I am participating in the Author’s Cross Promotion where you can enter to win free books. The promotion is designed to build individual author mailing lists and give readers the potential for more information about their genre of interest. It is easy to enter by clicking on the link above or below. The two grand prizes are all of the books you see here. There are thirty-four individual winners as well.
(Submissions by John W. Howell)
Santak
This chimera can be found in the city of Skullmead, which is known for being the home to both pirates and whale watching tours. It was a lazy first mate who attempted to make the Santak to make his job easier. This creature is a true combination considering how many animals were used. It has the colorful plumage of a parrot, the eyes of an osprey, the complete head of a pelican, the wingspan of an albatross, and the knife-like talons of a secretary bird. Nobody is sure how this monstrosity was going to make the man’s life better. The story goes that he gave it to his captain as a gift, but the chimera’s talons severed the captain’s arm. As the first mate was thrown overboard, his creation took to the sky and continues to roam the rooftops of Skullmead.
Perruvious
An aquatic Feykin that was born from a low-ranking naiad and a mer-person, these creatures are considered outcasts by both sides. They have an ephemeral body that looks like nothing more than a change in water coloration. It is only under a half moon that they can take a solid form, which is of a scale-covered humanoid. A crimson sail is on their head and they flash this in the hope of finding more of their kind. Perruvious’s tend to stay in colonies that float around the open ocean. It has been noted that there are always different numbers when they take their human forms with some members missing and new faces among the colony. Even they are unsure if their friends have died or they were absorbed since they never leave a body. Many consider them to be the ghosts of drowned sailors even though they have no connection to the species.
Thaxtique
This Feykin is incredibly dangerous and can be found around the continent of Shayd, but only the seaside caverns. They are the children of demons and fairies, which has granted them powerful magic. It is unclear how this union occurs, but the same creature is created regardless of the parents’ species. Cast out of the Chaos Void at birth, they resemble living shadows with tentacles coming off their face. These protrusions are used to catch prey and drain them of magic, which helps to take a more three-dimensional form. Thaxtique’s that reach fifty years can assume a true form, which is of a winged humanoid with acid-coated skin and a mask-like face. It is rare that they are found beyond Shayd’s shoreline, but some have been known to climb up to the mainland in search of food or an entrance to the Chaos Void. This is why scholars believe they are Feykin who wish to become full demons and return home.
Tambers
A curious type of chimera that has become common among the nomadic desert tribes of Ralian. These friendly creatures are made by the casters of Bor’daruk and traded for supplies. Physically, they resemble long-tailed monkeys that are no bigger than a guinea pig. All of the changes are internal with the Tambers having a camel’s ability to go long distances without water. Instead of a hump, these agile and furry animals have a pot belly that children can use as a pillow. Tambers have an acute sense of smell and coatings over their eyes to protect against sand, which makes them excellent guard animals. While not strong, they have very sharp teeth that can break wooden weapons and scratch up any unenchanted metal.
Verrundiou
This is actually a false Feykin that feeds off the real ones. Nobody is sure where this predator came from, but thankfully there is only one in the world. It wanders Windemere in search of prey and will go after anything that has even a hint of fairy blood or magic inside it. The Verrundiou resembles a short elf with pointy ears, blonde hair, and slender body. Bee wings are on its back and allow it to fly for short distances, but it’s real method of moving is running on all fours at high speeds. It wears fake teeth to hide the gnarled, razor-like blades that are hidden in its gums. This creature can change its hair and skin color in order to claim a different elemental heritage. These alterations even change its magical resistances, which makes it very difficult to fight. It is unclear if the Verrundiou is immortal or a new one is born when the previous one dies, but those who know of its existence have yet to find a way to make sure it stays dead.
Halloween means different things to different people. I like a bit of everything, from suspenseful thrillers like Hitchcock is associated with to giant monsters who make a career out of crushing Tokyo.
My writing reflects this too. We just held a free promotion for Panama, and it included dark magical forces and black magic.
This week’s promotion is for The Playground. It includes some of that demonic magic, but it starts off with some near future science fiction.
A ruthless businessman, Tommy Fazio, created a line of toys that include a social network for children. They become the “must have” product of the Christmas season.
