Jake Hayes
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theboltergeist.bsky.social
Jake Hayes
@theboltergeist.bsky.social
1.7K followers 5.1K following 250 posts
Author of 8 novels, poet, artist, and horror geek living in the Colorado mountains. Obsessed with apocalyptic vibes, humanity's resilience, and the stories we leave behind.

All my stuff!: linktr.ee/Boltergeist
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theboltergeist.bsky.social
Stardust in a Blink

#poetry #writingcommunity
November 14, 2025 at 11:22 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
Shirt designs have been on point this week, I'm having a great time drawing again finally. #BROKENSOVEREIGN is certainly slow to launch, but I truly believe in it.

#art #streetwear 🎨🖌️
September 27, 2025 at 1:19 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
Romance is/n't Dead

#poetry #writingcommunity
Romance is/n’t Dead Romance is dead, Fed through the flash and glamour, Filters and swipes, Heart reacts and fat shaming. Days of summer parks, And winter firelight, Finding something— In quiet moments, Long after meeting, Never expecting The spark. Us all as a book, Judged by its cover, Rarely to read the logline, Thrown left At a moment's glance. Twin flames, Close enough to flicker, separate, Contained in palms. Never to touch. Instant gratification, The clear winner— Romance didn't die, We scrolled past The funeral.
September 17, 2025 at 9:04 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
You have come to burn. 🜍
Not for glory. ☿
Or light. 🜔
But because there is no other way forward. 🜏
BEGIN THE WORK - tinyurl.com/WEARETHEBROKEN
Follow us on Instagram - www.instagram.com/broken.sover...

#poetry #streetwear
September 15, 2025 at 1:18 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
The Measure of a Man (Recast)
#poetry
The Measure of a Man (Recast) Not in the coin’s cold gleam, nor the metal’s empty weight— does the body find its worth. I have seen men bend spines to gilded idols, cracking their marrow on altars of brass and ledger, their sweat baptismal, Anointing a Deus ex that will never learn their names. They bleed for the hum of gears, the hymn of commerce— and call it purpose. Yet within the ribs, a fire waits: the brief flare of love, the shudder of loss, the searing brand of grief that marks us human. No coin can bind such heat; no vault can cage it. it slips between chains, it smolders through iron— the embers of the soul. And when all labor fails, when the edifice collapses into dust and rusted cogs, only then is the measure found. In hot, torrid life, in the hand held fast, in the voice that speaks your name and eyes that see you— In the heart’s quiet revolt against the tyranny of steel.
September 5, 2025 at 4:26 AM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
Haven't been doing too much writing lately, since I have 0 WIPs right now (gasp), here's something from a Ten Candles game I'm going to run soon.

#ttrpg #horror #wipsnips 💙🩸
“It’s late at night in Denver International Airport. The halls are quiet, the shops shuttered. Only a few night staff shuffle behind counters, their footsteps echoing against the polished floors. You make your way through the terminal, each of you with your own reasons for traveling tonight. Maybe this is home. Maybe it’s just a layover. Maybe you’re chasing something—or running from it. The boarding area at Gate C-something-or-other is half-asleep. A handful of other travelers scroll on their phones or clutch paper cups of coffee. The fluorescent lights hum and flicker overhead. Soon, the announcement comes—‘Now boarding rows…’—and people begin to line up.” (Pause. Let players riff on their characters’ movements, thoughts, or feelings.) “You step down the jet bridge. Your shoes clack on metal. The plane smells faintly of recirculated plastic and burnt coffee. The cabin lights are dim, that low amber glow meant to lull passengers to sleep. You shuffle past weary travelers already slumped in their seats. Somewhere in the back, a baby cries. The flight attendants smile, but it’s the kind of smile that’s automatic… tired… mechanical. You find your seats. The plane taxis. Engines roar. The cabin shudders as you leave the ground. Out the window, Denver becomes scattered pinpricks of light across the plains, then fades into nothing but black under the stars. At 30,000 feet, the captain’s voice crackles through the intercom: ‘Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll have you into Sydney before sunrise.’”
September 5, 2025 at 4:18 AM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
Hey all! I've been super busy lately, but the editing for Volume V of #TheHeavensWept is coming along! I've also been writing poetry quite a lot lately, if you're interested in that, give me a follow on Insta.

