Grist Mill Road by Christopher J. Yates is a dark, twisted, and expertly plotted Rashomon-style tale (available January 9, 2018).
Read this exclusive excerpt from Grist Mill Road, then make sure you're signed in before commenting below for a chance to win an advanced copy of Christopher J. Yates's highly anticipated sophomore novel!
The year is 1982; the setting, an Edenic hamlet some ninety miles north of New York City. There, among the craggy rock cliffs and glacial ponds of timeworn mountains, three friends―Patrick, Matthew, and Hannah―are bound together by a terrible and seemingly senseless crime. Twenty-six years later, in New York City, living lives their younger selves never could have predicted, the three meet again―with even more devastating results.
PATCH
I remember the gunshots made a wet sort of sound, phssh phssh phssh, and each time he hit her she screamed. Do the math and the whole thing probably went on for as long as ten minutes. I just stood there and watched.
I don’t know when I realized I was counting. Eight, nine, ten. For along time it seemed as if all sensation, everything but my eyesight, had been switched off. But once I realized I was keeping track of the shots—eighteen, nineteen, twenty—it felt like something I could cling to because my sense of balance had been switched off along with everything else. I was standing on the nauseating brink of something I didn't want to fall into, a world beyond comprehension.
Twenty-six,twenty-seven,twenty-eight.
This wasn’t real life, this was a show. And this show wasn’t for me, I wasn't even allowed to stay up late enough to watch this sort of show. No, none of it made any sense, a silent movie with Russian subtitles.
And yet I watched.
What does it mean to watch? When a crime takes place in front you, what is watching? Is it a failure to act or is it simply keeping your eyes open?
I was twelve. I was twelve years old.
Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three …although the newspapers reported Hannah had been shot only thirty-seven times with my Red Ryder BB gun, so maybe Matthew missed a few times, or more likely some of the pellets simply glanced off the ropes. He had used so much rope, I imagine he had to be taking careful aim at the gaps. We were both pretty good shots by then—I could plunk a soda can one-handed from thirty steps and Matthew no doubt thought himself a better shot than me. No way, José.
I figured everything was winding down now. Hannah’s screaming was slowly becoming less and less. And between the screaming there was crying and that also was becoming less and less.
Until—
When Matthew pulled the trigger the forty-ninth and final time, there was only half a scream, a sharp yelp that died quickly in Hannah’s throat. And that yelp was a sickening enough sound on its own but it is the absence of the second half of her scream that rings loudest in my memory.
I can still picture it as well, the way Hannah’s head twisted despite the rope tied around her neck, a reflex that had come absurdly too late.
The woods fell ever more silent. It felt like the moment in a storm when you see the flash of lightning and wait for the thunderclap. Is it closer?
And then Hannah’s head drifted back. And her chin dropped to her chest. And her long dark hair fell over her face.
Matthew stayed as still as a lead soldier and I did the same, fused to a plate of the earth, not even breathing, just trying to exert some small measure of control over my life for a few final seconds. The world at that moment was reduced to a thin sort of strip like a newspaper cartoon, a ribbon of life that started with Matthew, the butt of the rifle wedged at his shoulder, and ended two frames later with Hannah, motionless, tied to a tree.
But then came a sound that snapped us both out of it, something small scurrying through the undergrowth, Matthew’s head jolting and his body coming alive. He leaned the gun carefully, almost respectfully, against a rock and began to creep forward, stopping an arm’s-length away and peering in at Hannah like she was darkness in a cave.
He picked up a stick and prodded her arm. Nothing.
He jabbed again, Hannah’s flesh like dough, a small crater of skin filling itself back in. Raising the stick higher, he hesitated a moment. What kind of a world might exist beyond the curtain?
And then Matthew parted her hair. That’s when I first noticed the blood dripping from Hannah’s chin, soaking the neckline of her T-shirt, its pink collar crimsoning.
I spun around and spat on the ground, my eyes beginning to scope the woods, looking to see if anyone else might have witnessed it all. When I turned back, Matthew still had his stick under her hair, standing there with his head to one side, as if reading spines in a bookstore.
Hey, come take a look, he said.
I pressed the heel of my hand to the bridge of my nose, trying to pushout the gathering sense in my forehead, a new universe exploding.
The BB’s gone right through her eye, said Matthew. Straight into her brain. She’s stone-cold dead.
