M.M. Hudson's Blog, page 5
October 21, 2024
Donor 73101:A PIP INC Mystery by Nancy Lynn Jarvis #giveaway #cozymysteries #bookseries
Donor 73101: A PIP Inc. Mystery
Cozy Mystery
5th in Series
Setting - California
Publisher : Good Read Mysteries (August 15, 2024)
Paperback : 243 pages
ISBN-13 : 979-8990936607
Digital ASIN : B0DC5H77N2
Aiden O’Rourke needed cash to help pay for college so he made money by selling his sperm. He
was young, attractive, smart…and popular. Now many years later, his offspring are coming
forward—eleven of them and counting—and connecting on a website they created called
Donor73101.com.
Pat Pirard, Santa Cruz County Law Librarian turned PI, is approached by next door neighbors
Tina and Robin who want to start a family. Because Tina was conceived via sperm donation, they
want to be 100% certain that their baby and Tina won’t have the same father.
It doesn’t take Pat long to determine that Aiden O’Rourke was Tina’s sperm donor. It also
doesn’t take her long to discovers that one by one, his offspring are being murdered. By whom
and why? Well, that’s a mystery.
Excerpt
Although it was only a few minutes past 6:30pm, it was dark, not unexpected in Santa Cruz in
early January. The Uber driver popped his hatchback and offered to help them with luggage. Tim
declined, moving the four suitcases―one for him and three for Pat―on to the sidewalk.
Pat started to pick one up. “Leave it,” Tim instructed. “We can come back outside for those in a
minute, but before we bring in suitcases, I want to carry my bride across the threshold.”
Pat giggled. “I’m a modern woman. No carrying needed.”
“That may be, but I’m feeling old-fashioned at the moment.” He smiled at her, put one arm
around her back just above her waist, and attempted to scoop her into his arms.
She slipped away from him, laughing as she did. “I bet you can’t catch me before I get inside on
my own, my old-fashioned caveman,” she flirted, heading for the front door.
“I can be a caveman if that’s how you want to be carried, but you’re being carried,” he said, his
tone full of playful mischief. He gave chase and tossed her over his shoulder when he caught her.
Pat squealed, but was laughing too hard to resist, which is how she came to greet her tail-
wagging Dalmatian, Dot, who jumped against Tim’s backside in an attempt to get her head up
high enough for the backward slung Pat to scratch her ears; her cat, Wimsey, who abandoned his
rule about avoiding Tim and rubbed against his legs, and Tina and Robin, their pet-sitting next-
door neighbors, butt-first, draped over Tim’s shoulder.
About Nancy Lynn Jarvis
Nancy Lynn Jarvis wore many hats before she started writing cozy mysteries. After earning a
BA in behavioral science from San Jose State University, she worked in the advertising
department of the San Jose Mercury News, as a librarian, as the business manager for
Shakespeare/Santa Cruz, and as a realtor.
Nancy’s work history reflects her philosophy: people should try something radically different
every few years, a philosophy she applies to her writing, as well. She has written seven Regan
McHenry Real Estate Mysteries; five PIP Inc. Mysteries; a stand-alone novel “Mags and the
AARP Gang” about a group of octogenarian bank robbers; edited “Cozy Food: 128 Cozy
Mystery Writers Share Their Favorite Recipes,” and short story anthologies, “Santa Cruz Weird,”
and “Santa Cruz Ghost Stories.”
Author Links
Purchase Link - Amazon
October 20, 2024
Upas Street Shocking Specter by Sherrill Joseph #GIveaway #countdowntoHalloween2024 #middlegrade #bookseries
Do you dare enter Dr. Frankenstein’sla-BOR-uh-tree?
A fearless quartet of teensleuths, the Botanic Hill detectives, travel toLlanfair, a fictitious Welsh village in present-day California, to solve themystery of the Shocking Specter.
The green-glowing apparition reportedly roams thecountryside, settingfire to buildings and meadows during the new moon. The occurrences beganshortly after a motion picture stagehand Scotty Roberts’s accidental death byelectrocution in this case inspired by the filming of Universal Pictures 1931classic horror movie Frankenstein.
Supernatural?
Coincidence?
Or is criminal activity at work?
And why,nearly a century later, has the Shocking Specter returned?
