Malevolent by Author S.Peters-Davis plus White Raven
Give a spooktacular welcome to S. Peters-Davis, author of Malevolent!
was thirteen. The cool morning mist lifted off the water, my parents had
already launched to fish, and I was left tending the campsite. My book lay open
on the picnic table and I was totally absorbed in the paranormal romance of
shifters when a white bird the size of an eagle landed on the table in front of
me.
cocking its head side to side, stepping to the right then the left of me.
watch me might have been unsettling to someone else, but I found comfort with
its interest in me. I studied it right back; a Raven, only white and a huge
size, with deep purple eyes and dark lashes. So, it wasn’t an albino.
come from? You’re amazing.” My words must have startled it because it stumbled
off the table, hitting the ground with a loud thud. I shot to the other side
where it lay unconscious. “You can’t die. I’m sure you’re one of a kind.” I
touched its soft feathered head. A tingle vibrated through my fingers and up my
arm. The bird shivered and its eyes opened. “Oh, my gosh, you’re alive.”
are nothing like I was told you’d be,” a masculine voice spoke inside my head.
landing on my backside. My heart beat erratic as I gasped for air. We stared at
each other. “You just spoke inside my head. You know my name.” I croaked the
words, still working to breathe. “What are you?”
me in the moonlight, his purple eyes glowed. “What are you doing? You’re
supposed to be practicing.” His straight white hair fluttered around his broad
shoulders, his lips pinched together. “You’re eighteen and should have full
access to your powers. Now is when you need to be trained.”
edge of a Picture Rock cliff, he expected me to jump, gain my wings and fly.
Only I’d never flown on my own, even though I could make feathers appear
randomly on my body, it wasn’t like launching myself into the abyss of Lake
Superior just to prove I can’t fly. He swore the full moon would give me
insight on what would happen if I jumped off the cliff, but I definitely wasn’t
feeling it.
Your parents were strong flyers, both of them. You’ve spent too much time with
the human family and lost your instinct to the Avian way.” He stepped closer,
his palm rubbed across my shoulder blade, warming my insides and making me feel
safe. “It takes a nice dose of adrenaline to get those natural abilities firing
through your system.” He shoved me and I tripped off the ledge.
water was not my friend. I closed my eyes. The rocks below would kiss me dead.
as his talons slipped around my upper arms. I opened my eyes, his strong wings
worked to save us from the crashing waves and rocks.
“Enough for tonight, we’ll try something else tomorrow.” He flew toward the
forest.
introduced me to the Avian race of people on my sixteenth birthday. They told
me that I looked like my mother, who I’d never met. They also spoke of my
parents as royalty, which made me giggle. My parents had left me, a newborn, at
the campsite of a human couple. Perhaps to save me from the hunter that had
killed them. My human parents never shared I wasn’t biologically theirs.
Blaze and our people were in secret. The more I learned about our kind, the
more difficult it became to live in the human world. Especially knowing my
aging process had slowed, upon turning eighteen I aged one year for every one
hundred human years.
of my draw to the changeling world was Blaze. He knew me like no other.
deep into the forest, where our people lived in a small village settlement far
off the beaten path, a place no human would ever consider living. He set me on
my feet outside his home then he changed into human form. He’d insisted as my
mentor and protector that I stayed with him.
should change out of that tiny bathing suit.” His gaze wove a web of sparking
prickles from my chest to my toes and back again and then our gazes connected.
Those sparks on the outside of my skin scurried into my veins like a hyper-wave
of lava. He stepped closer, his head tilted toward me, breath brushing my lips.
toward him, my heart spiraling, eyes closing.
forehead. “Go, change, sleep. We’ll start again tomorrow.”
heart dropped as if knocked-out with a punch. I opened my eyes and watched him
walk into the house, no need for lights with our excellent night vision.
came to mind. She had worried about my deep teal colored eyes and the distance
I could see…miles away. I learned at ten years old to keep certain things to
myself after running through a ton of tests. Thankfully she kept me from
becoming a lab rat. I never shared my ultra-fine hearing or my ability to feel
the minutest vibrations of insects and small creatures.
