Blaming himself for his father's death, Ben Knight has become lost and broken, losing himself in his work and the daily grind of life. On what he mistakes for a routine jog, Ben steps out into the chill of another winterâs morning, unaware that there are forces at work in the New England countryside, forces that will blur the lines between reality and nightmare.
Lost, alone, and surrounded, Ben faces off against the great unknown, the darkness, and the demons lurking within. Will a hero emerge, tempered by trial and conquest, or merely the broken remains of what was once a man?
HERE IN THE NOT YET explores the chasm between faith and fear, the tragedies of life, and what is born from dust and ruin.
Blaming himself for his father's death, Ben Knight has become lost and broken, losing himself in his work and the daily grind of life. On what he mistakes for a routine jog, Ben steps out into the chill of another winterâs morning, unaware that there are forces at work in the New England countryside, forces that will blur the lines between reality and nightmare.
Lost, alone, and surrounded, Ben faces off against the great unknown, the darkness, and the demons lurking within. Will a hero emerge, tempered by trial and conquest, or merely the broken remains of what was once a man?
HERE IN THE NOT YET explores the chasm between faith and fear, the tragedies of life, and what is born from dust and ruin.
Rainwater spilled from the overhang canopy and splattered the Jeepâs windshield as Ben pulled out of Lukeâs Corner Gas parking lot. It was Benâs turn to man the wheel for the last leg of the trek to Falls Lake State Park with his father. A weather announcement flashed through static on the radio.Â
âFlash flood and thunderstorm warnings are in effect until 8:00 p.m. tonight, as the last remnants of Tropical Storm Theodore pummel the regionâs northern areas.â
âI havenât seen flooding like this since I bounced you on my lap in Oshkosh overalls.â Mr. Knight said after sipping his coffee, âProper timing for our father-son cabin weekend, wouldnât you say?â
âImpeccable timing,â Ben replied drolly. âMurphyâs law as usual.âÂ
Benâs father chuckled. Mr. Knight was shorter than his son, Ben, but he remained as stocky as a moose and built like a boxer from the thirties, even into his late fifties. His once thick, dark hair was now salt and pepper, thinning, but his scruffy beard was full. A pouch of Captain Black pipe tobacco bulged out the top pocket of his faded, red-checkered flannel. The scent of his Brut aftershave coupled with two freshly filled thermoses of silky brown coffee reminded Ben of road trips when he was young, when his parents were still together. Those good times then smelled and felt a lot like this. As it was then, despite the storm, Ben felt secure and comforted next to his father.
 âWeâll make the best of it,â Mr. Knight said.
âAlways do,â Ben replied.
âWonât be long now 'til weâre in the wild, toasting cold ones, roasting a few hot dogs, and watching a crackling fire under the stars, without the rain, preferably.â
Ben smiled.Â
 âThis trip is long overdue. Despite the weather, Iâm glad weâre sticking to the plan. Canât wait to kick back and relax like we used to and get away from it all.â Ben said.Â
âMade a lot of good memories up here, havenât we?â Mr. Knight said. âShame we waited this long to come back.âÂ
âYeah, feels nice knowing the hiatus is behind us now. Hopefully, this will be the first of a new annual tradition, father and son, just us guys from now on.â
âHopefully, father, son, and grandson before too long.â
Ben coughed on his coffee.
His father laughed. âYou all right, son?âÂ
âAbout thatâŚâ Ben lowered the volume on the radio. The sound of raindrops pelting the roof and windshield became more pronounced than before.
âDid I steal your thunder on that one, by chance?â Mr. Knight said in a curious and convincing tone.Â
Ben shrugged his shoulders. âThatâs a good way to put it.â
âWhoa!â Mr. Knight stared at Ben and cracked a grin. âReally?â
âAll signs point that way. I was going to pick a better time to tell you. But I suppose this is as good a time as any.â Ben couldnât fight his smile.Â
âThatâs incredible!â Mr. Knight love tapped his sonâs knee. âMy boy is going to be a father!â
âI almost didnât come on this trip because Carrie wasnât feeling well, but she insisted we go,â Ben replied. âShe said she would be fine. She didnât want me to worry, because this is a good thing. A good kind of sickness, if there is such a thing.â
âThe best kind of sickness,â his father said as his eyes took on a glossy sheen. âI⌠I am so happy for you, son. Youâll be a great one.â
âYou taught me how.â
Ben accelerated the windshield wipers as the rain intensified and pinged the Jeepâs roof.
