May 07, 2023 by PD Alleva

Jigglyspot and the Zero Intellect:

Character Introduction: Meet Tyler Reese

 

 

 

 

Tyler is an amalgamation of Tyler Durden (Yes, Fight Club rocks) and the Joker. Strange combo I know but it is what it is. He’s a teenage murdering son of a bitch whose plotting, planning, and meticulous nature has led him down a path of revenge and paranoia.

 

But there’s more going on than Tyler is aware of and he’s soon thrust into the middle of ghosts, demons, and let’s not ever forget a lineage that he has never heard of. He’s that one kid that despises his generation, and believes it is his duty to rid the world of the evil scum that walks around in plain sight, eagerly waiting to dash the hopes and dreams of the everyday human.

 

Tyler’s got more on his mind than fame and fortune. Leave those for the meek and feeble. No, Tyler’s primary concern is getting away with murder. Lucky for him, he’s got a ghost to guide him.

 

Discover Jigglyspot and his cast of clowns, killers, demons, and wretched fiends, in a novel like you’ve never experienced. Horror, mayhem, thrills, chills, fantasy, and spoils are waiting for your reading eyes with an escape into the underworld of mind control and human slavery. 

 

Get to know Tyler a bit more with the excerpt below and don’t forget, if you haven’t preordered Jigglyspot or added him to your KU subscription be sure to do so now. You won’t want to miss what Jiggly’s got up his sleeve.  Click here to preorder from Amazon or here for Barnes and Noble. Goodreads users, be sure to add Jigglyspot to your want to read list here.

 

Thank you for reading, 

 

 

PD Alleva

 

 

 

Chapter Two: Jigglyspot Excerpt:

 

 

 

2

 

 

Minutes Before 4:00 A.M

Beverly Hills, California

Tyler Reese

 

 

Tyler set his gun down on the table. He was tired and wanted to stretch. His victim–one James Reilly-was strapped to a chair across the table from Tyler. Bound by duct tape, James eyeballed the Glock 9 with attached silencer as if his eyes could pick up the weapon. Tyler yawned, closed his eyes for just a second, and James jumped in his chair. Not that he could jump too far. Tyler was good with duct tape. He was certain there was no way James could free himself. This being Tyler’s first kill, he had to go the extra mile. One never knew what to expect. All he’d seen on television and in movies could have gotten it wrong; perhaps there is a way to wiggle free from duct tape. So, Tyler used all of it, just to be sure. No one needed a screaming James Reilly disturbing the neighbors at this early hour. Not in this neighborhood, at least. 

Tyler fixed his eyes on James. He definitely used an amusing amount of tape. The thought–and of course seeing James exactly where he wanted him–brought a smile to Tyler’s lips. Now he was just staring. Silent. And James muttered, “Fuck you,” his voice muffled by duct tape. Tyler ran his hand through his hair-those thick dark locks kept falling in front of his green eyes-then gripped the gun and pointed the barrel at James, who cringed and shuddered.

Tyler’s original plan was another mass shooting, but after careful consideration, he decided all those types of shooters were pussies. Plain and simple. Killing innocent people when they should have the balls to stare down their victim, the one who caused so much trouble. Whose bullied torture over the years molded the killer like a sculptor chips away at clay to reveal the true masterpiece that exists within. 

No, mass shooters had no balls, according to Tyler. Nonetheless, what Tyler was struggling with was what to say. Of course, James knew why he was duct taped to a chair in front of his kitchen table in his parent’s Beverly Hills home. He’d always been one of those preppy little creeps, thinking he was better than everyone and whose parent’s success served as a free ticket to treat others like shit. It’s called rich privilege, and Tyler was tired of all those rich pricks sitting up on high while the rest of the population scrambled and clawed at each other over the scraps from their tables, divided when they should take up arms together and celebrate their differences while sending all those rich shits to the hell they deserve. Reilly’s parents were a part of the three percent of the population that controlled all the money in the world. Although they hadn’t graduated into the one percent who owned even more of the world’s wealth than the other two percent who were in their rich little circle.

