Hello friend! A few months ago, I had taken part in the cover reveal for Trey Stone’s latest novel, At The Gate. Today, I am honored to chat with him about his book.

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Get to know the author: Trey Stone

Welcome back to Armed with A Book, Trey! Tell me and my readers a bit about yourself!

Oh wow – where to begin? I’m a Norwegian archaeologist in my thirties. I live on the third floor with my wife. We’re high school sweethearts. I love vacuuming, Pokémon, and Scotch. I have a heart tattoo on my pinky which I did myself when I was 16. I own a dozen guitars, got married in shorts, and am an uncle to 13.

I love traveling, though I can barely stand doing it (airports are the absolute worst). I like reading thrillers, fantasy, and horror. I studied in the south of England and I miss it every day. I lived on an Arctic island for two and a half years, the last time was for a couple of months this summer (I’m actually leaving the day after I’m writing this).

I’m very habitual and love routines. I’m a good cook, but I prefer to eat almost the same thing every day. I never order take out, because it feels like more hassle than just making food at home. I’m good at a lot of things, but I’m great at nothing. I once swam in the ocean at 80°F.

What inspired you to write this book?

Staying at a creepy hotel in Trondheim, Norway. There’s actually a page at the end of the book about it – a lot things from the book were directly inspired by my stay there.

So it started with that setting, and then I just had the idea of someone coming there for the very simple, but tragic reason that they wanted to end it all. I didn’t really know where I wanted to take the story when I first started, but it all came to me as soon as I began the first draft.

How long did it take you to write this book, from the first idea to the last edit?

I started the first draft in November, 2018, and actually wrote the whole thing in a week. It was kind of a challenge to myself – I can’t remember the exact details but I had a trip or something that got canceled, so I had a week off work with nothing to do.

Then I left it for a year until I started revising it in 2020. I like putting my projects aside while I draft new things or edit older things. I picked the habit up from Stephen King after reading his book, On Writing, and it’s a system that works very well for me. I like coming back to things with fresh eyes and fewer memories of having written the thing. I queried it in March, 2021, got a full request in August, and signed a contract in September. A year later, and that brings us to now, and it’s nearly here!

Long story short: five years.

What makes your story unique?

Other than being a terrifying, thrilling story that’s going to keep you on the edge of your seat – the fact that it touches on a lot of heavy themes. Mental health, anxiety, depression – it’s a raw and emotional ride, for sure. A lot of it is stuff that is personal to me, but I’ve also woven in experiences that I’ve shared with or been a part of through friends and family.

Who would enjoy reading your book? 

Anyone who enjoys a good thriller, horror or mystery, that’s for sure. If you like dark stories, the kind that make you wonder what is real and what is not, if you can trust what you’re seeing and being told. I love those kind of stories myself, I love the puzzle in trying to figure out what’s what. If you like being tricked, and being strung along, then At The Gate is definitely for you.

What’s something you hope readers would take away from it?

Other than a great story, I hope it’s going to leave a lot of people thinking about the ending. And because of the dark, emotional themes, maybe leave some readers with a sense of relief and a feeling of being less alone. I hope that At The Gate can be a way for some people to feel like they are sharing experiences that they might otherwise find it difficult to talk about. Fiction is a great source of catharsis, and I hope At The Gate can provide that.

Would At The Gate be part of a series?

It’s not going to be a series in the traditional sense that I’m going to continue this story with these characters, but I’ve thought about creating more stories in the same universe. I think that could be an interesting way of expanding this world I’ve created with At The Gate, without tying myself down too much. I have an early draft for a second book ready that could work in that way actually. It shares a lot of the dark themes from At The Gate, and it feels very similar.

Do you have a favourite quote or scene in the book that you find yourself going back to?

There’s a scene toward the end of the book where two characters walk together to get somewhere – I can’t say too much about it without spoiling the story, but it ties directly in with the end of the book. When I wrote that I was listening to just one song on repeat, over and over. It’s called Last Sunrise In The Wasteland, by At The End of Times, Nothing, and it made me visualize the whole scene more vividly than anything else I’ve ever read or written. Whenever I hear the song it still takes me right back to that scene.

Moving into more general questions, what is something you have learned on your author journey so far?

That I can do anything I set my mind to. That if you just put in the work, however much or little you have time for, and keep at it, then you’ll get there in the end. Time is almost always on your side, if you’re patient.

What’s the best piece of advice you have received?

