Jeff Brent Author

03/28/2026

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03/23/2026

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03/14/2026

The Betrayal!!

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02/13/2026

Jeff Brent was born in Dallas, TX and currently resides in Los Angeles, CA. His books include The Perfect Woman, Across Time, Earth Angel, WAR - Horseman of the Apocalypse (Love Blooms Eternal), Beethoven's Immortal, The Goatman, Transference, TITAN: From Earth's Past A Hero Rises - Adventures of an Olympian (Book 1), IMMACULATE: The Second Coming Of The Christ, The Empath, the Warrior and the Wind Rider, New Avalon: The Return of King Arthur, Reality And Other Horrors (A Collection Of Strange Tales), and Secret Sanctuary. His writing spans genres such as science-fiction, time travel, adventure, thriller, suspense, romance, humor, theology, paranormal, horror, and young adult/coming of age.

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01/17/2026

This novel is very much inspired by one of my favorite movies - Stand By Me.

Meet Tommy Musgrove and his two best friends John and Glenn. They are all ten year-old kids living in Midland, Texas in the year 1979. All of them are enjoying the freedom and happiness of growing up and being carefree as they enjoy special pastimes such as collecting tadpoles, building plastic models, listening to Led Zeppelin, playing board games, and obsessing over Wonder Woman as they indulge in the magic of childhood, a good deal of it in their “Secret Sanctuary.” One day a man named Andrew Scottsdale, the handsome, sophisticated member of the city council that the entire city adores and who seems to be the consummate politician and respected member of the community enters their lives, but he is in reality a depraved human monster that has already killed once in order to obtain his goals and would be more than willing to do so again. They are the only ones in the city who truly know what he is but are helpless to do anything about it; that is unless they play the same game that Scottsdale himself plays in order to bring him to justice and prevent his accumulation of even more power so that he can do more unheard of damage. What happens is an adventure that will have them running for their very lives as they do what they can to stay out of a monster’s reach before they can bring him down. The only trouble is, will they live long enough to do it?



https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08CMKGJ33/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i12

12/10/2025

This just in: Christmas may be delayed this year, possibly cancelled. This heartbreaking news is wreaking havoc among the North Pole community. Santa himself is said to have slipped into a major depression and is currently being treated at a local hospital. The reason for all of this is Rudolph. Apparently, the beloved reindeer adored by millions is being quite the diva and refuses to go on this year unless certain demands are met. Mr. Alan Smithee - Rudolph's agent at CAA - has stated that Rudolph is demanding a substantial pay increase, a larger trailer, an executive producer credit, points off the back end, and a large amount of lost unaccounted for residual payments, most of them in regards to streaming platforms. He also wants to direct next season and wants final cut. Unless these demands are met Rudolph refuses to initiate any conversation with Santa or his team. In related news, Frosty the Snowman was arrested outside a nearby bar for obnoxious and lewd conduct. Details are sketchy right now. More as this story develops.

12/06/2025

In the true spirit of Christmas, here is a snippet from a horror story I wrote. When this man was a boy, Santa Claus killed his parents and left their bloodied bodies for him to find. It is now Christmas Eve and the boy is a grown man flying a P-51 Mustang on Christmas Eve so that he can shoot Santa Claus down and get his revenge.

