$50 GC – Pulse by B A Bellec @sdbooktours @b_bellec

 


In the year 2040, a mysterious creature is unleashed at the world’s biggest music festival…


Pulse

Book One

by B.A. Bellec

Genre: Dystopian SciFi Horror


In the year 2040, a mysterious creature is unleashed at the world’s biggest music festival…


Bellec’s descriptions are phenomenal, brutal, and heart-stopping. There were parts that made my skin crawl, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. . . I needed more!”

– Jessica Scurlock, Author of the Pretty Lies Series & Pulse Beta Reader

Pulse is a plot-driven multi-POV dystopian sci-fi horror thriller set in 2040, centered around a corporation, a creature, and a music festival. Think Fyre Festival, Black Mirror, and X-Files combined. The story deals with themes of capitalism, consumerism, business, politics, pandemics, climate change, activism, and technology while bouncing between a diverse group of characters sure to entertain almost anyone. The book is already being praised for its fantastic use of horror, engaging world-building, and genre-bending approach utilizing some screenplay-like formatting. This is the first entry in a new series with the sequel well underway.

B.A. Bellec writes with a unique, modern, minimalistic voice. He is the author of Someone’s Story, his award-winning debut novel called a masterpiece by multiple reviewers. Never afraid of a challenge, Bellec switched genres to bring you this dark vision that simmered in his mind for years.


Awards:


IAN Book of the Year Finalist Horror (Nov 2022)

B.R.A.G. Medallion Honoree (Apr 2022)

The Wishing Shelf Adult Fiction Finalist (Apr 2022)

Literary Titan Seal (Jan 2022)

Reader Views Seal (Dec 2021)

Readers’ Favorite Seal (Dec 2021)


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**Check out the author’s music on Youtube that is either inspired or tied to his novels!**



Pulse

Book Two

by B.A. Bellec

Genre: Post-Apocalyptic SciFi Horror 

The fate of humanity rests in the hands of a few.

Pulse: Book Two is the conclusion of B.A. Bellec’s dystopian sci-fi horror duology. This time around we are tapping into iconic stories like The Stand, Station Eleven, Cloud Atlas, Contact, and The Road to add elite and ambitious scale. Our chaotic journey picks up moments after the first book ends with action from the second you start turning the pages, but if you thought you knew where the story was going, leave your expectations at the door and ask yourself this one question: how would an autonomous droid defeat a monster?


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Someone’s Story

by B.A. Bellec

Genre: YA Coming of Age



In his literary debut, B.A. Bellec writes an endearing coming-of-age tale about a group of weirdos that find and save each other from the dark depths of their minds. Someone’s Story is literally Someone’s story, as in a first-person narrative of a teenager that calls himself Someone. As he struggles to find a new footing in a new space, we encounter the many ups and downs of modern teenage life, the difficulties that adjusting to adult feelings brings, and a few tear-jerking surprises along the way.

Littered with music, mental health, friendship, loss, meditation, advice, pop culture, and even inspiring an EP, there is so much nostalgia, inspiration, and depth here it is hard to absorb it all. Cozy up somewhere warm and enjoy!


Awards:

Reader Views Reviewer’s Choice Young Adult Book of the Year (March 2021)

B.R.A.G Medallion Honoree (Apr 2022)

Readers’ Favorite Young Adult Book of the Year Finalist (Sep 2021)

Next Generation Indie Book Awards YA 17+ Finalist (May 2021)

Literary Titan Seal (April 2021)

The Wishing Shelf Red Ribbon (Feb 2021)

Shelf Unbound Notable Indie (Dec 2020)

Readers’ Favorite 5 Star Seal (July 2020)


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Bryan “B.A.” Bellec’s debut novel, Someone’s Story, won the Reader Views Reviewer’s Choice Literary Award for Young Adult Book of the Year. Someone’s Story is a coming-of-age novel about teen mental health. One of the aspects that makes Bellec’s projects unique is he includes musicians in his novels and then he actually produces the songs as his book goes through the editing stages. You can find that music on his YouTube channel. His second novel, Pulse, was released in 2021 and has been receiving strong reviews. That novel is a genre flip with dark dystopian sci-fi horror peppering the pages. Pulse is the start of a new fictional universe Bellec will write in for years to come! 


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Review – The Corpse Whisperer Sworn by H R Boldwood @BoldwoodH @SDBookTours

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Corpse Whisperer Sworn by H R Boldwood is the third book in the Corpse Whisperer Series and I am fortunate to have them all, thanks to the author. The books are quick reads, because it’s hard to stop myself from racing through the pages.

With a gun in one hand and a blade in the other, Allie Nighthawk searches the streets of New Orleans for the necromancer, Toussaint. Who will win the face to face confrontation?

She can raise the dead, but spends most of her time putting down the freshies, flesh eaters and corpsicles with the help of her hotty, wantta be boyfriend, Ferris.

As I picture the zombies from The Walking Dead, I am laughing most of the way through the blood and guts, the zushi. The writing is humorous, even when they are shooting, slashing and stabbing, and their lives are on the line.

I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Corpse Whisperer Sworn by H R Boldwood.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

Follow Allie Nighthawk to exciting New Orleans where she raises the dead, puts down rotters, and dabbles in the mystical world of hoodoo. She’s on the trail of an evil necromancer who will stop at nothing to rule the world with his army of deadheads. Is her magick strong enough to save the day? Or will this necromancer from her past kill her before she gets the chance? She figures she’s got a fifty-fifty shot. Make that forty-sixty.

