The Accuser

A Christian Horror Short Story

The Accuser (cover) - A shadowy monster has its hands on a tough looking man in tattoos, seated in front of a bed. A cat sits besides the man.
Editions:eBook: $ 3.99
Paperback: $ 6.99
ISBN: 979-8397321617
Size: 5.00 x 8.00 in
Pages: 51

Kurt Henry is one tough motha. Rides motorcycles. Works construction. And has kicked his fair share of asses over the years.

He’s also a returning Christian. And he’s decided it’s time to dedicate himself to God once and for all.

But dark forces have other plans for him.

Can Kurt escape an enemy who knows all his weaknesses? Or will he lose his soul to the accuser?

This Christian horror short story is perfect for those who enjoyed the movie NEFARIOUS or for fans of Michaelbrent Collings.

Content warning: strong language, adult situations.

Publisher: Pixelvania Publishing
Cover Artists:

Kurt Henry swished the stinging purple mouthwash around his puffed cheeks one last minute, then spat into the sink.

He glanced up, saw the reflection, and did a double take at himself for the third time since he’d come in the bathroom. Watching the stranger in the mirror, he straightened. Then he ran his calloused hand over his newly shortened—amputated?—beard. He stroked it again, the scent of whatever his barber had used on it wafting gently into his nostrils.


Before this afternoon, he’d had a colossus of a beard, one that would’ve made him right at home with the members of ZZ Top. The end of it hit him—had hit him—mid-chest; but he knew how to wrangle it on the construction site. He’d been growing it years. Even the guys at church admired it, though, Kurt knew from childhood memories, that beards were generally discouraged—and mountain man beards outright abhorred, unless seen on Brigham Young or other pioneer heroes of yore. Clean-shaven faces were the Mormon norm. Sorry, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints’ norm.

But in the singles ward, where the congregation’s age was between 18 and 30ish (depending on how long a guy or gal could fly under the bishop’s radar and avoid being gently kicked out to a family ward, or worse, mid-singles ward), he’d gotten approving nods from the guys and fascinated questions from the girls.

But the longer he’d attended the faith he’d formerly abandoned, the more he’d wanted to change. A change. Well, he was already changing, he guessed.

Katie Jameson, one of the girls in the ward he’d been assigned to minister to (along with Noel Lucas, a solid dude working in accounting) had called him once from Hawaii at the ass—uh—butt-crack of dawn in the morning when her dad had gone crazy or something on some hormone gel and had somehow upset her to crying. It was a hassle at the time. Between the broken sleep clouding his thoughts and her tears, he could barely understand what was going on—but when he had looked back on it, he felt a faint sort of…pride…and then alarm. She’d trusted him enough with her heavy stuff, partly because yeah, he stopped by with Noel every month and read a spiritual message from the Liahona (usually Noel’s gig) and shot the sh—breeze with her a little, said “hi” to her when he saw her at church…but also because, by doing that, along with sitting through two hours of church every Sunday when his work schedule allowed, and enduring endless, pointless Elder’s Quorum meetings, he was becoming…someone different. Someone who, from time to time, was asked to act on behalf of God.

And she took that seriously. And probably so did the other girl they were assigned to. Noel took it serious, he knew that. And Kurt realized…it was time to take it serious, too.