Bobby had no idea what to do. The creature below him was the reason he was here right now, had practically challenged him, but to engage something that had been a part of his childhood before it had been taken from him seemed…sacrilegious. He tried to convince himself that it could not possibly be the actual Santa Claus, but what else was capable of making a sled that size fly? Except for the giant reindeer pulling it there seemed to be no other power source. No propellers, no jet exhaust, just the reindeer, and perhaps whatever magical power the sled held. There was also the small matter of Santa Claus driving it. As hard as it was to accept, there it was. Santa Claus was apparently in reality a demon and not the cheerful figure that was accepted by the general population. Santa Claus had for some reason singled him out and destroyed his life…and now it was time for payback.
Still reeling from the revelation, Bobby gripped the stick and rolled away to his right. He swung around and then came up behind the object in front of him, he now about a hundred yards away from it. For some reason the creature had not reacted, although it had to be impossible to not hear the sound of the powerful engine behind him. Even over the sound of it Bobby realized that he was still able to hear the constant jingling of the sound of bells, even though none appeared to be evident. He placed his thumb over the firing button and pressed it.
BRRRRAAAAAAPPPPP!
He saw the large backside of the sled riddled with bullet holes and then veer off. With the awkward way that it was being steered it was completely obvious that the driver had been startled by the attack, which was not in any surprising. Bobby kept pursuing the sled and let go with another burst, the small gun nozzles on his wings crackling with light.
BBBBBBBBBRAAPPP!
The sled was hit again, and he heard a giant bone-chilling bellow of rage that shattered the silence after the guns had stopped firing. It echoed throughout the night, impossibly loud. It was so thunderously earsplitting that Bobby thought he could actually feel his teeth rattling. He continued his pursuit of the darting sled as it began to swerve from left to right, Bobby staying right with him. As he was doing so, he saw a small head wearing a red cap peek over the large canvas bag, and he was now locking eye contact with the creature. Father Christmas was enraged, he staring at him through his seemingly glowing yellow eyes, they narrowed in hatred. Bobby saw something else in them also – a challenge, it being willingly accepted. Then, just like that he disappeared, and the sled resumed its swerving. It started to increase its speed and Bobby stayed with him. He was about to follow with another burst when he spied something. Some kind of object was descending from below the sled…and it had two twin long nozzles on it. Bobby banked to his right as the turret fired a blast at him, it missing him completely. Bobby had not expected Santa Claus to be armed. Then again, he had not expected Santa Claus to be the creature that had been ruining his life all of these years, taking his loved ones away and making his life a living hell. Yes, he had been dressed as him for some reason that first time he had seen him in his living room a different lifetime ago, but he was still groping with the concept that Father Christmas had singled him out for some reason, that he was in fact a demon from the lowest pits of hell.
Bobby served back into place and saw that the rear of the sled was a mass of holes and shredded wood. If it had been running on some kind of standard engine it would have surely been trailing smoke. In fact, he was surprised that the thing was actually able to stay airborne after the damage he had inflicted on it. He was about to start firing again when something unusual happened, something even more unusual than the situation he was already involved in. Something jumped from the sled and was flying towards him through the night. Bobby saw that it was a tiny creature no larger than a small monkey. It looked very similar to Saint Nicholas and was even wearing the same kind of cap, although this creature was wearing a green vest and green slippers that curled at the toes. He also saw long pointed ears protruding from the sides of its head.
It landed with a suddenness that was horrifying on Bobby’s canopy and started skittering around like a bug, it having somehow avoided the propeller and being cut to ribbons. Bobby stared at it in fascination as it stared hungrily right back at him, it panting like a rabid dog as it did so. It had the same eyes, the same long, perfect teeth as its counterpart. How it was able to stay on the canopy and not be blown away was beyond him. The creature, which he supposed was some form of elf, was blocking his field of vision and Bobby had to steady himself to keep control of the aircraft. He could hear it quite audibly as it kept darting around, its claws making noises as it moved.
Tick-tickyty-tick-tick-tack-tack-tickty-tick-tack-tack-tick-tickty-tack-tick!
It was constant, it rattling him, playing with his senses, which he supposed was its purpose so that he would lose control and crash. Then, still leering at him, it curled its claw into a fist and started banging with everything it had on the canopy, the sound of loud thumps filling the cockpit. At first Bobby had not been worried because he knew how thick the canopy was, and it would certainly take a lot more than some mere punches to break it. Then, on the fourth thump a small crack emerged from the constant pressure, and Bobby stared at it in disbelief. The creature continued to gleefully hammer away, a maniacal laughter that sounded uncomfortably human and something else emerging from it. Bobby started to panic. If it got inside the plane he knew he was done for. He rolled the plane over so that it was now flying upside down and the creature kept hammering away, the now upside down manner of the aircraft apparently not bothering him. Bobby startled to wobble the plane back and forth, trying to shake it off. No good. It still kept up the pressure, the cracks becoming larger, the laughter becoming louder, wilder. There was only one thing to before it was able to break the canopy and gain access. Bobby righted the plane and then reached his hand into his jacket. He withdrew his .45 and aimed it point blank at the creature. The creature stopped its relentless assault and simply stared at Bobby, he seeing fear in its eyes for the first time. Bobby fired the gun three times straight at the creature, the holes shattering the glass. He saw it wince in pain, a horrible scream escaping from it, and then blow away into the night.