I’m not sure if it counts as advice, but I’ve been on this kind of fitness/healthy lifestyle journey for the last couple of years. Just generally trying to get in better shape. I’m sure a lot of people recognize how demotivating it can be trying to chase goals and feeling like you never get to where you want to be, be it in writing, fitness or any other challenging endeavour, and it can be even more demotivating when you finally feel like you have achieved something only to find that the next person over is doing more, better and greater things.

Anyway, during my fitness journey, I came across the saying: “comparison is the thief of joy,” and that struck close to home. So that’s become a thing I try to remind myself of, so that I remember that I’m only competing against my old self, and that I have to celebrate all the small victories.

I love this! Thanks for sharing, Trey.

Last question, if you could give a shout out to someone(s) who has helped in your writer journey, please feel free to mention them below!

David Gane. He’s a Canadian author, based in Regina, and I met him over Twitter. He’s the writer of a bunch of excellent YA mystery novels, together with his writing partner Angie Counios (I just read their fourth book – it was amazing), and he’s also a writing coach. He’s a brilliant teacher, and he helped me a lot with At The Gate when I showed him an early draft years ago.

Honestly, go check out his stuff at www.davidgane.com. He’s an inspiration.

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Book Excerpt from
At The Gate

Joseph woke with a jolt, in a panic, sweat running down his brow. Checking his watch, he saw it was nearly one in the morning. He had slept for about five hours.

Did someone knock on the door? 

The bottles on the floor explained why he had fallen asleep and why his head hurt so much. Then a low knocking sound came from the door to the hallway.

“Who’s there?” he asked with a hoarse cough, tumbling out of bed.

“Open the door, will you?”

He did and found Alyssa standing there. She carried a giant flashlight in her hand, and for the first time, Joseph noticed the lack of lamps in the hallway.

“Fifth floor you said?” she asked with glee.

“I . . .” Joseph had to brace himself by the door frame so as to not tumble out into her. “Yeah, I think so, but there’s a problem.”

“What?”

“If we go down there, how do we know which room it is? We can’t go barging into any old room. I presume there are other guests. And also, how do we get the doors open?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Alyssa said with a low giggle, holding a key up to his face. It was made of the same chunky metal as the one to Joseph’s room, but the edges were different.

“Don’t tell me you have a master key?” Joseph asked.

“Yeah. I grabbed it from the reception.”

“Still, that only answers half of my questions. What if we accidentally let ourselves into someone else’s room?”

“I take care of that too,” she said, patting a large book she bore under her arm. “It’s the guest ledger. I know where everyone is.”

“What if—”

“Will you just come on already? You were the one who wanted to investigate. Have you changed your mind?”

Joseph’s mind flashed briefly with the image of his red arm and a razor blade. He had come to this place for a way out, for an ending, not . . . not for whatever else was going on here.

He shook the image away. Let’s figure this out first.

“No, sorry, I’m coming,” he said, picking up his key from the small desk and closing the door on his way out. “But how do we know there isn’t a new guest in the room in question? The room the person went missing from, I mean?”

“Because Glenn’s cleared it out this week. The only new guest here is you, and you’re not on the fifth floor, are you?”

Joseph couldn’t argue with that and cocked his head in agreement. They entered the stairwell about to head down the stairs when Joseph stopped her.

“Do you hear that? How come everyone’s been telling me the elevator isn’t working?”

“Hear what?” Alyssa asked.

“That!” Joseph insisted, pointing to the whirring elevator shaft. The steady thud and grinding of mechanical gears reverberating from behind the closed double doors boomed in his ears. “It’s clearly moving.”

“Joseph . . . The elevator isn’t making a sound. And who would be riding it now, even if it was working?”

“You’re telling me you don’t hear that noise? It’s deafening!” 

“Is this some kind of joke? Are you trying to get out of going down to the fifth floor? Because if you are, feel free to go back to your bed or your beers or whatever . . . I’m going. You can join me if you want to.” Alyssa headed down the stairs, not leaving the conversation open for any further discussion. Shuffling after her, Joseph caught up to Alyssa just as she was about to enter the fifth-floor hallway.

“Wait up,” he whispered. He followed her through. The door to the stairwell closed, encapsulating them in darkness.

Alyssa shined the flashlight briefly down each hallway, going back and forth every few seconds. Here the hallways didn’t bend and turn quite like they did upstairs. They curved gradually in an arch, and he could have sworn the wallpaper was a different color altogether.

“How come this hotel is so weirdly planned out? It’s like the architect hadn’t heard of straight lines. And why is it different from floor to floor?”

Alyssa aimed the light at his face, probably bemused by his comments—blinding him and forcing him to shield his eyes with the back of his hand.