Readers will enjoy learning about real-life horror film star BorisKarloff, Frankenstein author Mary Shelley, other key playersin the movie’s production, and some early Hollywood cinematic history. Our fabulous four might need to kick some monsters tothe curb to solvethis challenging mystery!
For ages 9 to 14. Adults likethis series,too! My present-day Middle-Grade mysteries have a twist of history,this time, harking to the filming of 1931's Universal Pictures classic horrormovie Frankenstein.It is not within the Young-Adult genre that serves ages 14 to18.
**Don’t missthe rest of the series!**
Find them on Amazon!
Sherrill Joseph was a shy kid whose BFF wasNancy Drew. From her, the author learned to seek adventures, be kind and fair,help others everywhere, and become a mystery author someday.
Convinced early on that she was an architect ina former life, Sherrill was receptive to the magic of her Southern Californianeighborhood’s historic houses. To this day, she dramatizes those old“castles,” filling them with mysteries, staircases, a ghost or two, andexaggerated occurrences.
The authorgraduated Phi Beta Kappa and summacum laude from San Diego State University. Once retired in 2013 afterteaching kids for thirty-five years in the San Diego public schools, the innerchild in Sherrill created the multi award-winning Botanic Hill DetectivesMysteries series so her grandkids and all kids can gallop with her and her fourforever-thirteen-year-old sleuths in their standalone cases after clues to nabthe bad guys.
Followthe tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!
$20 Amazon
October 19, 2024
#Review: Curious George Goes to a Costume Party by Margaret & H.A. Rey #childrenspicturebooks #bookseries
Synopsis:
George is excited to attend his first costume party, but there's just one problem--he doesn't have a costume! Will the mischievous little monkey be able to find the perfect one without starting too much trouble?
Mrs. Gray's party isn't just any party--it's a costume party, and George and the man with the yellow hat aren’t wearing costumes! No matter—there are plenty in an old trunk upstairs, and soon George is trying on all kinds of outfits. But it's not long before George gets in the bed sheets. His new look may give the guests a scare at first, but in the end George is the life of the party!
My review:
I did not necessarily grow up with the Curious George series of books but I did love them. This edition is simply great.
To have George trying out Halloween costumes is pure fun. Of course he wants to know what he looks like and all sorts of havoc happen.
I love how George is well, curious, and always keeps working on things until he figures it out. His ever present yellow-hatted friend is always there to support him. This book also had a cast of other characters that obviously love George. Who wouldn't love him even when he is in mischief? In this book, he tries out so many costumes until he finds just the right size. Don't we all do that?
One of the things I love about this book, like others, is the color that is injected throughout and that the illustrations are real. The stories always make you want to smile and simply feel good.
5 stars.
Disclosure: I picked up a copy of this book from my local library. The views here are 100% my own and may differ with yours.
~Michelle, Reading Authors Network
October 18, 2024
The Bluff by Bonnie Traymore #countdowntoHalloween2024 #thriller
“What do you have to lose, Kate?” Ryan asked me, as we stood on the bluff looking out on Lake Michigan.Turns out, almost everything.When I first moved from Manhattan to this small town six years ago, I worried about many things. I worried about finding a job. I worried that I’d be bored. I worried that my relationship with charming photographer Ryan Breslow was moving too fast. But I never worried about whether the ground beneath my feet would crumble—both literally and figuratively.
My marriage didn’t go as I’d imagined. A year ago, Ryan met his untimely death in a car accident that’s still under investigation. Isolated and alone, all I wanted was to sell my home and leave Crest Lake and its painful memories behind.
But with my home inching ever closer to the edge of the crumbling bluff, the property has become unmarketable. All of us on the lakefront have lost chunks of property, and tempers are at a boiling point about what to do next.
And now, on the evening of a contentious vote about how to fix this pressing issue, my nemesis on the shoreline committee has been murdered. I know how it looks, but it’s not what it seems. But I have to get my plan passed and cash out.
Because I do have secrets.
And they won’t stay buried forever.
