I wrote Eat the World
because of my love for Mackinac City, Michigan, and Mackinac Island. I felt it
was a great setting for a horror story. The island offered a naturally
claustrophobic setting, and the mainland enough development to provide plenty
of potential victims and carnage.
I love using different locales in Michigan for a story. This is my
third novel set in Michigan. Fear the Sky
was set in Frankenmuth and Where Things
Might Walk in Lexington, although fictionalized as Port Bay.
I’m currently scouting some new areas for my next few novels.
Eat the World also challenged
me in many other respects.
It was a fairly difficult book to write, one where, despite my history
with the area still required plenty of research. I had to adapt the many
interesting geographical aspects of the city, island, and neighboring coastline
to fit with what the characters would do.
About the Author:
Rick McQuiston is 49-year-old father of two who loves
anything horror-related. He’s had nearly 400 publications so far, and written
five novels, ten anthologies, one book of novellas, and edited an anthology of
Michigan authors.
Rick is also a guest author each year at Memphis Junior High
School.
He’s currently working on my sixth novel.
More about Rick at:
Blurb:
In picturesque Mackinac a growing army of rats are
beginning to seep into the community of tourists. They seemingly appear out of
nowhere, and it is up to ordinary people to gather their courage and battle the
hordes.
But there is something more frightening beneath the surface, something that was
born from the accumulated depths of Earth's creatures, something that can
threaten the entire world.
Excerpt from Eat the
World:
The rodent scurried through the narrow channel. It
barely managed to squeeze its lengthy bulk into the tight aperture, but by
inhaling a deep breath of warm, salty air, it was able to reduce its girth
enough to allow it somewhat comfortable passage. A cursory glance to either
side after it cleared the opening revealed nothing predatory or dangerous.
The rodent then scrambled into the
brush.
In its wake was a vicious, gray-green
substance that loosely resembled hydraulic motor oil left in the sun too long.
It was thick in consistency, yet still transparent enough to allow the dozens
of tiny organisms swirling within it to be seen. It bristled with unnatural
life.
The small grass snake slithered
through the brush. Its brown, speckled hide gave it perfect camouflage in the
wild. It melted into its surroundings, becoming for all intents and purposes,
invisible to both predator and prey. It was its natural defense mechanism as
well as aiding it with tracking down prey.
The snake's belly convulsed with
hunger. It hadn't eaten in days and was in danger of starving. It scanned the
woods for any sign of movement, anything at all that it could inflict a bite on
and swallow whole.
There was no movement whatsoever.
Not even a stray beetle or ant scuttled by. The snake was completely alone in
the vast wilderness of the island. It laid perfectly still, both to conserve
energy and to avoid detection. It sensed that something was watching it from a
darkened crevice nearby. Something bigger than it was and undoubtedly just as
hungry.
The snake didn't move a muscle. It
hoped that whatever was hidden in the crevice wouldn't notice it. The strange
substance on the ground bristled beneath its body, but it had more pressing
matters to be concerned about. Flicking its tongue, the snake tasted the air.
Far below, the cold waters of Lake Huron washed up against I-67. Being the only
state highway in the US without motorized vehicles, the pristine ribbon of
asphalt circled the entire island.
The movement caught the snake's
attention. It swung its conical head in the direction of the sound: the dark
crevice. Whatever was watching it had moved. Several quick tongue darts picked
up a scent, causing the snake to recoil back into itself. It could defend
itself if need be, but if its adversary was larger it would quickly opt for
retreat. Self-preservation was perhaps the only instinct that overrode all
others, including hunger and the need to mate. When faced with a threat,
survival was paramount.
The snake hissed in a feeble
effort to ward off its potential adversary. It reared up then to display its
size. It did not know if it was larger, or smaller than the other creature, but
it was one of the few weapons it possessed.
The rodent poked its pink snout
out of the crevice. It sniffed a few times, and satisfied that suitable prey
was within striking distance, settled back on its haunches as it prepared to
attack.
With a blinding ferocity beyond
any member of its species, the huge, bloated rat launched itself out of the
crevice and sucked down the too-slow grass snake in one violent swallow.
The reptile never had a chance.
With its hunger temporarily sated,
the rat lumbered away into the brush. It left copious amounts of the strange
substance behind, leaving a sickly trail leading into the woods.
The substance squirmed with
miniscule life.
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