  • Genre: Action, Adventure, Fantasy, Horror, Mystery, Paranormal, Science Fiction, Supernatural, Urban Fantasy, Zombies
  • 356 pages, Kindle Edition
  • Published May 8, 2020 by Third Street Press
  • Series: Allie Nighthawk Mysteries, #3

H.R. Boldwood, author of the Corpse Whisperer series, countless short stories, and Imadjinn Award finalist, is a writer of horror and speculative fiction. In another incarnation, Boldwood is a Pushcart Prize nominee and winner of the 2009 Bilbo Award for creative writing by Thomas More College. Boldwood’s characters are often disreputable and not to be trusted. They are kicked to the curb at every conceivable opportunity when some poor unsuspecting publisher welcomes them with open arms. No responsibility is taken by this author for the dastardly and sometimes criminal acts committed by this ragtag group of miscreants.

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$20 GC – Feral by Bryan W. Alaspa @sdbooktours @AlaspaBryan

 


 There’s something very, very wrong with the children.


Feral

by Bryan W. Alaspa

Genre: Historical Horror


 For Garland, the move to California is just what his family needs to finally find comfort and success. After years of failed businesses, this may be their last chance. However, making the journey across the dangerous Sierra Nevadas is potentially deadly business in the 1800s. The journey is long and arduous.

This time, though, Garland’s friend Silas says he met a man who has found an easier and safer way to make the journey. Little does he know that his son is having ominous dreams about their trip and that something lurks deep within the woods. The long trek becomes harder and more difficult, taking longer than promised. Soon, the entire train of wagons, horses, and people is trapped in the mountains.

Then, the snow comes and buries them. As a small party sets off for rescue, no one knows that the thing within the woods that has been calling to the children is ready. Beneath the snow, as the travellers fight off starvation, a true nightmare starts—an ancient nightmare with sharp teeth that affects the children. Now, the screaming starts, and the true horror begins.


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Bryan W. Alaspa is a Chicago born and bred author of both fiction and non-fiction works. He has been writing since he sat down at his mother’s electric typewriter back in the third grade and pounded out his first three-page short story. He spent time studying journalism and other forms of writing. He turned to writing as his full-time career in 2006 when he began writing freelance, online and began writing novels and books.

He is the author of dozens of books in both fiction and non-fiction and numerous short stories and articles.

Mr. Alaspa writes true crime, history, horror, thrillers, mysteries, detective stories and tales about the supernatural.



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.

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#BooksFromTheBacklog – Conversations In The Abyss by Michael Brookes @TheCultofMe

Books from the Backlog is a fun way to feature some of those neglected books sitting on your bookshelf unread.  If you are anything like me, you might be surprised by some of the unread books hiding in your stacks.

If you would like to join in, swing by Carole’s Random Life in Books.

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Stealing Lazarus’s miracle gifted him immortality. Combined with his natural ability of invading and controlling people’s minds this made him one of the most dangerous people on Earth.

But the miracle came with a price. His punishment was to be imprisoned within the walls of an ancient monastery and tormented by an invisible fire that burned his body perpetually. To escape the pain he retreated deep into his own mind.

There he discovers the truth of the universe and that only he can stop the coming Apocalypse.

  • Genre: Fantasy, Horror
  • 148 pages, Paperback
  • First published February 6, 2013
  • Series: The Third Path, Book II

Ratings: Amazon: 4.1 4.1 out of 5 stars 26 ratings 4.2 on Goodreads 33 ratings

I added Converstions In The Abyss by Michael Brookes to my TBR on 3.15.13. I love everything about the book, and, as I was writing this post, I realized it was the second book in The Third Path series. I do have the first one, also, The Cult Of Me, so I will start with that.

What do you think of the cover?

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#booksfromthebacklog – Bottled Abyss by Benjamin Kane Ethridge @bkethridge

Books from the Backlog is a fun way to feature some of those neglected books sitting on your bookshelf unread.  If you are anything like me, you might be surprised by some of the unread books hiding in your stacks.

If you would like to join in, swing by Carole’s Random Life in Books.

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Herman and Janet Erikson are going through a crisis of grief and suffering after losing their daughter in a hit and run. They’ve given up on each other; they’ve given up on themselves. They are living day by day. One afternoon, to make a horrible situation worse, their dog goes missing in the coyote-infested badlands behind their property. Herman, resolved in preventing another tragedy, goes to find the dog, completely unaware he’s on a hike to the River Styx, the border between the Living world and the world of the dead.

Long ago the Gods died and the River dried up, but a bottle containing its waters still remains in the badlands. What Herman discovers about the dark power contained in those waters will change his life forever…

  • Genre: Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Fiction, Horror
  • 332 pages, Kindle Edition
  • First published June 1, 2012 by Redrum Horror

Goodreads Ratings: 3.49 293 ratings 81 reviews

I added Bottled Abyss to my TBR on 3.14.13. I love the intriguing cover and have to find out if he locates his lost dog. I love books with animals in them. How about you?

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Review – Luna’s Veil by Wes Verde @pumpupyourbook @WesVerde

 


In the depths of despair, Leonard Burton must unravel the eldritch mysteries surrounding his wife’s death before he is consumed by the malevolent forces lurking beneath Luna’s Veil…

Title: Luna’s Veil

Author: Wes Verde

Publication Date: June 29, 2024

Pages: 328

Genre: Horror

The fabulous cover for Luna’s Veil by Wes Verde fits the story inside. I love horror that involves a creature. Wes has done a great job at presenting good and evil in a way that kept me engrossed, flipping pages as the danger intensifies.

