Klass Digest Group

I

was born Robert Joseph Samson. My parents just loved the name Robert since they both were fans of Robert Downey Junior. My middle name came from the surrogate father of Christ; the man that raised a child, not of his own loins, but somehow conceived in the "Virgin Mary." Between you and me, raising someone else’s child is no big deal, but accepting your devoted wife for allowing another to impregnate her blows my mind!

I digress. And Samson is my surname, which the origins for are quite unique. You see, the spelling is Samson, which is biblical and derived from the Hebrew word Shimshon. Pretty cool huh?! My parents are quite creative people. They believe in the idea of spiritualism, but not the political aspect classified as religion. They also never forced me to believe as they do, which most kids don't have the luxury to claim. I…

Several parties that took place in Miami where murders took place all pointed to one man. It is because of that one man that I decided to visit Los Angeles. Dexter thought to himself, pondering the evidence that had accrued over the years, but he was far too busy to notice before. Too busy killing other serial killers, not unlike himself, except for his ‘Code.’ It was his code of conduct developed by his late adopted father, Harry, that kept him Dexter alive and from getting caught.

Dexter Morgan had seen many types of evil in his life, but Los Angeles had a peculiar kind of darkness. The evidence he'd uncovered during his work as Miami's blood-spatter expert pointed to one man, a charming nightclub owner with an unsettling knack for leaving chaos in his wake—Lucifer Morningstar.

Dexter arrived in L.A. under the guise of a tourist but was, as…

It was a Saturday afternoon at the bustling mall, and Derek found himself in a familiar routine, shopping for his wife. The anniversary was around the corner, and he was determined to find something special—a gesture of love that would show her how much he still cared after all these years. As he absentmindedly wandered through the aisles of a jewelry store, contemplating necklaces and bracelets, something—or rather someone—caught his eye.

She was beautiful, striking even, with long dark hair cascading over her shoulders and a confidence in her walk that pulled his attention like a magnet. Her presence was electric. She wore a deep red dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, and her eyes, large and warm, had an intensity to them that sent shivers down his spine. For a brief moment, their eyes met. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart skipped…

Sam Elliott squinted into the dusk, his mustache twitching ever so slightly. He’d been out here on this dusty trail for a few hours now, guiding a few cattle over rugged terrain, when he heard a strange, high-pitched snickering from the bushes nearby.

A scrawny, green-skinned creature about three feet tall popped out from behind a cactus. Its big, bulbous eyes blinked up at him, yellow as fresh corn, with a mouth full of crooked teeth that looked better suited for tearing through shoe leather than anything else. The creature wore a ragged burlap sack as a shirt and brandished a makeshift club that looked like a stick it had probably stolen from some poor hiker.

Sam stopped, hands on his hips, a bemused expression beneath his signature silver-streaked mustache. “Well, I’ll be,” he muttered in that legendary drawl of his, deep and gravelly as a canyon echo. “A goblin.”