He has larger plans though. The Playground Network is brainwashing our children into his own personal army. Imagine a homegrown army housed in our very homes.
Tommy isn’t a patient man, so he turns to the occult to speed things along. This is…
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Crimson Peak
Waiting outside the morgue, Max meticulously cleans his glasses even though they are spotless. He glances at the crying families that surround him, all of them having arrived to identify the deceased. The sight of a confused boy asking when his mother will come home nearly causes the detective to leave. Max feels sick when he imagines his own children standing here, both of them old enough to understand the situation. He takes some comfort from being ignored even though his badge is visible and he has been identified as one of the investigating officers.
The boy’s sudden crying snaps the blonde-haired man out of his thoughts and he watches the father struggle to calm the child. Pulling a dollar out of his pocket, Max goes to a nearby vending machine and gets a chocolate bar. He is not sure if this is the right thing to do, but the urge to bring even a faint smile to the child’s face is too strong to resist. Kneeling next to the other man, he hands out the candy to the boy and points at his badge to make sure they know he is one of the good guys. Cleaning his nose on his sleeve, the kid accepts the snack and walks into his father’s hug to quietly eat the soft chocolate.
“Take good care of him,” Max whispers, patting the boy on the head.
“That was sweet,” a young woman in scrubs says as she approaches the officer. Her dark skin is covered in sweat from working all morning and recovering by chugging coffee that is still a tad too hot. “If you could wait inside, Mr. Boros, I want to finish talking with the families. I shouldn’t be long. Stay near my desk and don’t touch anything. The place might look like a mess, but that’s only because it’s been a rough morning. Last thing I need is to get chewed out for a misplaced file.”
“I’ve been there before, Sammy,” the detective states before heading into the morgue. He stops the door from closing entirely and turns back to the mortician. “I know you said stay by the desk, but I might walk around with my hands in my pockets. No reason other than to get an idea of what I’m dealing with.”
Max takes the rolling eyes as an agreement and makes a show of hiding his hands, the teeth of a key scratching one of his knuckles. Leaving Sammy in the hallway, he walks among the empty tables that show signs of recently being cleaned. Only one of the bodies has been left out of the refrigerator, but it is placed in a corner and hidden with a sheet to avoid upsetting any of the visitors. Judging from the silhouette’s size and structure, Max can see that it is the male stripper. He gets closer and examines the corpse as best he can without touching anything, his eyes picking out strange dips in the covering. The chest seems oddly shaped and he moves to see if he can get a better angle in the dim light.
“I can’t even think of a good analogy for this weirdness,” Sammy claims, causing the detective to job. She waits for the panting man to calm down before turning the sheet back enough to reveal the body’s head. “Not a good idea to show you what’s below the neck. This guy definitely got the worst of it outside of the bride. Everyone else was killed with a single injury like a TV crushing the head or thrown off the balcony. Still, those are somewhat believable compared to what’s here. The penis was torn off and that appears to have been done with relative easy. At least judging by the trauma to the skin because there isn’t any sign of twisting. Just a straight yank off. Though he was killed by a stomp to his chest.”
“What’s so weird about that?” Max asks as the mortician pulls back the sheet. He nearly vomits at the sight of the collapsed and exploded torso, the grotesque sight making him wonder if this body is even real. “You’re telling me that the small, slight bridesmaid with a taste for human flesh stomped on this guy’s chest. Not only that, but with enough force to smash everything and balloon the remains out to the sides. It’s like his body is made out of clay and got stuck that way. Rigor mortis did this?”
“Cute how you could even think that.”
“I don’t think I have it in me to see the rest.”
“That’s why I’m on my fifth coffee this morning.”
“Any consistency or was this a violent rampage?”
“Follow me for more weirdness.”
Sammy leads the way to her desk and grabs a pile of folders, the notebooks underneath slumping onto the computer keyboard. She takes a moment to move some stuff around before bringing the case files to a clean table. Laying them out in alphabetical order, she opens each one to a picture of the deceased’s head. Most of them are nothing more than gory photos of splattered bones and brains. A few are scans of intact skulls, the black and white images catching Max’s attention more than the graphic pictures. Picking up one by the corner, he does his best to make sense of what he is looking at. The mortician carefully takes the evidence away and puts it back, making sure it is in perfect alignment with the other documents.
