Showing posts with label Supernatural. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Supernatural. Show all posts

Tuesday, 8 October 2019

Husker: A #Horror Novel by Marc W. Johnson

My love of horror and science fiction in both the written word and movie began with my mother who loved them as well.  It was instilled in my fragile psyche at the tender age of five although, I did not know it at the time.  She took me in our Black Ford Fairlane to see Romero’s Night of the Living Dead at the local drive-in.  To this day I remember cowering in the backseat asking “is it day yet, is it day yet?”  Mom and I had some belly laughs about that for many years before the bell tolled and called her home.  The nightmares eventually subsided and as my childhood moved on I found myself drawn to all things scary and scifi.  Luckily, she had books by Phillip K. Dick, Isaac Asimov and Harlan Ellison among many others just hanging around the house.  I soon found the depraved minds of King and Koontz to my liking and of course other writers as well.  It wasn’t long that I became a fan of Hammer Studios and actors like Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Vincent Price and the lists could go on.  Suffice to say, I was hooked.  In my teens I began to write short stories and poems, some of which I had updated and you can find in my first book “A Collection of Dark Short Stories and Poetry.”  However, life happens and I had to put away such dreams, until after mom passed and found an old stained and tattered story of mine in a box in her garage, it was then that I felt the barest little warmth begin to surge within me.  It took a while for me to understand what it was, it was mom letting me know I could still have my dream.


About the Book


As a young teenager, running away after her mother died and never returning home, Jennifer Rollins’ fear of forfeiting her mind to the schizophrenia that took her mother has followed Jennifer throughout her life. Jennifer got some lucky breaks. She became a popular model, but her fears, and lifestyle in the fast lane finally take their toll. While Jennifer is recovering she receives news of her father’s brutal murder and comes home. Jennifer’s true nightmare begins. As she reconnects with old friends and her beau from high school, Jennifer sees horrific images, hears terrifying things and is sure her worst fears are now manifesting. While grappling with her sanity, Jennifer is convinced the killer is coming for her after, hidden away in the attic of her childhood home, she discovers a connection to the murders from the distant past. When she takes it to the police, knowing her much-publicized history they dismiss her. As the police believe they are closing in on the maniac, and Jennifer wrestles with her demons, neither have a clue of the true horror about to descend.

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Google Play

Friday, 21 June 2019

The Heart Collector-Auckland Steampunk#1: A #Romance #Suspense Novel by Barbara Russell

I’m an entomologist and a soil biologist, which is a fancy way to say that I dig in the dirt, looking for bugs. I was a kid when I read The Lord Of The Rings and fell in love with fantasy novels.

When I discovered cosy mystery, I fell in love with Hercules Poirot and Sherlock Holmes. Then I grew up and . . . Nah, I’m joking. Don’t grow up, folks! It’s a trap.


About the Book


Auckland, 1884. The Supernaturals are frightened. Despite being able to do extraordinary things like teleporting or lighting a fire with a stare, a serial killer, the Heart Collector, is slaughtering them. He rips their chests open and removes their hearts.

While other aristocratic, nineteen-year-old girls spend time dancing, Isabel trains hard to become an MI7 agent—Military Intelligence Seventh Division, a crime squad run by Supernaturals. The Heart Collector murdered her best friend, and enrolling at MI7 is the best way to help catch the killer.

Isabel senses other people’s feelings as if they were her owns. But MI7’s leader is too worried about Isabel’s safety to let her join the team.

Eager to prove that her power is valuable, Isabel volunteers to meet Murk, a dangerous Supernatural man who can turn himself invisible. MI7 desperately tried to recruit him and failed.

She believes that her power is enough to convince Murk to become an MI7’s agent and help apprehend the Heart Collector. If he wants to attack her, his feelings will broadcast his intention, and she’ll be ready.

What Isabel isn’t ready for is to fall in love with the man who will collect her heart.

Get it today on Amazon or read Free on KU!



Monday, 20 May 2019

The Beast Within: A #YA #Paranormal #Romance Novel by Charlotte L R Kane

Nerd, Geek, Writer, Editor.



About the Book


Keyanah never wanted to be a Wolf, but she was born into a world of Shifters. She denies her heritage and defies the laws and rules of the pack. She would do anything to stop the Wolf from emerging - even risking her own life.