Leonard Burton is in jail for the murder of his wife. He knows no one will believe what really happened…until Cecil enters the picture. They are both on the hunt for the evil that walks the earth, so they join forces. The battle is prolonged and they do not escape unscathed.

If you are looking for a good vs evil horror story that will have you hanging on by the skin of your teeth, look no further. Luna’s Veil by Wes Verde is filled with suspense, danger, and death, having me guessing who will live and who will die.

I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Luna’s Veil by Wes Verde.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

Leonard Burton wakes up to find his life in ruins. His wife is dead, and no one believes his story about what killed her – he’s not even sure he believes it himself. Now, in jail for the crime and with no friends, his prospects are bleak. That is, until he is rescued by Dr. Cecil Gainor, an enigmatic investigator and perhaps the only other man who knows what unnatural horrors are really at work.

Unfortunately, more questions arise when Cecil’s partner disappears while chasing the same dark forces responsible for the death of Lenny’s wife. The two men realize they must follow the trail themselves, or many other lives may be at risk.

What follows is a race against time to clear Lenny’s name and find the real killers before the full moon. The death and destruction that has already been suffered is nothing compared to what will occur beneath Luna’s Veil.

You can check out his book at Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D1LK45JH

Book Excerpt:


Prologue:

“Wait here, please.”

It was a simple enough request, if unexpected. They had invited him, why make him wait now? Lacking for other options, he complied, but kept still to avoid appearing nervous. Much was at stake.

After several minutes of nothing, it occurred to him that impersonating a statue for this long might arouse suspicion in itself. And so he began pacing. As more time passed without any sign of his host, his feigned boredom became genuine and he took account of the vestibule.

It spoke of wealth. The immaculate white tiles were surely mopped following the passage of each visitor. Damask wallpaper with raised patterns that might have been real silk covered all four walls. The doors leading to the house proper were intricate and solid and – to this visitor’s mild discomfort – locked for some reason. He could not say for certain that he was trapped since he had not attempted return to the street, but such an act might have tipped his hand.

It mattered little. He would not allow himself to leave yet.

As his nerves got the better of him, he touched his cheek, recently shaved for the first time in months and the smooth skin felt foreign. To make matters worse, it occurred to him that in his haste, he neglected to put the razor away back home. At least he was confident the other parcel was secure.

This was all wrong. Really, he shouldn’t be here alone, but there had been no time to send for Cecil. Events were happening quickly and so he had been forced to act.

His discomfort notwithstanding, they needed this lead. The missing persons were a matter of concern unto themselves, but the reason behind the disappearances was quite another. 

For want of better options, he examined the room’s central feature in more detail and quickly decided that he would never understand art. The clever drawings advertising soda pop or ice cream were about the extent of his appreciation.

This piece was something beyond. It was possible, he supposed, that he lacked the ability to comprehend the subtle nuances or else it was exactly as it appeared.

The room’s only piece of furniture was a table that might have cost more than a modest car, but atop it was a sculpture of a man. Or at least, it was a human of some kind. That was part of the confusion. While skillfully executed, the figure was twisted into a shape that no circus contortionist could possibly get into without snapping one’s spine. The face and posterior were somehow contrived within inches of each other.

A complete lack of genitalia was apparent and a mirror provided view of the opposite side along with this visitor’s expression of mild disgust. Noticing himself, the agent carefully relaxed his face. In his fifty some years of life and unique line of work, he had been jaded by things that defied both reason and standard decorum. The macabre contortionist perhaps bothered him more than it should have and it took a moment to realize why.

His eyes were drawn back to the mirror. As a young man, hunting in the Pine Barrens, he had developed a sense for movement and of being watched, a skill which he had honed to a sixth sense. When he detected such now it put his hairs on end. But in looking up, he saw nothing.

Staring for perhaps a full minute without any sign of movement or other smoking gun beyond his own reflection, the feeling nonetheless persisted. Knowing he was being watched was not in itself unsettling, but in the interim he had cause to ponder the summation of oddities.

A provocative art piece in the middle of an otherwise empty room would surely draw attention as would the mirror deliberately placed behind it. A mirror that he was now sure was a one-way observation window. This left him with the question that rattled him: was he meant to understand the fact that he was being watched?

The door clicked with the manipulation of the lock from the far side. The butler reappeared and wordlessly motioned for him to proceed.

Following, they soon arrived in a dining room, just as fine in quality as he had come to expect in this house. A long table lined with chairs and place settings occupied most of the space.

“Are we meant to have an early dinner?” he asked the butler. The hour was wrong, but he felt compelled to make some kind of sound. The silence inside the house was pressing.

When the butler made no response, save to ask him to wait again, the agent’s eyes were drawn back to the table. Judging from the chairs, it was likely a work of art in itself and something that a man would want to show off. The tablecloth was strange.

The click of a shutting door momentarily broke his concentration and he realized that he was once again locked-in.

Does he suspect something? he wondered. Thus far, he had managed to resist niggling doubts, but the fact that he was being drawn further into this house was difficult to overlook.

He took a breath, counted to four and considered the fact they had not patted him down for a weapon. The one way mirror also came to mind; surely there were similar means of surreptitious observation in this room as well and he took care not to glance at his ankle. The .380 Colt pressed reassuringly against his skin. Six rounds were not much, but he had faced worse odds before. Of course, that was years ago.

The table. Odd that it was covered. Odder still what it was covered with. What at first appeared to be squiggly lines refined into text upon closer observation. Pages from a book. There was no telling for how long the host would make him wait this time and no sense in appearing anxious if he was in fact being observed. He read the nearest line.

And when he was out of the ship, immediately there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit.

“Is that…?”

