Category: Dead Park series

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I broke his arm, he still became my best man

It was the summer of 1997. I had just finished college. Tyler Bradley (far right in the photo above in the red shirt, posing with Reese Ramone, Smoky Mountain legend Bobby Blaze, and me) still had a year of high school left. I returned to CIY conference as an adult leader for my church’s youth group because Tyler had given me an ultimatum. “If you don’t go, I’ll kill you.”

The two of us met the summer before at CIY in my drama workshops. He lived three hours away on the border of Kentucky and West Virginia. Yes, Dead Park readers, right in that area where Dead Park itself is now set. I helped him get his own drama team up ant running at his church. We met up to see the re-release of Star Wars: The Special Edition when it was brand new. Sorry, fellow die hards, I like the CGI dewbacks and still do.

On the last night of CIY Tyler took part in a skit on the main stage. In front of 1100 kids, he raced out as a paramedic, picked up a lifeless Richard Simmons (long story), and attempted to carry him off stage with another actor. Tyler went backwards. He tripped over a guitar cord.

I laughed. All 1100 kids laughed. His youth pastor laughed, especially when I had to tell him, “Tyler broke his arm.”

“I’ll get the van and take him to the ER.” Thanks, Mark. And rest in peace.

Tyler and I have been buds ever since. He lived with me for a brief time. He became, ironically, a paramedic. We almost wrote a musical about it. “Start your day with a DOA, doo dah, doo dah.” And yes, he was the best man at my wedding.

Tyler’s read more of my stuff than probably anyone. He’s been in several short films and lent his voice to many more. And in late 2025, when I decided I needed a new look and new covers for the Dead Park book series, he’s the one who said, “Oh yeah, I can do that.”

“Can we do it horror but also, art deco?”

“No problem.”

So this is my Tyler Bradley appreciation post, for all he’s done for me, for all the sharpening of iron he’s done to make the crazy things I write better. And believe me, we’re far from done.

Incidentally, the trip to Ashland when we went to see Star Wars together? There’s a story in Dead Park Classified, the six book in the series coming very soon, that honors that memory.

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Ken/Mark: The horror of being the new guy at the office

I had a pretty good job when I got married. If the pay was better, and if the bridges to Louisville were not about to undergo major renovations, I might have stayed.

I might have stayed long enough to not longer be the New Mark.

My predecessor was not named Mark. I don’t remember his name, which is surprising because I heard it almost every day I was at the job. I wasn’t John to my boss, who in all fairness was a very nice lady named Carol. I was the New Mark.

It was honestly a cushy job. I spent about a third of my time at a desk and the rest of the time running around a warehouse. I pulled samples of our products – eyeglasses – and shipped them to off to our sales reps.

It was easy. It was fun. Ownership was stand-offish, but management was terrific. Everyone wore jeans in the winter and shorts in the summer. I never, ever had to wear a shirt with a collar.

Carol made sure to ask about that when I handed in my resignation. “You’re going to have to wear slacks and collars and dress shoes.”

“I know,” I said. I did not add that I would no longer be labeled as the New Mark. But I definitely thought about it.

Staying the New Mark might not have been as lucrative in the short run, but it would have been more pleasant. Hindsight, you know.

My stint as “The New Mark” came to me years ago as I was working on book five in the Dead Park series. My plan for book five, originally, was to do a flashback book, telling the backstory of Dead Park when it was a military base. That book is coming very soon. But book five ended up being more office-related catharsis.

Again, I had no issues with Carol, with the place I worked, or with the job itself. It was active. It was fun. It was something I easily left at the door when I clocked out at 4:30 every afternoon.

But being The New Mark led to some creative thoughts. What if someone at Dead Park was The New Mark? What if, over the course of a few weeks or months, they literally became the employee his new boss missed?

I didn’t have a Jekyll and Hyde story. Now I do. You can read “Ken/Mark” in the book Return to Dead Park, a second compilation of work-related horror stories (and book five in the series).

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People of Dead Park: Chuck from Dead Park Records

Dead Park Records by John Cosper

The hero, if you can call him that, of Dead Park Records is a hapless, aspiring musician who is offered a devil’s deal. Chuck’s friend, a concert promoter, introduces him to a recording executive who will make his rock n roll dream come true. All Chuck has to do is murder a girl he’s never met – no questions asked.

While there’s no one person who inspired the character of Chuck, the idea behind the story came from my old friend Stephanie. Stephanie and I met through a church group, and we spent a lot of time going to the movies when she was home from college. We watched a lot of teen comedies in the late 90s and early 2000s. I’m pretty sure Get Over It, one of my favorite of the genre, was one of them.

One night, Steph told me about a friend of hers who had a job fulfilling the rider agreements for concert artists. If you’re not familiar, the rider is a secondary contract that all artists require and all concert promoters must follow to the letter.

Rider agreements are a necessary evil, giving artists some control over the food and accommodations at every stop. Some have special dietary needs, for example, and no one wants to eat the same thing (pizza again??) at every stop. But the bigger the artist becomes, the more demanding and extravagant the demands can be: new carpeting, new furniture, fresh flowers, an endless variety of food, and a ridiculous amount of booze.

Stephanie’s friend told her that many artists also had unwritten requests that had to be fulfilled. Items that couldn’t be put in writing because, well, they’re illegal. You can guess what those special requests might include.

It was that conversation that inspired a screenplay called “The Rider.” The screenplay went through several drafts over the years, but it finally say the light of day more than two decades later. That’s when I adapted the story into the Dead Park universe.

While all the other books in the Dead Park series are a compilation of multiple short stories, Dead Park Records tells one single story. It felt fitting to let this story, once a film script, stand on its own. Perhaps one day it’ll be adapted back into film. Until then, you can enjoy the Dead Park version of the story, complete with boy bands, a cappella groups, and more all hell-bent on committing murder – just to get a recording contract.

Order your copy of Dead Park Records now.

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People of Dead Park: Mr. Puppet

Several years ago, I was into puppets. I made a while series of short films starring Clive, a one-of-a-kind Zombie Puppet I discovered on eBay and just had to have. We had a lot of fun carving up other puppets, filling their heads with Spaghetti-Os, and subverting a few conventions of the zombie genre.

 

Oddly enough – Clive was not the inspiration for Mr. Puppet, the mysterious denizen of the Dead Park mall toy shop. Mr. Puppet was a creation of my kids and their best friends.

Sam and Lydia – now 16 and 17 – have three life-long best pals who live just five minutes away. They had countless sleepovers when they were little, and as kids do, they invented some games and traditions all their own. Some of them were charming. One was disturbing.

The kids had a few puppets of their own they played with, along with some of mine. (Clive was NOT among them. One of the friends, in particular, was terrified of him and may still be.) They would gather in the basement around one of these puppets, and we’d hear them chanting:

Mr. Puppet, Mr. Puppet, come alive!

Come alive on the count to five!

One… two… three… four… five!

There would then be lots of screaming and running in the dark. I’m still unclear what was happening at that point.

Years later, as I was brainstorming for The Shops at Dead Park, the Mr. Puppet chant came to mind. I adopted it straight into the story, creepy chant and all. Of course my version of Mr. Puppet turned out to be much darker and more sinister than the one the kids played with. But in fairness, Mr. Puppet never harmed children. Only naughty teenagers. As you would in a horror story.