Vibrations and sound, snapping branches and twigs, I scanned into the forest at
my left.
saw the flame, fumes ripened the air. I sensed the vibration of the bullet as
it passed my shoulder and slammed into the side of Blaze’s home.
groan echoed in my head, then a thud loud enough to be his body.
blood pumping through my veins with force. I stretched tall, my body automated.
My bones and muscles snapped into a new place. I stared downward at talons
instead of toes.
fired, again just missing me. My wingspan freaked me out momentarily, wider
than Blaze’s, and brindle in colored. I lifted effortlessly into the air,
soaring around tree branches, ascending then diving, hearing the ragged breath
of the hunter. He was reloading his firearm.
surprise told me he’d never heard my approach. I knocked him down, used my
talons to grab his gun and snap the night vision goggles from his face. The
Avians swarmed overhead, all sizes, ascending and lifting the unconscious
hunter. With flying stealth, they carried him away.
Blaze’s home; the door was open. My body morphed into human form as soon as I
landed. Arianna, the Avian medic, was already leaning over his prone body, her
glowing hands spread across his abdomen.
ran to his side. His eyes were closed. “Is he unconscious?”
with a look of awe. “You are the one.”
I expected, nor a clue on what it meant.
his eyes opened. “Lacey?”
was a hunter. He’s been removed from the area. How are you feeling?” I brushed
a tendril of hair from his eyes. My fingers vibrated at the touch of his skin.
hands away and inspected the area. A bullet clinked on the wooden floor. “Looks
like you’re going to make it, my King.”
never heard anyone call Blaze that before.
ought to finish the tissue healing.” Arianna rose from the floor, pocketing the
bullet, and reached out a hand. I did the same and we both helped Blaze to his
feet.
His eyes narrowed, brows drawing inward.
into her own. She protected first and foremost, like a true leader, my King.”
Arianna bowed her head toward Blaze, then to me, and said, “We’re honored by
your presence.”
in disbelief, not quite sure what she was talking about. Nor why she was
calling Blaze “my King.”
smile took my breath away, and as his gaze connected with mine my brain stopped
considering anything else.
He pulled me in, wrapping his arms around me. I nodded. “You morphed,” he
whispered.
the door shut on her quick exit.
chin up. “You have no idea how long we’ve waited; I’ve waited. Your timing is
perfect, my Queen.” He closed the gap between our lips, crushing mine to his in
a smolder of passion.
between my palms, our chests pressed together and our heart rhythms matched as
one.
Tell us a little about Malevolent – A Kendra Spark Novel –Book Two
Trafficked girls marked to lose their souls by a malevolent supernatural entity require someone with explicit abilities for their rescue. Will Kendra be able to save them?
GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/79016914-s-peters-davis
BWL Publishing Inc.: http://bookswelove.net/
It was wonderful having you with us today. Please feel free to stop by anytime. Good Luck with Malevolent!
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Halloween Flash FIction, Malevolent, Romance, S. Peters-Davis, Supernatural, Suspense-thriller, White Racen by Tena Stetler with 2 comments.
Interview CJ Zahner Author of Suicide Gene
Give a warm welcome to CJ Zahner author of Suicide Gene release date September 26, 2018. Available for preorder now!
Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cooler, a Chocolate Chip or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about CJ and Suicide Gene.
Why should we read this book/series and what sets you apart from the rest and makes your book/series unique?
Without giving too much away, read The Suicide Gene to realize you never truly know another human being. This novel is an amalgamation of fiction and reality. There are impossible anomalies mentioned, yet the suicide factor is real and daunting and a great challenge in today’s society.
I have wondered my entire life if there is a suicide gene. With this book, I wanted to create a story that both entertained readers but made them think, so I threaded real emotion into a fictitious story line.
When I began writing this book, suicide was not as common of an issue, but today the media seems enamored by it. Now, Thirteen Reasons Why on Netflix and A Million Little Things on ABC both depict the heart-wrenching aftermath of suicide. My novel takes this hard topic one step further and asks: is this genetic?