He read another line. Then another page. He examined the rest of the table and found the pages were similar. It was no simple reprinting, but an actual tapestry of paper pages. He inhaled.

One… two… three…

His face remained as stone. This was another provocation, he was sure. A tablecloth made from Bible pages was sure to elicit a wide range of emotions. Would the subject show revulsion? Offense? Perhaps amusement. And all of it discretely observed from somewhere out of sight. Surely, it would tell his yet-to-be-revealed host any number of things about his state of mind. Or at the very least, get under his skin.

The agent opted to refrain from any emotional display at all only to realize that such a withdrawal was itself a reaction of another kind. Then in the next moment, wondered if that was a mistake to reveal that he was onto the game. Surely, it would only give the mysterious tycoon cause to double his efforts at subterfuge.

He had come to this house thinking himself a cat, only to discover with increasing certainty that he was in fact the mouse.

Hands at his side. Level breathing. Conscious of his body language, he took great care to avoid fidgeting or revealing his distress. There was still a job to do and if he failed in this meeting there was no telling how many more would suffer for his bungling of an opportunity. It was almost enough to make him long for the simpler days of decorating cakes.

A new door opened. This time it was not the butler but a new man. He did not have the understated, borderline meek demeanor of household staff, but quite the opposite. Half a head taller than the agent and broad in shoulder, he was anything but subtle. Security?

The guard did not acknowledge the man in any way, but merely held the door and looked off to a neutral spot on the wall. Lacking for options, the agent obliged the tacit request to continue and braced for what would surely be another test.

It was a living room or perhaps a library. They were surrounded by books, but built with comfort in mind. It smelled of old paper, leather, and – strangely – Lysol. His footfalls muffled by a deep pile carpet, he approached the only furniture present. Two chairs took up the center of the room, facing each other.

This time, he was not forced to wait long at all. Muffled giggling, indistinct and somewhere from the depths of the house could be heard in the otherwise still room. Without speaking, the guard moved to a door on the opposite side of the room and opened it precisely in time so the new arrival and his companion did not even need to break stride as they entered the library.

It was surreal, seeing this face in person for the first time. Until now, this handsome jaw line and wavy, dark hair had only existed in newspaper clippings and photographs taken from afar. He had a charming, easy way about him. So much so that the agent had to remind himself of what this target was capable of.

Hens. Eggs.

“Mr. Crenshaw,” the young man greeted. “So glad you were able to accept my invitation.”

It was the name the agent had provided during their correspondence and was, of course, a pseudonym.

The agent replied automatically, but was not sure what to make of his host’s companion.

“Happy to do it, Mr. ah…”

“Please. Make yourself comfortable. Sit.” He made no move to introduce the woman, or even acknowledge her presence.

She followed, but as there were only two chairs, it was not clear where she was meant to sit. On his host’s insistence, “Crenshaw” took his seat first. Considering the size of the room, the seats were placed unnecessarily close together. He thought about sliding backward, but did not want to draw attention.

This would be the most delicate part of the operation.

To say they sat across from each other would imply there was some kind of gap, but their knees were practically touching and then the young woman took her seat on the host’s leg.

Ten years a widower and Crenshaw had seen few women in that time. Of those, none were as lovely as this one. Such was their proximity that her perfume wafted over him. The younger man had still made no overt indication that he was even aware of her presence, keeping his eyes patiently and resolutely fixed upon Crenshaw.

“I must say, I was intrigued by your proposal,” the host went on. “Your story really touched my heart.” The very edge of a grin curled up one corner of his mouth.

Then, the woman started bouncing. Her giggling never quite rose high enough to drown out the conversation, but teased at that threshold. She sensed the precise level at which it would become impossible to ignore and deliberately stayed below it.

Had he been a younger man, he might have been too stunned by the proximity and her state of dress to think clearly, but thankfully Crenshaw had achieved that enlightened age where the female form had lost just a bit of its mystery. Nonetheless, he was stumped in another way.

This is another test. How best to proceed then?

The host motioned for him to speak, as though there were no reason he would not do so. It helped to avoid looking at the girl, despite the fact that her exposed legs were now brushing against his pants. For a moment, he struggled to remember his cover story. He cleared his throat to buy a few more seconds.

“I’m glad that it did. Your philanthropy is rather famous in certain circles.”

“A man does what he can. What did you say was the name of your establishment?”

He paused. “St. Theresa’s Home for Children. We’re a rather small organization and so it hasn’t appeared in any of the registries as yet.”

“I see.” He narrowed his eyes for the span of a breath and then relaxed again. “I’ll confess I do have something of a soft spot in my heart when it comes to orphans. Comes from not yet having any children of my own, I suppose. May I assume that you would be looking for some kind of financial contribution?”

Crenshaw resisted the urge to bite his lip.

“Actually, I was hoping you might share your secret.”

He stared blankly, long enough for the girl to bounce two times before he responded.

“And what secret would that be?”

“You have a great skill at finding homes for your wards. According to the Home for Children in Jersey City, you relocated no less than five in the span of a month. Our organization is somewhat smaller, but we are blessed with contributions. What we lack is your reach and influence and – most unfortunately – facilities to house them all. At the worst of times our charges must share two or even three to a bed. It’s an untenable situation.”

“Homes,” he repeated. Working his jaw in thought, he placed a hand on his companion’s leg. She responded with a flash of concern before stopping and then switched to slowly wiggling her hips back and forth. “Yes, I think that’s something we could accommodate. About how many are you currently trying to move?”

“Six would be a good start. But of course, all twelve would be ideal.”

“And their ages?”