“The majority of deaths have resulted in the heads being pulverized. Even in some cases where the damage shouldn’t be that severe,” Sammy explains while using a laser pointer to highlight the pictures. Moving the beam to one of the scans, she has it make a tight circle in the center. “A few were left relatively intact. I brought someone in to check the insides after finding a lot of blood in their noses. Can’t be sure with the heavily damaged brains, but the others are all missing their thalamus. I would say there were removed and I’m talking surgically. No idea how since there are no incisors on the head or rest of the brain.”
“Maybe the person went through the nose like Egyptians did during mummification,” Max suggests as he returns to the dead man. Leaning over the body, he uses a small flashlight to look up the nostrils. “I can see some blood. If I remember some college anatomy lessons, the thalamus is right in the middle of the brain. How can you get at that without leaving marks or even pull it through a nostril?”
“Not possible without leaving signs of trauma behind,” the mortician answers after she puts the folders away. Opening a freezer drawer, she pulls the slab out to show a body that appears to end at the neck. “This young woman was tossed through a window and over the balcony. Much like Carl Anders, she landed head first. If this is a serial killer like Gemma thinks then I would say he or she is taking the thalamus as a trophy. With a destroyed skull, we would never have noticed.”
“The chef had nothing to do with Mr. Anders,” the detective points out before snapping his fingers. Searching his pockets for a notebook, he flips through the pages only to curse and toss it onto a table. “I was right since the chef who laced the bachelorette party’s food and drink wasn’t working the night Mr. Anders died. What if there are multiple killers in the hotel and they’re following orders? A place like Heaven’s Nest would be a perfect place to attract victims. Then again, that doesn’t explain the trophy taking.”
Sammy shrugs and puts the body back in the refrigerator, the short-haired woman yawning as her latest caffeine rush wears off. “Don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Boros. My job is to clean and examine the bodies. So far, I couldn’t even begin to explain most of what I’m seeing on these Heaven’s Nest cases. All I can tell you is that something is weird there. Probably only going to get worse since Gemma is intent on poking around. For her sake, I hope it’s a single killer and not a group because one enemy is easier to escape than an army. Need me to make any reports and copy them for her?”
“I’ll hold onto the reports since Cook doesn’t want any evidence to be in her room,” Max replies, only partially paying attention. He reclaims his notes and thumbs through them, ignoring the doodles done while he was on the phone. “Some cases are easy and others are a nightmare. I think this one is going to be in a whole new category. Good point on things getting worse, so we both should stock up on coffee.”
“Already put in a request form to the chief.”
With a chuckle, Max takes a final look at the corpse and leaves the morgue. He goes to the vending machine for a snack, but the power goes out as soon as his last dollar is eaten. The lights come back on a few seconds later and half of the candy falls into the slot. Backing away from the machine, Max heads down the hallway and spins around at the sound of movement. For a brief moment, he swears a raven is standing in front of the stairwell door. The creature is gone as soon as the detective blinks, but he still has the unnerving sense that he is being watched.
House on Haunted Hill
“We’re doing interviews throughout the building, ma’am. Do you have a few minutes to answers questions?” Max asks as he enters Gemma’s room. He stops at the sight of the large television in the wall, the channel listing making him temporarily forget why he is there. “I need to start harassing rich suspects like you. Please tell me there isn’t a massaging chair in here or I’ll genuinely hate you, Cook.”
“I was attacked by a pool cleaner last night. Still want to trade?” Gemma asks while she makes sure nobody saw her partner enter. Locking the door behind her, she tosses a towel to the man and nods her head toward his satchel. “Consider that a souvenir. What can you tell me about the massacre?”
Max pulls a bug detector out of his bag and moves about the suite, the device making clicks and beeps. He stops to shake the machine and work one of the dials, which makes Gemma think he never read the instructions. The cautious man takes his time scanning what movies have told him are the usual hiding places. Making his way into the bathroom, he takes a second to stare forlornly at the bathtub and rub his lower back. Max turns back to the doorway and jumps when he finds Gemma standing right behind him. The red-haired woman claims the bug detector and places it on a nearby shelf before guiding her fellow police officer to a recliner that is so comfortable that he nearly falls asleep.
