Tag Archive | horror

Nerve Damage by J.L. Meyers

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Title: Nerve Damage
Author: J.L. Meyers
Genre: Psychological Thriller

 
Nerve Damage Final_375x600A fatal car crash. The sole survivor. And the dark hooded stranger that wants her dead.

When a terrible accident—not accident—stole my parents’ lives, my whole perfect life changed. My memories are hazy, and there are scars on my wrists. I’ve been locked away for my own protection…until I prove my sanity, until I lie. There was no hooded figure on the road that day, no one standing over me as I lay paralyzed watching my parents burn.

I am Cassidy Lockheart…20-year-old orphan.

Determined to free my caged mind, I find myself far away on an unexpected trip to help return my forgotten past. The snow was part of my life before, but now it’s like a blank slate, until an avalanche changes everything. But I’m not alone. These other ‘lucky’ trip winners may not be the strangers they pretend to be. And my hooded attacker…I see him everywhere.

Is this real? Or delusion caused by head trauma?

Either way, I’m being watched. I can sense it. I can feel it. Someone is after me; maybe they’re after us all. The avalanche was no accident. It was staged to deliver us to this abandoned place. A place where the walls whisper dark secrets of a sinister past…a past no one can escape. Trapped, this snow won’t let up…it won’t let us leave. My lost memories hold clues, but they’re buried so deep, polluted and twisted in my every waking nightmare. What is real? I don’t have the answers. But I need them. Time is ticking and if I don’t figure this all out soon it will be too late.

The past is coming for us all…and it wants blood.

 
Warning – This book contains some graphic scenes that are only for an adult audience.
Psychological Thriller / Horror

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“Think of the tension of Silence of the Lambs combined with the horror of Carrie and you have Nerve Damage. This is a psychological thriller that won’t let you put it down, yet you are almost too scared to turn the page!”
Diane Richmond (devoted bookworm) ★★★★★

This chilling tale from J.L. Myers is a suspenseful and twisted addition to other great psychological thrillers from the likes of Sarah A. Denzil, K.L. Slater, and Dot Hutchison.

 

Excerpt:

      I trudged along a scenic, tree-winding road that saw at most a few cars every hour. In gray jeans and a black hoodie, I blended into the dreary surroundings, just another shadow below the early morning ashen clouds.
      A deep ache settled in and I shrugged my clanking backpack higher once, twice, three times after a few more steps. My gloved hand on the strap kept the heavy load from sliding back down. My car was well out of reach now. Out of sight too, down over the steep drop-off to the right in an isolated parking lot no one used in these colder months of the year. Safe and hidden…until I needed it. The rain that fell was ignored, the crunch of wet gravel under my combat boots lost to the sway of wind-battered trees.
      Though I stared ahead, what I saw was not the hardening downpour or the flying of loose leaves. Instead, I saw a girl’s face. Young. Innocent. Twentyish with forest-green eyes and long, almost black hair. Her smile had been infectious and the words from her pretty mouth had set my course. “…Saturday morning. At the crack of dawn. My dad doesn’t believe in waiting for sunrise. Not when the whole day is waiting. That Kananaskis Trail…”
      Now I was here. Soon I’d be the one waiting.
      Right before a hairpin bend on this less-traveled road, my booted strides stopped. Anticipation filled me with a flood of warmth, but a deep breath of brisk air tightened my chest. I ignored the discomfort as raindrops trickled down my brow and cheeks. After days, months, and years this was it. There was no turning back now. This was my only escape, my only way to make the past right.
Dropping my backpack with a clatter and quick stretch of my back, I bent over. A flash of cold metal came free, long like a chain but not as smooth. The long length jangled as I stretched it out over the asphalt and then the weedy grass beyond before tucking the end behind a bush.
      Road spikes.
      A quick jog delivered me back across the road and I reclaimed my lumpy backpack. Then I was back at the bush and crouching behind it. A quick grab and click cemented the scene as my Polaroid camera hummed out a happy snap. A memento. As I tucked the device back out of the rain, a set of headlights shone around a smooth bend back down the road and brought my head up.
      “Shit!” I spat from beneath my hood as an old sedan sailed too fast up the rain-slicked road. My gloved hands tugged the length of metal back just before the sedan’s tires could claim those sharp spikes. Heart pounding like a drum, I muttered as I watched the red taillights disappear around the bend. Wrong car. Then I ran out to string those spikes back in place. An approaching white glow had my hood snapping up to see another car coming.
      Right on time.
      Racing back over the road, I dove for cover behind the bush. The headlights of the approaching white Merc flashed on highs for two beats.
      I’d been spotted.
      And then the front tires hit the spikes. With a hiss of released air, traction was lost. The man driving yanked the steering wheel and anchored on the brakes, the tires barely squealing on the wet asphalt. But it was too late. The drenched road provided a slippery passage as the sedan fishtailed then spun, sliding sideways over the edge too fast to stop. It tipped on the sudden drop-off, tumbling guts over roof, guts over roof.
      The tall cypress tree that halted its descent with a deafening clap wasn’t a Godsend. Metal cried out as it curved around the tree, reshaping the driver’s side and shattering the windshield.
And then there was a moment of pure quiet, nothing but the sound of peaceful whooshing wind as the rain eased off.
      Tugging back the spikes and concealing them behind the bush, I hoisted up the backpack and unhurriedly made my way down the slippery path to the wreck. The next part to come was a means to an end. My anticipation lied in the aftermath but not in this act. And yet with each step, I felt nothing. No uncertainty. No regret. Those feelings I’d shed long ago. I’d had no choice.
      Reaching the wreckage, red was visible beneath the mud-caked windows. My backpack was dropped to gain a closer look. The middle-aged female in the front passenger side was out cold, with cuts that leaked blood down her face to her blouse. In the driver’s side, the man’s features were unrecognizable, covered in glossy red. There was a creak of movement. It wasn’t him. In the back, there she was, her perfect lips no longer smiling and dark bruising puffing up her pale face. With a blink of her lids over her bloodshot green eyes, she wasn’t dead.
      Unfortunate for her…she was coming around.
      I tugged the car’s back door open and reached in, taking hold of the young woman and dragging her out. She was pretty out of it, eyes dazed and lids twitching. She was injured too, with multiple cuts and bruises on her face and arms. A bump on her forehead was ballooning beneath the skin. Her feet trailed as I dragged her by her arms across the mushed-up ground.
      Then I noticed the object she somehow clutched in her tight fingers. A phone. Relieving her of the device once we were well out of reach, I positioned her to face the wreck.
      “Don’t worry. I’ve got you now.”
      My combats squelched through the mud back to the car, and with a lean over the dead man, a click sounded as I unlocked the fuel tank. Back around the Merc, I found the fuel lid open and unscrewed the cap. My black Zippo lighter came free of my pocket along with a long rag. A minute or so after soaking the rag and I was yards away, the Zippo’s flame fighting the wind and rain and losing.
      “Cassidy…” The woman still in the car—the young woman’s mother—was waking up. Still alive. She moved as her hand came up to her head. “Cas…talk to me.” She groaned, and then sucked air as she twisted to get a better view, seeing her husband and the empty back seat. “Cas!”
      The girl’s eyes fluttered then went wide. Her voice was a painful rasp. “Mom…”
      “Time to say goodbye.” There was a crunching scrape as the Zippo sparked back to life. The flame met the material’s end and I returned to the girl, turning to see the fire retreat.
      “Mom!” The girl’s voice was shrill, and she swayed as she scrambled to get up. Her eyes rolled like marbles, bringing her back down. And then it was too late. With a whoosh the soaked rag below the sedan ignited in a fiery ball, climbing up the metal walls and curving inside the dry cab. The woman’s shrieks cut through the dying rain as my camera immortalized this moment in time. But the sounds of her death faded all too fast, the fire taking her pain away. Taking her life away.
      As the girl I’d saved from the wreck whimpered, I readied what I needed before returning. Standing over her, the small boulder in my hands blocked the view of my face. The hefty weight of the rock returned that ache to my tired shoulders. “Don’t worry, Cassidy. This isn’t the end. I need your help…to bring them all to me.”