“Between seven and eleven.”

“I see. This is fortunate. As it happens, I was recently speaking with a colleague of mine who knows several interested families. How soon?”

“Immediately. If you provide an address, I can have them transported tomorrow.”

The host blinked. “Don’t trouble yourself. I have an associate who can pick them up from your facility. Where are you located?” He tapped the girl and she resumed bouncing on his leg, apparently relieved.

Crenshaw forced a smile. “Sir, you do too much. Your help is already more than enough and I couldn’t ask you to provide transport on top of that.”

“Are you opposed to visitors, Mr. Crenshaw?” His eyes narrowed and his tone dropped.

“Nothing of the sort. We just-”

“That is not his name,” interrupted a voice from somewhere unseen. “And he lies.”

This time, the woman stopped moving entirely as a look of real fear crossed her face. Annoyed, the host pushed her off his lap. Heels clacking, she fled the room and the young man leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. Already close, now they bordered on intimate.

“Concerned about a break-in perhaps?”

The situation was tenuous, but perhaps salvageable despite the Crenshaw moniker being compromised. He thought of the gun, but down near his ankle it was effectively blocked. Perhaps there was still a way to recover.

His head began to itch, but he fought the urge to fidget and cleared his throat instead.

“Certainly not. We have nothing worth stealing. We simply find that it’s best to avoid too many unfamiliar faces. For the sake of the children.”

“He lies again,” said the disembodied and foreign voice. The high back of the chair prevented Crenshaw from looking around. “This is the same presence I felt at the office.”

Crenshaw’s heart sank. They knew about the office? How was that possible? He had been meticulous in covering his tracks.

He recovered his composure, but with the host sitting so close and no girl to hide behind, the damage was done.

“Been mucking around in places you ought not be?”

Things had soured beyond recovery and not-Crenshaw considered his options. He had but one card left to play. With as much strength as he could muster, he kicked against the opposite chair, sending the young man skidding backward to a safer distance. At such speed, it snagged on the lip of the rug and he flipped onto his back.

In the same motion, he pulled up his pant leg and reached for the .380. Recalling the guard in the corner and how many locked doors were between this room and the outside, he had no delusions about escape. This mission had just turned into a one-way trip. At least he would cut the head off the snake; not an ideal trade, but one he would pay gladly.

Only he never got the opportunity.

Both his arms were seized at the exact same time. He never even got a full grip on the Colt. He looked up at two expressionless faces as the pair of goons hauled him from the chair and shoved him into the floor. In their eyes was something impossible, but they pinned him facedown on the rug before he could think about it.

Overpowered and overwhelmed, not-Crenshaw struggled for a moment before the reality of the situation became impossible to ignore.

Breathing into the carpet, the bristles roughed up his freshly-shaved cheek and he grit his teeth. Things went still then. The host, having composed himself once more, crouched beside him.

“Who else knows you’re here?”

No one. He left notes back at the stilt house office, but they only contained the false address, which led to an innocuous building from which he was ferried here. Anyone who followed his footsteps would arrive at a dead end. And even then, there was no telling how long someone from the Organization would be in checking in on him. By then it would be too late.

“My whole team,” he answered instead. “Where you live. What you’re up to. The Cult of Dagon. You’re finished.”

Another pair of shoes stepped into view. “He lies again. No one is coming.”

“Well spotted, brother. We’ll dump his body in the river. Food for the Deep Ones.”

“Not just yet. You stole a book – a diary – from the office, yes? Where is it?”

He said nothing.

“Hm. Perhaps he might benefit from the Seed.”

The host exchanged an uneasy look with the unseen speaker.

“Are you sure?”

“He stole some of our secrets. Why not return the favor?”

And with that, Crenshaw’s head went into a bag and he saw no more.





About the Author

Wes Verde is an engineer by trade, a busybody by habit, and a lifelong Jersey boy.

A fan of nature, he spends as much time outside as possible.

His latest book is the horror/action novel, Luna’s Veil.

Author Links  

Website | X (Twitter) | Facebook | Instagram | YouTube

 




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Review – Wet, Warm And Noisy: A Jake Ward Novel by David A Wilson @dav_willson

Amazon / KindleUnlimited / Goodreads

This is one of the few times where a title catches my attention before the cover. If you want to know what is wet warm and noisy, well, you’ll need to read the book for yourself.

I have been recovering from a serious illness and wanted a book to blow me away. Wet, Warm And Noisy didn’t do it, but the blend of law enforcement and the supernatural kept my attention. The things Jake Ward goes through has me wondering what will be left of him when all is said and done. It is suitably creepy and I did find myself cringing as he was poked and prodded.

As Jake Ward follows Belle Anderson down the rabbit hole, the danger rises. He has no idea what’s in store for him….and neither did I. It didn’t end the way I thought, and I love it. I look forward to going on more adventures with Jake Ward and David A Willson.

I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Wet, Warm And Noisy by David A Willson.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

A supernatural crime thriller set in Alaska, the Last Frontier…Surrounded by the unforgiving climate of the frozen north, Jake Ward, a tenacious Alaska State Trooper Investigator and cancer survivor, is on a relentless quest to regain his health and return to full-duty status.

But Ward’s world takes a bone-chilling turn during a routine polygraph examination when a woman escapes custody, leaving an officer critically injured. What started as an ordinary investigation transforms into a complex web of intrigue, where medical experimentation and consciousness collide.

In “Wet, Warm, and Noisy,” Willson masterfully blurs the boundaries between law enforcement and the supernatural, leading readers on a heart-pounding journey through a realm where the tangible and the mysterious intersect. With time slipping away, can Ward decipher the enigmas that defy reason, or will forces that transcend human experience overwhelm him?

