Diary of the writer on the run poster

Friend or Foe

A gloved fist flew at my face.

I braced myself.

A force ripped the guy away. He flew back, open-mouthed in shock, and tumbled over the back garden.

The dark figure I’d caught sight of before was there among the four attackers. She kicked the gun from one. Punched a second guy flat.

A third stepped back and aimed his gun at the figure.

She swung her fist. An invisible force smacked the gun away. A volley of suppressed shots fired up into the night sky. She kicked in the air – and he landed on his back.

The first guy who had almost punched me scrambled to his feet and charged at her. She reached out, closed her fist and drew it in sharply. The guy flew forwards, his feet barely touching the ground – straight into her fist.

The other three attackers emerged from around the side of the house, two of them still coughing and spluttering.

She swung her arm and knocked the guns from their hands. They clattered over the floor.

They ran at her.

She moved to meet them.

I realised I was standing still and watching.

No one was paying attention to me anymore.

I took off, sprinted over the front garden, vaulted the garden wall and ran to the car. I dived in the driver’s seat and started the car. In the mirror I could see the figure – it was definitely a woman – beating the crap out of the seven attackers. Sometimes her kicks and punches landed directly. Sometimes she swung into thin air and the force of it struck her victim anyway.

I put my foot down. The car took off with a screech of tyres.

I had a flashback – being pulled out of a van by an invisible force.

She had done the same thing to the guy who had almost punched me. It had to be the same person. Surely two people couldn’t do that. But then, how would I know?

I had the route set in my mind. I wasn’t going to mess around with any changes now – best just to get there as quickly as possible. Sticking to main roads and motorways would reduce the chance of being attacked – as they were more likely to get caught doing it.

The roads were quiet. I drove as quickly as I dared, swinging and swerving around corners, speeding down main roads. Soon the Ford I was driving flew up the ramp and burst out onto the motorway.

I put my foot down and shot down the road. It was dimly lit and quiet. I passed only a couple of vehicles speeding in the opposite direction.

I was about to let out a sigh of relief – when my eyes caught something in the rear view mirror. It was a pair of headlights behind me. They were getting bigger. The car behind was catching me up.

But it wasn’t one car. There were three of them.

And they were chasing me down.

Diary of the writer on the run poster


I had to get out of the house. It was the only way I would survive. I took a few seconds to look at the map and the Satnav Six had left. No way I’d have time to study it later.

The team of four were metres from the front door. I could see one of them listening on an earpiece – coordinating with the team of three at the back.

Seconds left – until both teams broke in.

No sign of the other shadowy figure lurking somewhere out the front.

I rifled through the go bag and came up with a hurried plan.

I grabbed some tape and the smoke grenades and darted to the back door. I taped the pins to the door and the main body of each grenade to the frame – so you couldn’t open the door without them going off.

The flash bangs had digital timers. I took a rough guess and set half of them, placing them around the door.

I crept back to the front. They were about to beak in.

I ducked by the door and eased open the door to listen.

Someone counted down in a whisper:

“Five. Four. Three.”

I shoved a flash bang through the letterbox, then another. I dived from the door, squeezed my eyes shut and clamped my hands over my eyes.

The blinding flash burned bright through my eyelids and the bang roared through my ears.

Then there was a crash – as the second team burst through the back door.

There was another loud bang and a blinding flash.

Then a BOOM. Smoke billowed through the house.

I jumped to my feet, feeling dazed and spaced out from the grenades. I hauled the front door open.

A big figure in dark combat fatigues lumbered straight at the front door. He saw me and drew back his gloved fist to punch me flat.

In that split-second I saw the other three clambering to his feet. They all wore earpieces and some kind of glasses, which had probably taken the edge off.

And I hadn’t been quick enough.

Diary of the writer on the run poster

Under Siege

Bullets sprayed the three SUVs. The armed figures dived for cover. I’d taken them completely by surprise.

The recoil threw me backwards. I planted my back foot, bent my knees and braced myself to make sure I didn’t fall on my arse.