 
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About the Author:

512AuJqk08L._UX250_Jessica L Myers’ vivid imagination and quiet demeanor as a child led her to the imaginary worlds of books. Even at a young age, her love for the supernatural was prevalent, with her first loved books being R.L. Stine’s Goosebumps series. Following that she took an interest in other non-fantasy fiction, including Virginia C. Andrews series Flowers in the Attic.

In her teen years, Jessica spent many school hours writing poetry and dark short stories and took up sketching some of the terrifying things that came from the graphic night terrors she’d grown up with.

As an adult and after meeting the love of her life, Jessica got married and started a small construction business with her husband. With the birth of her son, Jessica suffered PPD and found escape in her books and their fantasy landscapes. It was at this time that her need to write flourished. In 2009 the decision was made and the first words to her New Adult Paranormal Romance novel What Lies Inside were written.

When Jessica isn’t immersed in writing about extraordinary characters with dangerous abilities and deadly obstacles to overcome, she likes to spend time with her two kids and husband, curl up with a good book, or watch anything and everything supernatural.

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Necromance by Armand Rosamilia

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Title:
Necromance
Author: Armand Rosamilia
Genre: Supernatural Horror

 
Necromance print_424x600My name is Cheri Rose Thorne.

I spend my life hunting Vamps and Fiends and killing them, but my main goal has always been to destroy my evil father while keeping my sisters at bay.

Sex, drugs and rock and roll keep me going. Oh, and killing things.

This supernatural horror thriller will keep you turning the pages. I promise.

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Excerpt:

 
Bad Omen

I knew why I’d been drawn here the moment I saw him across the dance floor, his eyes trying to keep pace with the sweaty women surrounding him. I hoped he wouldn’t know who or what I was until it was too late.

My name is Cheri Rose Thorne, and that is my real name. Long story short: my father is a necromancer and my mother was a stripper. Combine the magic and the body and you get moi.


I’d only been in Florida for twelve hours before I sensed him. They can’t help it or even know they’re doing it. Unfortunately, I can’t stop myself from getting what I call ‘The Itch’; it starts behind my ears and runs up into my head and down my spine, as if I had stepped in a field of poison ivy, and the closer they are the more intense it becomes. The good thing is I always know I’m close because it suddenly stops and calm washes over me and then it’s just a matter of time to figure out who it is and how close I am.


This guy would have been easy to spot, even if I didn’t have senses; he was dressed like he was an extra in Scarface, with slicked-back hair and sun-kissed skin. His eyes were the real giveaway, the color of the ocean a hundred feet from the club and darting furiously around him for his next victim. He was tall and built and, despite his tired wardrobe of beige suit with matching Capezio shoes and white tie, he was good-looking.


Yeah, he was hot and he knew it. Most of the time these guys are average at best, but they use their powers to deceive women into thinking they are amazing. This one wasn’t using anything but his natural charm on the dance floor and that made him dangerous. Who knew what trick he had up his sleeve? It didn’t matter to me. Good-looking or not, I had to take care of him.


The fact that this one was hot was just a perk of the job, because, before it was all over, I’d probably sleep with him. I knew it and he was about to know it.


I took my time getting near him, preferring to lazily circle around him, ignoring the men who offered to buy me drinks or wanted to chit-chat while staring at my nice and natural boobs. I knew I was dressed to kill and that sometimes becomes a distraction. I remember this one time in Baltimore… well, that’s a story for another time.


I moved from the bar to his left to the one directly behind him, casually watching him the entire time out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t know how long he’d been here and if he’d chosen someone yet. I didn’t want to turn around, after ordering a Jaeger-Bomb, and find out he’d left in a hurry.


“Hi, can I buy you a drink,” some random jerk asks me, blocking my view.
I looked him over quickly and then pushed him to my left. “I’m a lesbian.”


“Cool.” That seemed to get him even more excited.


I looked him in the eye. At six foot, I’m a tall drink of water and this guy was at least three inches shorter than me. I looked down into his eyes, I should say. “I’m not interested. Please go away.”


“One drink won’t hurt,” he smiled hopefully.


“Last chance to get lost,” I sneered. I don’t like to be mean and don’t like to draw attention to myself, but that’s exactly what I’d done. I moved away from him but it was already too late. My mark had seen me and was staring as I went to the bar and ordered that Jaeger-Bomb.


“My name is Michael.”


I looked to my side to see that the jerk trying to buy me a drink was still there. Just my luck, I can’t shake this idiot. “What part of get lost are you not getting?”


He actually laughed at that. “I get it. You’re a tough chick who dresses provocatively and gets off on shooting guys down. I’m cool with that. I’m guessing your mother never hugged you?”


“What?” I had to ask. This jerk was asking for a beating.


“Women fall into two categories for me, those that hate their mother and take great pride in shooting guys down, and those that hate their father and take great pride in finding jerks to sabotage any relationship they have. I’m thinking you’re the former?”


“I’m thinking you’re a douche-bag.” I grabbed his junk and squeezed, smiling as his eyes bulged and he strained to get away from me. “Last warning and I am not kidding.”


“All you had to say was no thank you,” he managed in a whisper.


I released his paltry manhood and grinned. “No, thank you.”


He tried not to rub himself or cry, which I respected, as he walked quickly away toward the bathrooms.


I turned and, sure enough, my target was gone. The group of women dancing around him had dispersed and a new group was shaking it to a lame techno beat.