11/21/2025

In the tradition of Thanksgiving here is a nice wholesome short story where a family gets mutiliated and killed. This is an excerpt from a story from my novel Reality and Other Horrors (A Collection of Strange Tales) where a family is sitting outside in their backyard about to have a Thanksgiving lunch, and then they are savagely attacked by a flock of birds.

Alan picked up the knife and was about to start carving the turkey when he sensed it. He did not exactly know how he knew something was wrong, but he knew just the same, just as he could sense what a jury was feeling and what he had to do to make things swing his way to win the case. He looked over at the fence.
The top of it was covered with birds.
A look of perplexity covered his face, a complete contrast to the smooth, confident one he always wore as he looked at other parts of the yard.
There were more birds.
And they were staring at him.
They were everywhere: on the fence, on the roof of the house, on the grill, on the deck railing, in the trees, everywhere, seemingly having appeared from nowhere and not making a sound.
Watching.
Waiting.
All of them were varying shapes and colors: blue, red, black, white.There were sparrows, swallows, pigeons, mockingbirds, vultures, eagles, hawks, falcons, owls, sea gulls, pelicans and on and on.There was even an ostrich standing by the gate, all of them looking at Alan, Roxanne, and Mary with dark, accusing eyes.
And they appeared to be angry.
There was a crow sitting on top of the porch light that was beside the sliding glass door of the house and, looking at hit, it reminded Alan of the actor Robert De Niro. It seemed to have those same dark eyes and the same sneer across it’s…beak, the trademark De Niro look.The crow looked at him and then away and back in quick movements. It seemed to be saying “You lookin’ at me? Are you lookin’ at me?”
There was total silence as Alan, Roxanne, and Mary looked around them, this unusual and unwelcome spectacle. Alan was about to tell them both to remain calm, feeling the menace in the air, but it was too late.
Mary screamed.
Roxanne smiled.
They all came at once, like a perfectly trained assault team, the yard filled with the sounds of hundreds of ruffling feathers. Alan was covered in seconds. He instinctively put his arms up to cover his eyes just barely before a raven’s sharp claws could dig into them. He tried to get away but it was impossible. They were everywhere. Through the constant, loud rustling of feathers he could now feel even more birds around him, tearing at him, could feel their beaks and claws raking him to pieces. Through his rapidly blinking eyes all he could see were feathers, wings and claws. It was all so quick, like snapshots. His ears were filled with the squawks and the beating of their wings and he fell helplessly to the ground. His entire body ached from the attack and, making matters worse, he could feel his ge****ls being ripped and torn apart.
He also heard the high-pitched screams of his daughter.
Through the quick movements of the winged bodies he could see his daughter stumbling around the yard with her arms outstretched in front of her as if she were a blind person trying to feel her way down a hallway, her head and body covered with a roving mass of birds. It dawned on Alan that she looked like the Mummy in one of those old films he had seen when he was a kid. It took him a moment to realize that the reason she was walking around so awkwardly was because one of her eyes was missing. In its place was a round, red, empty socket. After stumbling around in circles for a few moments she toppled and fell beside him with a muffled thump, her once lovely face a bloody ruin, her nose missing. Mary seemed to sense that her father was beside her and she tried to call out to him through her mangled lips…and failed. Alan cried as he gazed at his beautiful dying daughter lying beside him, her once white dress covered with blood, her mangled arms raked apart, her legs, covered in white stockings, torn to pieces, her long, golden hair tangled and torn. She struggled for a few more seconds…and then simply lay still.
A crow landed on top of her face. It bowed down and picked the remaining eyeball from its socket and gulped it down as though it were a delicacy, as if he was a fat politician or diplomat at an international conference and he was indulging in finger food.
Alan recognized the bird.
It was De Niro.
De Niro saw Alan looking at him and did those quick movements with its neck again, like he was making sure that Alan was looking at him and nobody else because he was the only one here. De Niro finished his meal and then took off and flew towards him. Just before he landed, Alan saw Roxanne sitting calmly at the table with a small grin on her face. She had not been touched by the birds at all; she was just sitting there with a simple smile on her face watching everything around her.
De Niro landed on him.
Blackness.
There was some more burning pain all over him, and then suddenly, as soon as it had begun, it stopped. Alan slowly opened his eyes. He was looking at the clear, blue sky, the birds gone, his body a bloody mess, his clothes and skin torn to ribbons. It hurt to breathe. Feeling like he was on fire, he turned his head and once again saw his once beautiful daughter lying beside him, now no more than a mangled co**se, her hair slightly fluttering in the breeze.

