Twelve-year-old Dotty Morgan is a supernatural sleuth who has solved cases
involving French fry phantoms and zombie ninjas in her hometown of Elderton,
NC. Now, she’s heading to Greensboro, where her girlfriend, Hannah, is
wrestling in a major tournament, and her BFF, Parker, is competing in a
fashion show for young designers.
Dotty looks forward to a few fun and relaxing days in the city. But when
weird accidents plague Parker’s fashion show, she determines
paranormal forces are to blame. Dotty declares her vacation over and the
investigation on.
About the Author
Erik Christopher Martin is a San Diego writer originally from Cleveland,
Ohio. He has published four books for YA and middle grade readers under the
In A Bind Books imprint. His latest book ‘The Case of the French Fry
Phantom’ launched in all formats on 3/17/2023. It is Book One of the
Dotty Morgan Supernatural Sleuth Series.
His short stories can be found in A Year Ink 4, The Guilded Pen 2019, on
CoffinBell.com 2.3, Frontiertales.com, Tales to Terrify podcast, HauntedMTL,
and the Monster Anthology by AEL Press.
Visit his website at ErikChristopherMartin.com. Follow him on Twitter at
@ErikCMartin.
Erik is a member of the SCBWI, SDWEG, and the HWA.
Erik loves all things book related. He is a former bookstore owner (In A
Bind Books in Lakewood, Ohio opened in 2000 and closed 2 years later), and
former part-time library employee.
Besides writing, Erik loves to read authors such as Vonnegut, Moorcock,
Pratchett, and Douglas Adams. And when he plays D&D, he’s the DM,
9 times out of 10.
Shawna Davies, a relentless South Beach narcotics detective, is hell-bent
on taking down a sinister drug lord infiltrating the club scene with a
lethal designer drug, La Petit Mort. Tormented by an insatiable longing for
something more in her existence, she grapples with the maddening absence of
a vital piece of her soul. Unsure of how to escape the void in her life, a
flicker of hope emerges with his arrival.
Eric Black, a formidable vampire enforcer serving the council of elder
vampires who govern the paranormal realm, is assigned to assist Shawna in
her treacherous quest. However, Eric faces his own agonizing demons and
dreads the prospect of a partner in his shadowy world. As fate intertwines
Eric and Shawna's destinies, he must confront the possibility of entrusting
her with his darkest secrets while attempting to resist an undeniable, fiery
attraction. Unbeknownst to him, Shawna harbors concealed mysteries of her
own.
Bound together under dire circumstances, an intense passion ignites between
them. But as their entwined worlds unravel further, Eric's cryptic past
threatens to obliterate any chance of love. Can they overcome the dangers
lurking behind hidden truths, or will their buried secrets ultimately
consume them both?
In 2011, Toby Soames dies from a freak accident on Hampstead Heath; Charlie Falk simply disappears. Two years later, Australian Adele Soames returns to London to be nearer her son and the places he loved. She is joined in her pilgrimages to the heath by Charlie. Charlie tells her things; unnerving things about his last day alive.
Enter DS Xandra Bentley, a member of Adele’s grief support group at St Bart’s. Xandra has worked on a number of cold cases of missing boys in the area and Adele’s information reignites her interest. As new evidence comes to light, Adele has the creeping dread that she is bringing danger closer to home.
One minute Toby is downing a glass of milk at the island bar while she prepares dinner, the next he is flat on the floor. Adele turns just in time to see her son’s eyes roll back in his head, after he jumped off his stool to demonstrate something from his game.
Her spoon clatters on the floor tiles as she runs to her son. She crashes to his side, her fingers at his neck, her ear to his mouth. Nothing. Her brain goes cold and blank as she swiftly arranges his body and commences CPR, her hands pumping in time to her mind chanting No!…no!…no!
As she goes through the frantic process of trying to revive her son, her glances pinball from one surface to another around the room. Where the hell is her phone? Leaving her son to hunt for it is unthinkable.
Tears of despair run down her cheeks as her efforts produce no response. After what seems like hours, her phone rings. It’s a few feet away just above her head on the buffet table. Clutching at it, she puts it on speaker and slams it on the floor so her hands can fly back to her son.
“—Adele? Are you—”
“Roof! Help me! Call an ambulance. To the house. It’s Toby!”