 

 

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About the Author:

Cthulhu and MeArmand Rosamilia is a New Jersey boy currently living in sunny Florida, where he writes when he’s not sleeping. He’s happily married to a woman who helps his career and is supportive, which is all he ever wanted in life…

He’s written over 150 stories that are currently available, including horror, zombies, contemporary fiction, thrillers and more. His goal is to write a good story and not worry about genre labels.

He not only runs two successful podcasts…

Arm Cast: Dead Sexy Horror Podcast – interviewing fellow authors as well as filmmakers, musicians, etc.

The Mando Method Podcast with co-host Chuck Buda – talking about writing and publishing

But he owns the network they’re on, too! Project Entertainment Network

He also loves to talk in third person… because he’s really that cool.

Website * Facebook * Fan Page * Twitter * Amazon * Goodreads

 

Guest Post by Armand Rosamilia:

Necromance: Creating A Memorable Character

The original concept for Necromance was six sisters, all with different powers, going against their ruthless father. I envisioned sisterly arguments and funny moments dredging up their past together. I wanted them to be related but at one another’s throats for an added conflict in the story. Who cares about siblings that get along, right?

But as I started to flesh out the sisters in my head I hit a wall. With so many points of view I was afraid the story would get watered down. The reader would need a cheat sheet to follow along as they helped one another doing battle with their father and his demonic henchmen.


Then it hit me… what if the sisters, except for one, were in league with dear old daddy?


It made perfect sense.


I began pouring my energy into creating Cheri Rose Thorne, the main character in the story. I wanted this to be personal. Get inside her head and her head only.
First person POV seemed like a great idea at the time. It offered so many challenges, though. With only being inside one character’s thoughts and only being able to see what she saw, it meant the comings and goings of her sisters and others would go unnoticed unless she was with or around them.


I think the challenge was worth it once the story was completed, and it led me as a writer to really challenge myself to make sure it all made sense in the end.


Cheri became not only the main focus of the story but a character I enjoyed writing. She’s arrogant and scared, tough and weak, focused and worrying she’s doing the wrong thing at times. She’s so much more than a cliché hot chick with a gun you see in movies and read about too much.


She’s also not shy about her sexuality. Even though her life has been hard, fraught with battles that are supernatural and otherworldly, she can still have a good time with men and women. She has a sexual appetite. Something as small as all of her sisters trying to kill her, sent by a maniacal father, isn’t going to stop her from downtime and fun.


Along with her not just being a super warrior, I wanted her to have normal problems. Just like everyone else. Too often I’d read about these super people who conveniently had endless cash at their fingertips and could spend it freely without recourse.


Cheri Rose Thorne spends most of her off-time from killing Vamps and Fiends trying to scrape up a few bucks for the next meal or a gallon of gas to take her to the next adventure.


Normal life getting in her way was another memorable character trait I had fun with.


What other things make Cheri memorable to the reader?


I guess you’ll just have to read it for yourself.

 

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AM13 Outbreak Series by Samie Sands

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Series: AM13 Outbreak Series
Author: Samie Sands
Genre: Horror

Extinct

Book 3

C1bRjLKWEAEgYV__372x600Writing books about the horrors of the zombie apocalypse is one thing—but Georgie Blake can’t believe it has become her reality…

She never expected her fictional stories of blood, death, and the consumption of human flesh to jump off the page into the real world. She certainly didn’t think she’d survive this long if they had. As a shy novelist, she was sure she’d be one of the first to die.

Safe in the Sanctuary, Georgie holds on to hope for a cure…

But that’s not all she holds on to. The government has promised the people of the Sanctuary that they can return home. The rumours are rife that there is an antidote on the horizon. But even if not, the infected are dying out, throwing the treacherous AM13 virus to the brink of extinction. If the infection dies out, this horrible nightmare Georgie is living in will be a distant memory.

Until everything that’s right goes terribly wrong…

Soon after meeting some new friends in the Sanctuary, Georgie learns she’s going to have to face the monsters outside the walls if she wants to return to her old life. But for a scared, introverted bookworm, it may be too much to consider…

Will Georgina conquer her fears of the dead to return home, or will she be one of the countless others who have gone Extinct?

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Excerpt:

I still, even now, can’t believe this has actually happened! In the beginning, back when people weren’t taking the whole “health scare” thing very seriously—before people saw the evidence of the AM13 virus—I had all kinds of stupid shit said to me.
“It’s like you’re living in your very own scripted movie, you must be so pleased!”
“Your books have come true!”
“At least you’ll have a lot of practice with this whole thing.”
And it was always teamed with this stupid, innocuous laugh that drove me crazy. I mean, what the fuck, guys? Seriously?
Yes, I’m a zombie author, but that doesn’t exactly mean I ever wanted to end up living within the pages of my books. I actually have a very successful series of young adult apocalyptic novels—five to date—and there was even talk of a film at some point, but that was fantasy. I didn’t want this to happen—no one in their right mind would.
The only reasons my books were as popular as they were is because I used my imagination to write them. I didn’t base them in any kind of fact or predictions or anything. When I think about me sitting there, revelling in putting my fictional characters—that despite popular belief, I do actually love!—through such hell, it kinda makes me feel sick. My readers, fans, whatever you’d like to call them, have sent me a lot of online…opinions…bordering on abuse over time as each new book came out, and more characters that they’d come to adore and root for, died. I know it was harsh; I tried to tell them as much. But you just don’t get through a zombie apocalypse without losing a few people.
And now, we’re living through it for real, and I’m seeing for myself how true that really is. I think it’s safe to say that it isn’t fun, and no, not even I’m finding it exciting.
To even think I could be enjoying a single part of my writing being reality is just ridiculous. From the very first second that I heard about the virus on the news, my blood ran cold. Other people didn’t pay much attention to it, even took it as a joke, but something deep inside of me was just beyond fascinated. I didn’t believe it—I was like everyone else in that sense—it was just too strange to be true. But to see a zombie virus discussed on the proper news was insane. In a way, it was like seeing my books come to life. So, I kept up to date with the story religiously, the entire time trying to remember that there was no way it could be fact, that it was scientifically impossible, but growing more apprehensive for what the future held at the same time.
Then, it suddenly became clear that everything I’d assumed was false was really happening, and my entire world was shaken upside down. It was like the comfort rug I’d always lived upon had been ripped from beneath me. I felt like my foundation had been whipped away and I lost myself a little along the way.
It’s safe to say that I became obsessed. I was like a woman possessed by everything AM13, everything else just took a back seat in my life. Even my books! I stopped writing, stopped checking my texts, I even ignored my social media accounts. Me. The girl who was addicted to Facebook and Twitter. I was online all the time. You know, just in case something vital might be happening somewhere in the world. I never wanted to miss out. Being an introvert, I found the online world intoxicating.
By the time the Lockdown officially started, I was so trapped in my own isolated, scared little world that the quarantine really meant nothing to me.
I decided to trust the Government’s plan to lock everyone inside their own homes while they sorted out the virus, implicitly. I truly wanted to believe that everyone showing signs of infection would get themselves to the specialised medical facilities. I convinced myself so strongly that everything was going to be fine—even though, deep down I knew it was unlikely—that I chose to use the time wisely and get back to my work. I was convinced I’d be able to actually get the sixth book written whilst locked inside.
But instead, I simply stared at the page I’d already written a while back, watching the words swim around in front of my face. Then the zombies started to appear outside my window and I couldn’t help but watch them, fascinated.
They were disgusting; all bloody and covered in gore and a black sludgy stuff. Some of them had limbs hanging from their bodies and large ripped holes through their torsos. Seeing them snarl, growl, and become desperate for human flesh was worse than anything I’d ever written. Sure, my work was slightly toned down for the younger audience, but I couldn’t have even imagined this if I’d tried. I wanted to pretend none of it was real—it should have been easy to, seeing those things was pretty unbelievable—but I just couldn’t. I didn’t have the coping mechanism that I wanted.
I would’ve loved to have to used what I was seeing to inspire me in some way—a real life muse, but I just couldn’t get past my original paragraph. I just couldn’t transfer what I was seeing into my fantasy world. It was like the jigsaw pieces didn’t fit.