Her father is the Alpha and must punish his daughter for not accepting the Wolf. He exiles her into the human world, forcing her to learn and understand the rules of the human world.

Enter Callum, a twenty-one-year-old coffeeshop owner who finds Keyanah and offers her a job. But there is more to him than meets the eye.

Keyanah finds herself attracted to Callum, but she doesn't know why. When she moves into his apartment she learns the truth about him. And herself.

Can she allow herself to love Callum or will the threat of the inner Wolf become too much for her?

Inspired by the Many Lives series by Laxmi Hariharan.

Get it today on Amazon!

Wednesday, 22 August 2018

Clandestine Volume 1: Loyalty - An #Action #Adventure #Novel by Morgan LionHeart

Today, I had a very interesting conversation come up when I was talking to someone who I consider a good friend. "What is your dream?" I think as we live and grow, those change and, that's OK. We're all following what I think we all consider sometimes to be "clumsy dreams"

My dream, might sound a bit clechè and just like words but here it is.

When I was about 16, and just beginning to appreciate anime. My cousin introduced me to "Bleach" those who have heard of it will think what you will but the thing I got most from it was perseverance.

Later, although I liked anime like that still, I found I was looking for something else. That's when I found "Kanon" What an incredible and interesting story.

It laid out some things very clearly

  • death
  • disease
  • depression
  • loss
  • malice


But it also showed something else

  • perseverance
  • joy
  • living each day happy even if you had no idea if tomorrow would come
  • family
  • comfort
  • never EVER giving up on those who matter to you, even if you're not sure sometimes why they matter
  • miracles (big and small)


I came across others with those same elements. Including. Anime from the same company as "Kanon" itself.

Here's the part that may seem a bit clichè and some might think a bit fake. I'm not afraid to say some might believe that.

I don't really care about the popularity or success of my books. Sure getting readers and likes, followers, shares, they feel good. But I don't really care if only one person reads. As long as they understand and it inspires them, like those anime did for me.

Some of my content is and will continue to be brash, harsh, hard to read but, in a world like we live in now. I believe it's necessary, putting these things in such a way that hard and stubborn hearts will understand.

That's my dream.

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About the Book


Three-year-old Kai's life was changed forever when his home was attacked one fateful day.

A shadowy figure stole everything from him. Until his saviour took him in and once again gave him a family. To this day, dreams of that tragedy plague him... Besides that, he lives a pretty happy life with that woman and her daughter, Himari..

When he was 15 years old his Foster mother brought him into the ranks of the V.H.A (Vampire Hunting Association) Their job, protect the humans from the supernaturals who try to do them harm and protect the ones that simply want a better life.

Now, he's the best of the best, but secrets, lies, and a new partner might take away everything they've built.

Get it Today!


Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo



You can watch the trailer here!



Keep reading for an excerpt:


A chuckle escaped the man's lips. "Kai, you're a daywalker correct?”

He nodded his head in response to the man's inquisition.

"That means you walk a sort of line. You live with that every day. Not one of them, but not one of the humans either."

Kai nodded. "So what's your point?"

The man simply sighed. “You really don't see it? She is a human born with the knowledge and power of a supernatural. It doesn't take much to see you both walk the tightrope along that very thin line between man and, well, something else."

Truth was, he had never thought of it like that before—all he really knew was how annoying she had been to him all these years. But hearing it like that really made him think.

Monday, 25 December 2017

The Shadow Realm: Distant Memories - A #Fantasy Novel by J.L. Keathley

I was born and raised in Arkansas. I have been married ten years. I have two daughters. I am thirty but rarely act my age. I started writing last year and have plenty of ideas for books I want to write. I love reading, mostly anything about the supernatural. I am an animal person. I have several animals that include snakes, lizards, sugar gliders, and rats. I have cut down quite a bit. My goal is life is to write stories, my readers can’t put down and to travel around in bus and see the world.





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About the Book


Jade was a happy normal teenager excited about her upcoming 16th birthday. (Even though it meant being the center of attention, which she hated!) She just knew turning 16 would open up a whole new world to her. She would be getting her driver’s license and a little more freedom.