Chapter One
X Marks the Spot
Def. Ground zero
January 2014
She didn’t want to go, but she went anyway. It was like falling into a rhythm. She locked the door behind her and walked to the end of the street. Brushing past wet rose bushes in a neighbour’s garden on the corner, she walked downhill to South End Green where the shops started, putting one foot in front of the other on the greasy, rained-on pavement.
She averted her eyes from the mothers hurrying along with uniformed children taking them to appointments or for shopping; she plunged her hands deeper into the pockets of her trench coat, focusing on where she walked and the whooshing of passing cars. A melee of food smells assailed her as she ran the gauntlet of the restaurants and takeaway shops. The trip back from the park had always been fraught, with her hungry son wanting her to give in to grease for dinner, not to mention his favourite red velvet cheesecake at Dominique’s. Fish and vinegar smells blended into hot fugs of curry, then segued back into raw fish and seaweed to fried fumy noodles. Already there were mothers at counters with children in tow. But not her. Not today. Not any more.
At the train station, she crossed the road. The street turned uphill, and progress was slow. She had let herself go these last few years living in Australia, even without the excuses of less daylight hours and the higher cost of healthy food.
After passing the car park, she turned up an unmarked entry point into the Heath. She paused and took a deep breath of trees and wet grass, partly to cleanse herself of the polluting streets, but also as if she was entering Narnia and all would be the same as she had left it. The pebbles on the path crunched underfoot and the odd drop of water leaked from the networks of naked branches to hit her glasses or run down the back of her neck.
As she left the path and staggered up a grassy bank, the view opened up and she was there. From her vantage point, she gazed down over an expanse of playing fields backed by thick woods. And there, as she had expected, was an after-school soccer game in progress, small figures running back and forth in bright colours, a few parents on the sidelines.
She had always preferred to watch from the raised bank. Having a redheaded son meant she could easily follow his game, and there was a bench. Her bench.
She walked over to the bin nearby and extracted a discarded newspaper. She crumpled a few sheets and wiped the remaining rainwater off the slats of the bench. She settled down, tucked loose strands of hair back behind her ears, and burrowed her cold hands into her pockets. She could pretend for a little while, at least.
There were no redheaded children in this game—although she looked, of course she looked—which was probably just as well, and time passed as she watched, but didn’t see, the small figures running back and forth, yells and whistles drifting up, providing a disembodied soundtrack to her thoughts.
Some time must have passed when she felt the bench give and vibrate, signalling that she had company. She glanced sideways, not without annoyance, to see a young boy grinning at her as he rustled a paper bag on his lap. Freckles littered his nose and cheeks, and his thin hair fell in shoelace strands over his forehead. He produced a speckled banana from his bag and proceeded to peel it.
“Are you here to watch the game?”
Momentarily distracted by his bony knees and thin bare legs, one wrinkled grey sock around his ankle, the other halfway up his calf, as he banged his school shoes against the bar underneath the bench, she wondered if he was cold. She looked back at his face, watching him stuff banana into his mouth.
“Yes. Yes, I thought I would. Just for a bit.”
He nodded. He had the unpleasant habit of talking with his mouth full, and through the banana and the gap in his front teeth, she saw as well as heard him say, “I’m Charlie Falk.”
His forwardness made her smile. “Well, I’m Mrs Soames.”
Charlie clucked his tongue and grinned. “Yes, I know. You’re Toby’s mum.”
Her heart lurched and suddenly, he seemed different to her: not a cheeky half-urchin invading her peace, but a window onto something…something…
He was still banging his feet in a rhythm on the bench rung, a thrumming beat and vibration that now seemed to portend that something. She swallowed, trying to release the sudden tightness in her throat.
“You—you knew Toby?”
He nodded vigorously, chewing his last gob of mushy fruit as he put the skin in the bag and screwed it up into a ball. “We played football together.”
“Oh…I see.” It was hard to believe this scrawny child was the same age Toby would have been now. Her son had been big for his age, true, but more than two years on, he would have been almost twelve now. She gazed out over the playing field, vaguely aware of little moving figures, seeing only her redheaded son dashing around, kicking the ball. He had loved soccer—football, she mentally corrected herself. He was always scolding her for that.
“Mrs Soames?”