âI wish we were in a better financial position, you know? I hear people say that thereâs never a good time for these things, kids and all, and you can never be fully prepared, but money has been pretty tight as of late. Iâm nervous about being promoted from husband to father. I havenât mastered the whole husband title yet. Hard to imagine my role getting any bigger.â
Benâs father nodded. âYeah, I know the feeling. I canât tell you how many nights I stayed up late, wondering if I could put food on the table for you kids.â Mr. Knightâs voice dripped with melancholy. It was the voice of yesterday, of mistakes, but, more importantly, a voice of wisdom. âBut you know what? We never went hungry. We always got through it somehow. It wasnât easy, but we got through the occasional ruts with a lot of faith and a lot of grit. You will, too.â
âIâm getting laid off soon.â
âOh.â Mr. Knight said as he stared at the dash.
âI havenât told Carrie yet. I was planning to, but the day I found out was when she presented me with a gift.â
âA gift?â
âPregnancy testârolled up in a new BatDad t-shirt.â
âThatâs a thoughtful and clever way to tell you, Iâll say.âÂ
âYeah, it was about the only thing that turned my bad day into something good. But then there was the added dread and uncertainty.â Ben sighed. âTalk about hiding the ugly truth with a smile.â
Mr. Knight pursed his lips and lowered his head to search for the right words. At length, he said, âWell, what happened?â
 âOur company was acquired last month, and our department will outsource to another service provider,â Ben said in a matter-of-fact tone. âBoss said he would endorse me in any future endeavors, so that makes it all betterâŚ.â
âWhat are you gonna do, son?â Mr. Knight asked.
âI donât know yet,â Ben said with a sigh. âHence my anxiety. I didnât see either of those curveballs coming, and I hoped to land a better job first and get on solid ground before having a kid. Looks like I donât have a choice anymore.â
The conversation paused as sheets of rain and windshield wipers filled the audible void.
âSon of a motherless goat.â Mr. Knight growled.Â
Benâs eyebrows raised as he rounded his mouth, but no words passed over his tongue. His father believed that extreme profanity was the language of the ignorant or indecent folks who didnât know how to articulate feelings buried inside their thoughts and therefore settled for ugly jargon.
âYeah, thatâs right,â Mr. Knight said proudly. âThey are dirty, selfish, bottom-line loving sons of motherless goats!â
 Ben offered his thermos in a toast. âIâm shocked by your cavalier language, old man, but I happen to agree with your sentiments!âÂ
Father and son toasted and clanked their thermoses together in agreement.Â
âNow, you said you hated that job a while back, right?âÂ
âEvery day.â
âRight, well now, to be candid, I still thinkâŚ.â Mr. Knight paused.
âYeah?â Ben replied. âYour thinking is dangerous.â
âWell, thatâs to be determined, but I digress.â Mr. Knight cleared his throat. âSon, I believe you are meant for more. You are meant to write. You always did so well in creative writing classes and seemed to have a knack for interesting stories.â
âA dream, and not a practical one, unfortunately.âÂ
âLast I checked, most dreams arenâtââ
âTrue,â Ben interrupted. âEstablished writers say that writing camps and creative writing courses are a waste of time. Read a lot and write a lot. Those are the two keys. Simple. No secrets, only hard work. Unfortunately, I donât do much of either these days.â
âMaybe you should,â his father said as he unbuckled his seatbelt and stretched for the backseat floorboard.
âWhat are you doing?â
âIâll show you.â His father dug around, shuffled through his bag, and pulled out âThe Lord of the Ringsâ by J.R.R. Tolkien.
âThere it is,â Mr. Knight said. âYes, sir, thereâs that big whopper of a book.â He plopped back down in his seat. âListen here, son. I can see your name on the cover of a book like this one. In big, bold letters, itâll say, âNew York Times Best-Selling Author, Ben Knight.ââ
 âI like the sound of that. Certainly beats my current title.âÂ
âI suppose it has a nice ring, doesnât it?â
Ben nodded as he fought a grin.
 âYou should really go for it, Ben. Life is fleeting. What do you have to lose, anyway?â
âGreat wife, kiddo on the way, crappy rental, oh and a crappy car.â Ben said dryly.Â
âYeah, so?â Mr. Knight replied.