My other hand fumbled in my trouser pocket for my keys. Once I had them in my hand, I edged along the path in front of the house towards the door. I reached it, still facing the cars, firing in shorter bursts to make the bullets last longer.

The bullets ran out.

Heads rose up behind car doors.

I quickly grabbed the other gun and kept firing.

Firing a gun at attackers with one hand while trying to unlock a door with the other might be one of the most difficult things I have ever tried. Doing one of them in the dark is usually about as much as I can manage. I always say in job interviews how great I am at multitasking. It’s rubbish. I’m terrible at it.

Eventually, I worked out which way to turn the key and managed to do it without the gun-wielding hand turning as well. The door opened. I backed into the house and slammed the door shut – just as the bullets ran out again. I locked the door, dropped to the floor and scrambled away from it on my stomach.

I made it into the front room, got to my knees pressed up against the wall and shot a glance around the closed curtain out of the windows.

They were regrouping, reorganising.

I really hoped they hadn’t realised I was almost out of bullets – with just my Glock 17 handgun left.

I darted upstairs and followed Six’s instructions to wipe every byte of information from each computer. I destroyed what needed destroying and got together the things I would need to take with me. The question was – how on Earth I was going to get out of there.

My mind flitted through films I had seen with standoffs and protagonists cornered the way I was now.

But now I was the main character. This was the story.

It made me wonder how many stories were happening at that moment. I remembered seeing them all. It was too much for my mind to handle. The most important stories were the biggest. I really wanted to know how big mine was right now – and yearned to see the ones that were bigger.

The Ford Focus we had driven to the house originally stood on the street in front of the house just a few metres away from the three Mercedes SUVs and the gun-wielding killers they had brought. That was my getaway. But I had no idea how to get to it without being riddled with bullets first.

The seven armed figures were moving. Four of them crept towards the front door. The other three headed around the side – to cut off my escape.

Where was the hitman when I needed him?

Then a movement behind the cars caught my eye.

 Whoever it was slipped between the cars and crept after the attackers.

Closer to average height. Lean build.

Not the hitman. I had no idea who it was or what they were doing there.

Henry Frey Twitter Giveaway

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas with this Twitter giveaway!

For the next two weeks (until 3rd December 8pm GMT), you have the chance to win a signed paperback copy of both titles in my Henry Frey Christmas fantasy adventure series. Just head on over to Twitter and follow the instructions on my pinned tweet.

This giveaway is only available on Twitter for UK entrants aged 18 and over.

See terms and conditions below. 

Twitter Giveaway Terms and Conditions

For your chance to win, follow the instructions in the pinned tweet of Jason Rybak’s Twitter account @Jason_Rybak

  1. Participants automatically agree to these terms and conditions.
  2. The giveaway on Twitter opens on 8pm (GMT) 19th November 2019 and closes at 8pm (GMT) 3rd December 2019.
  3. Only entrants from the UK with UK postage addresses who are 18 years and older are eligible.
  4. Only one Twitter entry per person.
  5. Anyone found using multiple accounts to enter will be ineligible.
  6. One winner will be randomly selected from eligible Twitter entries. The winner will be announced in a reply to a giveaway post on 4th December 2019.
  7. In order to claim the prize, the winner must notify us of their UK postal address within 1 week of the winning entry. If the winner fails to claim their prize within 1 week, another winner will be selected, but we will not be able to guarantee delivery before 25th December 2019.
  8. We will endeavour to deliver the prize to the winner within 30 working days from the date of the winning announcement.
  9. No cash equivalent or alternative prize will be given and the prize is non-transferable and non-exchangeable.
  10. This giveaway is in no way affiliated with or sponsored by Twitter and the winner will be providing information to someone besides Twitter.
Prize: 1 x paperback copy of Henry Frey and the Elf King signed by the author Jason Rybak
1 x paperbak copy of Henry Frey Versus the Dark Santa signed by author Jason Rybak
See synopses below