She jerked her head back in Charlie’s direction.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She fossicked in her coat for a tissue. She removed her glasses and dabbed at her cheeks. “It just makes me sad coming here. Happy and sad at the same time, if that makes sense. It makes me remember things.” She stood up, feeling the cold and the hardness of the bench, wanting to be home in the warm.
Charlie got up as well, walked over to the bin, and lobbed in his scrunched-up ball. He turned to look back at her, his face suddenly serious and wise. “It’s good to remember things.” He zipped up his jacket. “Goodbye, Mrs Soames. Maybe see you again.”
She half lifted her hand as he turned and walked off down the slope, round a clump of bushes, and out of sight. Walking back down the slope to the dirt path, she marvelled at all the loose threads that had pulled her back to this knotty place. Penelope must start over and weave up the unravelled mess. Again.
Alicia Thompson grew up on a farm in country NSW. She has a Masters in Creative Writing from UTS along with some financial and accounting qualifications. She has worked as a bookkeeper, photographer, editor, adventure tour leader in the Middle East and China, business analyst, writing teacher and general herder of cats. Her published work includes numerous book reviews, travel articles, and short stories. She lives and works in Sydney. More can be found on her website www.aliciathompson.com.au.
This book is not an easy read and is definitely not appropriate for readers under the age of 18. While nothing is described in graphic detail, it contains realistically depicted sexual encounters between adults, child molestation, and the murder of a child. It is a gritty, powerful book delving into difficult topics that are, unfortunately, all too real.
The friendship that develops between grieving mother Adele and the spectral Charlie, a boy whom she comes to believe was murdered, is beautifully dramatized. Adele's decision to date Stephen, the man who was coaching the boys' soccer team on the day her son Toby was struck in the head with a ball and suffered a brain hemmorhage, leads to an uncomfortable bedroom scene.
Stephen is the kind of man who likes to be in control. He wants to engage in acts that Adele isn't comfortable with. The encounter reminds me of an interview with a woman who was involved with Ted Bundy and was horrified when she learned the truth about him, appalled that he had been in her bed and in the house with her daughter. But do Stephen's sexual proclivities and his pushiness mean he is a pedophile or a child murderer?
Finding an author who dares to write about complex topics is refreshing. Even fiction for adults tends to be overly sanitized in modern times when people are afraid to use words such as murder. Sometimes, I think if I hear "unalived" said by anyone but Deadpool one more time, I will start unaliving those who unironically use that term.
Fortunately for everyone who goes around with "unalived" on their lips, I'm not motivated enough to actually go through with this threat. Fortunately for those readers who want to read a story that dares to be gritty, raw, and sometimes uncomfortably realistic, Alicia Thompson wrote Ex. I recommend giving it a read.
Giveaway
One lucky winner will receive a $50.00 NineStar Press Gift Code!
Supernatural secret agents, vampires, and veterinarians!
Blurb
Drake Carlson is an agent for the Federal Bureau of Supernatural Investigation. He’s psychic and gets visions of alternate realities. Drake is tracking magical Mafiosi involved in paranormal crime. On a rare night out, he goes to an arcade and ends up in a Skee-Ball competition with Garrett Thompson, a cute veterinarian, and they really hit it off. More arcade dates and a visit to the Carnival of Mysteries lead to hot nights and a growing connection, and Drake begins to think he and Garrett could forge a forever relationship.
Then a mobster with a sick dog kidnaps Garrett, and a vampire henchman puts Garrett under his thrall. Drake is going to need all the help he can get—from the carnival, his own psychic mojo, and some paranormally skilled friends to catch the mobster, rescue Garrett—and, of course, save the dog—on the way to his happily-ever-after.
Midnight on the Midway is a fast-paced MM paranormal romance filled with supernatural suspense, found family, a brave veterinarian, vengeful vampires, sarcastic ghosts, midway magic, a fearless fed, hurt/comfort angst, love-conquers-all tension, and a very happy ending!
Part of the multi-author, shared-world Carnival of Mysteries series. Can be read as a stand-alone.
Excerpt—in an escape room
The attendant left the room which was designed to look like a Victorian parlor, and they heard the door click shut behind him. Ominous music began to play, and after a few minutes, Drake picked up other sounds like chattering teeth, moans, and wails.