Read an excerpt:
PROLOGUEDoug Mitchell takes in the shoreline of Lake Michigan, letting his Sundancer drift around in the currents. The sight of his house high atop the bluff reminds him of what’s at stake. The vote is tonight, and it’s sure to be a doozy of an evening. There’s a cool wind whipping up what little sand remains on the shrinking beach, and he can see the bare patch of earth where the southern stairs collapsed two years ago. But he feels safe and warm on the deck with the soon-to-be-setting sun still overhead, beaming down on him.
It’s not the same shoreline it was decades ago, but then the world is an ever-changing place. He knows this, although he doesn’t let on about it to most people. Right now, his mind is drifting to another place, and he feels a delightful stirring. He pictures the curve of her back. Her slender, graceful neck. The look on her face when he makes her moan. He takes another sip of his cocktail, closes his eyes, and sinks into it.
After a few minutes, a different kind of feeling washes over him. He’s dizzy. And tired. Way too tired. He’s barely had one drink. He opens his eyes, and the world appears blurry. He feels clumsy. Almost immobile. Shaking his head, he tries to snap out of it, but everything’s…
Fuzzy.
Confused.
Off.
He came out here alone, he thought, although he didn’t check the cabin before leaving the dock. A figure is standing on the deck now, too far away from him to make out who it is. It’s someone, though, and even with his mind dulled, he knows this isn’t good.
Seized with panic, he struggles to pull himself out of the quagmire. Finding a last burst of strength, he attempts to spring up and go on the offensive, but his legs are like rubber. His body rocks forward a bit, accomplishing nothing.
He sinks back into oblivion as the figure approaches.
You?
ONEKateI arrive five minutes late, breathless from my run in from the parking lot. The proceedings haven’t started yet. I rush in, whip off my scarf and coat, and take a seat.
Just in time.
The stage is set for a contentious evening. Tonight, the town council will vote on the pressing issue of the failing bluff. I head up the shoreline committee, and I’ve been invited here this evening to present my plan, one of two the board will consider.
“Hi Kate,” the board member next to me says. “Glad you made it.”
She gives my shoulder a squeeze, confirming that I’ve got her vote.
“Of course,” I say. “Sorry I’m late.”
A tingling sensation creeps up my spine, and a feeling of dread squeezes my stomach like a vise. Perhaps it’s the weather. It’s early fall, but it may as well be the dead of winter. It’s bitter cold and gray, with intermittent downpours. The howling wind whipping off Lake Michigan has been keeping me up at night. It’s the same kind of weather we were having when my husband met his untimely death a year ago, which is likely stirring up some buried feelings. A widow at forty-one. Not the way I expected my life to go when I moved here six years ago.
“The meeting of the Crest Lake Township board of directors is now in session,” the president proclaims, banging his gavel with the countenance of a man desperate for power and relevance. Sam Bolger’s his name.
Sam takes role, and it’s lost on nobody that Doug Mitchell is absent. I fiddle with a strand of hair, twirling it between my fingers. It looks darker in this light, almost auburn. My eyes search the room, and hushed tones fill the silence as people whisper to each other.
Where the hell is Doug?
Are we really going to start without him?
I hope he’s okay.
His allies look concerned, naturally, but even his opponents seem troubled, although that could be an act. It would be unacceptable to show their glee, in the event they were feeling it. But I’m not feeling smug or excited or victorious. I’m feeling nervous. Doug is scheduled to present the opposing plan, and there’s no way he would miss this meeting.
Tempers have been flaring over the issue of what to do about the eroding bluff. The police had to be called during the last public hearing. And there have even been a few death threats, anonymous posts that most of us brushed off.
Silly, really. We’re all on the same team, trying to fight mother nature. Desperate to give ourselves the illusion of control. Struggling to keep our large, lakefront luxury homes from plummeting onto the shrinking shoreline that hugs the massive body of water eighty feet below the fragile bluff.
On some level, we all know that whatever we do will only be a stop-gap in the big picture of geological time, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s what’s making people so angry. Humanity’s stubborn insistence that we can bend the planet to our will. Because it’s obvious that we can’t, and perhaps it’s easier to blame each other than to face the realization that humans are at the mercy of forces we don’t really understand and can no longer control.
The president seems to be stalling, fumbling with his computer as he tries to pull up the agenda and project it onto the TV screen. The board member to my right shares a theory with me. Perhaps Doug’s pulling a stunt for dramatic effect, she whispers in my ear. Maybe the president’s in on it—he’s on Doug’s side—and Doug will come bursting in at the last minute, waving some new study in his hands. But after a few moments, it’s clear to everyone that’s not going to happen.