I couldn’t rub my forehead hard enough to make the pressure go away so I started to hit myself instead, thump thump thump. Still to this day the heel of my hand fits perfectly into the hollow between my nose and my brow.
I said come here, said Matthew, turning to me. We haven’t got the whole damn day, Tricky.
It was only Matthew who called me Tricky. To everyone else I was Patch or Patrick, or sometimes Paddy or Paddyboy to my dad. But Matthew was Matthew to everyone, me included. He’d never let you shorten his name, would even correct adults if they tried on a Matt or a Matty to see if it fit. My name’s Matthew, he would say every time, very calm and straightforward.
Sniffing, I started to move, feeling like old kings must’ve felt taking their final steps to the executioner’s block—which is a selfish way to think of it but that’s just how it was at the time. I walked as steadily as I could toward the two figures connected by a stick and when I stopped, Matthew pulled me closer, positioning me at the perfect spot. What do you think, Tricky? he said.
Swallowing hard, my eyes ran along Hannah’s measled arms, up to the circle of ropeburn like a choker around her neck. And then, not turning to face her, but with grimacing eyes, I peeked beneath Matthew’s stick. There was nothing but blood and mess and some of the blood was already congealing. Blackness and wetness and skin. Hannah’s left eye socket looked like it was housing a dark smashed plum.
Yeah, I said, trying not to cry. She’s dead. Matthew dropped the stick.
We didn’t check for breathing. We didn’t feel for a pulse.
I stood there for a moment and then Matthew tugged me, not unkindly, hooking his fingers in the back of my shirt to break the spell.
We didn’t make the sign of the cross. We didn’t pray for her soul.
There are layers of rock piled high everywhere in the Swangum Mountains like stacks of pancakes. Our failures were mounting as well. We didn’t even cut her down.
Copyright © 2017 Christopher J. Yates.
Comment below for a chance to win a copy of Grist Mill Road by Christopher J. Yates!
To enter, make sure you're a registered member of the site and simply leave a comment below.
TIP: Since only comments from registered users will be tabulated, if your username appears in red above your comment—STOP—go log in, then try commenting again. If your username appears in black above your comment, You’re In!
Grist Mill Road Comment Sweepstakes: NO PURCHASE NECESSARY TO ENTER OR WIN. A purchase does not improve your chances of winning. Sweepstakes open to legal residents of 50 United States, D.C., and Canada (excluding Quebec), who are 18 years or older as of the date of entry. To enter, complete the “Post a Comment” entry at https://www.criminalelement.com/stories/2017/10/christopher-j-yates-excerpt-grist-mill-road-comment-sweepstakes beginning at 10:00 a.m. Eastern Time (ET) October 16, 2017. Sweepstakes ends 9:59 a.m. ET October 24, 2017. Void outside the United States and Canada and where prohibited by law. Please see full details and official rules here. Sponsor: Macmillan, 175 Fifth Ave., New York, NY 10010.
To learn more or order a copy, visit:
Christopher J. Yates was born and raised in Kent and studied law at Oxford University before working as a puzzle editor in London. He lives in New York City with his wife and dog. His first book, Black Chalk, was an NPR “Best of the Year” selection.
I didn’t want the sample to end!!!! What happens next???? I’m dying here! This is going to be an excellent book!!! I can’t wait to get my hands on this!
This sounds creepy. and good!
OMG I really want to know why they did it and did they get away with it?
OMG I really want to know why they did it and did they get away with it?
I am so excited for this book! January cannot come fast enough! This sample was amazing and has left me wanting so much more.
Sounds like an intriguing story! Hope to win a copy!
Would love to win!
It sounds like it has a Mystic River vibe. The crimes of the past coming back to haunt the present.
It sounds like it has a Mystic River vibe. The crimes of the past coming back to haunt the present.
Thank you for the chance.
I got goosebumps and can’t wait to read more. This is going to make for some interesting book club discussion.
Very interesting! I can’t wait to read the book!
Very interesting! I can’t wait to read the book!
Very interesting! I can’t wait to read the book!
That first sentence hooks you. I did my share of bad things growing up (nothing this bad) but knew a few who it wouldnt have surprised me if they had been arrested for this kind of brutality. I went back to myself at twelve which means the author did his job particularly well. A storyteller can do this, not all writers are storytellers.