“They go all-out, don’t they?” He followed Garrett’s lead to handle the objects on shelves and tables, gently shifting them to disclose secrets.
“This place has a good reputation.” Garrett turned slowly to survey the room.
Drake resisted the temptation to dive in with his agent training and decided to let Garrett take the lead. “I’ve never done one of these. Where do we start?”
Garrett looked pleased to share his love of the adventures. “This one was rated spooky but not extreme. It’s not like one of those live haunted houses at the beach where actors follow you around and chase you. Some places do have characters, but this one doesn’t.”
“Have you done it before?”
Garrett shook his head. “Not this particular scenario. I did the UFO one here a couple of weeks ago with some friends from work. So I’m basing my expectations on that.”
“So we get to live out our inner Scooby Doo?”
“Pretty much. Trap doors may open, but you won’t fall through anything. Handle anything that’s loose and look for clues or codes. Gently tug on things to see if they move. If it opens, look inside. There will be doors to other rooms, so look for hidden openings as well as regular doors,” Garrett said. “It’s more fun if we work together, so don’t try to do it all on your own.”
Drake thought that working together on a project might feel awkward, or there could be a push-pull vying to be in charge. To his relief, Garrett proved to be competent and inquisitive without any one-upmanship.
They divided the room into search sections, moving clockwise so they eventually went over each other’s areas without getting in the way. Garrett found the first of several clues and seemed genuinely pleased when Drake found a secret door that opened to lead them into a long-abandoned dining room.
A sudden shriek raised the hackles on Drake’s neck. Garrett chuckled. “Gotta watch out for the sound effects. They’ll get you every time.”
Drake relaxed, chagrined, and reminded himself that this wasn’t the usual life-or-death stakes. As he searched behind paintings, checked under couch cushions, and peered inside the grandfather clock, Drake admired the clever set dressing and the ingenuity of the scriptwriter.
Real ghost hunts rarely went smoothly, and while the escape room was made to look like a creepy abandoned house, it lacked the smell of mildew, rodents, and disuse that came with the real thing.
“You’re pretty good at this.” Garrett bumped elbows with Drake. “I think you’ve got a knack for it.”
If you only knew.
Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors
Ornery Owl's Review
Rating: Five out of Five Stars
While signing up for new promotions, I said, "I don't have time to review another book. I've already got so many things going on."
Then I saw who the author was and said, "I'll make time."
Morgan Brice never disappoints. In this exciting work of paranormal romantic suspense, supernatural agent Drake meets clairvoyant veterinarian Garrett at an entertainment complex during a rare moment of downtime. Drake and Garrett immediately hit it off, but Drake wonders if getting involved is a good idea. His line of work has the potential to put loved ones in danger.
There's plenty of adventure and many steamy moments between Drake and Garrett. However, my favorite part of the story is the carnival. I've always wished I could find a place where I could feel safe and welcome. The carnival provided that for the part of me that still believes in magic.
I love the feeling of inclusion in Morgan's stories. Whether human, animal, or shifter, there's a place for everyone who needs it.
Because of explicit sex scenes and occasional graphic (although not gratuitous) violence, this book is only suitable for readers 18+.
About the Author
Morgan Brice is the romance pen name of bestselling author Gail Z. Martin. Morgan writes urban fantasy MM paranormal romance, with plenty of action, adventure and supernatural thrills to go with the happily ever after. Gail writes epic and urban fantasy, with less romance, more explosions.
All of the modern-day Morgan Brice and Gail Z. Martin series crossover, so characters from one series appear in cameos and on page in important secondary roles in books from other series. Each book can be read as a standalone, but the more you read the more the expanded universe of friendships and connections becomes clear.
Morgan and Gail believe that paranormal elements make any story even better, and her worlds are full of ghosts, psychics, shifters, creatures, vampires, monster hunters, and magic.
She's also a huge fan of the TV show Supernatural. (Chibi art by Kamidiox)
Artist Gabby Wolfe has the ability to see not only the beauty of the living
but the despair of the dead. When she returns to her childhood home in Henry
Park Colorado, she is forced to bring along her younger brother Mitch. He is
on a “break” from college where he was majoring in wine, women,
and song. If that isn’t enough they also have Mitch’s
rambunctious beagle Luigi along who prefers to spend his days wallowing in
junk food. When Gabby draws the death of a young woman before it happens,
she knows she must tell someone and risk a new job and her professional
credibility. Will she reveal her secret in time to save the woman in the
water or will it be too late?