If Tyler had done even close to any of the dastardly deeds James Reilly got away with they’d throw him in prison and forget about him. Too poor to give out bribes to the powers that be and too much of a nobody for anyone to care. Tyler would play the pawn in their little game of rich versus poor, an example that they were doing all they could to keep thugs off the street while allowing true criminals to walk out the door into freedom. And that’s all it took, a large bribe and an unsaid favor and all those rich motherfuckers got away with bloody fuckin murder. James Reilly knew this fact all too well, and in return he got away with everything, no matter what it was. And Tyler refused to allow it to continue, not if he could help it. James would be his first, and, likely, his last, victim. Of course, he could go on a murdering rampage and shoot all of them, but he knew he wouldn’t have to; the others will heed the warning. Everyone knew James was an asshole and his death is justified. But there was another side to the coin; if Tyler went around shooting everyone who ever bullied him, he’d get caught. The police aren’t that stupid and there are school records they would look into. Any detective with half a brain could add, and two plus two was still four. 

No, James had been as ass all his school career and Tyler had checked the school records. Twenty-two separate incidents and those were the ones on record. Tyler knew of at least a dozen more bullied rampages he’d witnessed with his own eyes. After all, they did grow up together. 

Back to the problem at hand. Whether or not to speak? And then another question popped into Tyler’s mind. Should he shoot James between the eyes and be done with it, or straight through the heart and watch him gasp his last painful breath?

He elected the latter. And what he said was very modest.

“You’re an asshole, James, plain and simple.” Then shot him in the chest, remembering the ridicule since sixth grade, mostly about the white spot, the circle of white hair on the left side of Tyler’s head. The gunshot whistled like a dart. Bullet impact slammed James back in his chair and for a second Tyler was sure he’d tumble over. But he didn’t. The duct tape held strong. 

James was breathing, wheezing, like sucking air through a straw. Wet gurgles now, Tyler assumed it was blood in the back of James’ throat. James’ body bobbed back and forth. Blood, pouring from the gunshot wound, saturated his shirt, spilling down and across his pants, droplets squeezing beneath the duct tape to the floor. 

“Look at me,” Tyler ordered. He wanted to see his eyes; wanted to watch life leap from Reilly’s baby browns to reveal the darkness where James was going. Tyler stood, the 9MM scraping across the table as he did. And then he screamed, “LOOK, AT ME.”

And the wheezing, gurgling, dying James did just that, giving Tyler what he’d wanted. Perhaps it was James’ last plea for life, still not believing he could die, but die he did. Strapped in the chair he’d had breakfast in since childhood, by the table he’d eaten said breakfast on, James closed his eyes and died at the very moment when the grandfather clock in the living room let out its gong to signal the top of the hour.

Tyler’s only regret as he quietly and meticulously left the house was the thought that James’ mother would find him when his parents return from Monte Carlo later this morning. Their flight was scheduled to arrive just after nine. 

“She’ll get over it,” he said to himself. 

Especially when she discovers how truly horrible James had been. Just look in his room, find the bags of pills hidden beneath his mattress. How many lives had he ruined already? Bullying was one thing, addiction was another, and getting people addicted was even more of an asshole’s pride, and James had befriended some sketchy people in the last few years. Everyone knew it too, even school faculty, especially when the cartel arrived to confront James last Tuesday. Tyler had watched while teachers and guidance counselors stood by and did nothing. Rich privilege indeed. 

But what Tyler was looking forward to was the response. The response from teachers, students, and counselors after James is found. Tyler expected the response would spread like wildfire by the day’s end. Probably around sixth period. Tyler will be strapping on his gym gear at that moment, getting ready to run miles for an hour. The school year was coming to a close and would end with a bang. Literally a bang. 

Senior year will be historic.

 

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