Scary and mystifying. Can’t wait to read
Can’t wait to read the rest and find out all the details.
Sounds fascinating. Would love to win.
Holy crap, Mr. Yates! What kind of dark place were you in?
Omg…thats all I can say
Wow! Just that short exerpt gave me the creeps. Must be a fantastic read.
Agree that the creepiness factor is very high. Can see binge reading this to discover whatever answers are revealed.
Sounds like a fun read.
Well, now you’ve done it!!! I want this book!!!
I would like to read this book.
I’d love to give this a read 🙂
Sounds like a great book
I like British authors. This offering is full of suspense and good writing.
I would love to read the book.
Suspense and intrigue. Thanks.
Mysterious and captivating.
You have me hooked! Would love to win an advance copy,
Sounds like the book for me.
I only wanted to read the first line! What happens???? I need to know!
Want to keep reading!!!
The book starts out starts out with a horrible crime committed by a young person. It can only get more violent and have terrible consequences for the characters.
Edenic hamlets hide the most hideous secrets!
I always like to see how characters deal with past indescriptions.
interesting
This sounds really interesting and I would love a chance to read it early.
Scary. Matthew is a bad boy. I want this book.
I would love to read the rest of the book! Thank you.
Wow! The first sentence puts you right in the middle of horror. No wasted words, no set up, just POW!
Looks like a good read
They should have cut her down…sniffle.. I would love to read this book.
love to read it
Really sound interesting . Will be ordering it soon.
Interesting excerpt. Looks like it will be a good read.
Sounds great!
Please enter me in this sweepstakes.
Thanks —
This book sounds like a fantastic read, but a bit scary.
Kids? Yes!
Looks like this will be an amazing book.
Hannah wasn’t killed. How did she get even with the guys?
Sounds interesting, would love to read the whole book!!!
Wow, this is going to be one heck of a ride!
thanks for chance
Sounds like a true thriller!
Thank you for the giveaway. The excerpt is disturbing and sounds just like someting I would LOVE to read!! I’ve always been a fan of stories featuring “coming of age” characters. These kids seem a little flawed.
Looks interesting but creepy. I cannot read this fast enough. I can’t imagine experiencing such a thing at the age of twelve (or any age for that matter!)
Added to my “to read” list. thanks.
Looks like a great read!!
I hear the sequel, “Wheat Chaff Crescent” is going to have even more twists and turns.
Can’t wait to get my hands on this book!
Oh, yikes!! I’m hooked!
Thanks for the sweepstakes. I love reading new authors.
GOOD PLOT. I like this. Send it.
Off to a good start!
Count me in!!
Hannah was his friend? Why did he do this?
Very interesting, wanted to keep reading! Sounds right up my alley. Would love to win a copy.
I would like this.
I enjoy a great mystery
The writing drew me in, so I really want to win. Wish me luck!
I would love to read this!
dark and twisted tale-sounds good
This sounds great! Can’t wait to read it.
sounds great sign me up
This sounds very exciting and I hope I get the opportunity to read this.
I want to know the rest of the story
Wow! Can’t wait to read more!
Want!
interesting
Sounds like a good one.
Yikes! What a beginning. Hooked me right away.
This sounds so good!
Gruesome excerpt. I would love to read it.
Thank you!
Can’t wait to read the whole book!
sounds interesting
I would like to read the work of Christopfer J. Yates.
An intense story.
thank you for the chance to win
want to win so bad….looks like a great read
Would love a new book to read!
I would like to give thanks for all your really great writings, including Grist Mill Road. I wish the best in keeping up the good work in the future.
This is chilling and sounds like a great, suspenseful read.
this sounds great
Sounds interesting… Thank you.
great reading for the cold winter months
This looks great
Wow Christopher, that is some imagery. I must read the rest!
This is something that makes me wonder if I have the nerve to read the whole story.
Thanks for the great giveaway!
[b]I bet this book has words in it.[/b]
It sounds like a great read. Thanks.
1982 was a great year for me so I would like to see how the book depicts that time period.
Wow. What an opening. So many questions I need the answers to. Great set up for a story!
I really enjoyed this book. I finished it quick with it’s fast moving plot. It’s one of those “one second you love ‘em, one second you hate ‘em” stories.