Who would you recommend this book to and what should readers be aware of before reading it?
Readers who like complex story lines with underlying meanings should read The Suicide Gene. This novel commands your attention. Chapters are filled with hints of what’s to come and readers must pay attention to repeated phrases, dates, and numbers. There is so much hidden in this book I doubt anyone will uncover all of the buried messages.
I do not believe this book is appropriate for anyone having suicidal thoughts, and I state this in the beginning. I believe people suffering deep depression should NOT read this book or any other book with suicidal events or topics. Chronic depression and suicidal thoughts are not something to take lightly and should be addressed through counseling.
What inspired you to write?
As a child, I was often alone. My only sibling, a brother, was eleven years older than me and married when I was nine years old. My parents both worked several jobs, and so I wiled the hours away creating characters and writing stories.
In high school, an English teacher, Mrs. Patricia Root, catapulted my love of writing into a full-fledged addiction. I entered college majoring in English. My third novel, Within the Setting Sun, was actually begun in my teenage years.
However, the summer before my freshman year I worked in retail beside four women who were English major graduates. Scared, I switched my major to accounting at the last minute and ended up working in the business world, but I always managed to find my way back to writing. I wrote grants and freelance articles for local magazines and newspapers. I blogged. Once you fall in love with words, it’s hard to cure yourself of the writing itch.
And now, everything inspires me. There is a story in everyone.
Where do your story ideas come from? If they come to you in the middle of the night, do you get up and write them all down?
Life incidents and people inspire my stories. Then my crazy imagination catapults those inspirations into full-length novels. But it is my running where I grow my plots. I run five days a week religiously (down from seven days after suffering a stress fracture) and if I’m not running side by side with one of my friends, you can bet I’m dreaming up my next novel. I love plotting and scheming and you can bet there will always be underlying messages in my books. I reuse phrases to give clues to readers. Dates and numbers have meaning. Honestly, I have the most fun putting little clues in my books that may forever remain unnoticed.
SPEED ROUND FOR A LITTLE ADDED FUN:
Speed Round (one word only answer): Yep, I know torture for a writer!<evil laugh>
Favorite scary movie: The Perfect Getaway
Favorite scary book: The Dead Zone by Stephen King
Last scary book read: The Mist by Stephen King
Favorite color: Pink
Stilettos or flipflops or boots: sneakers
Coffee or tea or flaming drink: coffee
Ebook or audiobook or paperback: ebook
Pencil or pen or quill with blood ink jar: pen
Favorite scary song:????
Favorite costume: Belle from beauty and the beast (because she loves to read)
Favorite dessert: chocolate
Favorite junk food: chocolate
Favorite thing to do to relax: Chase bats? run
Champagne or gin or magic potion: champagne
Paranormal or Historical: paranormal
Wonder Woman or Top Model or Witch’s Ball: witch’s ball
Favorite scary TV show: ???
Hot or cold: hot
POV: ???
I’d die if I don’t have: coffee, chocolate, wine and cheese
Review or Not: review
A little about Suicide Gene
She thought they were her siblings. By the time she realized they weren’t, one of them was dead.
Doctor Emma Kerr had no right counseling them. Adopted and her birth records lost, she believed she was born a McKinney. Her face, intelligence, and depression resembled theirs. For years people mistook her for their sister. So she devised a plan. What begins as a scheme to counsel the McKinney family and determine if they are blood relatives, quickly causes Emma to wonder if she had truly done the manipulating. Is someone following her?
Now Emma clamors to escape the McKinney world of domination and deception.
Is she Mathew McKinney’s sister? She can’t be. Is he in love with her? He can’t be. Then how do he and his sisters know more about her than she knows herself? This is a game to them. Is the game Suicide? Or Murder?
Purchase Links: Author website: www.cjzahner.com
The Wild Rose Press: http://bit.ly/WRPCJZSG
Amazon: http://bit.ly/AMSGene
https://www.amazon.com/Suicide-Gene-CJ-Zahner-ebook/dp/B07G6XVMZG/
CJ, I see you’ve brought friends.