Sam tables the vote for the time being and moves on to other issues. The board gets to work. There are a handful of mundane items on the agenda aside from the one that matters to me. What to do about the shoreline. I wait patiently as the board members work through other business, waiting for Doug’s arrival. He’s a board member and I’m not, and I’m surprised that they didn’t ask me to sit outside.
I wonder what will happen if he doesn’t show. Will they postpone the vote, or will it go my way by default, with my proposal the only option? Item after item is addressed, and I can feel my pulse starting to race as they tick them off.
Parcel tax proposal.
New library budget.
Changes to the vacation rental rules.
My stomach is in knots. Because if the vote goes my way, it will be a Pyrrhic victory, inflicting massive economic consequences on my lake front neighbors. Doug’s plan to simply shore up the bluff at the toe, the spot where the waves hit and wear it down, is the simple one. The less expensive one. But it’s got the environmental groups up in arms. They’ve grown increasingly vocal over the last few years.
The environmentalists want to force the removal of all existing seawalls, like the one Doug Mitchell installed in front of his home, and ban all such structures. Let nature take its course. Force lakefront owners to move back their homes or demolish them if they are in danger of falling off the bluff. But none of them are on the shoreline committee, and none are on the board. And they’ll be upset whichever way it goes tonight.
My plan is a compromise of sorts. But if I win, there will be consequences. Expensive ones that will dramatically reduce some people’s property values and limit beach access for everyone. And lots of visceral anger, much of it directed at me, especially from my wealthy lakefront neighbors who will absorb most of the cost. Several million dollars, split between ten of us. Sweat beads form at my temples as the minutes tick along to the rhythm of the cheap wall clock mounted above my seat.
Why do they keep it so hot in here?
The council meets at the town center, a small, institutional structure that used to serve as a middle school. The chairs are small and uncomfortable. I sit up and twist from side to side, trying to stop my lower back from cramping up. After an hour or so, there’s nothing left on the agenda but the bluff, and I’m wondering if they’ll postpone my presentation and the vote.
A knock at the door startles us.
Police, a voice calls out.
The door opens, and a young officer enters tentatively, crouching his way into the room. It’s a tight community, and he’s likely a bit intimidated. We’re a powerful bunch. If he ran into one of us around town, I imagine he’d be deferential. But this isn’t a coffee shop or a grocery store, and this isn’t a social call.
After a moment, he straightens up, and his face registers the requisite look of authority. “Doug Michell’s been reported missing,” he says. “He went out on his boat earlier today and never returned. The Coast Guard is conducting a search.”
My stomach sinks, and gasps echo around the room. We all sit with the shocking news for a few moments as the officer bites his lower lip.
He continues. “We’re going to need to interview all of you. Detective Whittaker is on his way. Please stay seated and be patient.”
And with that, the vote is delayed.
***
Travis Whittaker leans back in his chair, eyeing me. I can see tension lines in the detective’s forehead. He seems to have aged since I last saw him, although his thick, dark head of hair reveals few strands of gray. It’s his eyes. They look heavy and full, like the weight of the world sits behind them.
He’s been working his way through the group, and I’m second-to-last. It would have been better to get it over with. Waiting around only increased the tension. Nobody really knew what to say to each other, so there was nothing but awkward silence filling the space between us as we stood in the hallway waiting for our turns to go in and be interviewed.
“So, Ms. Breslow. You arrived five minutes late,” he says.
“I just said that,” I reply, immediately regretting my sharp tone.
The detective’s nostrils flare, ever so slightly. He’s an attractive man for his age—early fifties or so—with a neatly trimmed beard and dark, haunting eyes. Right now, though, he looks menacing.
“Yes. I was about five minutes late,” I say, in a softer tone. My throat feels as if it’s about to close.
He narrows his eyes on me and I look away. I catch myself absent-mindedly stroking my neck and stop myself, placing my hands on the table top.
This feels all too familiar.
“And why were you late?”
“The rain,” I offer. “It got heavy when I was driving down Lakeside.” I tap my fingers on the table top as I search for something to add. “I had to drive more slowly.”