“The whole thing is disturbing, so expect the media to run wild with catchy headlines and conjectures,” Max explains while he puts his feet up. He waits for Gemma to return with glasses of ice water and take a seat on the couch. “Before he got kabobbed, the chef admitted to lacing the bachelorette party’s drinks and food with a hallucinogen. The lab will need a few days to analyze the evidence. He wanted to make the bride’s husband-to-be back off on that lawsuit. I don’t know if he expected that one bridesmaid to go, for lack of a better term, feral. She did some horrible things to the stripper and the other girls. Worst was how she killed the woman, which I’m telling you only to share the horror. She literally ate her. Didn’t get very far with the bones, but she devoured the flesh and organs. Made room by occasionally vomiting into the bathtub before going back to work. By the time we arrived, she was in a trance and muttering about voices.”
“Sorry if this sounds cold, but I’m glad I’m not on that case,” Gemma replies, shuddering at the vague visual in her head. Eyes falling on the refrigerator, the detective decides to find trash bags to get rid of the remaining food. “Ms. Addison has an alibi on this one. If she convinced the chef to do it then there’s no way to prove it. He would have done it for free and she’s not stupid enough to leave a trail. The flagpole was creepy.”
“I was there and I still don’t know how it happened.”
“Overheard people saying a person on the roof knocked over a flower pot that broke off the flagpole.”
“Then where is the flower pot?”
“Impaled on the other end of the flagpole.”
“Well then I should get to business since that sets the mood.”
Pulling a folder out of his satchel, Max holds the file to his chest and taps his fingers while he thinks. Taking a peek at the pictures, he shivers and takes a long sip of water that includes an ice chip that he crunches. He eventually offers the folder to Gemma, but keeps a tight grip on it when she tries to take it. A brief struggle goes on until Max lets go and adjusts his chair to allow him to lean forward. Clearing his throat, he pulls out his cellphone to send a message to one of the other detectives about running late. The response he gets is a smiley face that he cannot decipher, so he accepts it as understanding. If he returns to the precinct and gets yelled at then he can always feign ignorance.
“That’s what I found on Dawn Addison during the first few hours of my search. I would have gotten more, but I had to come here for obvious reasons,” Max explains, running a hand through his hair. Watching his partner’s face, he is not surprised to see her eyes widen slightly. “I couldn’t find anything older than seven years ago. Three of those were spent at an asylum called Raven’s Hold. The place was on an island off the western coast and designed for tough psychological cases. Very little information about it or this Dr. Rutherford who died in the fire that destroyed the place. Only reason I know Dawn Addison came from there is because of an old photograph I found online. Printed it out before the site crashed, which adds to the creepiness.”
“Thanks for this. I could see her setting fire to this place, but it doesn’t explain where she got the money to start a hotel,” Gemma says as she looks through the pictures. Stopping on a deed, she reads it over twice before holding it out to her partner. “Going by all of this, Ms. Addison disappeared for one year after Raven’s Hold burned down. Then she bought a property in Las Vegas and turned it into a profitable casino. I see there were several disappearances, but no murders during that time. Mob ties were hinted at since those who went missing all ran up a really high gambling debt.”
“One of the last pages disproves that since the last month saw a lot of local criminals vanish after entering the place,” Max points out while he gets another glass of ice water. Checking his phone, he can see a text message waiting for a response and frowns at how he muted the device again. “The chief wants me to head for the morgue once they look at the bodies. Probably all I can do on this case unless the survivor recovers.”
“The casino collapsed into the ground a week before Heaven’s Nest opened here,” Gemma states, the detective not hearing what her partner has said. Hearing a snort of derision, she closes the folder and hands it back. “If I keep that here then Ms. Addison can find it. She might expect me to be looking into her past, but I’d rather she not know how far I went. Strange events follow her, which means she’s either the cause or the real target. My money is on the first option since it makes no sense to harass a person with such theatrics for so many years. Do you think you can search further into her history?”