Yes, Attorney Gifflord Johnson and Dr. Emma Kerr from Suicide Gene.
Well lets do a quick question and answer for both. Starting with the attorney.
Tells us about the real you—
……What makes you laugh out loud? Little things in life. People who take themselves too seriously. Men who sit down to a poker table thinking they know what they are doing.
……What makes you angry? Relatively little. Yet, I’m protective of the people I love, so I will stand up to anyone who insults or hurts them. But more than likely, that will involve a good debate.
What event in your past has left the most indelible impression on you? My father’s death and my mother’s Alzheimer’s.
What do you most value? People and relationships.
…..What do you sleep in at night? Boxers.
What is the type of woman you want to spend the rest of your life with? For a long time, I believed the perfect woman for me was someone intelligent, lighthearted, fun, and easygoing, but now I know first and utmost, she must challenge me. (And Emma does.)
What do you consider most important in life? Family with career as a close second.
What is your biggest secret? I sneak away to play poker whenever I am able.
Okay Dr. Kerr your turn.
Who are you really? That’s the question I’ve asked myself many times. I’m definitely intelligent and logical. I enjoy running and am addicted to my iPhone. I can be fun in the right company. I tell little white lies, and I’ve suffered from depression most of my life, hence my obsession with identifying my birth family. I’m convinced my depression is genetic, as I have no reason to be depressed. I was adopted by two wonderful people who loved me unconditionally.
……What makes you laugh out loud? Giff’s jokes, Ally’s escapades, and, lately, a good country song.
……What makes you angry? I don’t take criticism well.
……What do you sleep in at night? Running shorts and a sports bra or t-shirt.
Who were the biggest role models in your life? My adoptive parents, hands down.
What kind of man do you want to spend the rest of your life with? Someone caring, compassionate, and intelligent. A person who knows me and loves me as I am.
(or if you don’t want romance – Why not?)
What kind of man would you never choose? Someone superficial. I thought I was in love with that type once. His confidence attracted me. He was smart, poised, and quite self-centered, which I didn’t mind. Taking a backseat to others has never bothered me. But in the end, I couldn’t weather his shallowness.
What is most important to you in life? Helping those suffering with depression.
What is your biggest fear? That there is a suicide gene, and that it runs in my biological family.
How about a sneak peek between the pages of Suicide Gene.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
The Funeral Parlor.
The face in the casket was her own. It nearly freaked her out.
She stood between her brother and sister, knees wobbling. Her high-necked dress clung to her skin, choking her throat, squeezing her long, slender body tighter and tighter until she felt her lungs might explode. Damn panic attacks.
Her siblings moved closer, tightening their grip on her when they heard her struggling to breathe. Together their tall frames—movie-star handsome—melded into a dark mass at the foot of the casket. It took all the energy the three of them could muster to keep her upright.
“Are you okay?” Melanie asked her.
She nodded.
“Try not to embarrass yourself,” Matt whispered.
Again, a nod.
She wasn’t sure she could get through the day without fainting. There were no breaks at a funeral, and she just wanted to get away from the grim whispery-whirrs of the bereaved and the sickeningly-sweet waft of the flowers. But she couldn’t leave. Matt would kill her and, besides, she had no cigarettes. Her sister was her supplier. Now she’s dead.
The parade of mourners stretched out of the room and down the hall and it was only 2:05. Some faces in line she didn’t recognize, which infuriated her. Her sister had no real friends. Nosy bastards. They just want to know what happened.
She tried to ignore surrounding conversations and remain composed. But like Medusa’s venomous mane, muffled words of hand-covered comments serpentined toward her from all directions. She couldn’t block them. They echoed in her head like garbled phrases over a worn intercom. “Why did she do it?” “Like her mother.” “Was it suicide?”
That last question nearly sent her to her knees. Her body sagged. Melanie caught her and Matt pulled her close, so she could lean on him until it passed.
“Don’t look if looking makes you queasy,” Melanie told her, but her glance drifted back to her sister’s pasty face. That’s what I would look like if I were dead.