He nods and jots something down on his notepad. Almost everyone at the meeting had to drive down that road in the rain. It’s not a very good excuse, but it’s all I can give him.
“Did Doug Mitchell give you any indication that he was planning to miss the meeting tonight?” he asks.
“No, not at all,” I say. “We were all shocked when he didn’t show up tonight.”
“Have you heard from him today?” he asks.
I shake my head no.
“When’s the last time you had any contact with him?” he asks.
I look off to the side, struggling to keep myself focused and calm. I turn back to him. “In person?” I ask.
“In general,” Whittaker replies.
“We’ve been on the same email and text chain over the last week or so. Exchanging information, in anticipation of the vote.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
I swallow. He’s already seen our text stream, I assume. “Yesterday. Around seven in the evening.”
“Was that an email or a text?”
“It was a text.”
“And what did it say?”
I pull up my phone, hold it in my palm, and let him read the exchange. His eyes rest on my last line to Doug Mitchell.
If you do that, I’ll bury you.It would have been less stressful for me if Whittaker’s face had registered some kind of surprise. Instead, he closes his notepad and puts his pen down. I struggle to keep a neutral look on my face. Then he informs me that I can leave and asks me to send in the next board member.
I start for the door but then turn back to him. “In paperwork,” I offer. “I meant I’d bury him in paperwork.” Then I turn away again and continue to the door.
“Don’t leave town,” he calls out. “We’re sure to have more questions as the investigation develops.”
I nod and keep walking.
***
As my car winds up the dark, curvy road to my lakefront home, I struggle to steady my shaking hands. This night already had me on edge, and I can feel my pulse racing as I reach the bend in the road, near the top. The part where the drop-off is the steepest. They replaced the guardrail with another one that looks exactly the same.
What was the point of that?
Sometimes I can ignore it and drive right past. On sunny days, when the sky is bright and the birds chirp and all is well in the universe. It looks so different in the daylight. But tonight is foggy and foreboding, and I drive slowly. So slowly, I’d probably get a ticket if an officer was behind me. I don’t look to my right though, because then I have to picture it, and imagine the look of terror on his face as he plunged through the rail and over the side.
What was he thinking?
Or was he not thinking at all?
Did he scream?
Or was there no time?
A chill runs up my spine as I turn carefully around the bend and breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes, I get a sensation that he’s in the car with me, and I can almost feel his breath on my neck. And now Doug’s missing, and I have no idea what to do next or what this means for me and my shoreline plan. All I know is I have to sell my house get out of this town, before I lose my mind.
Or worse.
***
Excerpt from The Bluff by Bonnie Traymore. Copyright 2024 by Bonnie Traymore. Reproduced with permission from Bonnie Traymore. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Bonnie Traymore is the Amazon International Bestselling author of six domestic/psychological thrillers. Her "popcorn thrillers" feature strong but relatable female protagonists who peel back the layers of suburban American life and give readers a peek inside. The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time. She's an active status member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.
Catch Up With Bonnie Traymore:www.BonnieTraymore.com
Goodreads
October 17, 2024
The Memory Chest by Robert Leventhal #CountdowntoHalloween2024 #Poetry
Poetry
Date Published: May 23, 2024
With an unmistakable voice and a depth of presence, Leventhal's work zooms out and back inward, taking stock of it all. His poems survey the surrounding landscapes: be it historical, natural, political, or emotional. They reflect on love and loss with vulnerability, and on the prospect of aging with optimism and gratitude. They travel centuries back in time and simultaneously ask the question of what it means to be alive in the world today. Years of leadership in the Jewish community provides him access to Biblical language and wisdom. The artwork that accompanies the poems creates and elegant conversation between visual art and poetry. There is a deep reverence within many of these works that is balanced out by Leventhal's refusal to take himself too seriously, his zest for life, beaming in words and brushstrokes from these pages. (Dakota Read- Editor)
Bob Leventhal served as sales and marketing executive for cleaning products company O-Cedar Brands for 19 years. For more than 15 years Bob was a Jewish communal lay leader in Dayton, Ohio. He was a day school president, a JCC membership chair and federation campaign leader. He even taught seventh graders in his temple’s religious school.