With a chuckle, the man pushes his glasses back up and makes his way to the door. “I knew you would ask that, so I have some feelers out. This woman is nearly a ghost if you peek behind the curtain. Still, she had to come from somewhere. Keep yourself out of trouble because this may take a few days. Paperwork takes time even when it isn’t for something so elusive, which defines Ms. Addison perfectly.”
“You seem impressed with her.”
“More terrified considering the death, destruction, and disappearances in her wake.”
“In that case, stay safe, old man.”
“You too, slightly younger woman.”
Where to even start with this week? I got very little done since the kid was off for two days, the parents came back from Greece, and I’m still suffering from the dental issue. I’ve been moody and annoyed. To the point where I almost talked about politics because a recent development really pissed me of. Yet, this isn’t the place for such things because this blog is about me, my writing, and fun. Politics are the antithesis of that, so let’s first get involved in the ‘me’ part.
I was going to post about this earlier in the week, but figured it was more for the weekend update/goal post. For those who don’t know or remember, I had a wisdom tooth out about 1.5 weeks ago. This revealed that the molar next to it was missing the entire backside and needed a root canal more urgently than previously thought. Insurance said no because the x-rays weren’t a full mouth. I guess the teeth on the other side of my mouth have something to do with the FUCKING HOLE in my molar. The x-rays were taken, but had to be sent by mail for an appeal. This means I’ve been dealing with this issue for a while. I apologize for the grossness, but this is aggravating. Food gets stuck in there, I end the day with discomfort/pain, and I’m pretty sure it’s getting worse. Yesterday, I finally got an insurance person with empathy instead of apathy. She said the dentist could electronically submit the x-rays to get things moving quicker. With any luck (HA!), I’ll have this taken care of by the end of the week.
This has made focusing really hard, especially since I’m no longer on the desktop. Back to awkwardly sitting on my bed and using my sputtering laptop. I’ve begun writing during the day and prepping November posts at night. This means I’ll miss that Yom Kippur deadline for Path of the Traitors, but I’m getting two birds with one stone. Not that I can get very far with writing because the house is a circus and my mouth is in pain. I still have that cold too. Yeah, I’m bitching, but the last two weeks have been amazingly sucky even compared to the rest of this year.
My son has off Monday and Wednesday too. We’re doing a lot of weekend outings for Halloween stuff as well. Tomorrow is a petting zoo and Monday is father/son movie day to see ‘Storks’. Wednesday is Yom Kippur, which is the day of fasting for Jews. I’m not that religious, but I always try to do this because it was one of the few things I could do after my grandfather spent years trying to make me religious. This means a lot of napping and playing ‘Castlevania: Symphony of the Night’ until my wife comes home from school. I don’t have a full day babysitter for my son though, so this year might not run as smoothly as . . . you know, this day rarely runs smoothly for me lately. Either I’m odd man out on what we’re eating at night or nobody keeps the kid away from me. He’s high energy and I won’t have enough to keep up.
I should apologize for all the negativity here. Long ago, I promised to be more positive, but that seems to have become a challenge to the universe. Nothing goes right in anything I do. Can’t get the new book to rocket up the charts. Barely able to work on the other projects. Even the November posts are taking a while because my brain is fuzzy either from exhaustion or some type of medication. The only positive thing is that my new Twitter system is taking some pressure off. Not sure it’s helping with sales since I still see the same pattern of 6 days of sluggishness and one big boost out of nowhere.
Going back to the writing, I’m getting worried that this book is suffering from my own crappy schedule and moodiness. It’s a tough book to write since the champions are barely in it. This is something that their ‘allies’ are doing to make sure they succeed, which is including two new characters. I think a sudden scene where one of the heroes is knocked out and has a vision that reveals their insecurities has me worried. This character has been confident and tough for a long time, so it’s strange to see that all of this is under the surface. The reaction was to say ‘Forget all this. I’ll deal with it later when I have time’ does fit the character though. They are the type to ignore their own suffering for those around them. Probably a big clue on who is getting the highlight of this adventure. I guess I’m just worried that this doesn’t have the long-standing meat of the other books because the champions aren’t involved. Glad this book is the Late Summer/Early Autumn release for 2017.
Goals?