About the Author
Teresa Trent was part of a military family, so lived all over, with her
family finally settling in Colorado. She writes several mystery series and
is the host of the podcast, Books to the Ceiling. Teresa lives in Houston,
Texas with her husband and son.
From bestselling author Carla Swafford a new genre for fans of her gritty
romantic suspense books.
When a private investigator tracks down a client's lost sister, he
discovers she's not lost or the client's sister. The woman is a vampire on a
campaign of vengeance. Somehow he must stop her killing spree and protect
her at the same time.
TORI AMHERST
I died years ago.
In my savage new life, I revenge the helpless.
But a hunter came. A human. A former cop. Now a private eye.
His body, his blood, and his wounded soul are perfect.
Then I discover I'm not a champion, but a terror.
RONAN MICHAELS
I died in her arms.
But I woke to a new life full of hate.
She hides a truth. I hate secrets.
I crave her body, her blood, and her lost soul.
Then I discover the lies.
I will get my revenge and she will be mine.
About the Author
Carla Swafford loves romance novels, action/adventure movies, and men, and
her books reflect that. And on top of it all, she’s crazy about
hockey. So, it’s no surprise she writes spicy romantic suspense filled
with mercenaries, motorcycle one-percenters, and southern criminals. And in
the last few years, she’s included sexy hockey players in books
without suspense, except for the kind that asks, how will they ever find
their happily ever after?
Growing up isn't easy for Tyra Smythe. Especially when you grow up in a
house with shadows. She and her friend Evelyn conjure up the ghost of a girl
who lived there 100 years ago and the mystery of the funhouse begins. While
her parents are away in England, the ghost Abby, begins to haunt. When more
ghosts appear at Tyra's fourteenth birthday party, word that the house is
haunted gets out and draws unwanted attention to it.
Shortly Margaret has decided it is a good idea to make her home an
attraction for some extra money. It is 1929 and more haunted houses are
needed, the house is named the Shadows and creepy renovations are started
all at the expense of Tim Terror and his haunted attractions company.
As Abby haunts the halls and stairs, her hunger grows. Her legend says she
died there and appears during a full moon, and she even has a museum room.
Abby's heart is close to Tyra, but they must move on though they feel at
home again once the remodel of The Shadows is complete.
Will she ever be able to leave, or will it leave her?
EXCERPT
“Don’t give him your address. I wonder if they can help you
find your father,” Evelyn said.
“They won’t. Jack isn’t any help. I’ll just look
myself. I’ll think about going to the police. We don’t have a
phone. I don’t like this.”
When they got home, it felt much cooler in the house. They grabbed drinks
and the telephone directory and went upstairs. Tyra did find a Nathaniel
Johnston—she actually found two of them. “Evelyn, another big
house to go look at later. I found Nathaniel.”
“Good.” Evelyn took everything out of her bag. They laid the
blue velvet table cover, the candles, and the Ouija board in front of them
on the floor.
“I’ll go get a couple candlesticks. We will try a séance
and use the board tonight,” Tyra said.
“Hattie, where are the candlesticks?” Tyra called.
“In the hallway by the kitchen!” Hattie answered.
She and Evelyn raced there and grabbed two.
Hattie appeared. “Be careful with those. Matches are in the
kitchen.”
“Thanks,” Tyra responded. “Have you ever seen a ghost in
here?”
“No, never,” Hattie responded.
“Hopefully, we will,” Tyra said as she headed for the kitchen.
She grabbed the matches.
“We won’t light them now, not until tonight,” she told
Evelyn.
“My mom is coming by in the morning to come and get me,” Evelyn
said.
Tyra nodded. “We’re going to try a séance. I read about
them in the paper.”
“I don’t want you to do that. I told you I haven’t seen
any ghosts here. When the wind blows, you can hear it loud. This is an old
house. Your dad said it was built in the 1790s,” Hattie said.
“We’ll just try. It probably won’t work.” Tyra went
to her room as Evelyn followed.
“Is it even worth the time?” Evelyn asked.
“No, but this is.” Tyra pulled out a rolled-up Ouija board that
looked like a map. She took the planchette out of Evelyn’s purse.
