you might also check out the official, spooky cover art
Joseph Fink is transformingAlice Isnt Deadinto a novel.
Alice isnt dead; shes showing up at every major tragedy and accident in the country.
Fortunately, EW has an exclusive preview of theAlice Isnt Deadnovel to get fans excited.
Pre-orderAlice Isnt Dead, ahead of its Oct. 30 release,here.
The turkey club did not make this easy.
A diner attached to a gas station, a couple hours outside of Bismarck.
A grassy place in between towns.
Keishas main criteria for choosing the diner had been ample parking for her truck.
Once upon a time people chose food based on the season, or the migration patterns of animals.
She selected her meals based on the parking situation.
His clothes were filthy and she could smell him from where she sat.
He smelled like rot.
Not bad, exactly, but earthy, like fruit disintegrating into soil.
His dirty yellow polo shirt had the words THISTLE on it.
He was staring at Keisha with eyes that went yellow at the edges.
His chewed with his mouth open, and his teeth and food were both a dull yellow.
Keisha did her best to look anywhere else.
Or the bathroom door as the cook took his third visit since she had arrived.
At a van driving by on the highway with a cartoon logo of chickens and the name PRAXIS!
But the mans grunts were insistent and soon she couldnt look anywhere else.
The smell of damp earth got stronger.
Her heart was pounding, as it often did when she felt trapped, which she often did.
Hope you dont mind if I join you, he said.
Not a question or a request, but a joke.
He laughed, and his jaw sank crookedly into his neck.
I was hoping to eat alone, she said down at her sandwich.
Good people deserve good things.
She didnt know what to say to that.
He scratched his cheek, and some of the skin peeled away.
Its dangerous out here.
Want to see something funny?
he said, in a voice with no humor in it.
It is often said that bad experiences are like nightmares.
He got up, wiping the egg from his hands onto the word THISTLE on his chest.
His face was slack and not arranged right.
He walked over to a table where there was this man.
A truck driver probably.
The man looked like a truck driver, she thought.
What does a truck driver look like?
Hey Earl, the Thistle Man said.
said Earl, frowning.
The Thistle Man grabbed him by the back of his neck and Earls face went blank.
The Thistle Man guided Earl gently out of his seat, like a parent shepherding a sleepy child.
Earls eyes were empty pools of water.
Neither Earl nor the Thistle Man paid their checks.
No one made a move to help.
Keisha didnt know what to do.
She walked toward the door, wanting to help, having no idea how.
You planning on paying for that?
The lights on one side of the gas station were out.
And in the shadows, the man in the Thistle shirt was cradling Earl.
She could see the pulsing of his muscles as he tried, the strain in his face.
Behind them, in a different world, people sat eating waffles and sausages.
The loose skinned man didnt seem human.
He was like a boogey man from a vaguely recalled nightmare.
He bent down and took a bite out of Earl, at the artery in his armpit.
Earl made a noise like a balloon letting out air, and blood poured down his torso.
He was crying, but still couldnt move.
The movement was the same mechanical movement he had made with the omelet.
Keisha had only a moment to decide how to respond and didnt need even that.
She ran, of course.
Ran for her truck with her breath and heartbeat deafening in her ears.
The Thistle Man chuckled as she went, slurping another fragment of Earls body into his mouth.
As Keisha started the engine, she looked at Earl, who looked back at her.
Although Earl and his murderer didnt know it, there was another witness.
The figure in the hoodie wasnt running away, but they were no more able to help than Keisha.
Some moments cant be changed.