While you are here, check out the rest of my website www.jasonrybak.com or subscribe to my blog to keep up to date with Jason’s adventures in the Diary of the Writer on the Run series. 
Henry Frey and the Elf King Synopsis
Santa Claus is an elf. His real name is Klasodin. He lives in his Madjikal, snow-covered city of Alvahame with his elves.
Santa Claus is in trouble. Sabotaged by enemies inside and outside Alvahame, his Madjik is failing and gifts are going missing. Then, just days before Christmas, he disappears.
Henry Frey is the last human child with the Affinity for Madjik. Hunted by Santa’s enemies, he embarks on a dangerous journey by sleigh, sledge and snowboard to find Santa and restore his Madjik. If he fails, there will be no Christmas.
Henry Frey versus the Dark Santa Synopsis
Henry Frey Versus the Dark Santa book cover
Henry Frey smells danger when he spots an old enemy in a London toy store. Trouble is, Christmas is just days away, Britain is in chaos and he hasn’t heard from anyone in Alvahame in months. With no one else to help, Henry sets off to save Christmas alone.
A tall hooded figure in a sleigh led by eight reindeer lands in central London. But it’s not Santa Claus. And they’re not reindeer.
Henry finds himself out of his depth against a powerful enemy who has been planning his attack on Alvahame for years and knows a lot about him. With his every weakness exposed and his new family in danger, will Henry’s friends from Alvahame be there to help?
Atticus Crayle: The accidental spy book cover

Atticus Crayle: The Accidental Spy – Free on Kindle for a limited time

FREE on Kindle til Friday 8th November 2019. FREE on Kindle Unlimited.

Atticus Crayle: The Accidental Spy is a YA action thriller adventure.

Teenager Atticus Crayle sets off on holiday with some new friends – only to be attacked by gunmen and drawn into a deadly kidnapping plot. Atticus finds himself in an explosive car chase, a perilous train journey and one hail of bullets after another. He’s caught in a dangerous world of spies and organised crime. But Atticus Crayle is no ordinary teenage genius.






Diary of the writer on the run poster

The Blade

There was no running. I couldn’t move quickly enough to dive behind the nearest tree.

The eight gun-wielding mercenaries advanced on me.

Maybe I should have stayed inside.

A dark shape swept past me.

Muzzles flared in the darkness. Guns fired. The attackers reeled off streams of silenced rounds – which ricocheted away from the dark figure flying over the ground toward them.

Then they recoiled in alarm at the tall, muscular figure – who wore jet black armour under a black hooded cloak and ripped a sword with a narrow, gleaming blade from its sheath.

His boot kicked one attacker in the chest, sending him crashing into the guy behind. He punched one to the ground. Then his blade slashed, stabbed and sliced. Five attackers lay dead. The other three retreated and ran into the woods. The hitman tore after them. The hitman who had threatened to kill me was now saving my life. Apparently, if he couldn’t kill me, no one else was allowed to either.

Loud, agonising screams rang out – from where the hitman had chased them down. He’d hunted them down and shown no mercy.

I didn’t wait for him to come back. I scrambled to my feet, shoved the Glock in my belt, grabbed a couple of assault rifles, slung the straps over my shoulders and ran for it. My eyes swept the trees in front of me, scanning for any signs of more attackers lying in wait as my feet pounded over the ground.

I reached the back garden fence bordering the house and leaned against it, bowing over to catch my breath. Then I edged slowly around the side. I peered around the corner to survey the street in front of the house. It all looked quiet. There was no sign of anyone.

Then an engine sounded somewhere close by, followed by another.

Dark shapes with no headlights roared up the street. Three black Mercedes SUVs sped towards the house and screeched to a halt in front of it. Out jumped seven figures in body armour, who carried handguns and rifles with sights and suppressors. They trained their weapons on me and motioned to me to get down on the ground.

My instincts told me it was so dark they probably hadn’t seen what I was carrying.

They were moving like they knew they’d cornered me.

I couldn’t get caught.

My heart pounded as I came to a sudden decision.

I did the one thing I could think of.

I grabbed one of the assault rifles – and opened fire.

Diary of the writer on the run poster

Closing in

Staying low, I backed away.

Three more figures came into view. Eight in total – heading straight for the house.

I moved a little quicker.

Then came the itch in the back of my head – someone was watching me. There were more people out in the woods.