But Jade's world didn't just change, it shattered into pieces. Unbeknownst to her she was actually a vampire-witch hybrid and belonged to a world that she knew nothing about. Plagued by strange dreams of past lives that she had no memory of, she struggled to control her thirst for fresh blood and her new magic powers, while trying to accept what she had become…



Coming the 25th of March 2018!


Keep reading for an interview with the author:


Why did you decide to be a writer?


I wanted to write the type of story that I want to read.


What genres do you write?


YA and MA Fantasy and Fiction

Is there a genre that you've been wanting to experiment with?


Thriller/Horror. It is different than what I am used to. Think it would make me a better author.

Do you have a daily word or page count goal?


I hope to write at least 500 words, but that isn't always the case. Sometimes I am lucky and can write between 2,000-5,000 words at a sitting.

If you could be one of your characters for a day, who would it be and why?


Jade, she is the main character and has abilities beyond even she knows.

What authors have most influenced you?


Richelle Mead, P.C. Cast, Christopher Pike, Stephanie Meyer, L.J. Smith

What is the biggest obstacle you face as an author and what do you do to overcome it?


The financial cost of publishing. I am sure I am not the only one. A book cover, editor, trailer, programs to write, and ect. can take a lot of money. I have been lucky and have gotten a lot of help with a lot of this for my first book and I am grateful.

What is the best compliment you've ever received as an author?


That is funny. Probably from a beta reader. "You're a mean, mean woman, that was a heck of a cliffhanger. I need more."

What is your writing process?


Create an outline and write what comes to mind.

How long does it take you to write a book?


Including revising probably 5-6 months.

How do you come up with the titles for your books?


They pop into my head randomly.


Have you ever gotten an idea for a story from something really bizarre?


Not yet.. but you never know.

What are you working on now?


Editing my debut novel and a YA southern fiction.

What was the hardest part about writing your latest book?


Trying not to rush it.

Do you have any advice for other authors?


Keep writing, Don't give up.


Do you have anything specific you'd like to say to your readers?


Hope you enjoy my novel when it's released, and don't worry there will be more books in this series.

Monday, 6 November 2017

Devils A Collection of Devilish Short Fiction by Erik Henry Vick



Erik Henry Vick is an author who happens to be disabled by an autoimmune disease (also known as his Personal Monster™). He writes to hang on to the few remaining shreds of his sanity. His current favorite genres to write are dark fantasy and horror.

He lives in Western New York with his wife, Supergirl; their son; a Rottweiler named after a god of thunder; and two extremely psychotic cats. He fights his Personal Monster™ daily with humor, pain medicine, and funny T-shirts.

Erik has a B.A. in Psychology, an M.S.C.S., and a Ph.D. in Artificial Intelligence. He has worked as a criminal investigator for a state agency, a college professor, a C.T.O. for an international software company, and a video game developer.


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About the Book


Come, step inside the dark passageways of Erik Henry Vick’s mind. Come meet his friends, devils, one and all.

Robert is a war hero on his way down. Addicted to cocaine, wallowing in guilt, he meets a beautiful woman with the quirky habit of telling everyone she’s the devil.

Rick Bergen learns the true cost of revenge when he enters the world of the voodoo pantheon and meets the manifestation of vengeance.

Rena is kidnapped by polygamist extremists bent on creating an army for the apocalypse—by any means necessary.

An ancient evil has returned to stalk the shores of Lake Seneca. A colonial New Yorker, with the help of an Onondowaga warrior, must confront beings that can’t be killed or reasoned with.

A man is trapped in Rochester, NY by a massive snowstorm, but if he doesn't make his appointment in Buffalo, his entire bloody itinerary will be in jeopardy.

Mind your step. Don’t attract these devils’ attention.

Get it today on Amazon!


Keep reading for an interview with the author:


Why did you decide to be a writer?


I have always written -- stories, non-fiction, whatever. I started when I was seven, in order to win a contest hosted by my second-grade teacher. I wrote 70 single page stories to win a trip to McDonald's. As an adult, I got distracted by various things (academia, work, etc.), but was disabled about 8 years ago. I focused on writing fiction again as a way to cope with my disability.

Do you have a "day job"?


No, I'm disabled by a chronic illness (rheumatoid arthritis), also known as my Personal Monster (tm). Most recently, I was a professor teaching video game development.