âSo⌠itâs an awful lot of commitment and responsibility.â
âWell, do you love them, son?â
âLove whom?âÂ
âYour wife and unborn child, of course.â
âRhetorical question?â
âDo you love writing?â
âOf course,â Ben said in an insistent tone.Â
âWell, as long as you keep your family close and your dreams within reach, youâll find the time. Youâll make the time. Youâll want to teach your children to go after what they believe inâŚ.â His father paused. âChildren learn how to reach for their dreams and goals from their parents⌠from you.â
Ben glanced over at his father before returning his attention to the wet road ahead. âI have a manuscript that I tinker with from time to time. Itâs in the back, and I thought I would work on it while staying at the cabin. Keep my mind off things.â
 âGood, good.â His father smiled. âItâll be the perfect place to write. You ought to do it each day and get into a habit. Twenty-one days is all it takes, and it will feel as natural as eating and sleeping.â
âIâve heard that before,â Ben replied.
âYeah, believe it or not, Iâve been walking five miles a day for twenty-eight days and counting. Dropping some of this love handle weight. Old Dr. Lightfoot said I must if I hope to keep the blood pressure and cholesterol in check.â
âI didnât know you went to the doctor.â
âYeah, regular check-up.â His father muffled a grumble. âNothing too scary to report, really. I suppose the old ticker is still ticking away, but not as well as it used to tick. Ben, donât be like me and put your health on the back burner.â His fatherâs belly bounced as he snickered. âShoot, by the time you realize itâs too late, you only have two options. Either the things you did and didnât do will come bite you in the arse, or youâll have a doctor up your arse! Trust meâsomehow, youâll want the latter!â
Ben joined his fatherâs belly-hurting laughter.
âHey, you laugh, but one way or another, it wonât end very well, and youâll be limping around with a throbbing butthole, wondering how you lived to see the day! But at least youâll be alive!â
Ben wiped away funny tears that welled in his eyes as both men calmed their laughs.
âIâm gonna try that twenty-one-day habit thing,â Ben said. âI need to drop a few pounds myself and get back to jogging in the morning. I feel so much better when Iâm active. Itâll probably help my confidence when I interview at a new company, too.â
âIâm sure it will,â Mr. Knight replied. âYouâve been taking it squarely on the chin for a while now. Sometimes, it feels like the waves never end. In some ways, it doesnât. In other ways, it does, but I knowâŚ.â
âThis too shall pass.â Both men quoted the phrase collectively.
âYou got it,â his father said confidently.Â
âRemember good, bad, or indifferent, no season lasts forever. Do your best to enjoy the moments you have, even the bad ones. Itâs hard to explain, but when the moments are finally gone, you will miss them. And youâll be grateful for them. Youâll be grateful for who you are and who you will become because of those good, bad, and indifferent moments and seasons. Sometimes, those moments, those seasons, theyâre simply preparing you for what you prayed for initially. Understanding this is what will help you become who you should be.â
Ben grinned. âYou should be an inspirational speaker or something. Maybe thatâs your calling!â
âI have my moments of brilliance now and then. And hey, I made a lot of mistakes when I was your age. It all turns into experience, eventually. Usually when itâs too late.â His fatherâs lips pursed as he reflected. âSo, learn from my mistakes, and learn from others as much as possible. Better days are always ahead.â
âThanks, Dad.â
âI love you, son.â
âI love you, too, Dad.â
Benâs father packed a few pinches of Captain Blackâs Cherry Tobacco inside the bowl of his pipe, bit down on the mouthpiece, and flicked the lighter wheel. After a few puffs, the stale air burned and held a divine and nostalgic flavor of Benâs childhood glory days. Pipe tobacco had a much better aroma than run-of-the-mill cigarettes. If pipe tobacco was a Yankee Candle, a cigarette was a granny fart. Benâs father took in the Carolina landscape as he settled the pipe in his mouth.Â
âIâm sure everything will be fine for you guys in the end. Always have for you and Carrie. You gotta give it some time.â
âDo you remember the two phrases you taught me as a kid when I had a bad day at school or got rejected on dates?â Ben asked.
âAbsolutely,â his father replied. âNo matter the situation, no matter the circumstances, be who you are. Be the hero in your own life.â
âAnd the other?â
âThe two most powerful words put together in the human language: not yet. Not yet reminds us of our potential, so even if youâre not where you want to be, always remember⌠not yet. There is power in not yet and hope for tomorrow.â
Ben nodded as he recalled all the times his father had expressed those words of encouragement since Ben was a small child. He hadnât felt this carefree and confident in a long time; Ben needed this moment. Ben looked away from the road briefly to turn up the volume on the radio. His father moved closer to the windshield.