#writingcommunity #poetry #horror 💙📚🩸
August 12, 2025 at 12:28 AM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
The Clarion call of the end, met with a reaction I think we'd all have.

#thekindled #horror #WIPSnips 🩸📚💙
July 4, 2025 at 3:01 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
There is always hope, even at the end of the world.

#Horror #WIPSnips 💙📚🩸
But one of the last entries stopped me cold. It wasn’t a frantic scrawl, like I expected. It wasn’t hopeless or dark. It was simple. Quiet. And it said this: "No matter what happens, I keep going. Because there’s always a reason. Even when I can’t see it, even when I can’t feel it, it’s there. A reason to keep going. And maybe I’ll find it tomorrow. Maybe it’ll find me." I read that sentence over and over again, sitting there in the dim light of the study. It felt like the person who wrote it had been talking to me, like they’d been through everything I've been feeling, and they had decided to keep going anyway. It made me think—if they could hold on, even as everything crumbled around them, why couldn’t I? I’ve been so caught up in the cold, the isolation, the loss… that I forgot there’s always something, some reason to keep pushing forward. Maybe it’s not clear to me right now, maybe it’s buried under all the fear and doubt, but it’s there. Maybe Sarah was my reason once, and maybe she still is, even if she’s gone. Maybe it’s something else now. I don’t know. But I’ll find it. I felt something stir in me as I closed the journal, something I haven’t felt in a long time. Resolve, maybe. It’s not the same as hope, but it’s close. It’s enough. Enough to keep me from giving up, to keep me moving forward. So, I’m still here. Still alive. And I’m going to keep going. Not because it’s easy. Not because I have all the answers. But because there’s a reason. I just have to find it.
June 19, 2025 at 4:22 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
The moment of terrifying revelation: the dead no longer stay dead.

#TheKindled #Horror #WIPSnips 🩸📚💙
Eddie exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. Routine, he reminded himself. Just routine. He began to methodically check the body, confirming details, noting injuries, filling out the log sheet in the careful, practiced hand he’d perfected over years. Yet even as he moved with practiced ease, something about Mike’s face kept drawing Eddie’s attention. A shadow that didn’t seem right, a slight movement beneath the skin near Mike's throat. Eddie paused, leaning closer, convinced it was just his imagination playing tricks, the result of exhaustion and lingering anxiety. His chest twitched first. Just once—barely more than a tremor—but it was enough to pull Eddie’s gaze. Then his eyelids fluttered, slowly at first, as if testing the weight of being alive again. Then the eyes snapped open. Time peeled away like paint in a fire. Eddie’s own heartbeat was the only sound, so loud it felt visible, pulsing against his vision. He could see every pore on Mike’s waxy skin, every burst capillary in the whites of those pleading eyes. In that suspended instant Eddie believed two opposite truths: Mike was dead. Mike knew exactly who Eddie was. The contradiction cracked something inside him—and the room lurched back into motion. Eddie stumbled back instinctively, his breath caught somewhere in his chest, heart slamming wildly against his ribs. Mike’s gaze locked onto him instantly—wide, empty, the whites streaked with broken vessels, veins standing stark beneath pale, translucent skin. His mouth worked like it was unfamiliar with forming words, each syllable grinding out like memory filtered through a broken speaker. Tears slid from the corners of his eyes—real, human—but what stared through them wasn’t. “Carrie—don’t…leave…”
June 18, 2025 at 7:04 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
He knew. Myers knew the whole time and just couldn't admit it, and in his reluctance he doomed them all.