What inspires you to write?


Stephen King and my Personal Monster (tm). Yeah, I know that sounds a bit strange, but it is true. When I was first disabled, I turned to fiction for solace. I read my favorite books again and again. Perhaps my all time favorite series is The Dark Tower, and as I was reading it a few years ago, I began to think about how much fun it would be to write something like it. At the time, computer use was very difficult--even sitting in an office chair for longer than 15 minutes was painful--but the idea wouldn't let go. I found a way--a modified sit-stand swing arm and a recliner, along with a bunch of gadgets to accommodate the variable nature of my disease. I also wanted to raise awareness about the disease, chronic illnesses, and life with an invisible disability. All of those things together became my novel, Errant Gods, which will be released this fall.

How long does it take you to write a novel?


This is actually a very difficult question to answer. Not only are most novels different lengths, but in my experience, each novel has a "personality" (for lack of a better word) of its own. Some just come running, others you have to chase a bit. Then there's the whole first draft vs. finished draft thing, which is a whole other can of worms. I can say that I've written a novel in a month (which was horrible and will never be published), and others have taken years. Then there's the whole Personal Monster (tm) thing. It delights in becoming the largest monkey wrench it can be.

If you could be one of your characters for a day, who would it be and why?


The character Hank Jensen (Errant Gods) is largely based on me, so definitely not him! I'd like to be Meuhlnir for a day (or century), maybe.


What is the most difficult thing you've ever researched?


In my novella, The Devil, the character Lily uses slang from multiple languages, including Mexican, Dominican, Hebrew, Russian, German, and Arabic. Keeping all that straight was tough.

What are your goals as an author?


Still writing and self-publishing.


What is the biggest obstacle you face as an author and what do you do to overcome it?


Hands down, my disability. There are weeks and even months at a time when I can't be productive. Unproductive time like that can be the death knell of a novel -- the story dies, the characters become something else, the thread gets lost... One of the best tricks I have in my arsenal at the moment is something I stole from Stephen King -- the "next note." When I'm done writing for the day, I add a "next note" to the bottom of the manuscript. I write what happens next, and if I can't get back to it the next day, it's still there when I can. I also use OneNote to track ideas, characters, settings, etc., because I can get to it from any device.

What is the best compliment you've ever received as an author?


A recent reader told me to think of her as "Constant Reader" (which is how Stephen King addresses his readers in his author's notes).


Have you ever had a particularly harsh critique?


Yes, of course. The thing is, all critiques are good. Even if they are bad. The worst critiques are the "vacuous" ones: things like "this sucks" without further comment. I can't do anything with that. I read every review, every critique, and try to learn from them.

What do you enjoy doing aside from writing?


Reading, joking around (with everyone), finding the best funny T-shirts.

If you were stranded on a deserted island, and you could only have five books with you, what would they be?


I would have to take 8. The Dark Tower books.

What made you decide to self-publish?


Not to sound like a broken record, but my illness imposes certain restrictions on me. I wrote my non-fiction book right before I was disabled, and meeting deadlines was a problem. With self-publishing, I am the deadline, so they're much easier to meet.

What fears do you have about writing and being an indie author?


Gaining traction with readers, really. I'm proactive about marketing--that's the only solution, I think.

Do you write in first or third person, past or present tense, and why?


All of the above. I don't like present tense much, but when it makes sense, I use it.

Are you a pantser or outliner?


Pantser!

Do you write about real life experiences, or does everything come from your imagination?


I write from experience, but as a horror writer, my imagination definitely gets in its licks.

Have you ever wanted to put one of your characters together with a character from one of your favorite novels? What characters would you choose and how would their meeting go?


I think it would be cool to have Hank Jensen meet Roland Deschain. They would argue about firearms most likely.

How do you market/promote your work?


I do social media and have spent the past few months building a mailing list, and from there, a launch team of readers who are very interested in my writing.


Do you have anything specific you'd like to say to your readers?


I am very thankful to have readers. I'd love to hear from you!

Friday, 6 October 2017

Give in to the Feeling by Sarah Zama

Bookseller in Verona (Italy), Sarah Zama has always lived surrounded by books. Always a fantasy reader and writer, she’s recently found her home in the dieselpunk community. Her first book, Give in to the Feeling, comes out in 2016.