Author David A. Willson, with over two decades of experience as an Alaska State Trooper, brings a rare authenticity to crime fiction that will both enlighten and captivate you. Prepare yourself for an electrifying thriller that challenges the very foundations of our reality.

  • Genre: Fiction, Horror, Science Fiction
  • Format: 244 pages, Paperback
  • Published: February 7, 2024 by Independently published
  • English

David A. Willson is a father, husband, pancreatic cancer survivor and a retired Alaska State Trooper. Taught by his mother to love books at a young age, he spent his childhood exploring magic, spaceships, and other dimensions. In his writing, he strives to bring those worlds to his readers.

Much of his material is inspired by the ‘Great Land’ of Alaska, which he has called home for over 40 years. He is passionate about technology, faith, and fiction—not necessarily in that order.

When not writing, he enjoys traveling, woodworking, brewing beer and wine, and playing acoustic guitar.

Website / Twitter

Review – Trailer Park by C D Kester @CD_Kester

Amazon / Goodreads

I really mean it nowadays too. Life has a way of taking us on journeys that we didn’t want and maybe didn’t even need. but those journeys make up the essence of who we are. I, for one, will always look back and remember those fragments of time. Those pieces of memory.

The quote was at the end of the book, but I thought it was so pertinent to life, that I had to share it in the beginning.

Richie Sterling comes from a broken home. He felt he was on the outside, looking in, until…

A group of boys, in a Trailer Park, become fast friends and discover that life is not always as it appears to be. Richie, Jose, Roberto and Frankie are on the adventure of a lifetime.

The rumor is, the old man next door is a vampire. Of course, curious kids are intrigued and their imaginations run wild. Jose begins to act differently and the kids are on the case. They never could have anticipated what they would discover. I feel I should have known what Mr Rosen was all about, but I never stopped reading long enough to figure it out. A bit of a rhyme there. Maybe I could be a rapper too. :-).

When Richie’s dad comes clean and starts rapping, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Trailer Park by C D Kester is perfect for teen and young adult vampire lovers. A light, yet gruesome adventure sure to peak their imagination.

C D Kester’s writing is amazing. He can write some of the most in depth, gruesome horror for adults, and some of the most fun and adventurous mystery horror for teens. We have a great ending that is not all unicorns and rainbows. Trailer Park was a quick read but chock full or horror goodness and I couldn’t put it down. I thought of two ratings, a four for adults and a five for teens and young adults, so a five it is and I’ll leave it up to you to decide.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
5 Stars

Sometimes blood isn’t family, and family isn’t blood.The boys at Los Hermanos Trailer Park are no strangers to a good urban legend. The legends and reality collide when they begin to notice strange activity with Val Rosen in the trailer down the street. As times grow harder Richie, Jose, Frankie, and Roberto are getting sucked into some things that they probably shouldn’t. Sometimes that’s the way that it goes when you’re passing the time with your brothers in the trailer park.

C. D. Kester is an author of fiction who does most of his work in the horror genre. He lives in Kingwood, Texas with his wife and two children. Kester recently published his first full length novel, Chasing Demons. His first self-published work is a novella titled The Bunker. He has also had many stories published in anthologies, ezines, and read in podcasts and YouTube videos.

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Giveaway – Death Tango by Lachi @GoddessFish @lachimusic

The cover is very eye catching and I love the concept. It seems all too real to me.

A Quick Fire Interview with Lachi

1. What’s the most adventurous thing you’ve ever done?

I’m blind, so pretty much everything. I’ll narrow it down to skydiving, camel riding and scaling up a New York City apartment building.

2. If you could dine with any literary character, who would it be and why?

Frankenstine’s monster. I think he gets a bad rep.

3. What’s your favorite joke?

Knock Knock

Who’s there?

To

To Who?

It’s To whom

4. Does your day job ever get in the way of your writing?

For my day job I tour and perform globally, so yes! I’ve written on plains, trains, boats and definitely hotels.

5. What’s your favorite Holiday?

Well it’s Halloween today, so let’s go with that!

6. What are your top three favorite genres?

1. Big Umbrella Horror (all but big T Torture)

2. Epic or Odessy Sci-Fi with long series

3. Adult Paranormal Romance

7. Did you have a specific audience in mind when you wrote Death Tango?

Adult Sci Fi readers. Some folks assume because I am a disability advocate that my fiction would be for younger folks. It’s not! This book has gore, violence, sex and language.

8. What was the first book you ever read?

My first horror novel was Cold Fire by Dean Koontz and my first Sci-Fi was Asimov’s Foundation followed by Frank Herbert’s Dune

9. What book do you like most among all the others you have penned down?

Death Tango is my most developed. I’ve also written the Ivory Staff.

10. Now, when you look back at your past, do you feel accomplished?

When I was young I wanted to be a musician and a writer with my own music studio in New York. I’ve managed to accomplish all of this and then some. Traveling the world advocating for identity pride and disability inclusion through music and storytelling has seen me to the White House, UN, BBC, GRAMMYs, a ton of very amazing places. But life is an ever-journey, and we’re just getting started.

11. Have you ever incorporated something that happened to you in real life into your novels?

Yes. I’ve been assaulted and my main character endures an assault.

12. If you had a superpower, what would it be?

To understand and to be understood.


13. What other projects are you working on now?

I’m working on a Non-Fiction, a music album called “Mad Different” that explores the weird, the different and leans in, and am forever touring.

