Viggo
Falk

Writes dark fiction steeped in horror, science fiction, and the things people become when pushed beyond reason. Follow him on social media, send a message, or explore his library of released works and nightmares still to come.Publishing and author inquiries [email protected]

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GLIMPSEA Starved by Consumption StoryA ten-year-old boy wanted one more kill.
The woods taught him what endless hunger really means.Before Arthur Garret found the stump, Joseph Arcand saw what came from it.Coming July 24, 2026.
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Here is a G L I M P S EJOSEPH STOOD with his arms crossed, feeling the defeat that only a simple sentence could bring upon a ten-year-old boy on his first real hunt.
“We have enough,” his grandfather had said, as if the words carried no cruelty at all.
Joseph disagreed.
“I am not ready to just go back,” he said. “We can get more. I know we can.”
Thomas Arcand Senior did not turn around right away. That was one of the most difficult things about his grandfather. He had a way of letting silence answer first. He stood near the edge of the clearing with his rifle resting in the crook of one arm, broad shoulders wrapped in a heavy wool coat, dark hat pulled low against the cold. The old man’s back was straight despite the miles they had covered. His breath left him in slow white clouds.
He looked carved out of winter.
Not cold in spirit. Joseph knew better than that. But steady. Unmoved. A man shaped by old ways, old griefs, old rules, and a relationship with the land Joseph was still too young to fully understand.
His grandfather finally looked back.
“We have enough,” he said again.
Joseph hated how final it sounded.
Only a few short hours earlier, he had finally been given the chance. The opportunity. The one he had been thinking about for weeks, dreaming about for longer than he would admit. The one they teased him about last evening, and again this morning. He had finally been trusted with the rifle. Trusted to take the shot after all the walking, waiting, whispering, and careful tracking that had brought them there.
At first, when his uncle placed the rifle in his hands, Joseph felt thrilled.
Then promptly terrified.
The weapon seemed heavier than it had when he had practiced. More serious. As if the rifle knew this shot mattered and wanted him to know it too. Thomas Junior knelt beside him in the frozen brush, one hand light against Joseph’s shoulder.
“You are doing great,” his uncle whispered.
The cold air held still around them. The woods had gone silent in the way woods do when something important is about to happen. Joseph could hear his own breathing, shallow and careful. He tried to make it deeper. Tried to make it quieter. Tried to be the boy they believed he could be. The hunter he so badly wanted to be.
“Aim high,” his uncle whispered. “Remember, gravity will push.”
Joseph remembered.
He had been repeating it to himself all morning.
Aim high.
Breathe slowly.
Do not jerk.
Respect the shot.
He gave a tiny grunt to acknowledge the advice.
Behind them, Thomas Senior stood statuesque, not emitting a single sound. Joseph could feel his grandfather there more than hear him. That was somehow worse. The old man’s expectations did not need words. His presence had always said enough.
Joseph settled the sight.
The deer stood between thin trees, steam lifting faintly from its body in the cold. It was beautiful. That surprised him. He had expected excitement to swallow everything else, but for one strange second, the animal’s beauty entered him and made his finger hesitate. Time slowed until it felt as though only he and the deer existed.
Then his uncle’s hand squeezed his shoulder once.
Not pressure.
Faith.
Joseph breathed in.
Held.
The crack of the rifle split the frozen quiet.
The sound of the shot landing true followed almost immediately by a deep, final impact that pierced the void. The deer toppled. For a heartbeat, Joseph could not move.
Then joy exploded in him.
“I got it!” he shouted, springing to his feet. “I got it!”
Other creatures that had been holding their breath used the opportunity to flee. Birds burst from nearby branches. Something small tore through the brush. The whole forest seemed to scatter away from his celebration.
His grandfather did not hesitate.
“The shot was true,” Thomas Senior said. “The celebration was not.”
Joseph’s smile died at once.
Thomas Senior walked toward the fallen deer, his face stern, his eyes fixed not on Joseph but on the animal.
“Be humbled for this gift,” he said. “The deer is a sacrifice so we may endure.”
Joseph rolled his eyes in his mind.
That was where he kept most of his rebellion. Inside. Quiet. Private. It was difficult not to make an audible retort, but he managed. The deer was meat. Good meat. The shot was excellent. He had done what they came to do. He wanted his grandfather to clap him on the shoulder or smile or say, you did well, Joseph.
Instead, he got another lesson.
Thomas Senior knelt beside the deer and placed one hand briefly on its side. His lips moved in a few words Joseph did not fully hear. Maybe prayer. Maybe thanks. Maybe something older than both. His uncle came up quietly behind the freshly sobered boy.
“Excellent shot, young man,” he whispered.
Joseph looked up at him. His uncle held out his hand low, hidden from Grandfather’s view.
Joseph slapped it quietly. A secret high five.
They both tried not to laugh and failed just enough to make their shoulders shake. Thomas Senior did not look back, but Joseph suspected he knew.
His grandfather always knew.
The three of them worked together after that. Thomas Senior gave instructions in the same tone he used for everything: calm, stern, and impossible to argue with. Joseph helped where he could, though mostly he watched, listened, and tried to seem more useful than he felt. His uncle explained the parts Grandfather assumed a boy should understand already.
They took what they needed.
They left what should be left.
Grandfather spoke again of gratitude, humility, and the land. He told Joseph that a hunter did not own what he killed. He received it. There was a difference, and if Joseph lived long enough, he would learn it.
Joseph nodded as if the wisdom had settled deeply into him. It had not. Not yet.
What settled deeper was the thrill.
The true shot. The deer falling. His uncle’s quiet praise. The feeling that he had crossed some invisible line between boyhood and something larger. Which was why we have enough felt so unreasonable. In his ten-year-old mind, there was always more of everything. More time. More daylight. More woods.
More chances to feel the thrill of hunting and winning.
They had the deer.
They had rabbits from earlier.
They had a fine haul by any sensible measure.
But Joseph did not want sensible.
He wanted more.
A Starved by Consumption storyContinue reading Glimpse on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited.Coming July 24, 2026.
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STARVED BY CONSUMPTIONThe hunger was buried.
It was never destroyed.Sixty years later, Arthur Garret walks the same path.He finds an odd stump in the woods.Something has been waiting.Full novel coming soon.
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Triptych of ReclamationA three-story horror collection about the wronged, the wicked, and those unfortunate enough to be both.Each story follows a wounded soul determined to seize back what the world took from them—no matter who must suffer in its place.But nothing taken returns clean.And some things should remain buried.Follow Viggo on Social media; links above, or email to get notified about release.