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About the Book


Even in sparkling Jazz Age Chicago, spirits can trick you into believing they’re men.


When Susie comes to Jazz Age America, she knows her life will change. Back in China, spirits mingle in the mists of the rice fields and trick humans into believing they’re men so to steal their soul, and the expectations of a daughter are unimportant and ignore. Here in Chicago, Simon gives her the carefree life of the New American Woman, the freedom to dress daringly and do things once only reserved for men--drinking, smoking and dancing with strangers. It’s an exciting life and she considers the loyalty Simon demands of her a small price to pay.

Until she meets Blood.

Blood lets Susie speak her mind and listen to her heart. He commits himself to her and asks nothing in return. Through his eyes, Susie begins to see her loyalty to Simon as the bars around her “freedom”. But she knows Simon will never let her go.

Here in Chicago spirits can mingle in the smoke and jazz of speakeasies and trick humans into believing they’re men. They can still steal their soul. And if Susie doesn’t see the spirit behind the mask of the men fighting for her, she might lose much more than her freedom.


Get it Today!



Keep reading for a character guest post:


Susie's Bio (in her own words)


It’s the weirdest of things, thinking about that life now. It feels like a dream, a sweet dream, sometimes. But so far away that I’m not even sure it was ever my life. I know it will never be again.

I was born on the Dragon Backbone Mountains in the south of China, in what I used to think of as a village and I now would call a group of huts among the rice paddy fields. It was a beautiful place, I knew it even then. I remember the sun on the liquid terraces, the mists before the sun rose. The sweet summers. I do have many nice memories of my birthplace.

I remember running barefoot with gangs of kids, playing jokes on our elders, going hunting for rabbits and other small games. I was quite a good hunter, considering I was a little girl.

My father would always say I was a double disgrace for him. First, because I was a women, the first of five sisters. And second, because I should have been a boy as it was clear by my personality. He would always say that, before proceeding to beat some sense in that stupid head of mine.

I wonder now whether my father was a violent man. I don’t think he was. He never treated my sisters the way he treated me, but maybe my treatment was education enough for them never to do what I did: speak back, speak my mind, act like a tomboy. If this is the case, I’m happy I spared my sisters that fate. By my teen years I had learn do curb my tongue and think twice before speaking up even when the words strangled me in my throat.

I hardly remember what I felt when my father told me he had found a husband for me and I was to cross the ocean to reach him. I had always expected to leave my house, of course. And probably, back then I didn’t really know what it would mean ‘crossing the ocean’. Maybe my father saw it as the only option he had for a difficult daughter like me: selling me off to someone who couldn’t possibly check on me before marrying me. I know – because I discovered later – the man paid quite a handsome amount of money to get me, which was a huge amount of money in my little village. I’m sure my parents lived well enough after that, and my sisters found a good house to be married into. I consider that my last service to my family, because I know I will never see any of them again.

I don’t remember the journey across the ocean. I don’t want to remember. But sometimes it comes back in my worst nightmares. The dark, the choking heat, putrid food. The smell of so many bodies pressed together. The short moments of fresh air each of us where allowed.

I’m glad I don’t remember.

But I do remember when I finally landed in San Francisco, alone. It was a nightmare of its own. It was hell. Nothing was familiar. Not the language. Not the smell of the city and the people. Not the colour of the sun. Not the sounds that assailed me and confused me. I remember the inspection, and the papers handed to me which I wasn’t even sure what were for. I stood in the street with my papers in hand, staring at those incomprehensible words and thinking that was exactly what my life looked like from that standing point.

How did I find the place where my husband was waiting for me? Maybe an old couple of immigrants helped me, someone who had come before me and knew the city. Yes, it was an elderly couple who took pity on me and helped me find the house.

When I got there, finally… my soon to be husband was dead.

Was I shocked? I can’t say so. I was already overwhelmed with everything. This news was just one more brick in the wall I was banging my head against. I didn’t care. I was lost anyway. There wasn’t a place for me in this new land, I knew it from the moment I set foot on it.

But my husband had an associate, they did business together. Import/export from home, as I understood it. Ma Shu took an interest in me. He had indeed carved his niche in San Francisco, but now he wanted to travel somewhere else, to a place he could call his own. I liked that. I liked his drive.