14. Do you have any plans for a sequel?

Maybe. Let’s see where life takes us.

Death Tango by Lachi

GENRE: Science Fiction/Horror

BLURB

In a Utopian twenty-third-century New York City, where corporations have replaced governments, AI dictates culture, and citizens are free to people-watch any other citizen they choose through an app, this horror-laden Sci-Fi Thriller follows four mis-matched coeds as they attempt to solve the murder of an eccentric parascientist. Only someone or something able to navigate outside the highest levels of croud-sourced surveillance could get away with murder in this town. If the team can’t work quickly to solve the case, New York City will be devoured by a dark plague the eccentric had been working on prior to his death, a plague which, overtime, appears to be developing sentience.

EXCERPT

It is nine years ago. I stand alone on an unstable rock. Beneath that rock are a few precarious slabs of granite. Beneath the granite lies a hundred feet of air, of silence, of potential bone-shattering death. Surrounded by a dusk sky, Mount Venom—the cliff aptly named for the lives it has claimed—stretches endlessly beneath my quivering legs and far beyond my blurring vision.

Through the blaring wind, I hear several SOIs—School of Intelligence kids—hurl down demoralizing insults from the cliff’s edge. “She’ll never make it!” “Fall and die, swine!” Each year the SOIs goad us TFs—Testing Facility subjects—into scaling the cliff. If successful, the TF is accepted as an equal, putting an end to constant ridicule and torment. There is little sympathy for those who accept the challenge and fail. I tell myself to reach for the next stone along the slope, to keep my hands steady, to breathe.

I near the finish line.

Every inch of my body tastes it as much as my mouth tastes it. Get there; say nothing; feel no pride. My face wet with tears and mucus, my fingers slippery with blood, I feel around for my next grip and pull on my burning calves. I have only two heaves left. Two heaves, and no more being treated like trash.

I notice a small gap between two large stones above me. As I place my dampened hands into the hole for leverage, the rubble on which I stand gives out. My legs dangle freely. I have the willpower to lift my body onward, but my concentration is broken by a pair of black-gloved hands that pop out of the fissure above me.

Someone is hiding behind the rocks.

Tech Sports knitted in thin red stitching on each glove slides into view. My body ignores the anxiety presented by this new predicament, and I continue to lift. The gloves grab both my forearms and yank. I am now dangling by the grip of those hands; I am now at their complete mercy.

“Friend or foe?” I manage to growl between pained gasps, the wind forcing hair into my mouth.

“You’re so close,” replies a male voice I can hardly distinguish.

“I know! I know! Help me up!” I yell. My legs work uselessly to find hold. Receiving no verbal or physical response, I wriggle my shoulders. “Hey! Help me up!”

“Beg me!” the voice demands, barely audible over the blood rushing in my ears. I fend off a rapidly growing well of despair. Despair is a choice, a manifestation of surrender.

“Please!” I bark, the word taking with it all of my remaining willpower. I look up wide-eyed at the gloved hands, ignoring the falling stones as I await my fate.

“This is for putting in the application!” he yells, and with a quick jolt he lets go of my arms.

I fall.

I keep my eyes open, desperately hoping for something to grab, but all I see are a mix of gray sky, red rock face and my flailing arms. I hear my bones smash against the jagged teeth of Mount Venom and scream one long uninterrupted exhale, silenced only by the jarring collision of the back of my skull against the cold, hard pavement.

I don’t feel the fracture. I only hear it between my ears. Pop.

I lie at the foot of Mount Venom, looking up at dark clouds, a metallic taste oozing over my tongue, a harsh pain working its way down my neck. A thick puddle coalesces under my head as onlookers gather.

My vision snaps away instantly with a blink. Surrounding echoes fade slowly as the internal sound of my curtailed heartbeats takes over. Suddenly I feel cold and heavy. I am motionless, no longer taking in oxygen.

After an onslaught of euphoria, I feel my brain flatten. I hear its slight gummy movements of deflation against my last few heartbeats. And somewhere between no longer feeling the ground beneath me and no longer feeling the air around me, I realize I am dead.

I perceive only a black vastness about me. Like an autumn leaf I float in the Cartesian circle that is the keen awareness of my nonexistence. A mix of bliss and terror. I try to hold on to something physical, something I can understand. “You are safe. You are safe,” I repeat, exercising the remnants of my inner monologue.

Then I begin to see things.

A single bright blue diamond, about the size of a fist, appears five feet before me. It is soon joined by two more on either side, followed by two more still, until a string of blue diamonds surrounds me. I realize I can see my entire periphery, no longer limited by physical eyes. A light source switches on behind me, revealing that I am floating at the center of a rotating diamond-rimmed disco ball.

Trying to locate the light source, I push my perception upward, downward, left, right, only to find that I, myself, am the source of that light. The speed with which the disco ball spins steadily increases, faster and faster, until all is a blur of spinning frenzy. Suddenly thousands of quick snapshots of familiar faces speed toward me: my friends, my bullies, the dark skin of my estranged father, the Spanglish ravings of my drunken mother, their parents, their parents’ parents. Images of a cottage in France, a village in Africa, past wars, ancient discoveries, tree scavenging, gasping air, breathing ocean, swimming in gas, feelings of remorse, loss, shame, excitement, immense love, bitter anguish, and a desperate need for acceptance. Every imaginable emotion ravages me whole.

I experience my consummate past. A massive rewind that stops at a sweeping explosion. A sphere of white fire so bright, it could hardly be described as fire. I am an endless wave of raw emotion drowning in the unyielding flames. And in that eternal instant I understand everything.