âDad, what isââ
His fatherâs eyes squinted before doubling. âSon! Watch out!âÂ
In an instant, the moment Ben needed was over.
The torrential downpour had soaked the land like freshly brewed coffee grounds. An angry black mass awakened from the hillside and sent a monstrous stampede of boulders and rock debris tumbling across the median ahead.
Ben followed his fatherâs eyes and jolted backward as he slammed the brake into the floorboard, but there was not enough time to stop. Ben had two poor options to choose from: either he could ram straight into the teeth of the landslide, or he could attempt to steer clear of the mess in the middle and avoid the human meat grinder accident that would surely result in two fatalities.Â
There was no time to think, only time to react, and Benâs instinct and white knuckles took over.Â
Ben ripped a right turn that cracked his head into the driverâs side window and sent his father sprawling, unrestrained, over the Jeepâs center console.Â
After retrieving the novel, Mr. Knight had forgotten to refasten his seatbelt.Â
The tires screamed like ghouls as the Jeep veered off-road and sideswiped the landslide, decimating the guardrail that separated the asphalt from the steep hill.
The Jeep fishtailed as soon as the tires hit the pulpy, waterlogged soil that sloped down to Cherokee Creek.Â
Ben tried to regain control and whipped the front axle back towards the road, but the tires could not bite into the slurry gravel that had the consistency of wet dog crap rather than solid earth.
The back end slid sideways and crept up at the front endâs pace.
Every cause and effect fired in rapid succession.Â
No time to think, only enough time to feel the fear.Â
The world blurred. But when the Jeepâs passenger side wheels locked and dug deeper into the muck, forcing the driverâs side to levitate, time slowed to a near stop.
The world of father and son started turning upside down like a carnival ride gone horribly wrong. As the ride glided off the rails, Ben could feel his stomach jump up and tickle his tonsils before dropping back deep where his guts belonged.
Ben shot his hand upwards, towards the oh-know handle on the Jeepâs ceiling and prepared to hold on for dear life. Mr. Knight did the same with his right hand and instinctually pushed his blocky left hand deep against his sonâs chest holding Ben in place as they locked eyes. Mr. Knightâs gaze was often comforting and pleasant, set behind a thin smile, but now, his eyes were poignant, absent, spinning, and leaking water.
âHold on, son. No matter what. Just holdâŚâ
Time accelerated again.Â
The old half-ton Jeep smacked the drenched earth with a ferocious blow that sent thunderous shock-waves through Benâs spine. In unison, the most awful, metal-striking, glass-breaking, and eardrum-rattling noise he had ever experienced crashed through his skull and shot bright red rockets off in his vision.
Before Ben could react to protect himself from the impending rollover, the steering wheelâs airbag exploded like a hidden IED and sucker-punched him in the nose at 200 mph.Â
Blood sprayed from Benâs nose and moistened his face as the blast pushed his neck back into the headrest. The cauliflower airbags blossomed through the Jeepâs cabin and coated him in a floury, acrid powder.Â
The windshield and side windows split and starred on the first impact before splintering and shattering into beads on the second spinning revolution. Benâs head flung around in the cab cyclone as gravity yanked him from the top down and back around again. The barrel roll drop bounced off the crown of his head as consciousness flashed in and out like a rifleâs muzzle blasts at night.
Benâs eyes went blurry with tears laced in blood from the air bagâs rabid left jab, and then another jarring blow to the top of his head invited blackness to come in on the fringes. The shadows came in hard on the crimson edges of what was real and what Ben imagined. He thought of Carrie, and he thought of his unborn child. He felt he was seconds away from meeting his Creator. Ben remembered what his father had said.
âNot yet.â
The blackness settled in deep for Ben.
The rolling was relentless as gravity kept pulling the Jeep farther down the hill. As Ben slipped further into an unconscious state, the slippery slope continued to aid the Jeepâs built-up momentum. It was tough to know who was taking a worse beating in the heavy-weight title match between Jeep and earth as the SUV hammered deep cuts into the waterlogged hillside. The ground collisions resembled exploding minefields as each flip slung flying chrome and fiberglass dipped in black mud through the air, while slogs of debris and rocks peppered the dreary grey sky.
