Diane Robinson: Author, Self-Defense Expert


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Books: 9 Pieces of Me: Excerpt

5 February 1781


Figures formed inside the cave.


 Francisco’s heart hammered in his chest as he reached for the silver objects in the backpack. His eyes met the red inflamed eyes of the hovered Beast as it stared at him now with the full hideousness of its inhuman shape as the moonlight bathed it in an eerie, gray mist.


It was ominous. Long, frothy drool swung from its jowls into its powerfully built thick neck. Its huge silhouette engulfed the wall. On its hind legs, it stood over ten feet tall. Its paws bore long stained curved sharp-pointed claws. Indistinct eyes of enormous black-rimmed holes of depth-less pools were filled with a black thick substance that began to slowly ooze as a dark goo. Thick goo strummed across its snout. Windows to its black soul?


It loomed over him, swinging its thick massive body in a malevolent arc. Francisco could almost feel the rasping of its matted course black fur close to his body. Its low-set ears stuck out of its grotesque head. Its huge mouth spread open to display sharp pointed daggers spotted with bits of raw gristle chewed meat, while its hot acrid breath enveloped Francisco’s face. From its throat came a faint growl that had nothing to do with a wild perro in the wilderness.


 Its ominous odor was stilled in the air, an odor that told part of Francisco’s mind it was familiar with him, his senses, his emotions, his fears, his thoughts. Another part of his mind told him to run. Francisco knew he could not out-run it. Francisco stayed in fighting position.


 Now, he and the killer were face-to-face, a standoff. Soon, he knew he would be beneath The Beast’s massive weight. Then would come the conscious horror of feeling excruciating pain of his flesh ripped apart while still alive.