#TheKindled #Horror #WIPSnips 💙📚🩸
Chapter Fourteen Then a Call 2:25AM (Two Hours Earlier) The paper wasn’t thick, but it felt heavier than it should. Sheriff Myers unfolded it slowly, careful not to tear the crease. His fingers shook—not from cold, not really. The radiator hissed behind him, battling the same losing war it always had. But the room still felt colder now. He read the heading. Once. Then again. U.E.C.E. INTERNAL NOTICE – Tier 3 Sector: F-Valley (Fairfield) Classification: INTERNAL // FOR RECORDS ONLY – DO NOT DISSEMINATE His eyes drifted over the lines. Phase Two indicators confirmed. Behavioral vocalizations consistent with prior event markers. Cascade potential approaching limit threshold. Sweep teams deployed ahead of screening in lieu of liaison. Casualty projection: Acceptable per protocol 1-A22. Each word hit like a shovel against soil. There was no plan to hold the line. No promise of reinforcements. Just a paragraph buried halfway down: Phase Three Authorization: Confirmed. Myers stared at it, unblinking. Not surprised. Not really. Just tired. He folded the page once, then again, and slid it into his coat pocket. The paper felt warm from his hands—like something living, like it might start smoking on its own.
June 16, 2025 at 4:26 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
Had to [REDACT] names to avoid massive spoilers, but this scene was too good to pass up on posting.

#TheKindled #horror #WIPSnips 🩸📚💙
June 15, 2025 at 1:49 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
The Tether is monstrous, a shifting lance of euclidean geometry calling out, an insidious wailing in the mind, drawing them closer.

#WIPSnips #horror 💙📚🩸
We made our way down the steep incline, each step sending rocks and debris skittering ahead. The crater’s heat pressed at our skin, thick and stifling. No wind stirred here, no breath of fresh air. Only the Tether’s strobing glow and that thunderous hum, resonating in my teeth, my bones, my blood. The closer we drew, the more I realized how vast the sea of Watchers truly was. Thousands—tens of thousands—locked in silent devotion, heads bowed toward the Tether. Their skin was cracked, bloodless, veins visible like dark filigree beneath the surface. Some had collapsed where they knelt, bodies fused to the ash. Others stood rigid, arms half-raised, frozen in that final posture of prayer or supplication. They did not move. They did not so much as blink. Even when our boots crunched on the cracked earth beside them, they remained statues, enslaved by the Tether’s call. Rowan led, sword unsheathed but angled down, as though respecting the dead. She paused frequently, scanning for any sign of danger. Maude and Oscar flanked us, rifles half-raised, but no threat came from the Watchers. They made no sound, no acknowledgment of our presence. We threaded through them, weaving a careful path. At times, I had to bite my tongue to suppress a cry, seeing their hollowed faces up close—eyes shriveled, cheeks sunken, lips parted in silent prayer. Once, I nearly tripped over a child half-buried in dust, a tiny hand outstretched to the Tether. So many lives, I thought, consumed by this beacon.
June 12, 2025 at 1:59 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
"Deserve doesn't matter."

#TheKindled #WIPSnips #horror 💙📚🩸
Jake was on the roof. Eddie parked and climbed out slowly, wincing at the bite of the wind. Jake looked down, gave a small wave with his hammer, then went back to reinforcing the skylight with metal bars. Inside, the bar was dim, dust motes floating on the stagnant air shot through with the morning light. The buzz of the neon signs filled the space between voices—Marcy and Carrie—coming from the far end of the bar, just out of sight, past a stack of sandbags. He followed the sound. “…and what if we’re wrong?” Marcy was saying. “What if this isn’t isolated? What if this is bigger than Fairfield, bigger than Red Pines?” Carrie’s voice was even, almost cold. “Then we’re already too late.” Eddie paused in the doorway. Marcy stood with her arms crossed, lips pressed tight, eyes red like she hadn’t slept. Carrie leaned against the wall, posture relaxed, one boot heel kicked up behind her like they were arguing over directions on a road trip—not the collapse of everything. “You’re okay with that?” Marcy asked, almost in disbelief. “Letting it just… happen?” “I’m okay with surviving,” Carrie replied. “We don’t have the tools to fix this. We don’t even have information.” “We have people, we have us, we have the sheriff for fucks sake.” Carrie didn’t flinch. “People don’t listen. They panic. You saw what Mike turned into. You really want to tell the whole town and wait for them to riot?” She folded her arms. “Our merry little band doesn't stand a chance. And my father can’t change this any more than we can.” “They deserve to know,” Marcy said. “Deserve doesn’t matter.”
May 31, 2025 at 9:47 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
One of those times when the joke becomes a little too real.