Forgotten

Book 2

51ChWsLAIcL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200__376x600Every attempt to contain the deadly AM13 virus has failed, leaving humanity on the brink of extinction…

The plague is spreading out of control with no cure in sight. Then the government announces its new plan—a sanctuary in an area completely untouched by the infected—as long as you can get there alive and unscathed.

Ethan Watton has managed to survive this long, even with OCD making every day more hellish than it already is…

Ethan’s obsessive-compulsive disorder dramatically affected his life before the infection began. Now he’s desperate to get as far away from the zombie virus as humanly possible. Isolated and afraid, Ethan thinks there is no way in hell he will survive the epidemic.

Alyssa Turner has spent her teenage years prepping for the undead to challenge her zombie killing skills…

Alyssa knows with absolute certainty that she will survive the AM13 virus. She’s read all the books, watched all the films, and done all the research. She’s strong, tough, and a self-proclaimed badass. Any group would be lucky to fight alongside her…until the unthinkable makes her doubt every skill she’s acquired.

Dr. Jones is a scientist who doesn’t understand why he was selected to produce a cure…

Surely there are survivors more experienced in virology than he is. And what will happen to him—and the rest of the species—if he fails? Is the fate of the human race really resting on his shoulders? Or are there others working toward the same goal?

With the zombies multiplying and survivors struggling to make it to the sanctuary, Ethan, Alyssa, and Dr. Jones fight to fulfill their destinies. If they fail, their fate is sealed, and they will join the millions of others who have been…
Forgotten.

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Lockdown

Book 1

DFBUnPSXYAABJ5W_380x600Leah Watton’s practical joke has spiralled way out of control—all to impress a crush…

With a prank online video, Leah hopes to catch the attention of Jake Colton, a cute, blond-haired, blue-eyed co-worker she’s had a crush on for months. But instead of sending it to Jake, she manages to forward the clip to her boss—who buys every gory second.

When mass panic ensues, Leah learns the video is more than a staged act…

The government is calling the virus AM13. As the outbreak spreads, citizens are forced to stay indoors while they assess the gravity of the illness. Most people are quarantined in their homes, but Leah, Jake, and Leah’s best friend Michelle are some of the unlucky few who are stuck at work when the Lockdown occurs.

That’s where she first encounters one of the infected…

Aside from a contaminated woman devouring one of her co-workers, Leah has another problem. Does she do as she’s ordered and stay at work? Or should she disobey government orders and break free to reunite with her family?

She can’t go it alone—after all, Leah has none of the skills needed to survive—but with Michelle and Jake by her side, not even a contagious virus and a sea of the dead can keep her from…

Breaking out of the Lockdown…

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My Review:

I liked the concept behind the stories in these three books, it was different than the usual zombie tales.

Lockdown:  Although it made a change for the story to start before the ‘outbreak’, the first half of the book was painfully slow, but worth sticking with for the latter half.
It’s written from Leah’s point of view and has a twist that you may, or may not, see coming. Leah, herself is an annoying person, who without a man to ‘look after’ her would have been one of the first to die!

Forgotten: The second book has new characters and alternates between Alyssa and Ethan’s points of view, alongside the report/journal written by Dr. Jones. This story is tenser than the first and the characters are more developed and likeable. The story itself had unexpected twists and was fun to read, although the portrayal of the ‘mindless’ zombies, doesn’t sit well in the context of the book! 

Extinct: Another change of characters in the final book, this time told from Georgie’s perspective, and dealing with life in the island sanctuary, ‘safe’ from the zombies (or not)! This book wrapped up most of the threads and loose ends well, but not all of them. There are still unanswered questions… maybe it’s not the final book of the series!

*I voluntarily reviewed Advance Reader Copies of these books.

 

 

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About the Author:

Samie SandsSamie Sands is a 28 year old freelance graphic designer who has recently decided to follow her lifelong dream and use her creativity in a new way by writing.

She has a degree in Media Studies and PR and has already had articles published in a number of e-zines, including one of the most popular pieces at Zombie Guide Magazine. She has also had short stories included in a number of successful projects.

She lives in a small seaside town in the UK, but loves to travel to gain inspiration from new places and different cultures.

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To Rise Again by Stewart Bint

Stewart Bint’s latest novel, To Rise Again, has just been published by Creativia.

The Marquand family fled their home on Jersey, in the Channel Islands, just before the German occupation there during World War II…and never returned.

Now, it’s the summer of 1983, and their once opulent mansion, Idlewild, is now crumbling and derelict. The mansion holds a mysterious lure for 18-year-old David Simeon, who dreams of Idlewild years past, as it used to be. But who is the young girl he sees, endlessly wandering through its corridors?

As the nerve-shattering link between David, the girl, and the mysterious Idlewild comes to light, is it too late to stop the seeds of destruction and world domination planted there long ago, during Adolf Hitler’s last desperate throw of the dice in World war II?

Fantasy, science fiction, horror and paranormal mingle in Stewart Bint’s To Rise Again, as the threads of 1945 and 1983 slowly intertwine to reveal a world on the brink of destruction.

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Excerpt:

He gestured for me to go in. Peering past him, I could see a long mahogany table in the centre of the room. It was much longer than it was wide. Eight dark-wood seats ran down each side of the table, with a carver at both heads. The two mullioned windows at the foot of the room were identical to the ones in the drawing room, and a small shelf ran all the way round, a couple of feet from the ceiling. The shelf was empty now, but I could easily imagine it once displaying a mass of china plates.