She, herself, had considered suicide for so long it was hard to believe she still feared death.She hated funerals, could barely walk through the front door of a funeral home without hyperventilating. Yet, she had to go to this one. Her own identical twin sister lie in that ugly copper box, her head sunk low in billowing white silk.
“I’m sorry for the three of you.” Her aunt Carol’s hoarse voice coaxed her attention from the coffin. Notably thinner—grief now topping her midmorning chemotherapy cocktail,— her aunt dabbed a tissue at tear-stained cheeks. She was in the third round with breast cancer and getting her butt kicked. “I can’t believe this is happening to our family again. Did you know she was that bad?”
“Well.” Melanie paused. “She’s always had those tendencies, but we thought—with the counseling—she was doing better.”
“Counseling?” Aunt Carol’s cheeks pinked.
“Yes,” Matt said. “Six months ago we started seeing a psychiatrist—all four of us.”
“We thought a counselor might help,” sweet Melanie continued. “We decided maybe we did have some baggage about Mom’s—” She took a deep breath. Her gaze moved to her sister.
Don’t say it, Mel, don’t say suicide.
“Death.” Melanie looked away.
“How horrible.” Aunt Carol straightened. She appeared appalled. “You should sue him—that counselor.”
“Her.” Matt shook his head, eyes glaring. “She’s a psychiatrist.”
“We will sue her.” The twin’s voice rose, but she stopped, glanced at Matt, and tightened her jaw. “She didn’t give a damn about us. Now my sister is dead. She’ll pay.”
It happened then—at 2:10 p.m. She felt Matt’s piercing gaze and watched as he released his grip on her arm. Her aunt Carol became so emotional that Matt had to help her to the back of the room. Family members congregated there amidst her wild sobs while Matt held her, and a rush of people came toward her and Melanie at the casket. One after another. Melanie let go of her, too, and she had to stand on her own.
For the first time in her life, she was alone.
So CJ, tell us a little about writing Suicide Gene. Was it fun or difficult? Do your characters always act as you expect? Are you a plotter, or fly (write) by the seat of your pants?
Writing The Suicide Gene was both fun and difficult. Fun creating characters and devising impossible yet believable anomalies; however difficult due to the subject. I’ve suffered from depression at different periods during my life. While in my teens, twenties, and thirties I experienced occasional suicidal thoughts before my periods. Fortunately, I recognized it was hormonal. Also, I had loving parents, a supportive husband, and three beautiful children that helped me through my worst times.
Regarding the characters, yes, they absolutely turned my book around. They did not act exactly as I intended.
First of all, Minnie McKinney was the name of my great-great-grandmother. (Who names a child that?) I made her a little crazy not only because her name seems to imply it, but because someone once told me she was the black sheep of our family. Since she was three generations removed, I didn’t think anyone would mind if she wasn’t so sane. I named her twin Mary, and although I never intended to like either twin, I did like Mary.
Secondly, naming a character Gifford was important to me because my grandfather, Frank Gifford (not THE Frank Gifford but Frank Merle Gifford), did attempt unsuccessfully, thank heaven, to commit suicide after his wife died. Hence Giff was named after my grandfather. I intended him to be a minor character; however, I made a mistake. I patterned his personality after my own son’s, and because he was so like my son, of course, I grew to love him and couldn’t bear him taking second fiddle to any other male character in the book. So, he emerged as a main character.
Here is something I learned from character development and something I advise other authors: Never base a character after your child or grandchild. You can’t bring yourself to write anything bad about that character. (Remember Amazing Amy in Gone Girl?) Go ahead and try. I dare you.
Finally, in regard to what type of writer I am, for my first three books, The Suicide Gene, Dream Wide Awake, and my work-in-process, Within the Setting Sun, I flew by the seat of my pants. My fourth novel, The Dream Snatchers, is a sequel to Dream Wide Awake and I’m trying to turn myself around by outlining and plotting. Will see where that leads. From my experience so far, no matter what I do or how determined I am for the story to go as planned, the characters take on a life of their own!