#TheKindled #Horror #WIPSnips 🩸📚💙
“Let’s hope we’re wrong,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. Jake didn’t answer, giving a knowing look. “I mean—” “Don't even say it man.” Eddie said, motioning for another drink. “Zombies.” Jake said with a smirk, grabbing the nearby bottle of Jim Beam and pouring two more shots. “It's all that makes sense dude.” Eddie grabbed the shot glass, sniffed it, grimaced and downed it anyway, croaking through the burn in his throat. “Jesus Christ, no way. No fuckin’ way! That was no Night of the Living Dead shit out there…well ....” He let out a long groan, “He did bite her. Shit.” Jake’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, I almost forgot. Let’s drop the zombie thing. That’s too much, even for me right now. I mean, I was already worried about her but now....” He shook his head hard, forcing a half-laugh that didn’t stick. “Yeah. Let’s not go there.” Eddie said, rubbing his face. “Well, look, I'm just saying man, you work in a morgue. Dead bodies and shit. Just be careful. OK?” Jake flicked off the last neon light, leaving Eddie alone in the dark with the weight of it all still pressing on his shoulders.
May 30, 2025 at 9:19 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
Too many questions and not enough answers in this dying town. #TheKindled releases on Amazon in two days!

#horror #selfpub #wipsnips #booksky 💙📚🩸
Jake shifted, glancing nervously down Main Street, eyes narrowing against the drizzle. "Feels like the whole town took off except us." "Feels like it because it's true," Myers sighed deeply, his shoulders dropping another fraction. "Emergency dispatch from Red Pines pulled out this afternoon. Official line from our intergovernmental liaison is that they're stretched thin, prioritizing the city—but unofficially... Fairfield's..." Myers hesitated, swallowing visibly, "...we are on our own." Silence settled thickly among them, punctuated only by the gentle hiss of rain. Eddie felt something cold twist in his gut, an uneasy, creeping dread. "What about the clinic?" Marcy asked quietly, voice barely audible over the rain. "Closed for repairs, right? That's what the sign says." Myers shook his head slowly, bitterness coloring his voice. "That's what they want folks believing. But Dr. Patel packed up three days ago. Took whatever supplies he could carry, loaded his truck, and headed north." He paused, jaw tightening visibly. "He wouldn't even look me in the eye when he told me he was leaving." Eddie exhaled slowly, breath forming a pale cloud in the evening air. "So that's it, then? Fairfield's been cut loose." Myers nodded grimly. "Until further notice." Jake scrubbed a weary hand across his face. "What the hell are we supposed to do now, just wait for... for whatever this is to get worse?" Myers swallowed, jaw working as though searching for the right words. The rain drummed steadily against the awning, cut with the sound of a helicopter flying low and fast. They all watched it glide past. The thump of its rotors echoed like a death knell in Eddie’s chest. ‘We’ll be hearing more of that, won’t we?’ he said, eyes fixed on the forest where it vanished above the treetops, somewhere between here and Red Pines. “Let’s get out of the weather,” he said at last. “Too much to go over standing here.”
May 28, 2025 at 2:44 AM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
Decided to self publish #TheKindled! Keep an eye out on Amazon.