He said he had bought a place in Chicago and asked me whether I wanted to go with him. I didn’t know what Chicago meant, but what did I care? Could be any place. I didn’t care to stay in San Francisco.

I went with him. I went with him in all possible ways.

Chicago did shock me. It is cold, colder than home in any season. And in the winters it’s dark, and freezing. The lake sends wind and snow our way. Always. Always.

Contrary to San Francisco, there aren’t many Chinese in Chicago. Ma Shu set up his place, a speakeasy, he called it. A place where people can drink (which is forbidden by law, crazy as it sounds) and dance to jazz. All night long, if they wish.

I love jazz. Why? I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like anything familiar to me, still when I listen to it and especially when I dance to it, it’s like a part of me is set free. Free, like I’ve never been. So free sometimes I’m scared by that feeling, but never so much not to go back to it every time.

Ma Shu has never be opposed to my dancing. I’ve even joined the show. I dance with other dancers, dance with customers. Ma Shu let me do anything American women do. I can drink, if I want. I can smoke. I can wear shockingly short dresses. He’s never tried to stop me from doing anything. He’s taught me to speak English. He’s taught me to deal with Americans. He’s given me a gorgeous house, beautiful dresses, anything I want.

I owe him so much. I owe him everything.

And now… now I don’t know what to do.


Monday, 6 June 2016

The Saints of Belvedere Road by Darke Conteur

Darke Conteur is a writer at the mercy of her Muse. The author of stories in several genres, she prefers to create within the realms Science Fiction and Dark Fantasy. A gamer at heart, she also enjoys knitting, gardening, cooking and loud music. When not busy writing, she watches over one husband, one wannabe chef, four cats, and one ghost dog.

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About the Book


Amelia Saint thinks she’s losing her mind. 

Demonic visions have left Amelia doubting her sanity. To her horror, she learns her husband bargained the soul of their eldest child to the demon Korthos, to fulfill an apocalyptic prophecy, Worse, she discovers Henry plans to use the souls of their two younger children to solidify his place of honour in the hell-on-earth that is to come. 

With help from strangers adept in the occult, she discovers a way to keep her children alive. If Amelia can prevent Korthos from taking full possession of her son’s body for seventy-two hours, the pact will be broken and Henry will be imprisoned in the bowels of Hell. 

Henry knows this too. 

Amelia must stay one step ahead, but as the deadline approaches and the forces of evil close in, her chances of keeping her children alive run out.

Get it today on ebook or print!


Keep reading for an excerpt:



The knob was cool in her hand as she gripped it tightly and pulled. Her stomach lurched at the thought of what could be on the other side. Cautiously, she opened it a foot and peered out. Two police officers stood a few feet back from the house. At first glance they didn’t appear threatening, but Amelia wasn’t sure of anything anymore. One officer appeared preoccupied with the outside of her home, moving his head back and forth, looking carefully at the front of her house. The second officer quickly acknowledged her presence and lifted his head, looking directly into Amelia’s eyes.

“Mrs. Saint?”

Amelia braced one foot against the back of the door. “Yes.”

“We had a complaint about shots fired at this address.”

She feigned a look of concern. “Really?”

“Yes ma’am.” He placed his hands on his hips. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to come in and look around.”

Amelia felt her mouth go dry. “Do you really need to, I mean it’s so late and—”

“Ma’am, I understand that, but we have to follow procedure, and that means checking the property to make sure . . .”

The officer’s words trailed off into a distorted voice. Amelia’s vision began to blur. Her head throbbed with such intensity it felt like daggers slashing at her skull from the inside. She could barely hear as a dark shadow fell across the front step, but she saw the officers react, drawing their weapons and aiming directly above her head.

A gust of wind blew the door open, and Amelia was thrown to the floor. Her eyesight cleared enough to see a set of leathery wings descend from above, blocking any escape from the front step. The body attached was strong and lean, and as ugly as the creature that possessed her son. Sharp talons on the end of muscular legs reached out and grasped the officers around the waist. It squeezed their bodies in a grip so tight, their screams caught in their throats. Blood trailed from the corners of their mouths as they choked on their own fluids and bodies succumbed to the pressure of the grasp. The soft skin of their torsos ruptured, spewing out the decimated remains of internal organs and flesh through the claws. Amelia struggled to get away as blood and bone fragments splattered the tile floor around her. Her hands and feet slipped in the pools of tissue that coated the front entrance.

