Dr Hogback Novels & Stories

“You slept for so long that I began to worry you would never wake up.” “How long was it?” I rasp, my voice hoarse from a combination of disuse and lack of water. “Five days,” the man responds. “Who are you?” I interrupt before he can continue. “Ah. Of course. Where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself. I am Clay Denvo. The king of the rogues,” he says as he gestures widely with his arms. “I didn’t know that the rogues have a leader,” I respond coolly.

She smirked lightly, "Demons are cocky bastards and being so full of themselves. That is always their downfall." "Humans are just as bad, ya know." He said as he nodded to a couple of customers that were tucked off in a booth against the far wall. "Danny over there just got out of rehab for his meth addiction, but he bounced right back into it not so long after." He glanced to the clock on the wall just above the door. "Any second now."

I rifled through my sketchbook, praying he left me alone like everyone else had. "I know you can draw. It's so beautiful. What's that? " he asked pointing at my newest sketch. I shut the book, sliding it out of his reach. I glared at him, not quite used to anyone disturbing me. He met my gaze coolly. " Ah! Where are my manners? " he said. I mumbled, "probably in your half eaten sandwich". He smiled. "Who knew you had a sense of humour? My name is Matthew. L. Henderson." I rolled my eyes, not caring I was sitting next to the mayor's son. He cocked his head, clearly waiting for me to introduce myself like the lady I wasn't.

Just feeling the caffeine enter my body was good enough. "Feeling better?" Hunt asked, leaning forward and drinking from his own mug. I nodded and then got down to finishing the rest of my sandwich and coffee. When I was done, I felt warm inside and happy too. It'd been long since I'd felt either of those things. "We'll be moving the traps further into the woods this year," a burly man in a red and black plaid shirt said as he walked into the store with a rifle in his large hand. He wore a dirty brown cap over his head with thin strands of dark hair sticking out front underneath. There was something about him that reeked of danger. I could smell it all over him along with the strong stench o

The old man continued. “I’ll provide weapons, equipment and whatever is necessary for their training.” Excitement surged through me immediately. This was exactly what I needed. Resources. Weapons and support. This was everything my pack lacked. But then Elder Alaska frowned. “But we must not underestimate the Northern Pack.” His fingers tapped lightly against the table. “They are powerful. So we need more people.” I immediately focused on his next words. “I’ll provide plenty of money. You only need to recruit more rogues into your pack.”

The next time I saw Chase Reed, it was at a little guesthouse in the Rockies. I'd just finished feeding my son breakfast and was wiping his mouth when Chase came out from the kitchen carrying a tray. Our eyes met. I saw his pupils dilate in shock. Three years had passed. His skin was weathered and reddened from the sun, his face covered in stubble, with new lines etched around his eyes from the harsh elements. Then his gaze landed on my son. He froze mid-step, his eyes going wide with disbelief before flooding with joy. He hurried over, his eyes locked on my little boy. "Sweetheart... can you say 'Daddy'?" I lowered my head, turned sideways, and pulled my son protectively into my arms

She was always there, a constant, pervasive presence. I felt a desperate urge to turn and flee, to escape this painful tableau. But a stronger, more stubborn part of me compelled me to stay, to observe. This was the test. This was the reality. I moved closer, feigning an interest in a nearby stall selling local honey. From my vantage point, I could see them more clearly. Victoria was animated, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. Earnest was listening, his head tilted slightly towards her. He wasn't smiling, not the easy, relaxed smile I remembered, but there was a certain intensity in his gaze, as if he were genuinely engaged in her words.

A sound answered a cough, weak and hoarse. Then his voice: “A-Amara… stay back.” She rushed forward anyway and found him slumped against the wall, one arm bleeding from a shallow cut. His eyes were wide with urgency, not pain. “They know,” he rasped. “Dray wasn’t working alone.” She knelt beside him. “Who who’s ‘they’?” He swallowed hard, pulling something from his jacket another flash drive, smeared with dust and blood. “This… isn’t everything. But it’s enough to start burning down their story.”

One human and the other a member of my pack, I don’t remember their name, but I recognize their scent and face. “Sorry to wake you, Mister Logan,” the human greeted. “Morning, trooper. Something I can help you with?" I asked, falling into character “I’m Trooper Shadow, and this is Trooper Bryant. We received a report of an attack on a couple of campers not far from your cabin last night,” the human spoke up. Bryant. I looked at my pack member, and now I remembered him. David Bryant, he’s friends with Mikali and Kurt.

Then, I saw it. Rising above the skyline, a massive digital billboard flickered to life. It wasn't an advertisement for the latest mobile technology or a product . It was him. Julian Vane looked back at me with a cold, predatory intensity that physically stopped the breath in my lungs. He was leaning against the plexiglass boards of an ice rink, his Hawks jersey pulled across his shoulders that had grown impossibly broad since I'd last seen him. His face, once soft with boyish charm, was now a masterpiece of harsh angles and lethal symmetry. The caption, glowing in bold, gold letters against the blue backdrop, read: THE GHOST RETURNS: CHAMPIONSHIP RUN 2026.