The dead will rise, burning with a hunger born of something you've never seen before! A genre defying entry for those of us who've seen it all before.

#selfpub #zombieapocalypse #horror 💙📚🩸
May 27, 2025 at 1:21 AM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
Eddie knew before he knew.

#horror #wipsnips 🩸📚💙
“Drugs again?” Eddie asked, joining him at the table, eyes scanning the sheet-covered figure lying silent between them. Frank shrugged, his mouth tightening. “I'm not sure. The livor mortis appears typical, but the organs are abnormally engorged and discolored. Due to hemorrhaging?” He scratched his chin thoughtfully, “unsure.” He moved the recorder closer to his mouth as he leaned in, “They seem necrotic. The veins, particularly around the neck and chest, are pronounced and darkened…looks to be burns.” Eddie felt the chill climb under his collar, pooling at the base of his skull. He could smell disinfectant, yes, but beneath it something sweet and rotten, like fruit left too long in summer heat. For one second the morgue felt weightless, outside of time, the sheeted forms around him no longer paperwork but warnings. A drip of condensation slid down the steel table and ticked onto the floor. Tiny, perfect, loud. Eddie leaned in slightly, frowning at the dark web branching through the pale skin. Something about it stirred a memory. Not a medical one, something older, primal. He couldn’t place it, but it left a coppery taste in his mouth, like blood breathed through the air. Eddie blinked, and the lights snapped back to their usual buzz. Routine, he reminded himself. Routine.
May 25, 2025 at 2:44 AM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
The explosive end of chapter Chapter Eight: Knock Twice. Our survivors find that the apocalypse is much worse than they believed.

#horror #wipsnips #TheKindled 💙📚🩸
More followed—dozens. They spilled from doorways like shadows pulling free of walls, faces streaked with rot and grief. One crawled on shattered legs, dragging a split-open torso behind it, another clawing at the slick viscera. One fell from the shattered viewport of an exam room, its skin ripping apart against the jagged glass as it hit the floor with a wet thump—quickly swallowed by the thickening crowd. Some screamed. Some whispered. Somewhere in the noise, Eddie heard someone say, “I miss you, I miss you, I miss you,” over and over like prayer. The hallway was gone. Not literally—but its shape, its function, its familiarity had collapsed beneath the weight of what was coming. It wasn’t a corridor anymore—it was a funnel. And they were on the wrong end. Eddie couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The shotgun felt like stone in his hands. What are we doing? What are we even trying to save? From behind, the exam room door burst outward against its hinges—Carrie and Jake barreling out, the spider-thing clattering behind them, blackened viscera rolling from the ragged hole in its chest. Carrie skidded to a stop in front of him, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Do you wanna fucking die?” she shouted, seizing his arm and dragging him backward. “You don’t get to freeze, dammit—not now!” Her grip snapped something loose inside him. His legs unlocked. The noise, the grief, the sheer weight of it didn’t lessen—but now it moved with him, not through him. He ran. Jake retreated behind them, firing into the advancing group, the spider-thing deftly moving through the crowd, springing from floor to ceiling. The slower ones began to fall, more lead shot than flesh. The spider-thing turned its head toward Eddie, even as gunfire tore holes in the air. It tilted sideways, limbs clicking against the walls like it was listening for something beneath the noise. Then it crawled up and over one of the infected, planting its hands on a screaming man’s shoulders and using him like scaffold…
May 24, 2025 at 2:04 AM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
Milestone moment! A rejection from an entire agency all at once! Chin up!

#writerslife #tradpub
May 21, 2025 at 3:21 AM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
Another excerpt from #TheKindled. The Crossing bar had always been a place of safety for Eddie, now, even with bars on the windows, nowhere feels safe.