The creature then lifted into the air, taking the gruesome remains with it, and Amelia was left in shock, gasping for air.

Homer and Jared raced to her side. “Shit! Amelia, are you all right?”

She sat up and stared out the door. “What the hell was that?”

“A scrayling,” Jared said, helping her to her feet. “Flying demons.”

Amelia’s mind reeled from the attack. “They fly?”

Jared shut the door as the intense throbbing returned. Amelia pressed the palms of her hands against her temples, hoping to ease some of the pain.

“What’s wrong?” Morgan’s voice came at them from the living room.

Homer ran to the kitchen entrance and pointed. “Stay there!”

Glass shattered from the huge window above, raining sharp debris. Amelia fell to the floor, shielding her head under one arm. She could hear the twins calling to her, and she lifted her head as something warm hit her hand. The metallic scent of blood was strong as she gazed on a small red lump that landed just inches from her.

“Oh God,” Jared whispered, next to her. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Amelia’s eyes trailed off to a large bloody mass a few feet away. She knew it had once been the torso of one of the officers at her front door, but it was unrecognizable now. Her eyes focused on the piece of flesh that lay near her hand, and felt the sting of bile rise in the back of her throat as she saw the ear lobe on one side of the flesh.

Homer pulled her to her feet. “We’re not waiting for morning. We leave now!”

Tuesday, 26 April 2016

Soulless by Ismael Manzano

Ismael Manzano resides in the Bronx with his wonderful wife (also a published writer) and his amazing son. He's a fan of history -- specifically Roman and Tudor England -- and loves all forms of fantasy and science fiction. 

His short fiction has been accepted for publication at Grey Matter and This Dark Matter. His Urban Fantasy novel, Soulless (Book one of the Soul Broker Series) was released March 08th 2016 by Fantasy Works Publishing.


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About the Book


The devil’s not the only one buying souls; both sides need them to fight their war, and both have something to offer in return. Nearly anything is possible if you're the type of soul they're looking for. Charlotte Furio learns this the hard way, when a spirited and mysterious woman named Trisha follows her home one night and offers her ailing father a simple choice: a healthy body for his immortal soul.

His decision introduces Charlotte to the world of soul brokering, and Charlotte is not only drawn to it, but finds she has a knack for it. Having lived the last decade of her life with only one purpose—to care for her increasingly disabled father—Charlotte sees this as her chance to give direction and meaning to her own life, and the lives of others. To help them, as she had helped her father.

Her mission is quickly derailed when Charlotte is framed for the murder of one of the brokers' leaders. Where she once had only one purpose, now Charlotte has two—get her father's soul back, and find a way to prove her innocence before it's too late.


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Keep reading for an excerpt:


I walked around the car so I could jump into the passenger's seat, waited for the crowd to thin and calmly—barely holding onto my senses—asked for the knapsack. It weighed nothing, but when I opened it, I found a parchment resting peacefully and eagerly inside of it. The full moon was out, and the sky was cloudless and unobtrusive, so when the pale, silvery light touched the papyrus, it was not reflected but enhanced. Trisha started the engine, and put the convertible’s top up to block the moonlight, then adjusted her mirror. Her face glowed nearly as bright as the papyrus. 

The windows were tinted so I felt safe removing the parchment completely from the bag. The second my hand touched it, I felt a rush of something inexplicable, like a jolt of pleasurable lightning traipsing through my nerves and extending outward to the world at large. At first, I thought Trisha had pulled out a taser gun and had shocked me, but nothing hurt. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to enjoy the strangeness of the sensation. Shivers passed through me randomly, tingles that lit my skin. Without knowing how, I knew those shivers were my body's reaction to people passing alongside the car. It was as if I was connected to the air through which they moved. I heard the wind pushing through the desiccated leaves still clinging to their branches, and it sounded like water rushing around a brook. The smells of the city, even through the confinement of the car, assailed my nostrils as if someone had bottled it up and threw it—concentrated—into my lap.