked at the deflated face of the scarecrow and thought that it had a sinister grin beneath the moonlit brim of his frayed hat. His friends stepped towards the center and he found his feet following suit, the night would be replayed again next year, now he remembered that it always was. The spirits weakened and were blown away by the wind as they neared the decrepit scarecrow, Travis looked to the woods to see the woman in the blue dress standing at the edge of the circle. But the figure gained shape with his memory, it wasn’t a woman though, no… it was the man who had taken his life, a bloodied maniac in a cocktail dress he had taken from a girl four towns over.
Travis almost screamed when he bumped into the scarecrow, a small tuft of hay scratched his cheek with a dry rustle. Then he felt himself being pulled away, he cried but no tears came… he was always last to leave…without ceremony and without company.

END