In 2001 he chose to combine his MBA and his Masters in Jewish Education to create a unique synagogue consulting practice at the Alban Institute in Washington, D.C. In January 2012 he became the Director of Leadership at United Synagogue. He led the team which created the Sulam Leadership Curriculum.
As he approached 65 he began to develop his interests in writing and painting. He took painting classes in NYC. He wrote a memoir Swept Away (2022) about his transition from business to consulting. He wrote the Memory Chest (2024), a conversation between painting and poetry. He has intentionally sought out colleagues and mentors to support these new learning journeys. Walk with Bob.
October 15, 2024
The Witch’s Debt Coal Mountain by Edward Rollins #giveaway #countdowntohalloween2024
Book Description:
When the ghost of Jake Calhouns
grandmother delivers a cryptic message to
him, he's drawn back to the mountains of
southern West Virginia, where he finds himself on a collision course with the
consequences of his past, the strained family ties that drove him to run, and the
woman he left behind.
Though he longs to return to the life he's made for himself in the city, a string of
deaths forces him to decide who he will be, where he belongs, and how he will
stop whoever is killing those closest to him.
Excerpt"You all right, Buck?" He set his coffee on the small table there as he took more of myweight than I intended. "Yeah," I lied. "Bit of a headache." I couldn't look him in the eye. "I need to check onsomething. Be right in." "Sure you're gonna be all right?" Dad picked up his coffee as I took my weight again. “I’ll live.” I nodded and started toward the sitting room. I steeled myself against the painI knew was coming and pushed my senses into the Curtain once again. The little room off the chapel was packed with overstuffed couches and an ottomanwhich could double for a bed. I could see just clearly enough to avoid tripping, but it madefinding the cat a challenge. I moved from piece to piece, looking behind and under each. Therewas no sign of it. It could have left through the chapel but I wasn't ready to accept that it had. Itwas bothersome enough it was inside the church. I didn't want to consider what it would mean ifthe thing could move across the consecrated ground of the chapel. "Lose something?" Bonnie asked from the doorway. Frustrated and defeated, I gave her a weak smile and let go of my view into the Curtain."Hello, Bonnie." She stepped into the room, her coat and purse left behind somewhere. She wore a painedsmile on her lips. "That the best you have for me?" There were people in this town I didn't care to spare a kind word, Bonnie wasn't one ofthem. She'd done nothing but love me. I stopped fighting the smile she had always put on my face and replied, "Well if it isn'tBonnie Blankenship, the prettiest girl at Pineville High. How are things, Ms. Blankenship?" "Much better,” her smile touched her eyes and she stepped in close.
Of Women Wronged: Hillbilly Hauntings
The days grow shorter, the air turns crisp, and something deep within us all knowsthat the world is changing. Halloween draws near and with it a thinning of theCurtain this world from the next, allowing haints – restless spirits – to slip closerby than they were on brighter days.No part of the world is without tales of restless spirits; stories of the sorrow, anger,or injustice endured by the living. In Japan they tell of the onryō, wrathful spiritsdevoted to revenge against the living. In Mexico, they talk of La Llorona, whowander the water’s edge, mourning the loss of their children. Across Europe theyspeak of the White Lady, symbols of betrayal and life cut short. When it comes totales of lost love and betrayal, my beloved West Virginia isn’t without a tale or twoof its own.We tell the tales of Zona Heaster Shue, Screaming Jenny, the Weeping Woman ofSweet Springs, Kate Carpenter, and our own White Lady of Flat Top Manor. Eacha spirit bound by sorrow, betrayal, or unfinished business. Let’s take a moment andremember each, but take care, it’s said that people die twice, once when their heartbeats its last, and again when someone speaks their name for the final time.In