#horror #wipsnips 🩸📚💙
The longer he sat at this light, the more it felt like the town was folding inward. Quiet, waiting, holding something heavy behind its teeth. Eddie let the truck coast past the intersection against the red light, past familiar landmarks that felt unfamiliar now. He should’ve gone home. Let the day burn out there, sit in silence with the weight of it pressing against the walls. But before he could think better of it, he found himself turning toward the tracks, tires crunching over gravel as The Crossing came into view. From the outside, the place looked almost normal—the small building nestled against a backdrop of gnarled trees, shot through with the colors of fall, the old neon signs still flickering faintly against the window glass, the worn paint of the front door scuffed in all the usual places. Familiar, easy. But Eddie knew better. He cut the engine, let the quiet settle around him for a long moment before finally stepping out, boots grinding over loose gravel. The lot was empty. Too early for anyone else. Jake would be inside, though. Always was, restocking shelves, nursing coffee, pretending he wasn’t keeping an eye on everything. Eddie paused at the door, hand resting against the weathered frame, letting the stillness drag out a second longer, listening to the clatter of leaves blown against the gravel like TV static. Inside, the bar smelled the same as it always had—beer and wood polish, a faint undercurrent of cigarette smoke clinging to every surface—but something had definitely changed. He let the door ease shut behind him, its usual creak sounding just a little sharper in the quiet. The Crossing was dim this early, natural light filtering weakly through the front windows, casting faint, striped patterns across the scuffed floorboards. Eddie’s eyes adjusted slowly, tracing over familiar shapes—the long wooden bar worn smooth by decades of elbows, the mismatched stools, the cracked leather booths lining the back wall. Now though, metal bars had b…
May 20, 2025 at 12:35 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
The place was dead well before the residents realized it. Another excerpt from #TheKindled.

#wipsnips #horror 💙📚🩸
Chapter Seven Ashes on Main A quiet drizzle settled over Fairfield, cloaking the town in a grey haze that muted sounds and softened edges. The early evening sky stretched endlessly, layers of clouds roiling above, heavy and low, painting the world in subdued tones of slate and charcoal. Street Lights flickered uncertainly along Main Street, their glow struggling against the encroaching gloom. Storefronts, usually warm and inviting, now stood dark and hollow, the life drained out of them. The empty diner with its blinds half-drawn, the gas station where a solitary pump clicked quietly to itself, the motionless swing set in the small park—all pieces of a puzzle that no longer fit together. At the far end of Main, just over the tracks, The Crossing's neon sign glowed defiantly, casting a washed-out reflection onto the wet pavement. Eddie stood just outside its front door, arms crossed against his chest, breath fogging gently in the chilly air. He stared out into the town, eyes tracing the empty spaces, the absence of movement. Behind him, Jake and Marcy hovered quietly, their hushed conversation mingling with the soft patter of rain. A set of headlights cut through the murk, the low rumble of an engine pulling everyone's attention. The cruiser slowed as it approached, Sheriff Myers' familiar form visible through the streaked windshield. The car came to a halt at the curb, engine dying away into silence. Myers stepped out slowly, his movements stiff, fatigued. Myers shut the cruiser's door quietly, the sound muffled by the damp air. He adjusted his hat, the brim dripping softly with rain, before approaching the small group gathered under The Crossing's awning. Eddie watched him closely, noticing the dark shadows beneath Myers' eyes, the slight slump in his shoulders, the uneasy way his gaze flickered around the empty street.
May 18, 2025 at 7:21 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
Horror isn't just about what you write. It's about how you write it.
Here's a quick tip I use in my own stories. Got one of your own?

#HorrorWriting #WritingTips #IndieAuthor #WritersOfBluesky #AmWriting📚💙🩸👀
May 17, 2025 at 5:42 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
Horror isn't just about what you write. It's about how you write it.
Here's a quick tip I use in my own stories. Got one of your own?

#HorrorWriting #WritingTips #IndieAuthor #WritersOfBluesky #AmWriting📚💙🩸👀
May 16, 2025 at 6:31 PM
theboltergeist.bsky.social
#poetry #skypoets #freeverse
May 15, 2025 at 11:52 PM