As I passed properly through the door a sense of fear instantly hit me. One moment the room was empty. The next it was full of shouting; that deep guttural sound almost unique to the German language. I heard those beautiful dark chairs scraping across the bare wooden floor. My eyes opened wide in a mix of amazement and horror as the room suddenly filled with men. With soldiers. All wearing the sinister uniform of the Nazi.


Each chair was instantly occupied. And after the soldier sitting in the carver in front of the window seemed to spot us, pointing to the door with a yell, all seventeen other faces turned towards us. And with one movement they pushed back the chairs, rising together in a mechanical sweep, rather like a clockwork toy.


The two nearest Germans scrambled forward, reaching for their guns. Time seemed to stand still. An eternity passed and I could sense rather than smell the appetising aroma which sprang from the table. The aroma of a roasted joint.


I visibly leaped as a hand gripped my shoulder. I stared around at the empty chairs and soundless room. Richard released my shoulder as I relaxed. His voice broke the quiet stillness. “Have you seen something else?”


It was no use me asking if he had seen anything. I knew he hadn’t. Whatever it was, only I had seen it. I was sure of that.



About Stewart Bint:

Stewart Bint is a novelist, magazine columnist and Public Relations writer, and a member of the influential worldwide Awethors group.

He is an active awareness campaigner for mental health and sepsis, and was named on the 2016 list of “Inspirational Mental Health Advocates that are changing the world.”

Previous roles include radio presenter, newsreader and phone-in host.

Married to Sue, with two grown-up children, Chris and Charlotte, and a charismatic budgie called Alfie, Stewart lives in Leicestershire in the UK, and goes barefoot almost all the time.

WebsiteNewsletter ◦ Facebook ◦ Twitter

In addition to his latest work, To Rise Again, published by Creativia, he also has three novels available from Dragon Moon Press:

He has also contributed short stories to a number of anthologies:

And his back catalogue is rounded off with two compilation e-books of his magazine columns:

 

Books I Read in July ’17

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Thief of the Night Guild

by Andy Peloquin

35281158The first book of Queen of Thieves (Child of the Night Guild) was “an edge of your seat, fast-moving and unforgettable read” and I was eager to read this second book.

Thief of the Night Guild is everything I hoped it would be, and much more!

Ilanna is now a strong and determined journeyman, a professional thief and a woman in what is mainly a mans world. She wants to secure her freedom from the guild and protect her son from its clutches.

The characters were so skilfully drawn that I felt as though I was living along side them.
So I joined Ilanna and her accomplices as they strived to pull off the greatest heist in Praamis.
Andy Peloquin’s fluent and descriptive writing ensured that I felt the joy of friendship and suffered heartache and pain from the betrayal and loss of our friends.

Illana’s story – so far – is one that will stay with me for a very long time.
And I am now waiting on tenterhooks for the next book in the series.

 
“I am Ilanna, Journeyman of House Hawk. I do the impossible.”

A cunning thief of unrivaled ingenuity, Ilanna is determined to secure her freedom. Nothing will prevent her escape from the Night Guild’s callous cruelty, not even the most powerful man in Praamis, Duke Phonnis.

Commanding a crew of pickpockets, bounty hunters, poisoners, and assassins, Ilanna schemes to disgrace the Duke. She must survive blackmail, a bloodthirsty rival syndicate, and enemies within her own House to claim her spoils: vengeance for the deaths of her friends and gold to buy independence.

But all Ilanna’s skill may not suffice to protect the one person who matters most: her son.

***

Flirting With Time: A Charlie McClung Mystery

by Mary Anne Edwards

35555087 Another wonderful and entertaining mystery in the Charlie McClung series.

Mary Anne Edwards’ books go from strength to strength. The characters continue to develop and the mysteries get more intriguing and suspenseful.

I’ll be looking forward to the next instalment in Charlie, Marian and their friends lives.

To get the best out of this series the books should be read in order.

 
Detective Charlie McClung is haunted by someone leaving mysterious paper hearts in odd places for his bride, Marian. Any thought that this is the work of a harmless prankster quickly vanishes when his men are attacked and people begin to die. The stalker is growing bolder and Charlie knows he needs to act quickly but there are too many suspects, too many alibis, and too much at stake.

***

Wolf Bride: The Tale of Ailis and Eoghan

by C.D. Gorri

35222715C.D. Gorri takes us back to a time before the formation of the Macconwood Pack.

It’s a well written and fascinating, historical look at Macconwoods first Alpha and his mate. The story pulls you in and doesn’t let go.

Another superb book from this talented author.

The path to true love is often rocky, especially for Werewolves Eoghan MacContire and Ailis Dungannon in 16th Century Ireland.

Find out how it all began in this prequel to the Macconwood Pack Series.

***

The Hunger Within

by Lily Luchesi

35510557 The Hunger Within is not your customary stereotypical vampire story…. It’s a heck of a lot steamier!

There’s a lot of action and intrigue packed into this short story from Lily Luchesi, as Bec starts her new life alongside her dominating sire and fathoms out how to deal with all the complications that go with it.

 
Newly turned vampire Rebecca Renfield is about to discover that there is much more to the world of the Undead than sex, blood, and handcuffs. Her sire and Mistress is the direct descendant of Count Dracula, and that means she has a reputation to uphold. Meetings with vampiric dignitaries, secret blood and bondage dungeons, and vampire hunters now fill the couple’s nights. is this world everything Bec thought it would be, or will she fall under the pressure of what it means to be the submissive to the most powerful vampiress in the world?

***

Crane

by Stacey Rourke

35222715Crane is an entertaining and (in parts) amusing story. I liked how the author blended the ‘historic’ tale with the modern day twist on the retelling of ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’.

Although I thought the characters could do with a bit more developing, the story was well written and kept me turning the pages to see what would happen next.

 
The Horseman is unending,
his presence shan’t lessen.
If you break the curse,
you become the legend.

Washington Irving and Rip Van Winkle had no choice but to cover up the deadly truth behind Ichabod Crane’s disappearance. Centuries later, a Crane returns to Sleepy Hollow awakening macabre secrets once believed to be buried deep.

What if the monster that spawned the legend lived within you?

Now, Ireland Crane, reeling from a break-up and seeking a fresh start, must rely on the newly awakened Rip Van Winkle to discover the key to channeling the darkness swirling within her. Bodies are piling high and Ireland is the only one that can save Sleepy Hollow by embracing her own damning curse.

But is anyone truly safe when the Horseman rides?