Greenbrier County they tell the tale of Zona Heaster Shue who - in 1897 - wasfound dead under questionable circumstances. Her husband, Erasmus, was quick toclaim she had died peacefully. Zona’s mother wasn’t having it. She claimed thatZona's ghost began to visit her in the dead of night, accusing Erasmus of murderingher by snapping her neck. Confronted with the charges, a local judge orderedZona’s body exhumed, and the evidence of Erasmus’ guilt was revealed. Erasmuswas convicted of the crime, but Zona’s spirit still didn’t rest. She is said to hauntGreenbrier County still, a chilling reminder that justice isn’t bound by the grave.In Jefferson County we find a different sort of tale. There, when wind moansthrough the trees and the moon lights the ground just so, it’s said that you can hearthe pain filled screams of a woman long dead. Screaming Jenny, a local womanwho died in pain and terror. It was a cold night in autumn when Jenny, poor andliving in an abandoned railroad shack, tried to warm herself by a fire. Somehow,
her clothes were set ablaze and, in her panic, she ran screaming and blind in searchof relief. She ran right onto the railroad tracks and into the path of an oncomingtrain. Locals maintain that now and then the figure of Screaming Jenny - stillengulfed in flames – can be seen running through the night. Her ghostly shrieks areminder of her final, desperate moments.From the tranquil beauty of Monroe County comes a tale of another ghostlypresence born of sorrow and despair. Known as the Weeping Woman of SweetSprings, it’s said that she was a bride abandoned at the altar or perhaps a grievingmother who lost her child. Whatever the case, the young woman fell beneath theweight of her broken heart, and cast herself into the spring where she drowned. Butshe wouldn’t have a place on our list if that was the end for her. It’s said that shestill wanders, a ghostly figure draped in a flowing white gown, her soft sobbingproof that some heartache is too deep to fade, even in death.From Mercer County and the grounds of an old plantation known as Flat TopManor comes the tale of the White Lady of Flat Top Manor, a restless spirit whosetragic story is tangled in the past. Some say she was the young bride of the manor’soriginal owner; others maintain that she was a servant who died at her master’shand. In either case, it is agreed by those who believe, that her life was cut short byviolence. Witnesses maintain that the air goes frigid long before her shadowyfigure - fleeting and ethereal – is seen gliding through the manor's hallways orlingering at the edge of the woods. The truth of it is left to you, but the accounts ofwitnesses and investigators alike have gone a long way to make Flat Top Manor'sreputation as one of the most haunted locations in the State.Silent and still, the Greenbrier River flows through Summers County like anapparition itself. It’s a peaceful scene as beautiful as any faery tale picture, but itswaters gave birth to a tale of lost love and lingering sorrow. Kate Carpenter was ayoung woman deeply in love with the wrong man. Her family opposed her choiceof suitor and refused her their blessing. Unwilling to either set aside her love or goagainst her kin, Kate threw herself into the river and drowned the dark, icy waters.But as is the case in these tales, neither the depths of the river nor the touch ofdeath could quiet Kate’s restless spirit. She lingers near the place where she leftthis world, a spectral form barely visible on misty mornings walking theriverbanks. For Kate, death was better than the absence of the man she loved.This Halloween, when autumn leaves rustle in a cold wind, remember the story ofthese women as you sip your pumpkin-spiced drink. Their stories are the echoes ofunimaginable loss and suffering, and they leave us to wonder—what would we doif faced with such sorrow? Would we find peace, or would our spirits, too, be
bound to the places where our hearts were broken? But let’s remember as well thatthese spirits weren’t content to shuffle off the mortal coil the first time. Speakingtheir names again – breathing life into their memory - might be enough to remindthem what binds them to this world.