The half-ton Jeep resembled a battered Coke can as each blow from the hill bashed and cracked the SUV into submission. At last, gravity delivered what remained of the Jeep to its ultimate resting place, upside-down in a ditch. Chaotic destruction lined the creek bed. The Jeepâs interior and exterior auto parts minced into scraps beyond recognition of their original functions and forms.
Thunder rolled near as raindrops pinged and clinked off the wreckage and plunked into nearby puddles. Somehow, the radio survived the tumble, along with one hanging speaker as Aerosmithâs âDream Onâ chorus played through the cracked tweeter. A muddy stream snaked through the busted windows and splashed against Benâs unconscious bloody and mud-caked face.Â
Death crept near as Ben laid unconscious.Â
Every once in a while I come across a book thatâs so fresh, creative, and pertinent, it makes my jaw drop. Here in the Not Yet is that kind of book.
Who am I? Why am I here? What makes a hero? What is bravery all about? What are the two most powerful words in the English language? All these questions and more are met head-on in David Spaughâs finely crafted psychological thriller, Here in the Not Yet.
Ben Knight is having a rough day. Recently laid off, with a newly pregnant wife, mounting bills and a truckload of inner demons, Ben is on the road to a âcabin weekendâ with his dad in North Carolina. Father and son want to make the trip an annual tradition, making up for time lost after a nasty divorce. A storm hits. When they run into the teeth of a landslide, Ben hears his father say, âHold on, son. No matter what. HoldâŚâ
It's his fatherâs last words.
Suspended somewhere between life and death in a crumpled Jeep at the bottom of a hill, Ben finds himself parachuting into a big city. He sees rolling footage of his life projected on various buildings. Well, maybe itâs not a city but a parallel universe or a multi-verse. Pummeled by thoughts of failure, guilt, and regret as the detritus of past mistakes pile up, Ben is overwhelmed by despair. He suddenly notices another presence in this weird place. And itâs not exactly friendly. Or benign.
When Ben regains consciousness back in the mud, he awakens to a real-life nightmare and his fatherâs death. Ben survives. But he battles bitterness, guilt, and self-incrimination. Ben recalls the night terrors he had as a child. He also remembers the wise words of his grandmother: âHe runs to us every time we call on His name. And He will run to you, always.â
Speaking of running, Ben soon runs into âThe Quinnipiac Curse.â Unsolved mysteries, creepy legends and spooky tales revolve around the Quinnipiac Forest. There are also legends of âTakersâ lurking in the woods. Could the stories be true? Out for a solo jog through the wintry forest after the accident, Ben gets the feeling heâs being stalked. And he keeps falling. Falling in his nightmares and falling in reality.
Meanwhile, white collar crime attorney Jason Nolan is hitting the bottle hard after the loss of his wife, Leigh. Jason stopped believing in heroes and miracles after his wifeâs death, but⌠Oh, wait. Youâll have to read the book yourself to find out what happens next.
Top-notch writing and masterful storytelling propel this absorbing and robust page-turner. The authorâs world-building skills are prodigious as are the intriguing and artfully crafted characters.
Additionally, vivid descriptions and word pictures virtually jump off the page into your head and heart as you read. You feel as if youâre standing right next to the protagonist as the story unfolds. Examples include, âThe smell was rotten, like a Tyson chicken processing factory in west Texas had forgotten to pay the August electric bill.â Â Expert descriptions of the New England countryside where Ben resides make the landscape stand up and walk. Example: âSporadic sections of the trail looked as if an ice cream processing plant exploded and dropped cookies ân cream bits all over the place.â Â
Told mostly in the third person, the narration and point of view shift occasionally to the first person for internal dialogue, indicated in italics. Itâs just enough to offer readers additional insight into the characters without giving away too much, too soon.
Packed with power and pathos, Here in the Not Yet captivates from chapter one. It's a little The Pilgrimâs Progress. A little This Present Darkness. A bit Alice in Wonderland. A touch of The Chosen. Gently faith-flavored and marinated in mercy, hope, and grace, itâs all heart.
âWhether the end comes today, tomorrow, or in a thousand years, the day doesnât matter. What matters is what you did with the time you were given.â Along those lines, Iâd grab a copy of Here in the Not Yet right quick, âfize you. Cuz this oneâs a keeper! (You may want to bring tissue.)
Indeed, Here in the Not Yet represents a towering achievement, especially for a debut novel. I couldnât put it down! Not yet.