More about the author:
Cyndie “CJ” Zahner is a digital-book hoarder, lover of can’t-put-down books, runner, author, and Mensa wannabe. That last trait explains the inspiration for her first novel, The Suicide Gene. Her second book, Dream Wide Awake, was inspired during long runs on Presque Isle State Park in her hometown of Erie, Pennsylvania. She is a proud mother of three and an even prouder grandmother of one.
Before becoming a novelist, CJ worked as a grant and freelance writer. Her articles varied from business to women’s health to the paranormal.
In 2015, she began looking at life differently when her brother and his wife were diagnosed with dementia and early-onset Alzheimer’s. At that time, her husband pulled her aside and said, “Quit your job. You’re a writer.” After twenty years of service, CJ picked up her purse at work one day and quietly walked away.
Now, she rises before dawn, writes, runs, and smiles much. She completed The Suicide Gene and Dream Wide Awake, and is nearing completion of two other novels, Within the Setting Sun and The Dream Snatchers.
A hard worker and story lover, CJ Zahner is determined to read, write, and run happily ever after…
Author Links:
Author website: www.cjzahner.com www.cyndiezahner.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorcjzahner/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/TweetyZ
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/cjzahner/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18283247.C_J_Zahner
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/cj-zahner
Athletchic.com blog: https://athletchic.com/
It was wonderful having you with us today. Please feel free to stop by anytime. Good Luck with Suicide Gene!
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Cyndie "CJ" Zahner, Genetic Engineering, Mystery, Psychological Thriller, Suicide Gene, Suspense by Tena Stetler with 4 comments.
A Celebration — 99¢ SALE A WITCH’S JOURNEY
Thanks for stopping by today as I continue my three year anniversary celebration, living the dream, as a published author and as a thank you for my readers. 99¢ Sale for a limited time A Witch’s Journey. Over the new several weeks other books will be on sale also. So watch for them. Many have asked why w rite Romance?I like the happily ever after aspect. I want to whisk my readers away from the everyday to a magic world. My romance books spin the adventures of magical kick-ass women and mystical alpha males that dare to love them. Well, okay there are a few companion animals to round out the tales and enough mystery and suspense to keep you turning pages.
For me crafting a romance is all about RESPECT, TRUST and LOVE with a bit of mystery and magic sprinkled in. Only most of my characters are of the paranormal persuasion. I want to create a memorable love story with spice, travel and adventure. Characters that will grab hold of your heart and hang on long after you’ve read the last word and closed the book with a satisfied sigh.
I loved writing this book. It’s part of the Lobster Cover Series and the first in my A Witch’s Journey series.
Wildlife rescue and rehab are projects close to my heart. Writing this book was fun because it was set in a small coastal town about wildlife rescue and exciting events. Though there more to both Lathen and Pepper than meets the eye. Their work hard and pay it forward attitude make them some of my favorites.
A Witch’s Journey – It’s about the magic, love and dedication of a witch – wildlife rehabilitator who meets a former Navy SEAL willing and able to make all her dreams come true. Their journey begins with building a wildlife rescue and rehab center, her life-long dream, then falling in love despite the dark secrets neither are willing to share, until someone tries to steal the McKay Magic.
Blurb: Pepper McKay comes from a long line of powerful witches. Unfortunately, magic brings her nothing but trouble. She learned the love of wildlife rescue and rehab from her Aunt Ashling. After graduating from college, Pepper works for Salem Wildlife Sanctuary and lives from paycheck to paycheck until she inherits the McKay property in Lobster Cove. With the family land and resources, she dares to dream of starting her own wildlife rescue and rehabilitation center.
Lathen Quartz, a former Navy SEAL turned handyman maintains the enchanted McKay property for the McKay estate. But someone is trying to steal the McKay magic. Lathen offers to help Pepper achieve her life-long dream of building a wildlife center. During the long hours spent together on the project, their mutual attraction can’t be denied. But each harbors a deep, dark secret. Will they overcome their demons and give love a chance?