10/18/2025

Here is an excerpt from my book of short stories called "Reality and Other Horrors." This story is called "A Halloween Story." It revolves around an older couple sitting at home on Halloween night watching television. Margaret - the wife - looks forward to it every year and loves giving candy out to trick-or-treaters. Earl - her husband - feels the exact opposite. They are about to encounter a strange, small figure that will change their lives forever.

“That’s it!” Earl happily announced and switched off the light. He then started walking back towards the couch with a wide smile, his first all night.
Ding-dong!
Earl stopped in his tracks and his smile twisted into a frown so abruptly that it was frightening. His face began to turn red and the pulsing veins in his temples began to protrude outwards. His hands were clenched into fists.
“Earl, calm down,” Martha said as she witnessed the transformation. She was seriously afraid that he might have a heart attack or some kind of seizure. “Please, Earl. They’re just children, they don’t mean any harm.”
His head began to twitch very rapidly back and forth and she had a vision of smoke appearing out of his ears, like a tea kettle that had been left on the oven too long and it was about to blow.
“It’s only once a year and the night is almost over. Here, I’ll get the door and yo-“
“Sit…back…down…on…that…couch, Martha,” Earl said in a low, deep, guttural voice. She stared at him for a few seconds, put her hand to her mouth and whispered a prayer, and sat down.
Ding-dong!
Earl slowly turned around and walked towards the door. He took a deep breath, put on his best smile, which was not much, and opened the door.
Standing there before him was a little figure that could barely be four feet tall. It was wearing a red velvet costume, like a robe, with a hood that came down over its head and slightly dropped. In its right hand it carried a little, velvet bag and in the other was a very long and sharp looking scythe.
The little figure did not say anything to Earl or even look up at him.
Earl was more than just a little bit mildly upset, to say the least. He didn’t like this kid. It was bad enough that his hard earned money was being used on candy for Goddamn kids, but now they were so cocky that they didn’t even say anything. They just expected candy.
Free candy.
Now.
“Well, aren’t you even going to say anything?” Earl barked.
Without making a sound or uttering a word, the figure opened its little velvet bag and held it out towards Earl.
Earl was now boiling. He lips widened into a very large and sarcastic smile and he said, “Tell you what, little buddy; I’ve got a nice treat for you right here. Wait just a second, here it comes.”
Earl stepped back, planted his feet and violently slammed the door so hard he sent himself into a spin, having to grab the wall for support to keep from falling. The force of the slam was so loud and so hard that it looked as though the entire entrance to the house might fall outward. The window panes on either side of the door rattled and a vase that was sitting near one of the windows fell off the table that it was on and shattered on the floor, sending flowers and water everywhere.
Martha screamed and jumped. The slam of the door had sounded like a gunshot. Earl was hunched over and he was making wheezing and choking noises.
Oh my God! Martha thought. He’s having a heart attack!
“Earl!” she screamed as she ran up to him.
Earl looked up and she stopped in her tracks. He was not having any kind of attack. He was laughing. He was laughing so hard that it looked as though he may suffocate, trying to breathe in as he heaved in and out with enormous laughter at the same time. It was so intense that he was making unnatural hitching and choking noises.
Ding-dong!
Earl stopped laughing, just like that. He just stopped…and he was frowning again. It was like a Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde routine.
Martha backed away from him.
Ding-dong!
He actually began to growl like a bull getting ready to charge. Earl turned around and quickly swung open the door and screamed, hoping to scare the little brat (Goddamn kid) off, crying and pi***ng himself.
The figure had not moved. It just stood there for a few seconds and then quietly opened its little bag and held it out to him, saying nothing.
Earl bellowed with rage. He grabbed the little bag, threw it on the ground and stomped on it. Then, he took the figure’s little pole-axe or whatever the hell it was and tried to break to over his knee like an old twig.
It did not break.
Earl looked incredulously at it and then gripped each end of it in his hands, braced it under his knee and pulled. He could not believe it. It would not break! It was like steel, stronger than steel. Yet, it looked like wood, no thicker than an average pencil.
What the hell is this thing made of? he thought.
He redoubled his efforts and the muscles in his arms swelled, his face turning red, and his teeth gritted together in determination as a groan escaped between them. He would not be defeated. Not by a kid, not by a Goddamn kid.
He was soon rewarded and the pole slowly snapped in two with an unnaturally huge cracking sound. The sound may have come from an oak tree crashing to the ground, not a four and a half foot stick.
Earl threw the two pieces at the figure’s feet and laughed in triumph.
The figure just stood there.
Earl stopped laughing and scowled at the little son of a bitch.
Still not saying anything, the figure held each one of its gloved hands out. The bag sailed back into his right hand and the two pieces of its scythe came together like brand new into his left. The figure raised it's hooded head and looked at Earl. All Earl could see was darkness except for two yellow eyes and two perfect rows of smiling teeth, each one pointed.