“What do you mean? Every floor is exactly the same. If we go down this way”—she swung the light to the left—“we’d get to where you have your room on the seventh floor.”

“What?” Joseph realized too late that he’d raised his voice and rephrased himself with a whisper.

“No, we don’t. My room is on this side.” He pointed down the hallway to the right. “I turn a hard right when I enter the hall, not left.”

Joseph could tell by the swinging of the light that Alyssa was shaking her head. “See here?” She shined the light at the wall in front of them. At first, Joseph couldn’t quite see what she meant. Then he saw the plaque.

“501 — 520,” it read at the top, with an arrow pointing left. “521 — 540,” were pointed to the right.

“You’re in 704, aren’t you? Which means you’re on the left.”

“Give me that!” Joseph pulled the flashlight out of her hand, more violently than he meant to due to his hangover. He pointed the light down both hallways, at the plaque, then down each hallway again. He swiped a hand across his scalp to calm the feeling of wanting to rip out the last few bits of hair he had. “What the fuck is going on . . .” he muttered. This place makes no sense.

“You’re probably a bit confused,” Alyssa said, taking her flashlight back. “Or maybe it’s the drinks.”

She hunched down to a squat and laid the large leather-bound book over her knees.

“Let’s see.” She flipped to the end of the book. “There aren’t many guests in the hotel these days, and only a handful are on this floor. Rooms 501, 503, 509, and 517 are the only ones we have to avoid, so let’s start at—”

“Or, even better,” Joseph said, bending down. “Let’s just find the person who was in here who never checked out.”

She looked up at him with a look of realization. “You’re right, that is better.” Alyssa flipped through the pages, confusing Joseph for a moment by going too far—it was difficult to see, even with the light they had—before they eventually found the right entry. 

“Doru Amani . . .” she read out loud, tracing the text with her finger.

“Yeah, Doru Amani. Sounds European. Is that a man or a woman?”

“Does it matter?” Alyssa giggled. “Whoever they were, they lived in room 532 and never checked out. According to the register, that room is free now, which means that’s our guy.”

“All right,” Joseph said, struggling back to a standing position. “Lead the way to 532.” 

They shuffled down the hall in the dark. The fifth floor bent the opposite way, had no steps up or down, and the distance between rooms was shorter. None of it reminded Joseph of his floor.

“Here it is,” Alyssa announced, shining the light up at the dark green door in front of them. 532 it read in glinting, gold-plated letters.

“Well, what are we waiting for.” Joseph held out an inviting hand. “Ladies first.”

Alyssa slid the key into the door and turned it. There was a click, just like the one Joseph heard when he unlocked his own door upstairs. But the door didn’t budge when Alyssa tried the handle.

“Give it a little push,” Joseph suggested.

“I am, it’s not giving.”

“Here, let me try.” Joseph motioned for Alyssa to get out of the way, grabbed the key and the handle, and pushed on the door with his shoulder. It gave in straight away, sending Joseph headfirst into the room. Like in his own room, the corner of the door slammed into the angled ceiling, making the large dent put there by previous guests even bigger, as Joseph landed haphazardly on the dirty red carpet.

“Oh my God!” Alyssa exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

Joseph rolled over groaning and grabbing his forehead. He was in much more pain than he cared to admit to the younger woman and tried to shrug it off. “I’m fine,” he coughed. “Thankfully my face took most of the fall.”

Alyssa forced back a laugh.

“Here, let me help you up.” She offered him a hand, and with one of his own pushing off the floor, Joseph managed to hoist himself to standing.

“Doru Amani. Let’s see what happened to you,” Joseph whispered.

The room was exactly like Joseph’s but reversed. Small desk under the angled ceiling behind the door and next to a wardrobe. Small bathroom and a single bed on the opposing wall. There was even a window in the same place.

Joseph stared at it for a while, trying to wrap his head around where the window would be facing if they were at the other end of the hotel. Having thought about it for a moment, he realized his head hurt too much—either from the fall or the alcohol—to reach an understandable conclusion. Turning on the small desk lamp he wasn’t surprised to see it lit the room just as poorly as his own.

The room was immaculate, completely empty of personal items. It didn’t look like there had been anyone there, ever. Glenn sure did his job properly, both clearing out whatever Doru might have left there, and cleaning up afterward. 

“Find anything?” Joseph asked.

“Not really, but maybe there’s something in here?” Alyssa answered from the bathroom.

Joseph stood in the doorway. The small room was cramped enough as it was with one person, and he wasn’t going to make it more uncomfortable by trying to slide in next to her.