A peek between the pages of A Witch’s Journey:
The waves on the pond slapped noisily against the rocky shore as the mist crawling along the ground and settling over the pond took shape. Out of the fog rose a woman dressed in a simple long indigo skirt and peasant blouse under a firm white bodice. Holding her arm was a man who wore knee-length black breeches with a long dark vest over his peasant shirt. They glided across the pond and stepped onto the shore. An audible gasp came from the ghosts, and they moved closer.
Lathen, Pepper, and her parents sat silent, eyes wide in disbelief.
“Good evening, McKay clan.” The man offered a pleasant smile and said in a deep voice reminiscent of Duncan’s, “Allow me to introduce my wife, Dusty McKay.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her forward. “I am Aidan Duncan McKay. We have taken advantage of this night to set the record straight. ’Tis true, as a young girl Dusty ran away in early 1693, after being found not guilty of witchcraft. Because in fact she was a witch, like her mother, who wasn’t so lucky and died at the hands of the Puritans. I had arrived in America from Ireland, with no family or friends. I met her shortly thereafter, we fell in love, and I asked her to be my wife. We were wed a fortnight later and drifted from place to place in what was then Massachusetts and settled in what is now Maine on this land. It looked different in my time.”
Available at: Amazon, The Wild Rose Press, Barnes and Noble Itunes
Thanks for helping me celebrate! Don’t forget to pickup A Witch’s Journey while it’s on sale for 99¢. See you next week when Cyndie Zahner will be here talking about her latest release, Suicide Gene!
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged A Witch's Journey, ghosts, Halloween, magic, Paranormal Romance, Tena Stetler, Witches by Tena Stetler with comments disabled.
Early Halloween Treat from Laura Buckle Author of Flesh!
for this time of year. I looked around at the materials I had rolling around my
craft room and raided the displays at the dollar store to come up with some
Halloween luminaries to perch in my windows.
Two wide-mouth jars
A plastic witch
A plastic ghost
Black sand
Glue gun and glue sticks
Plastic spider rings
Ribbon
Two LED light strings – I used pumpkins and bats
lights, sand, witch, and ghost at my local dollar store. So I’ve invested about
five bucks in this project. I won’t too feel
bad if it doesn’t turn out!
a jar and the ghost in jars. I had originally intended to use mason jars, but I
didn’t have any with mouths wide enough to squeeze the plastic sculptures
through. So I used some plastic jars I had handy. I settled the witch and ghost
in their new homes, then poured some black sand around their feet to simulate
ground. You could also use glitter or black salt or fine pebbles.
that I could use fairy lights for this step, too, but I liked the bats and
pumpkins.
around so that they showed most clearly from the front. I made sure that the
tail of the light string, with the battery pack, extended outside of the jars. I
wanted to be able to turn my luminaries on and off and change batteries without
digging the whole string out of the jar, though you could leave it in the jar,
too. Here’s what they looked like:
damage the thin wire. I made sure that the wire fed out the back side of the
jar. If I needed more room, I would have cut out part of the lid or put the
pack behind the figure inside the jar, but this seemed to work fine with these
materials.
from the bag of spiders. I cut the ring part off the spiders so that they would
lie flat.
the center of the bow, I glued a spider.
“Amanda, I…Oh.”
I don’t know what else to say. My brain just shuts down.
She is wearing the sheet, wound around her like a toga. It trails behind her bare feet, sort of like a painting about Greek goddesses I’ve seen in art books. She’s leaning over another body stored in the cooler unit on a cart. Her back is to me, and I can only see her pale skin and her burgundy-black hair shuddering.
“Amanda.”
She turns at the sound of my voice, seeming only to hear me for the first time. Her face is covered in dark blood. In her hand, she’s holding a big chunk of purple flesh. Her eyes are half-closed. The autopsy incision on the elderly body below her has been ripped open, and I’m pretty sure that what she’s holding is a lung.
“So hungry…” she murmurs.