“I didn’t tell Hattie we had this.” They sat on the floor
and felt the beautiful soft velvet.
About the Author
Martha has studied writing with Writer's Digest and has an
associate’s degree in Social Services. She has also written poems and
songs and even studied screen writing and horror. She still writes and likes
getting writing prompts. Her favorite author is VC Andrews. If you purchase
and read Martha's books a review on this web site will be greatly
appreciated. She can also be found at www.marthawickham.com.
Twelve-year-old supernatural sleuth Dotty Morgan becomes embroiled in an
ancient conflict between rival factions who both want the Japanese sword her
father gave her as a birthday present. The timing couldn’t be worse.
She’s navigating the complications of middle school romance with her
girlfriend, Hannah, and dealing with her mother who asks Dotty’s
former bully to move in. To keep safe the people she loves, Dotty
investigates a four-hundred-year-old murder even though undead ninjas,
winged tengu, and a demon known as an oni stand in her way.
About the Author
Originally from Cleveland, Ohio, Erik lives and writes in San Diego. He has
published four books for YA and middle grade readers under the In A Bind
Books imprint. His latest book 'The Case of the French Fry Phantom' is
available in all formats, including audiobook. It is Book One of the Dotty
Morgan Supernatural Sleuth Series. Book Two, 'The Case of the Zombie Ninjas'
will be released on 3/15/2024. His short stories can be found in A Year Ink
4, The Guilded Pen 2019, CoffinBell, Frontiertales.com, Tales to Terrify
podcast, HauntedMTL, and other online journals.
Erik is a member of the SCBWI, SDWEG, and the HWA.
Erik loves all things book related. He is a former bookstore owner (In A
Bind Books in Lakewood, Ohio opened in 2000 and closed 2 years later),
former slush reader at Dark Recesses Press, and former part-time library
employee.
Besides writing, Erik loves to read authors such as Vonnegut, Moorcock,
Pratchett, Louis L'Amour, and Douglas Adams.
Young wildlife conservation professor, Joshua Zimmerman, adores foxes, steampunk, and paranormal investigation. As a geek of the first order, Josh is a collector of nerdy memorabilia and tattoos, and he’s an avid steampunk cosplayer. When his favorite author hires him for some ghost hunting for his new project, Josh can hardly believe his luck.
As an author of the wildly successful urban fantasy series, The Green Tablet, Brendan Halloran should have it all. And he did until his young son, Connor, died of cancer. Heartbroken and drowning in grief, Brendan stops writing, stops living his life. His marriage has disintegrated, leaving Brendan trapped in the moment Connor died.
When Brendan rents a cabin in Ohio’s Hocking Hills, it’s ostensibly to research his next book, an adult paranormal tale. Brendan hires a local professor who is an expert on the paranormal, thinking if he does pull out of his tail spin and makes good on his plan to write a new book, he might as well do it right. And the perfect place to investigate could be the remains of an old hotel constructed to suit the serial killer who built it.
Brendan finds himself swept away, completely unprepared for the joy and enthusiasm Josh brings to everything he does. Step by step, Brendan reenters life. His head might not be convinced he’s ready to love again, but his heart disagrees. Unfortunately for him, the ghost is every bit as vicious as the killer was in life, and he and Joshua have a target on their backs.
Brendan second-guessed his decision the moment he parked his car. He reminded himself it was exactly what he said he wanted: a cabin in the woods. The cold spring deluge lashing him from car to porch soured things further. To Brendan, the shower perfectly embodied the condition of his mind and soul.
Leaving his bag inside the door, Brendan drank in what would be his home for the next month. It could almost be called cute, in a rustic sort of way. The outside was a quintessential log cabin with a small porch bearing well-padded chairs. Only the green metal roof ruined the sixteenth-century settler homestead feel. Inside, the loft bedroom perched above the open-concept living area and kitchen. A tiny bathroom, tucked around the far corner of the kitchen, looked functional. As promised, there was a table, which would be useful as a writing desk for the times curling up on the couch with his laptop proved to be an ergonomic nightmare. He’d have to snap a photo of the stone fireplace with its fan-shaped iron guard and send it to Heather. She’d love it. A pang zinged his heart thinking about her.