Available at Amazon.

10/04/2025

Get a head start on Halloween with this collection of unusual short stories. Meet a man being chased by a ham and cheese sandwich, a boy and his cat playing an endless game of destruction, a family being attacked by a large collection of birds while trying to enjoy Thanksgiving, a boy trapped in a world that has literally gone to the dogs, and an obese man being hunted by a refrigerator. All of this and more awaits in this collection of strange stories.

10/01/2025

09/06/2025

Here is an excerpt from my young adult/adventure/horror novel "The Goatman." Goatman's was a real place just outside the outskirts of Corpus Christi, TX, where I once lived. From what I remember about it, it seemed to be a long abandoned ranch/shooting range/resort and it was supposedly haunted by The Goatman, which was said to be a creature that was half man and half goat. I wanted to write a novel similar in vein to the movie "Stand by Me," which was based on Stephen King's novella "The Body" by combining a young adult novel filled with the magic of being a kid while also adding a horror element, plus bringing in Goatman's as the main place where everything takes place. In this particular excerpt the main character Danny, who is a thirteen year-old boy, is being chased by a large man that he and his friends have discovered has been kidnapping kids around the neighborhood and bringing them to Goatman's. The large man - Gordon - is about to capture him and then, at that moment, the Goatman appears from out of the darkness and rescues him by killing Gordon. This is the only time that anyone has ever seen The Goatman:

Gordon bent toward me with his giant hands open and I closed my eyes.
Then I heard some frantic wrestling of the weeds.
“Auuuuggghhhhhhiiiiiiiiiee!”
The scream was so blood-curdling and so laced with pain and agony, I almost thought that…well, I didn’t know what to think because I had never heard anything like it in my entire life. I’m glad that I hadn’t because it was the kind of scream that could pe*****te a person’s senses and haunt them for years to come. I opened my eyes and looked up. At first, I didn’t know what I was looking at, and I had to keep myself from blinking because my mind was telling me to shut my eyes, but I was willing them to stay open because I could not tear them away from what was in front of me.
Something had Gordon.
He was fighting to get out of the grip of something that was even bigger than he was, and I saw that his feet were dangling off the ground. I quickly tried to think of something that could lift a guy who looked to be at least two hundred and twenty pounds like he was nothing off the ground and nothing came to mind.
I looked at what was wrapped around Gordon.
Two monstrously muscled arms that looked to be covered with some kind of white fur were gripping him. Gordon was savagely trying to free himself from the arms and pounding on them, shaking his entire body, trying to get free, and the arms still held him steadfast. I saw them tighten around him, and in the silence of the night heard the sound of Gordon’s ribs snapping and popping and his agonizing screams as they did. I was so frozen with fear and mesmerized with what was happening right in front of me, even if I had thought of getting up and running away, I don’t think I would have been able to do so.
My eyes looked upward, and I saw something that actually made me gasp.
Up above Gordon, I could see the head of whatever it was that was holding him and slowly squeezing him to death.
It was the giant head of a goat.
Even as I was seeing it, I couldn’t believe it. I know that it was dark outside with very little light, but it was a real head of a goat. There was no way a mask could be that realistic, I don’t care how many good make-up people live in Hollywood. The goat’s head had a weird quality to it, as though it were…blended with something. That’s when I realized what it was – it was also the face of a human being because the dark eyes looked totally human. As monstrous as the face was, the eyes had a quality that could only be found in a human being. I don’t know if you would call it intelligence because he also had the look of a wild, savage animal, but there was definitely something human there. There was also a pair of giant, brown swirled horns on his head that curled at the tips, and it was only then that I smelled that familiar scent that I had smelled all through the day at certain places.
It dawned on me with alarming suddenness what I was looking at.
The Goatman.
He was real.
He was real, and he was standing right before me. Even more than that, he was saving me.
With a savage grunt, he pulled Gordon into the weeds and disappeared. Everything was silent for a moment.
Then, the weeds started rustling again in a torrent, and I heard more snapping of bones and Gordon’s screams. I knew with certainty that he was dying. A person could only make inhuman noises like that when they were being faced with imminent death and they could not do anything about it. It made me think of an image of someone who was literally being slowly pulled apart while every bone in his body was being crushed at the same time, and even that would not begin to really describe it.
Even after all the things that he had done and everything that he had put me through, I could not help but feel sorry for him, and I started crying as I heard what I knew were going to be his final screams.
Then there was silence. I lay there, afraid to get up, afraid to even move. I noticed that even the crickets were now quiet. It was the most utterly, completely silent moment of my life. I didn’t think it was possible for the world to be this quiet. I wondered if this was what an astronaut felt like when he was drifting in space and for a brief moment had a portion of the universe all to himself. The weeds started to rustle again, and I kicked away not sure what to expect.
The figure emerged from the weeds again and stood before me. He appeared to be at least seven feet tall. With Gordon no longer blocking him from view, I was able to see his full body. His head and arms were just as I described but even more ominous in appearance since I could see them in full view. His chest was enormous and looked like the body of a man and covered with what looked to be hair. Not wool or anything small and curly, but white, fine hair. Further down below his waist, his body began to transform into something resembling an animal, and the hair began to become darker and coarser. His legs were incredibly huge, too huge to be just legs. That’s when I realized that they were not just legs; they were haunches. They looked so powerful and so muscular; it would not have surprised me if the figure before me was capable of running a hundred miles an hour. It was difficult to tell in the dark…but I think his feet were huge, black hooves. I thought how impossible that must be to be able to support a body that large with just a pair of hooves, no matter how large and spread-out they were.
Not knowing what to do, I just stayed there on the ground as if I were paralyzed and looked up at him while holding my breath, not able to take my eyes from him.
We stayed there, staring at each other, for what seemed like a small eternity.
Then, with a small movement of his head as if he were saying, “You’re welcome,” he turned back around to the weeds and disappeared into them. I heard them rustling for a while as the figure was moving through them, and it gradually dimmed until I could not hear anything at all except for some crickets that had apparently decided it was once again time to take up their never-ending symphony.
He was gone.
Just as suddenly as he had appeared, he had vanished. Still trying to understand and comprehend what I had seen and now realizing that I was actually still alive, I slowly got up and walked over to where the Goatman had been standing.
Two giant hoof prints were barely visible in what little light was coming from the barn. I looked into the wall of weeds and almost thought of running after him to…I don’t know, thank him, I suppose. But I also knew that it would be a waste of time because I would never see him again. For all I knew, I was the only person who had actually ever seen him. This was his home, and it had been invaded. He had done what he had to do to set things to right, and saving me had been part of what needed to happen, no more. Still, I was grateful to him, and I owed my life to him because I would certainly be dead right now if he had not chosen to appear. I would repay him by respecting his wishes to be left alone and let him live in peace.
I slowly got up, walked back to the barn and into the much welcome light as I entered the doorway.

I would be interested in selling the film rights to a major studio or streaming service.