Edit: Forgot to mention this. I’ve actually been sleeping later than normal. Not on purpose, but I’ve been losing my ability to stir before the alarm. Used to be up and functional at 5 am, but now I’m dragging at 6:30 am. This actually has me worried because it’s a level of exhaustion that I haven’t had for a long time.
The Haunting
Gemma comes out of the stairwell and gasps for breath, the elevators already having opened to let all of the gurneys out. Police are struggling to keep the crowd organized while those in charge set up quieter interviewing areas in the bar and restaurant. Whispers about the massacre are flowing through the hotel while people look for any reporters that might give them a few minutes of fame. Many take pictures of the parade of body bags that are heading for a small group of ambulances outside, the images appearing on their social media sites within seconds. A black-haired woman comes out last, the muttering figure strapped to a wheelchair. Dried blood covers her entire face, which stares ahead without blinking even when camera flashes go off a nearby. Those in the front row try to back away when she is brought too close to a gurney and begins to violently gag in an attempt to vomit. Her feet hit the floor and she fights against the EMT’s pushing, her eyes widening with horror even when she pukes. It takes the help of two of the more muscular cops to lift the wheelchair and carry the woman away.
Spotting Dawn near the entrance to the pool, Gemma tries to make her way through the crowd. She attempts to sneak around people and come at the other woman from the side of her eye patch. The erratic movements of the excited gawkers makes it impossible to control her approach, her requests for space going unanswered. Gemma comes out of the crowd a few feet in front of Dawn, the hotelier waving happily to her hand-picked adversary. Sipping at an iced latte, the brown-haired woman offers a matching drink to the detective and leans against a small palm tree growing out of a large pot.
“What is the point of playing a game when you don’t give me a chance to win?” Gemma asks in a low voice. Sniffing at the coffee, she risks a sip and begrudgingly enjoys the delicious taste. “I haven’t even been here a day and you pull off a massacre. Not a clue or a hint to direct me toward the bachelorette party. Was it the jacket you sent me? Maybe I had to go to your party to learn about your targets? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t drag you by your nose to the nearest empty jail cell.”
“For one thing, I haven’t finished my coffee yet,” Dawn replies before draining the cup. She throws the container into a nearby bin and pulls a second drink out from behind her back. “Need at least ten cups to be perky. Not talking about my personality since that’s always a beautiful ray of moonshine. By the way, I had no hand in this gorgeous mess. Everyone saw me at the party and I haven’t gone to bed yet. Didn’t see a reason since my husband is away. Give me some credit about playing fair. Unicorns only come to those who are honest and pure.”
“I thought you lost your unicorn,” the detective mutters, hoping to get under the woman’s skin. Feeling a small pinch at the base of her skull, she rubs the area and is surprised to find some blood on her fingers. “Must have cut myself while getting out of the pool. So, you have an alibi and no motive. Who do you think did this?”
Grinding her toes against the floor and putting her arms behind her back, Dawn pretends to act shy. “I have an alibi, but I do have a motive. The bride’s betrothed is a lawyer who is trying to sue me for ten million. He claims I did something illegal to put Heaven’s Nest up here and there are witnesses. Keeps saying that he knows where my bodies are buried, which I know is a lie. Even I don’t remember where all of those are, except for a puppy that I had to put down. The lawsuit could bankrupt me and put the hotel out of business. At the very least, I’d have to move away and start again. I don’t like doing that unless I want to and this city is too much fun. Still, I wouldn’t go after her. She’s an innocent babe with nothing that would gain my attention. Easy prey if you will.”
“So your husband could have done it.”
“Yes, but he was busy elsewhere.”
“Are you covering for someone?”
“One of my hostesses called in sick, so I’ll be helping out today.”
“That’s not what I-”
“Awww, he’s so sweet.”
Gemma follows Dawn’s pointing and watches the police drag one of the chefs out of the restaurant. The man has a bleeding bump on his head, which matches the broken nose of the cop shoving him ahead. Several reporters are getting in the way to ask questions and take pictures, the mob pushing in enough to pause the arrest. When he sees an opening, the chef tries to escape the officer and nearly disappears into the crowd. He is tripped by a piece of luggage left in the middle of the lobby and slams face first into the angel statue. Before he can climb back to his feet, three policemen pounce on the man while more shout for everyone to clear a path to the exit.