Leaves rustled behind me.

I wheeled around.

A running figure flew at me – and knocked me flat.

I landed on my back on cold, wet ground. Stars fizzed in my eyes. My head span.

Two figures stood over me. One of them leaned in a little closer.

“Is this him? Is he wearing…”

There was no time to think. I took my chance. I rolled, pulled the gun from the back of my jeans. I aimed and squeezed the trigger one, two, three, four times. Both figures collapsed to the ground. I didn’t check to see if they were still alive. I didn’t want to. The gun belonging to one of them lay on the grass. I scrambled to my feet, grabbed it and ran.

The itch in my head told me the others had seen me and were pounding through the woods after me. I veered left and right, weaving through the trees, avoiding running in a straight line in case they tried shooting at me.

Suddenly the trees and everything around me were swallowed by darkness. A blanket of pitch black filled my night vision goggles. I tore off the goggles. I could see it happening around me – the night was disappearing in a blackness that swallowed up the trees and everything else.

Multiple footsteps thundered over the ground after me.

A volley of suppressed automatic shots reeled off close by.

I hit the ground.

They were close. But there was no way they could see me. Their best chance of finding me was tripping over me.

Then the darkness started to clear.

Eight dark figures materialised among the trees, just metres away. One of them turned in my direction and pointed right at me.

Eight assault rifles trained on me.

Eight bright red laser sights threaded through the darkness and beamed onto my chest.



Diary of the writer on the run poster

Sitting Duck

We’d been found. The house wasn’t safe. Just sitting there, I felt like a sitting duck. I wished we had more cameras. By the time any attackers got to where the cameras were positioned, it was going to be too late for me anyway.

I pulled everything out of the go-bag and examined it all.

There was a map and a programmed SatNav showing the route to the address in North London I was to head to next. A set of instructions to destroy all the computers and hard drives upstairs. A bulletproof vest. A loaded Glock 17 with suppressor. Night vision goggles. Some smoke and flash bang grenades.

In my hands, most of it was an accident waiting to happen. Fat chance it was going to save my life in the face of a team of professional killers.

It occurred to me then that the person who left the manuscript had nothing to do with those coming to kill me. Funny. Right then, someone who had broken into the house without us knowing was the least of my problems.

I put some stuff in the boot of the car and got things ready for a quick getaway.

I paced.

I ate.

I peered through every window.

I watched the security cameras.

I had to see what was out there.

Leaving the lights on and making sure everything was locked, I slipped out the front door with the bulletproof vest on under my jacket and wandered along the same route as before – down the street running across the front of the house, down the narrow track, over the fence and into the woods behind the back garden.

In a way, I was probably safer outside, because the attackers would be drawn to the house.

I kept going, trudging through the trees, heading away from the house. I followed a well-trodden path I had used plenty of times before, where I knew I could walk quietly without a load of noise from cracking twigs and rustling leaves underfoot.

My skin prickled suddenly.

I stopped dead. I glanced around me – then darted behind the nearest tree.

My pulse hammered through my bones. My lungs wanted to gasp for breath. But I held it all in and breathed as quietly as I could. There was no sign of anyone about. But something felt wrong.

I’ve developed this sixth sense. I can feel when someone is watching me. Now I was experiencing something else – a sense of danger. My newfound ability was evolving.

I ventured forward, moving from tree to tree, stopping and looking around me before moving on – until my sense of danger throbbed through my skull like silent alarm.

The night vision glasses Six had left me were in my jacket pocket. The Glock 17 was shoved in my belt, pressing against my lower back. I put on the night vision goggles. I waited. I listened, straining to catch the slightest sound.

A twig cracked, making me jump out of my skin.

I ducked down to a crouching position and peered around the tree.

My eyes caught a movement at the far edge of my vision.

And another.

And another.

Then there were five figures moving in my direction, picking their way through the undergrowth and the trees. Three of them carried guns – not 9mm handguns like mine, but automatic assault rifles. Not a fair fight.



Diary of the writer on the run poster


The closer I ventured to the house, the darker the windows seemed to be – the lights hadn’t just been turned off, something else had filled the space left behind by the light.