Again, all fades to black, the warmth, the understanding. And though the blackness around me is infinite, I sense a presence. I am not alone.

“Look around you,” the presence communicates to me, not through sound, sight or touch, but through direct understanding. I am certain it is—at least in part—a being other than myself. I hold fast to my mantra. “Do not fear,” the presence continues. I allow the mantra to fade. “Do you see how far the blackness reaches, stretching beyond infinite horizons? That is how much you do not know, how much you’ve yet to learn.” A brief silence. “Fear is the great enemy of knowledge, and you, Rosa, are the switch between them.”

“Me?” I manage to convey through the slivers of my consciousness.

“Us.”

“Us? How? Why? What do you mean?” My figurative words come childlike and excited.

“You already know how,” the presence responds as it fades. “You already know why.” I feel a growing bitter loneliness as the presence drifts away.

“Wait!” I yell. The blackness around me congeals to a bumpy dark brown. “Come back!” The glistening euphoria gradually declines as my flattened brain begins to restructure. A physical atmosphere swiftly surrounds me, and a palpitating sensation starts beneath me, causing me to rise and fall. The pulsing sensation reveals itself to be my heart grappling for a pulse.

A crashing ocean of white noise fills my head. I feel that I have a head. A body. Arms. A face. My face.

I open my eyes as the rush of noise fades to the sound of an open room. I am lying on a bed in the infirmary, surrounded by the school nurse and Dr. Ferguson himself, their blurry faces examining my head wound.

Dr. Ferguson bends forward. “You had a very nasty fall, Ms. Lejeune. Do you remember that?” He watches a nurse as she dabs a cloth at my face. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

AUTHOR Bio and Links

Lachi is an internationally-touring creative artist, writer and award-winning cultural activist living in New York City. A legally blind daughter of African immigrants, Lachi uses her platform to amplify narratives on identity pride and Disability Culture. In her public life, Lachi has helped increase accessibility to the GRAMMY Awards ceremonies as well as create numerous opportunities for music professionals with disabilities, through her organization RAMPD. Lachi also creates high-quality content amplifying disability. She has hosted a PBS American Masters segment highlighting disabled rebels and releases songs such as “Lift Me Up” and “Black Girl Cornrows” that elevate disability and difference to the pop culture market. Named a “new champion in advocacy” by Billboard, she’s held talks with the White House, the UN, Fortune 100 firms, and has been featured in Forbes, Hollywood Reporter, Good Morning America, and the New York Times for her unapologetic celebration of intersectionality through her music, storytelling and fashion.

In her free-time Lachi writes sci-fi and fantasy novels with diverse, headstrong characters, focusing heavily on atonal world-building, quip-ridden character development, likable villains and psycho-spiritual discourse.

  • Website:www.lachimusic.com
  • Twitter: twitter.com/lachimusic
  • Facebook: facebook.com/lachimusic
  • Instagram: instagram.com/lachimusic
  • Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Death-Tango-M-Lachi-ebook/dp/B0BLGYMCQ7/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0
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Review – Noir: A Crimson Shadow Novel by Nathan Squiers @LitDark_Emperor

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I pulled Noir: A Crimson Shadow Novel by Nathan Squiers from my TBR, where I added it on 2.16.2020. This is the perfect time of year to share this Occult Horror story.

Amazon / Audiobook / Goodreads

MY REVIEW

Xander Stryker wants to die.

He has had an abusive upbringing, but there is so much more to the story. As his eighteenth birthday approaches, he gets caught up in the supernatural world and learns his true destiny. Poor Xander. His father missing. His mother murdered in front of his eyes. Now, someone wants him dead. Thank goodness, he has a couple supernaturals by his side, getting him ready to face the biggest challenge of his life.

I wasn’t sure how much I would enjoy this, seeing I think it was written for a younger audience, but the more I read the more involved I became. This is the first book of seven and I would love to watch him grow and become the man he is meant to be.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

GOODREADS BLURB

Xander Stryker wants to die.
Ever since witnessing his mother’s murder at the hands of his abusive stepfather when he was a boy, he has spent every day trying to reach that goal. But every night he’s denied the death he craves. As his eighteenth birthday approaches, a chance for change is offered when his life is plunged into a supernatural world of vampires and other creatures of darkness.

Caught in the depths of this new reality, mysteries of his vampiric lineage begin to unravel and he’s offered the ultimate choice:
Continue on with his wretched human life or begin a new one as the vampire prodigy he was always meant to be.

Unfortunately, the supernatural world can be just as unforgiving and brutal as any other and Xander’s choice is met with disastrous consequences.

Now, with a little support and even less hope, the chaos of his new world collides with his torturous past and threatens to crush him once and for all.

ABOUT NATHAN SQUIERS

Nathan Squiers, along with his loving wife & fellow author, Megan J. Parker, two incredibly demanding demons wearing cat-suits, and a pair of “fur baby” huskies, is a resident of Upstate New York. When he isn’t dividing his time between writing or “nerding out” over comics, anime, or movie marathons, he’s chasing dreams of amateur body building. If he can’t be found in a movie theater, comic shop, or gym, chances are “the itch” has driven him into the chair at a piercing/tattoo shop… or he’s been “kidnapped” by loving family or friends and forced to engage in an alien task called “fun.” His Crimson Shadow series has gained international recognition and has been a bestseller in urban fantasy and dark fantasy. His novel, Curtain Call, won best Occult & Paranormal Thriller in the 2013 Blogger Book Fair Awards.

In 2016, he became a USA Today bestselling author and since then, has been on the list four times.

Learn more about Nathan’s work at www.nathansquiersbooks.com

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