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GOOD BOY is officially live on Written.
Claire Bell thought Rue was just a dog.
Loyal.
Watchful.
A little too smart.
Then Rue finds a door where no door should exist.
Claire follows him through.
On the other side waits the Blind Interior, an impossible place built from memory, grief, forgotten rooms, and things that should have stayed buried.
Rue knows the doors.
Rue knows the rules.
And something inside knows him by another name.
As Claire moves deeper into the Blind Interior, the place starts using her past against her. Dead voices return. Rooms rebuild themselves. Reflections stop behaving.
And Rue’s role in all of it becomes harder to ignore.
GOOD BOY is psychological liminal horror about grief, trust, impossible spaces, and the terrifying possibility that the thing protecting you might also be the reason you were found.
This Written release is a limited 500-copy edition.
Sometimes your dog protects you from the dark.
Sometimes he knows the way in.

I’m B Mabes.
I write stories about people who find places they were never supposed to find.
Sometimes the horror is underground.
Sometimes it is behind a door.
Sometimes it follows you home.
And sometimes the thing you trust most already knows the way there.
I’m starting my Written page with GOOD BOY, a psychological liminal-horror story about Claire Bell, her dog Rue, and an impossible place called the Blind Interior.
Rue knows the doors.
Rue knows the rules.
Claire is beginning to understand why.
GOOD BOY is here on Written as a limited 500-copy edition.
This page won’t only be book announcements. I’ll post pieces from upcoming stories, ideas behind the books, cover art, excerpts, strange questions, and occasional looks inside whatever fictional disaster I’m building next.
If you like liminal spaces, psychological horror, grief, impossible architecture, unreliable reality, and stories where knowing less might keep you alive, you’re in the right place.
Welcome in.
Try not to lose the dog.

Hi My Name Is Elijah Alleshouse I'm Only 13 And I Will Be Publishing Book, I've Worked Very Hard On It. Used Up Lots Of My Free Time But It Was Worth It And I Encourage You To Write A Book Too

Maybe I misunderstood,
maybe I looked too far outside,
searching for who hurt me
while ignoring what I hide.

I've been quick to name the damage,
quick to point out who was wrong,
quick to explain what happened
and why I've had to be so strong.

I've carried grief, I've carried fear,
old wounds I didn't choose,
learned to expect the worst sometimes
because I had too much to lose.

But lately I've been asking
a question harder than blame:

What part of all this is mine?
What patterns have I named?

Because I'm big on accountability.
I believe it should be due.
I've just realized I've spent so long
expecting it from others
I forgot to ask it of me too.

Not everything was my fault.
Some pain was never mine to cause.
Some people made their choices,
and some losses simply came at a cost.

But maybe fear became my compass.
Maybe hurt became my guide.
Maybe I built walls for protection
then wondered why I felt alone inside.

Maybe yesterday's rejection
still follows me today.
Maybe I've mistaken self-protection
for pushing good things away.

And that's a harder truth to swallow,
but maybe truth is where I start:
I can't control what happened,
but I can control my part.

I can heal without excusing.
I can forgive without forgetting.
I can face what I've done wrong
without drowning in regretting.

I don't need to call myself broken
for admitting where I've strayed.
I just need enough honesty
to face the choices I've made.

Because I can't rewrite
the chapters that came before.
But I can stop repeating
what I don't want anymore.

So I'll own what is mine.
I'll release what isn't.
I'll stop blaming every circumstance
for the choices that I've given.

I didn't cause every wound.
I didn't choose every scar.
But if I want a different life,
I have to change what I can.

Not with shame.
Not with blame.
But with courage, truth, and grace.

Because maybe accountability
isn't punishment after all.

Maybe it's finally looking in the mirror
when the reflection gets hard to face,
when the truth feels heavy as shit
and I'd rather turn away.

But this time, I won't.

I'll stand there with the damage.
I'll stand there with the pain.
I'll own the things I wish I'd done differently
without disguising them as blame.

I'll face the ways I hurt,
the ways I ran,
the walls I built,
the things I didn't understand.

I'll stop rewriting every failure
as something someone else began.
I'll stop using what happened to me
to excuse what I still can.

Because some things were done to me.
Some things were beyond my control.
But some things came from choices
I made while trying to survive it all.

And that's a heavy truth to carry.
It's uncomfortable.
It's raw.

But I'd rather face an ugly truth
than keep protecting every flaw.

So let the mirror show me everything.
The fear.
The scars.
The shame.

I'll look at every broken piece
and finally call it by its name.

Not to punish.
Not to hate.
Not to drown in yesterday.

But to finally understand
what I can change today.

Because accountability
isn't punishment after all.

It's having the courage to look in the mirror
when the truth is hard to see...

And refusing to look away
just because the hardest thing to face
is me.