***

The Blood of the Infected Series

by Antony J Stanton

The Blood of the Infected Banner

Series: The Blood of the Infected
Author: Antony J. Stanton
Genre: post-apocalyptic/thriller/horror

Once Bitten, Twice Die

Book One

OBTD High Contrast 2017The end of the world was just the beginning.

A cure for dementia has disastrously failed. Patients are left crazed, infectious and enraged. The ensuing carnage quickly spreads the disease, and civilisation is decimated.

On London’s outskirts a military base shelters some survivors. The soldiers within must battle against the infected who now roam unchallenged. Tensions are high, relationships fraught, death commonplace.

But if they thought the end of the world was bad enough, their troubles have only just begun…

An ancient menace has long existed in secret alongside humanity – a vampire clan, which has recently encountered the soldiers. Now is their time to emerge from the shadows. First though they have to overcome their own problems. They too have to fight for survival against the infected, and they violently disagree on their approach towards the humans.

Hostilities are rising. It’s only a matter of time now…

Amazon

 

Once Bitten, Twice Live

Book Two

9780993428531When death is the best option, survival is no longer enough…

With a growing realization that their continued existence bestows upon them a debt to humanity, the survivors look to create a cure for the insanity that has brought civilization to its knees. But that only encourages disagreement and infighting, and comes at a heavy price, bringing various shocks and surprises.

Tensions amongst the vampires are escalating, jeopardizing the very existence of the clan itself. A battle for supremacy seems inevitable and their future is in the balance. How far will Farzin go to achieve his aims – domination of the vampires and humans alike? And how terrible will his vengeance be against any who stand in his path? Their interaction with the humans threatens to increase and not necessarily for the benefit of either group.

Meanwhile the wrathful infected grow ever hungrier…

When every day is a struggle to stay alive, survival of the fittest is never guaranteed.

Amazon

 

Twice Bitten, Twice Die

Book Three

TBTD front-hiWhen there’s no one left to hear you scream…

Deaths amongst the survivors are occurring at an unsustainable rate. Numbers are rapidly dwindling. Morale is plummeting. Soon they will be beyond salvation, yet their real task has only just begun. But will anyone remain alive to complete it? Nothing could have prepared the soldiers for what lies ahead. If they thought life was brutal already, they had absolutely no idea…

The vampires are in disarray. Their relationships are becoming blurred, confused and violent. A titanic clash between soldiers and vampires seems imminent but no one’s survival is assured.

In a world where life is unpredictable, the threat from the infected suddenly becomes even more unexpected and menacing. Hostilities are inevitable. Only one thing is certain: there will be blood!

Amazon

 

 

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Author Bio:

AntonyStanton was born in London in 1970. Even as a child he always dreamed of becoming a published author, and he started to write a book. But, having watched the film ‘Top Gun,’ he was swayed into a becoming a military pilot. After no more than a glancing blow of a career in the British Royal Air Force he decided that his long term future lay elsewhere and he became a commercial pilot and remains thus to this day. Hence much of this trilogy was written all around the world, generally at unsociable times when jet-lag meant that normal people were asleep.

During a holiday with three friends, a bet was made amongst them. Each had a task to fulfil within the year – Stanton’s was to write a book. A little late, but five years on and his challenge has been completed. Three times.

His period spent in the RAF helped him write the military survival aspects of this book, and a kidnapping incident in Kazakhstan (*see guest post) and shooting in Ghana, amongst other ‘adventures’, provided him with a dark well of experience to draw from. Life is, after all, one big adventure. A combination of the aforementioned, along with his love of the darker sides of literature, and the results are this novel and the next two in the trilogy.

And all it took was the impetus of a friendly challenge to spur him on to his creative dream… He still lives in South London and is very much looking forward to watching his friend fulfilling his part of the challenge: demonstrating his (not-so) newly acquired break-dancing skills, surely a sight to behold

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Guest Post:

There is an incident that happened to me a few years ago, that I thought might be of interest. I love travel and have been fortunate to visit over 100 countries. You get to meet all kinds of fascinating people and as often as not it is the people who either make or break a trip.

I found the people of Kazakhstan to be incredibly warm and friendly on the whole – that is, when they are not trying to kidnap you. They are hospitable and open their arms and their houses readily to foreigners and strangers in a way that puts us in the West to shame. This part of the world really is the kind of place where intrigue and exploits abound. Anyone with the slightest inkling for adventure can find it without searching too hard. However, there is also this darker side that exists in their society; the ever-present undercurrent of corruption and bribery and, in my case, kidnapping.


It wasn’t my writing that took me to Kazakhstan back in 1999. It was my primary job as a commercial airline pilot for British Airways. We had a training contract to teach the Kazakhstanis to fly the Boeing 757, a most interesting experience in itself. When my work finished, I went travelling for a while, and that was when I had my little ‘adventure’. A lot happened. Even before I was abducted I had already had a fascinating time most worthy of narrating. I will write of that in another article as you really should know how all this began. But for now, I must tell you of the kidnapping itself, so I will jump right into the midst of the whirlwind.


I awoke at the border. The vodka was still heavy on my breath but I was sober enough to realise that I was the last person on the bus, and that it was now night-time. Alas, I was not sharp enough to understand the significance of this. I really had drunk a lot. Not my fault. The bus driver was shooing me off his bus, so I collected my day-sack and climbed down.


As the bus pulled away I realised that the border, which was rather inconveniently situated in the middle of nowhere, was well and truly closed. However, there was a car waiting. In Kazakhstan there were not many proper, bonafide taxis. If one wanted to go somewhere one hailed private cars as they went by. Someone would swerve to a halt with the screech of dodgy brakes and one could barter with the man. Well, here was a car that was ready and waiting for me. Perfect. And this one had, not one man, but two.


Soon I found myself on my way. I had told the driver and his friend that I wanted to cross the border from Kazakhstan, and go to Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan. ‘Dah, dah,’ they had assured me. I settled back into the seat but immediately something seemed wrong. Nothing definite, just an uneasy feeling. After a short while I leaned forwards.


“Tashkent?” I asked, making sure they knew where I wanted to go.


“Dah, dah,” they again said.


I left it for a minute or so, but it was clear that Tashkent was across the border and we were heading away from the border. Away from Tashkent. Away from any signs of other people and into the bleak and barren countryside.


It is amazing how sobering fear can be. Instantly I was alert. The lurch in my stomach was not due to the alcohol but to the sudden realisation of how my stupidity had actually put me in a VERY dangerous position. I repeated my request to be taken to Tashkent. Again, they tried to convince me that all was okay. But all was most definitely not okay. And if I did not do something soon, then quite possibly all would not ever be okay for me again. I leaned forward and demanded that they stop. They did not speak English but they understood well enough. And they ignored me. I was shocked at how fast the day had gone from one amazing and joyous experience to a complete nightmare.