“I did it for you, Ms. Addison!” the chef screams when he sees Dawn. Biting one of the cops in the face, he makes another escape attempt before he is tasered. “Nobody threatens my muse! I would kill and die for her. I accept my fate with pride!”
“I remember talking to him and he was obsessed with you,” Gemma says before she takes another sip of coffee. She sees Max among the interviewing detectives, her partner showing no signs of having noticed her. “Given what you just told me, I assume he wanted to protect you and the hotel. Even so, this is only two days after Carl Anders jumped to his death. You can’t deny that something is suspicious in your hotel.”
“Probably the shrimp in the buffet, so I’ll have the cook make a fresh batch,” Dawn replies as she munches on a cookie. Dialing the chef’s number, she curses when the call goes directly to voicemail. “That’s strange. He always picks up right away. Guess I’ll have to fire him and get somebody new. Very rare that I have to replace an employee. We have a low turnover rate around here. Too bad the same can’t be said for the guests. You really should find the person who keeps killing my customers.”
“You claimed it was you,” the detective hisses through clenched teeth. Throwing the rest of her coffee into the garbage, she rubs her eyes and tries to stave off the start of a headache. “I’m tired of your nonsense, Ms. Addison. Not even sure why I’m staying here because my curiosity and patience are running out. Tell me what’s going on here or I’m going back to work and investigating every piece of your life.”
“I’m very sorry, kitty,” the hotelier says, turning her eye patch until it is back in its original position. With a high-pitched whistle, Dawn gets her employees to draw away those who are of no interest the cops. “I am young and old. My kingdom made from circles, squares, and triangles. Many blindly praise me when I create smiles. Others despise me when I forge tears. That’s the riddle to my next victim. Good luck, kitty, and I will give you a few days to figure it out. Wouldn’t be fair to give you something so complicated and make my move an hour later. Besides, I need to hire a new chef since the old one will never be coming back. Shame because I loved these mini-pizzas he made.”
“Maybe he can make you some when you’re both in jail,” Gemma taunts with an empty smile. The way Dawn shakes her head makes the detective suspicious, her hand falling to where her gun would normally be. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“I don’t like people taking my toys away.”
A loud crash and several screams erupt from outside, causing Gemma to sprint across the lobby. Elbowing her way through the crowd, she comes to a stop in the doorway and covers her mouth to hide her gagging. A police car sits in front of the hotel with a flagpole piercing the roof and driving all the way to the pavement. Visible through the broken windows, the chef remains sitting with the metal rod impaling his entire body. Those with a clear view of the body are stunned by the wide smile plastered on his lifeless face.
Check out the fun and meet the champions (kind of) with my guest post.
A big thank you to Sue for hosting me and letting me do a fun book promotion for Legends of Windemere: Charms of the Feykin. This is the 11th book of the series, but each story is self-contained enough that you can jump right into it. Now, I was going to write about how . . . Sorry . . . Phone call. Be right back.
Is he gone? I saw some of the other characters do stuff like this, so I wanted to try. This is a guest post, right? I should introduce myself, but I’m a secret. One of those pesky champions might read this and figure out who I am. That would ruin my plan and revenge. Although, I could just put a little trick on this and all those fools will see is a recipe for Strawberry Mushroom Parfait. Disgusting treat that these Feykin…
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Check out this collection of spooky stories. Just in time for Halloween.
I was invited to participate in an anthology called Macabre Sanctuary. To my astonishment, my submission was accepted.
There are some heavy hitters in this group, and you get ten short stories for the price of free.
This one is climbing up the ranks, and hit #9 recently. The timing couldn’t be better with Halloween right around the corner.
For my part, I explored the thought of being forgotten. When we die, we’re only a generation away from complete anonymity. Most of us won’t leave behind a record of most strikeouts, a motion picture legacy, or a leadership role that changed the world somehow. We’re just honest, hardworking folks who hope our children turned out well.
Here is the blurb and the download link:
Macabre Sanctuary
Thrills. Chills. Shadows and superstitions. Things that go bump in the night. Macabre Sanctuary boasts suspenseful fiction designed to elicit goosebumps and raise…
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Legends of Windemere 