I retreat until my back presses against the cold door. A whimper escapes my lips, and I drop the laundry basket with a sharp crack of plastic on the tile floor. This has to be a dream. A screwed-up anxiety dream that I’ll wake up from any moment now…
Amanda’s black eyes snap open. She stares at the chunk of flesh in her hand. “I…Agh…What’s going on?”
Lothar waddles over to her and begins to beg. Bile rises in my throat. “That’s Mrs. Canner,” I manage to answer. “She’s seventy-two and died of surgery complications for varicose veins. Deep vein thrombosis, I think. I don’t remember.” I’m babbling, trying to keep the bile down.
Amanda drops the lung with a wet splat. Lothar scrambles to it and begins scarfing it down. Her hands are trembling. She presses them to her temples. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”
I nudge the laundry basket closer to her with my foot. “I brought you some clothes. And, um. Food. You should get dressed.”
I think I should be afraid. I think I really ought to be. But Amanda seems genuinely confused. She reaches for the clothes I’ve brought her. To be polite, I know that I should really look away. But I can’t move. I am not turning my back on her. My heart pounds, and I struggle to take deep, uneven breaths.
Amanda unwinds the sheet and slips into my clothes. Though I avert my eyes, I see that her shoulder and side are still torn open. But my mother hasn’t begun the autopsy yet, so there is no Y-incision across her chest and abdomen.
“Do you remember what happened to you?” I manage to ask. I congratulate myself for having a rational thought. Woot.
Her voice is halting, and her brow wrinkles as she struggles to button my jeans. “I remember…something was chasing me. Jesus, it hurt…” Her hand comes up to her neck, and she seems to remember, fingering the edges of the wound. “Am I in a hospital?” she asks again.
I suck in a breath. “No. You’re at my house.” It’s not a lie. Not really.
She scans the room, as if registering the sight of the cadavers. “You’re the girl whose parents run the funeral home. The Ghoul Girl.”
“It’s gonna be okay,” I tell her.
“Why am I here?” Her breath makes ghosts in the cold air.
“The Sheriff found you, alongside the road.” That’s true also, even if not the whole truth. “I think we should get you upstairs, so you can talk to my parents…”
She shakes her head, and her dark hair slaps across her face. “No. I…Oh my god. I’m here because…somebody thought I was dead?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah.”
Her hands press to the wound on her side. “But I’m not dead!”
“I…uh…I think we need to get you to the hospital.” I tentatively reach toward her, to grasp her arm and guide her upstairs, toward the light of the much more civilized parlor and rational discussion. This is so far over my head, and I need my parents to handle it.
She shakes her head. “No. No. No.”
I hold her elbow gently, trying to keep her calm until I can get her upstairs to my parents. Her skin radiates cold through the sweatshirt, and I can see that the edges of her neck wound are dry, not seeping so much as a hint of blood. “Come with me.” I open the door and gently lead her into the lab, as if I’m herding a frightened cat. She gazes at the stainless-steel equipment. “I was here. I remember being here.”
“Come upstairs,” I urge, struggling to keep my composure. I use all the empathy that I’ve learned, dealing with grieving family members, trying to understand the shock and lead her away from the Body Shop.
She squints up at the buzzing light. “You were here, weren’t you? You and that woman. Looking at me.”
“My mother,” I say. I’m thinking crap crap crap. I’ve heard of cases of people whose vitals have dropped far beyond detection, who have awoken in hospital morgues. This has never happened to us. Not ever. Oh shit. The other body. Maybe it the same thing…
“The woman with that knife…” Her fingers go to her sternum, where my mother’s scalpel had rested. All of a sudden, Amanda becomes rooted in place, as immovable as a mountain.
“No one’s going to hurt you,” I promise. “Let me make you some coffee.”
She shakes her head, and I feel her trembling. Her eyes slide to the back door.
She slips from my grip. Before I can stop her, she rushes to the back door. She slams it open with a sound like a gunshot and plunges into the darkness.
It was Spooktacular having you with us today. Please feel free to stop by anytime. Good Luck with Flesh!
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged fantasy, Flesh, HOrra, Laura Bickle, Paranormal, YA by Tena Stetler with 2 comments.