“Tashkent, Tashkent, okay,” they said, but this was not okay and I was not okay. They were driving me further from the border, further from any semblance of civilisation and further from safety. I looked all around, and realised that I had only one option…


On these unkempt, remote gravel roads the car had slowed to take a bend. Now was my chance. Now was my only chance. Without considering the danger, I opened the door and dived out. I do not remember how quickly we were travelling, but it can’t have been very fast as I did not seem to injure myself – or maybe that was the vodka’s protective embrace. The car screeched and complained to a halt some twenty yards away. Still close, but far enough for me to be able to affect my escape. The men were shouting at me, ‘Tashkent, Tashkent, no problem.’ Only I knew that there most definitely was a problem. And now here I was, in the middle of no-man’s land, nobody else in sight in the enfolding darkness, and my options very limited.


They were clearly as surprised by my actions as I was. I guess nobody had escaped from them in such a drastic manner before. I now had to decide. I could run back to the border, and by the time they turned the car I could probably be long gone and it would be easy to hide. If they chased me on foot I was confident I could outpace them. But either way I would be without my rucksack that I had foolishly put in the car boot. Not ideal.


Alternatively, I could dash back to the car and try to open the boot and grab my rucksack before they grabbed hold of me, but that would almost certainly end in a fight. Not good.


Or I could get back in and, fingers crossed, all would be ok. I tend to have a very positive attitude to life in general. Things just seem to work out, at least that’s how it seems in my naivety. So, I dusted myself off and chose option three.


‘Tashkent? Well why didn’t you say my good man?’ Having just dived out of a moving car I have no idea what they must have been thinking as I climbed back in. Lunatic!


For the rest of the journey I was completely awake and aware of my surroundings, keenly watching where we were going, looking out for signs of civilisation or habitation (none), noting the route, and mentally preparing myself for action. They no longer tried to convince me we were heading for Tashkent. The charade was over. Finally, we arrived at a lone farmhouse where there were two more kind-hearted men, ready to assist me with my luggage, just like a first rate, international hotel. ‘Why thank you sir, so kind. Please take my bag. Oh, and my wallet too? Be my guest…’


They escorted me into the abandoned building. I noted there were no other houses around. Inside there was no furniture or decoration to speak of. Clearly it was long-since abandoned. Just a table in a rear room, a bare light-bulb swinging, and a single chair into which I was ‘ushered’. Images of the film ‘Midnight Express’ flooded my mind. I realised if I lived to see sunrise I would be extremely lucky. They took my rucksack and ripped it open it, tipping its contents onto the cold floor like spilled intestines. I started to complain but the largest of them raised a threatening fist. I saw no weapons but who’s to know whether they had knives or not. And besides, there were four of them, after all.


They spoke no English, but I understood there was some kind of hierarchy, as though they were in the military or the police. I also understood that the best thing was to comply. Comply with their every request. Comply, right up until that moment when I thought I was about to die. And then I would fight for my life. When it was clear that I was in mortal danger then I would have nothing more to lose.


They all stood over me as I sat. I reasoned, if I acted suddenly I could probably strike one or two before they would have a chance to react. I started to plan what I would do, who I would attack first, where I would hit them as I sprang into action. If I was lucky and decisive, maybe that would swing things in my favour. Maybe I would avoid death. Maybe I could facilitate an escape. But this really was a very, VERY last resort. Until then, comply.


They went through my rucksack fairly thoroughly and found my money, which they took. Obviously. They ignored my camera, passport and sunglasses which surprised me. It was only money they wanted. However, they did not search me, so they did not find the money belt I wore. I started to think they were nervous and unprofessional. I was not sure if that made them less dangerous or more.


Time passed, and they started to argue amongst themselves. I will never know what they were discussing, but the scowls, gesticulations and glances in my direction made me think they were arguing about me. And specifically, what to do with me. Do they kill me and dump my body? Or do they let me go and risk being identified? I knew that the border here was real bandit country. I knew that my chances were not exactly great. I was preparing myself for action. If it was going to happen, then surely it would be soon. I had to be ready. Complete surprise, just like my exiting their car like James Bond (or perhaps more Jonny English), was my only chance, and a slight one at that.


I had heard of the Stockholm Syndrome – where feelings of trust or affection develop in a victim towards their captor. I wondered if I could use this to my advantage, by developing some sort of positive relationship with them. To make them see me as a person, and ultimately to set me free. I hung my head and tried to look downcast, to prompt feelings of sympathy. I sighed deeply and wrung my hands in despair, and it seemed to work, with one or two of them at least. They were all smoking, so I asked for a cigarette. One of the more apparently empathic men gave me one. It felt like a condemned man’s last cigarette in a black and white film. I looked around my grim surroundings taking it all in. The bare floorboards, the peeling wallpaper, the damp stains on the ceiling, all the while drawing on my last cigarette. This shared cigarette gave us all something in common, some form of bond; I hoped. It was the oddest experience for me. I felt detached from myself, as though I was watching a movie from above. I was curious to see how it would end. Would the luckless traveller escape? Would he be set free? Or would this be his gruesome end?


The arguing amongst them continued, for a while. Fists were shaken and voices raised. The one who seemed to be in charge was still angry, but the two empathic ones definitely seemed to be fighting my corner. Or so I hoped. Finally, they handed me my rucksack, and $20, (which they then changed to $10). To me this meant life. They were not going to kill me. I felt indescribably elated. I had a rush of warmth – maybe some of that Stockholm Syndrome flooding in. I figured the money must be to pay a taxi to take me away from them. At this, the feeling of the night changed for me. If I was not going to die then this had gone from being the worst (and last) night of my life, to possibly the most fascinating adventure. I had $10 and a pack of cards in my backpack. Suddenly there were possibilities.


What if I could entice them to play poker and I was able to gamble all of my money back…? How cool would that be! What an ending to my initially unfortunate incident. I had visions of myself and my captors-turned poker friends, sitting in the smoke filled room, perhaps sharing a tot of whiskey while I hustled them and shared jokes through the international language of alcohol. But they weren’t for playing, alas. Undeterred, I thought that I really should have a photo of the event. Nobody’s gonna believe this has happened otherwise, I thought. They said no. Unsurprisingly. But wait – I wasn’t deterred. Like those books one sees written by ex-SAS soldiers with photos of troops with blacked out eyes to preserve their identities, I tried to mime to them that they could cover their eyes. Imagine, a photo of me posing with my captors, beaming at the camera with pockets stuffed full of my poker earnings, arms on their shoulders as they cover their faces. This time the leader thumped his fist on the table when he almost shouted at me. Ok, time to stop treating it like a game. Time to get away. And live.