He peered out one rain-streaked window. The only thing in view were trees, mostly pines mixed with something covered in blooms, dogwood maybe. Zimmermann had chosen Brendan the perfect cabin. The green isolation he’d chased after surrounded him. The forest suffocated him, the sheer aloneness of it. Those second thoughts skyrocketed. Heather hadn’t wanted him to come. She didn’t trust him alone. Brendan knew his ex had reason to worry. Both of them were mired in grief, and three years hadn’t moved them past it.
Brendan imagined giving in to the grief in a quiet place such as this cabin. No one would know until his month’s worth of rent was up. He shuddered and forced himself away from the window. His hypothesis wasn’t exactly true. Zimmermann would wonder where he was if Brendan missed their meeting. Brendan braved the chilling rain to grab his computer bag and three canvas bags of groceries out of the car. He busied himself with unpacking. His mood lifted to an inch above the floor once he filled the cabin with the scent of coffee.
With the groceries stowed, Brendan started a fire in a fireplace made for romance, but he wasn’t here for affairs of the heart. The small fire would be efficient in heating the cabin and driving the spring chill from the room.
Brendan planted himself with his coffee on the couch in front of the smallest TV he’d seen in ages. He shifted around on the futon, which seemed more comfortable than most of their ilk. Maybe someone had added a memory foam pad to it; whatever it was, Brendan was grateful since he would be spending a fair amount of time on it. Flipping on the TV, he reassured himself there was a functioning satellite and ditto the Wi-Fi for the computer, so there wouldn’t be some Overlook/The Shining isolation-driven craziness going on.
After turning the TV off, Brendan powered up his computer. He checked his emails and let Heather know he’d made it safely. He saw no emails from his agent, nor from the man he’d hired to show him around the haunted sites in the Hocking Hills area and the surrounding towns. Brendan brought up the These Haunted Hills website to determine what sites he should visit first. There were no pictures of Joshua Zimmermann on the website, just ones of the haunted locales.
Zimmermann had sent Brendan a photo at his request so Brendan would know who to look for when he met up with his guide for the month. One clue Brendan wasn’t completely dead inside was how cute he found Joshua. Zimmermann looked more like an undergrad in his picture and almost too boyish to be believable as an accomplished PhD, teaching wildlife conservation at a local university. It could be an old photo, or that his bright smile belied the number of years behind it.
Of all the potential haunted locations, Brendan wanted to visit Crooked Pines the most. A former hotel, Crooked Pines was now abandoned and theoretically too haunted and too ruined to be reclaimed; it contained a story, and Brendan needed to dig it out. His agent still doubted the idea of him writing a more adult ghost story, but it had been five years since the end of his young adult series. He’d written nothing new, though the adventures of Kiyomi Fujita, John Archer, and Vince Bianchi had generated more than enough money to live his life out twice over.
All his money hadn’t bought Brendan any happy endings. What had begun as a lucky break—and Brendan was well aware of how many fantastic authors never hit it big—became a noose. So many nights Brendan had lain awake wondering if the success of his series had drained the rest of the luck from his family’s life. The evidence suggested yes.
He stroked the cool glass pendant around his neck. All he wanted now was to write again. It had been so long. Most of what had come from his mind in the last three years had been pain-filled poems he had shown to no one, not even Heather. He thought, perhaps, taking a break from the young adult genre and all the memories associated with it would help him burst through his writer’s block.
Brendan could still taste the anger, bitter on his tongue. Being here in the wilderness made up the crux of his latest plan to move himself forward. The anger and grief had been woven into his soul, inseparable now. Either he had to live with it, or this was the end. Brendan wasn’t sure he cared which. He forced himself back to work, hoping to get lost in it.
Brendan tapped his lips in time to Piazzolla’s “Oblivion” as he rolled the outline for his new novel around in his mind. Maybe “Oblivion” was a little too on point for his state of mind. Perhaps he should hunt down some of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Transferring his fingers to the keyboard, he tried to type out something, but mostly, the outline was a loose collection of things he wanted to happen in the novel more than anything concrete. Granted, his outlines rarely were more.
Maybe I should return to working on the character studies. What he wouldn’t give to be able to draw his own characters. Some of his fans drew exquisite works, a few of which he saved. For the most part, he never looked at them, and legally, looking at fanfiction was a bad idea. Regardless, people tweeted them at him or shoved them at him at conventions. Some of it was downright smutty, and he did his best not to notice. It didn’t take away the frisson of jealousy over some of the artistic talent they had that had gone missing in him.