I eased the front door open and closed it quietly behind me. I edged across the floor towards the stairs.

A dark shape appeared at the top of the staircase, making me jump out of my skin.

The hitman.

But there was no immediate attempt to kill me. Instead he turned and disappeared.

I hurried up the stairs after him.

He loomed in the room I’d been using as a study, his head nearly touching the ceiling. He grasped a manuscript in his gloved hand – one I hadn’t got around to working on yet.

“Where did you get this?” he growled.

“I found it on my desk,” I shrugged. “Like I always do. It came from him – the same as all the others.”

The hitman’s expression was grave.

“No. It didn’t.”

I stared at him dumbfounded.

“What do you mean – it didn’t,” I uttered.

“This didn’t come from him,” the hitman snapped. “Someone else broke in here and left it for you.”

“Why would they do that?” I blurted.

“I don’t know.” The hitman slammed the manuscript back on the desk, making papers and books spill onto the carpet. He gave me a murderous dark scowl. “There’s something about you they find special.”

“I haven’t found what the detective left,” I blurted.

“I know.” He strode out of the room. “Looks like you’re too important to kill – for now. You’d better get on with it.”

I studied the mystery manuscript. I scrolled through hours and days of security footage. I found nothing. No one could have got in, left the manuscript and got out again without us knowing. But someone did.

Diary of the writer on the run poster


I lulled myself into a false sense of security. I’d convinced myself we were safe.

I lumbered downstairs for breakfast one morning – to find Six was gone. He’d left a go bag on the kitchen table with a note:

“Be ready.”

That was it. No explanation. No saying where he was going or when he was coming back – even if he was coming back. He was just gone.

It threw me. I saw in a daze for a few hours, then something fired up inside me and I got myself ready. Six had been the careful one – checking our security systems, scrolling through camera footage, occasionally patrolling the perimeter, which meant wandering out with a football at random times of day looking like a normal kid and seeing what he could find. But there’d been nothing.

The only strange thing that happened recently was the last time we’d driven into town, which we’d done a few times. He’d been kind of spaced out in the car. I’d turned the radio on and sung along to a few classic tunes and he’d sat there in a daze. Then, in town, he’d vanished suddenly, only to meet up with me back at the car. He never told me why or what he’d done.

Now this.

I’d gone out for the odd wander anyway, mainly to get some air and exercise, but I’d always been careful and kept my eyes open for anything unusual. But I had Six for backup. Now it was all down to me.

I went through everything he’d shown me, making sure all cameras and motion sensors were working, which I could do from the computer upstairs. I scrolled through the last few hours of security camera footage. It all seemed fine.

No. Wait. Something nagged at the back of my brain.

I checked it again.

No one appeared twice. Two kids kicking a football one time. A married couple strolling past. Apart from that it was the residents of the streets – and we’d identified them, their vehicles and any regular visitors ages ago.

I found it. One car passing by slowly – four times. You don’t just pass our house unless you have somewhere to go. It didn’t stop anywhere. Within minutes each time, it passed traffic and security cameras on a main street nearby, which Six had hacked into. Even pausing on the car and zooming in, there was no way of making out who was inside. I was pretty sure it slowed right down as it passed the house, but no one ever got out. I grabbed a pen and paper to make a note of the number plate – but it was spattered with mud – just enough to make reading it impossible.

“Do you know where Six is?” I texted Silas.

“No,” came the instant reply.

How do you tell if someone is lying on a text? Well, the answer was too quick and only one word. Silas knew more than I did. And there was no way of getting it out of him.

“I’m in more danger now he’s gone.”

“You’re fine.”

Another short answer. What the hell was going on?

That night, after checking and double-checking doors, windows and the security system, I headed out for a walk. I wandered along the road in front of the house, turned right down a pathway bordered by wooden fences, vaulted over one at the end to double back on myself, this time approaching the house from the wooded area behind the back garden.

No one around.

Then I saw something that made an icy chill shoot up my spine.

The windows of the house were dark. And I’d left the lights on.