A car finally arrived. I was ushered outside, and my captors bade me an ‘emotional’ farewell. This car had only one driver – I checked carefully this time. He whisked me away from the house, into the night. I looked back but they were quickly lost in the darkness. After all, there aren’t exactly any streetlights in that part of the world. He drove me back to the border, to the Uzbekistani side. I was alive. I was free. I was euphoric.


The driver, a grizzled and rough man who stank of cigarettes, probably in his fifties, then turned around to face me. He held out his hand, demanding money. Adrenaline had been coursing through my body for several hours now and I was still fairly pumped for action. This was just too much for me. It really was taking the mickey. They had had quite enough from me, thanks. Now I was sober and it was one against one, mano a mano. I swore at him in no uncertain terms. Despite our lack of a common tongue, he most definitely got my meaning. It would have been hard to misinterpret me. I got out and think I may even have slammed the door. This time however, I remembered my rucksack. I had been kidnapped for a few hours. It was now early morning. I was tired, cold and thirsty, and stuck at the border. What now? I may have been free, but unbeknownst to me my ordeal was far from over…


For some reason there were three other cars at the border. They seemed to have nothing to do with the kidnappers although I still have no clue what they were doing there at that time. I approached them and asked for a cigarette (they were smoking – obviously). One spoke a little English so I explained my situation to him and asked for help. Kindly he agreed to take me to Tashkent. When they’re not abducting you and threatening your life, they really are very decent people. I checked into the Sheraton, absolutely amazed that I was not dead and feeling extremely happy with life. I went straight to the bar – still open – and had the best beer of my life, whilst telling the barmaid, ‘I’ve just been kidnapped, don’t you know!’


The fact that I was now in Uzbekistan without actually crossing the border and without having my passport checked, did not register as important. Not yet, anyway!

 

 

The Knowing by David Graham

TheKnowing_zpsvw30mekb
 
Genre: Dark Fantasy, Thriller, Horror
Date Published: March 2017
 
The KnowingUnited by destiny, they must stand together to face an ancient evil…..

Ceri Edwards and two school friends lift the lid on an ancient book of recipes belonging to Betty Williams, a volunteer at the local hospital in Pontypridd, South Wales. Two Kansas City cops step off a flight at London Heathrow and one of them falls to the ground with a painful conviction that there’s something evil in the air.

United in their destinies, Ceri and the police officers are drawn into a world where prophecies are pitted against invisible forces planning to raze London to the ground and bring down the Royal Family.

It all rests with Dai Williams, recently knighted MI5 agent and reluctant hero, to bring some order to the improbable events and to ensure that afternoon tea at The Ritz continues for another hundred years.

A great cross between Kim Newman and Ben Aaranovitch and a thrill for any fan of contemporary urban horror.

Amazon

Available on NetGalley until May 15th

 

Excerpt:

A decent, pot-bellied, cast iron cauldron usually sold for a hundred pounds. One that was antique and appropriately fire-tarnished doubled the sum. Use by an accredited witch—specifically a member of the Dynion Mwyn tradition—could nudge that figure into the stratosphere. That was because a well-used cauldron was believed to absorb spells into the metalwork, supposedly making incantations more effective. Debunking that idea was as fruitless as rubbishing homeopathy—particularly now that Welsh folklore remedies had royal approval and were being marketed under the Cymry Originals brand, with a crest of giant leeks crossed like swords under a flying harp.


None of that was of the slightest interest to the three girls peering into the bubbling contents of the vessel. Ceri, Dilys and Bronwen liked to imagine their Celtic magick delivered with Grimm determination and lashings of David Giuntoli whom they had already accorded the title of ‘Honorary Welshman’. He would know a good potion if he saw one and would have no time for fictional fripperies like wands. They were for stupid kids who knocked themselves out walking into the wall between platforms at railway stations. Owls were cool, though, although they were far too self-important to be used as posties.


All three would-be witches were outfitted courtesy of Georgio @ Asda. ‘Gold Witch’ was an absolute steal at three pounds—if zero carat bling rocks your cwch. They had also considered the ‘Mental Patient’ blood-spattered straitjacket costume, but Bronwen’s mum was a social worker and thought the mentally ill deserved more respect than a few pence-worth of garish polyester. A gorily-streaked, plastic meat cleaver was an optional extra and she thought it was very realistic.


It was all for show, of course. They had no need of such embellishments, but it kept their mothers happy—and, hopefully, ignorant of what they were up to. The fact that Halloween—or, more accurately, All Hallows’ Eve—was just around the corner, provided the perfect smokescreen for their activities. There was always the chance Ceri’s mum might enter the room while they were in the middle of adding an eye or two of newt, so they had the music system turned up loud and playing Super Furry Animals. Actually, newt eyes were so yesterday. They’d read that modern witchery had honed the ingredients down to essences of magic which could be bought over the internet if you knew where to look. Currently, they had no internet thanks to the stupid British government, so they’d had to improvise— after tossing salt over their left shoulders, crossing their fingers and reciting a hundred Hail Marys.

The Knowing with Author Photo

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
Other Books by David Graham:

The Screaming

Genre: Horror, Supernatural, Thriller, Crime
Published: July 2015

The ScreamingWhat causes an adolescent – straight A student Brandon P Marshall – to walk downstairs naked, armed with a pair of Glocks, and go all Charles Manson on his family? This is only one in the horrifying trail of incidents that brings together Detective Sergeant Dale Franklin of the Kansas City Police Department and his poster-boy rookie, Steve Abrams. Meanwhile, across the pond, Dai Williams, in Battersea London, safe inside his improvised Faraday cage, is coming to terms with his special talents – talents that will take ‘getting-into-the-mind-of-the-killer’ to a whole new level. Al-Qaeda? Drugs Cartels? Internet freaks? David Graham’s The Screaming leaves no possibility untouched as Dai enters a bizarre and horrifying world where kids scream.

Amazon

 
  

The Author:

The Knowing Author David Graham.jpgDavid Graham lives in an ostensibly carbon zero house in rural Kent with his partner and cat amidst fields of maize and poly-tunnels of strawberries. Previously, he lived and worked in London as a consultant in the National Health Service.

His previous non-fiction titles include: Medical Computing and Applications, Creative Sound and Computer-Assisted Medical Learning: Clinical Anatomy. David turned his attention to writing fiction in 2012. Since then, he has written one self-published novel (Looks Could Kill) and two traditionally published novels (Captive and Wet & Wild) under the name David Ellis.

Looks Could Kill was in the Amazon Kindle Top 10 of spy thrillers and was downloaded more than 3,000 times. Captive was nominated for a Lambda Literary Award. He has also written two romance novellas under the name Richard Longfellow. His horror thriller The Screaming was published by Frostbite Publishing in the US in 2014, and by Austin Macauley in the UK in 2015. His new book The Knowing is the sequel to The Screaming and was published by Urbane Publications.

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