“What do you think this looks like?” Alyssa pointed up at the corner next to the mirror.

Joseph’s jaw dropped at the sight of a spatter of dark smudges.

“I think it looks like it could be blood. And for some reason, the mirror is completely fogged over. It’s weird.” What the hell?

Joseph pushed himself into the small, cramped space, forcing Alyssa to step into the shower against the far wall.

“Joseph, what the fuck?”

“This is exactly like my room!” Joseph said, dragging a hand over the specks of blood. They didn’t disappear. He tried rubbing the fog on the mirrored glass. It didn’t go away. “I’m telling you, this is just like this in my room, blood and all!”

Alyssa pushed herself off the wall, squeezing in front of Joseph to look at the smudge of blood. “Every room’s the same, it’s probably something about the mirrors.”

“No, the blood was there as well. Just like this.”

“It sounds like a coincidence. You shave in front of the mirror, don’t you? You probably cut yourself, and—”

“No, I’m saying it was exactly like this!” He gestured at the specks. “Old, dry blood in this exact same pattern. In this exact spot!”

“Joseph, I think you’re overreacting.”

Joseph rushed out of the bathroom and motioned to Alyssa. “Give me the light.”

She handed it to him as she stepped out of the bathroom. He aimed the light at the floor by the foot of the bed. Crouching down, he saw what he was afraid he would find. Small, bent metal clippings, looking like pieces of paperclips.

“I found these as well in my room.” Joseph stood back up and shined the light in Alyssa’s face. “Are you messing with me?”

Alyssa frowned. “What? No.”

“All of this looks exactly like my room. Is this some kind of joke? Did you do this?”

“Joseph, please.” She scowled, shielding her eyes from the light. “You were the one who wanted to come here. You convinced me, remember?” She huffed. “No, I didn’t do this. Why would I?”

“Then why does this look exactly like my room?” He was bellowing again. The hairs on his neck stood up, and his spine tingled with icicles. The light swung around as he looked for other clues—like his luggage or his beer bottles—and landed on the nightstand and a square piece of paper. It was lying face down, but Joseph recognized it immediately: the faded backside, the crumpled corners.

Mel . . . ?

A gust blew through the room as he reached for the paper—the paper that was the only picture of Mel, his daughter—lifting it toward the open window.

“No!” he screamed, lunging for the photograph, but it was too late. The photo blew out the window and floated on the breeze all the way down to the courtyard seven floors below. 

Seven floors below?

Leaning halfway out the window, Joseph scanned the outside of the building around him. He could see the rooftops. He realized he was at the top, like he’d been earlier, standing in his own room.

“This is my room!” he screamed, a nauseating confusion rolled in his stomach.

As the last of the air left his lungs, leaving him with a heavy sense of dread, strong hands yanked him in from the window and forced him back onto the bed.

Expecting to look up at Alyssa’s delicate face, he was horrified to see that of an old woman—the face of the maid who’d cleaned his room earlier. She stood over him, muttering something in tones he couldn’t understand, her voice growing louder, her mouth gaping wider with every note until she was shrieking at the top of her lungs, filling the small room with violent sound.

Joseph screamed, though he couldn’t hear his own panicked voice over hers. He crawled to the end of the bed, tipping out of it onto the floor and scrambling out the door.

“Alyssa!” he called as he ran, tears running down his cheeks. The vibration of the old woman’s howling still rang hard in his head.

Where did she go? What happened to her?

Joseph’s thoughts were interrupted when he collided with the doors to the stairwell. Happy to find the lights were on in the stairwell, he turned to read the plaque on the wall inside the hall. 

It read “701 — 720.” 

“What the fuck, what the fuck! What the hell is going on?”

The loud whirring of the elevator started behind him. Joseph grabbed the sides of his head with both hands and kicked at the call button on the small golden panel.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

There was still no reaction. Nothing happened. The loud machine still cranked and puffed, pulling the elevator up and down—or trying to, at least.

“I have to get out of here!”

Joseph headed toward the stairs at a sprint. He rounded the corner, and as he descended the second half of the stairs he stepped right out into the lobby.

All the lights were on. Everything was quiet.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Podwall.” Bryan smiled. “Shall I find you a table for lunch?”

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Interested?

Find this book on Goodreads, IndieStoryGeek and Amazon.

Thank you for hanging out with us today. Connect with Trey on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Goodreads. Connect with his on his website, and newsletter.

Interior Illustrations of the book are created by Axel Knight. The publication, Inked in Gray is on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. Learn more about them on their website.

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Cover image: Photo by Ross Sokolovski on Unsplash