A knocking noise startled him off the futon. Brendan caught his balance and whipped around, trying to locate the source. Another knock echoed from the loft. Brendan backed up so he could peer up there without going up the steps. Nothing moved. At the third knock, he hauled himself up the stairs, but the loft stood empty. He looked out the window at the waving tree branches. What did he expect to see? A raccoon? A squirrel?
“Did you rent me a haunted cabin, Dr. Zimmermann?” Brendan’s laugh died when a fourth knock came from right next to the window.
He pinched up his features and stared out the window again. Still no critters. “Lots of wind though,” he muttered to himself. “You’re hearing the rain on the tin roof or tree branches. Totally normal. Not like you’d know.”
Comforted by the normal sounds of rain and wind—he’d never had a tin roof before—Brendan went downstairs and sat on the futon. Ghosts weren’t real.
Then why have you been uncomfortable in your own home?
He picked up the laptop, contemplating the thought. Because you’re haunted by Connor’s memory, nothing more.
He was lying to himself. He half believed it was possible Connor’s spirit was trapped in their family home. It was enough to have prompted Zimmermann to mention he didn’t necessarily go to houses to “clean” them, but his team did home investigations. Brendan had gotten the distinct impression Zimmermann did not want to do this, and he got it. Zimmermann had probably guessed his pen name and was wary of celebrity.
Did you want someone to go to your home and do an investigation?
Brendan wished he had an answer to the question. He’d promised Zimmermann that, no, he didn’t; he had no interest in it. But was it a lie? Another question without a clear answer. Instead of dwelling on it, he sent off an email to Dr. Zimmermann to let the man know he’d arrived and was ready to meet. He’d come up with a few plans of attack when it came to investigating the local haunts and wanted to see which fit Zimmermann’s schedule best.
Brendan turned his attention to the character information sheets for his new project. They might change by the end, but he needed a starting place, a way to keep his mind off things. At this point, distracting himself was the best Brendan could hope for.
Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors
Ornery Owl's Review
Four out of Five Stars
It's exhilarating for Professor Joshua Zimmerman to meet his literary hero, Brendan Halloran, and take him on a ghost hunt. However, the more time the men spend together the more Josh wonders if something real is happening between them. Brendan is broken after having lost his young son to cancer. Josh's hopeful and exuberant nature provides a tonic for his wounded soul. Josh is careful not to come off as over-eager and push Brendan away.
This slow-burn paranormal romance takes the reader on a sometimes perilous journey filled with lavish descriptions of the surroundings the characters find themselves in, both in the woods and in the old abandoned buildings where they may encounter restless spirits. The dreary, broken buildings and shadowy woods both serve as excellent metaphors for Brendan's inner turmoil. The story is as much about rising from a dark night of the soul as it is about ghosts or romantic awakenings.
Despite the intense subject matter, the story is more hopeful than dark. However, if you're looking for a fun, lighthearted romp with an obvious meet-cute moment where one character spills coffee on the other one and then they spend several chapters engaging in will they or won't they banter (while the reader knows full well that they will) before entering into a giddy honeymoon phase which is interrupted by some sort of peril but then they overcome the peril and live happily ever after, this isn't that book. Thankfully. This book has its own unique character and those who want a more thoughtful romance will appreciate it.
My reason for rating the book four rather than five stars is one that I find all too often in gay romances these days. I am put off by the term queer, which was often used as a slur against homosexuals (especially gay men) in times past. Perhaps I'm simply too old a dog to learn new tricks, but I would never use that word to describe anybody. That being said, the author does not strongly push any sort of identity politics narrative, mostly focusing on telling the story and doing so very well, I might add.
If you enjoy slow-burn romance and spooky settings, grab a copy of These Haunted Hills. You'll be glad you did.
Jana is Queen of the Geeks (her students voted her in), and her home and office are shrines to any number of comic book and manga heroes along with SF shows and movies too numerous to count. It’s no coincidence that the love of all things geeky has made its way into many of her stories. To this day, she’s disappointed she hasn’t found a wardrobe to another realm, a superhero to take her flying among the clouds, or a roguish starship captain to run off to the stars with her.