The Haunted World of West Virginia’s GranniesWest Virginia, the place generations of my people have called home. Wild,wonderful, and possessed of an undeniable beauty. But sometimes... the place justain't right.Maybe it's the narrow roads snaking through claustrophobic forests. Maybe it's thelooming presence of the mountains, equal parts shelter, and constraint. Or maybeit’s the tight-lipped locals, wary of strangers and burdened by the weight of talespassed down since before their kin left the Old Country. Whispered stories that tellof all manner of...other. Either way, it's hard to shake the feeling that my belovedmountains are hiding secrets best left alone. That's the world that birthed theGranny, or white witch; wise women, workers of poultices, charms, and yes - whencalled for - curses. And it is the Granny that inspired my Coal Mountain series.Only seems right to share a bit about them with you.The origins of the Granny lie in the isolation and desperation of mountain life, in atime and place far removed from modern medicine when the nearest doctor couldbe a day or more away. When folks there got sick, they turned to the Grannies,whose reputations were rooted in their understanding of herbalism and thepreparation of natural remedies; the ability to “stir a boil” and make a sick childwell. It was a short hop from a tea to cure a fever to a poultice to catch the eye ofthe one you loved. And when the shadows grew long and the veil between worldsthinned - as it’s said happens each Halloween - it's no surprise that folks turned tothe Grannies again, this time to keep that darkness at bay.To their communities, the Grannies were keepers of ancient knowledge passed
down through generations; both revered and feared for the knowledge theypossessed. Their practices were a New World blend of Celtic, Native American,Germanic, and African traditions, all interwoven with a dose of Christian beliefsand survive still among the region's followers of Celtic Christianity.Grannies - including my own - professed the ability to craft powerful charms andperform rituals that could protect against the things unseen that haunted the WestVirginia wilderness. They were known to craft hex signs – a practice drawn fromGermanic and Pennsylvania Dutch traditions – and utilized these colorful symbolsto guard a place from evils known and unknown. While many of these wards weresmall works of art, some were simplicity incarnate. Among the latter was thesimple use of "haint blue," a soft, bluish-green color often seen on doorways,windowsills, and even porch ceilings. Tradition maintained that "haints" - orrestless spirits – were unable to cross water. The color - mimicking water as it does– was thought to create a protective barrier at doors and windows.And then there were the curses—dark incantations spoken in secret, sometimes toseek justice, other times to exact revenge. While not every Granny dabbled incurses, there is no shortage of tales telling if a wronged woman who sought out aGranny to set things right. As a teenager, I heard firsthand the tales of deadlivestock, blighted crops, or families plagued by mysterious illnesses aftersomeone crossed a Granny. It was plume foolish to doubt ht. It was the certainty ofthe belief in the power of a Granny’s curse that led them to be treated with a blendof respect and caution. Their power both admired and approached withtrepidation.The folks of southern West Virginia being of primarily Scots and Irish decent, itshouldn’t be a surprise that Halloween, or Samhain as it was once known, was atime of great significance for the Grannies of the region. Folks had no doubt thaton that night the boundary between the living and the dead was at its weakest;spirits walked freely among the living. So, the living turned to the Grannies asgatekeepers, looking to them to perform ancient rituals – often Christian and paganin equal measure – to honor the dead, protect the living, and keep the darkest offorces at bay. Bonfires – with deep roots in Celtic tradition - played a role in theseceremonies. The Grannies would gather their communities around these fires,where they burnt sage, rosemary, and other herbs believed to cleanse the area ofevil spirits.The legacy of the Grannies remains tightly woven into the fabric of mountainfolklore, contributing to an all too familiar sense of unease that hangs about the
darkest corners, especially at Halloween. While many in the Mountain State haveforgotten the truth of their own stories, you can count on Halloween to breathe newlife in old tales, filled with strange occurrences, eerie encounters, and supernaturalevents that defy explanation. And you can find signs of the past without looking tohard. Children carve pumpkins having no knowledge that they are practicing anancient ritual meant to ward off evil. Candles burn in darkened windows absenteven the most distant remembrance of nights when they were lit to guide theancestors home on Halloween night.As Halloween approaches and the nights grow longer, folks in my neck of thewoods aren’t strained by the idea that the world of the Grannies remains. Theworld of the Grannies – that blend of ancient wisdom and supernatural wonder –hasn't faded with time. No, it’ll never be truly lost. It floats through the hollers likea whisper on the wind. It’s etched into the stone of the mountains themselves. So,when the wind carries a distant howl to your ears, or the moon casts graspingshadows across the ground, and you sense something off in the world... rememberthat the ancient magic of the Grannies remains, just out of sight, but still in reach.
About the Author:
As a kid in elementary school, Edward Rollins hatedto read. Hated it…Then his grandfather, who knew Edward loved theAdam West "Batman" series, introduced him toBatman comic books, the rest is nerd history. Fromthose early comics he went on to consume a steadydiet of books from fantasy to science fiction.Eventually, he found a little game called Dungeonsand Dragons and a lifetime of telling stories was born.He’s been a sailor, a soldier, a pastor, an engineer and a college professor;sometimes all at once. Mostly, he hopes to know what he wants to be when hegrows up. Assuming he agrees to grow up…A writer since college, he has published a handful of short stories and gamingindustry pieces over the years. "The Witch's Debt" is his first attempt at writing“something of his own”.
Edward has lectured in convention and collegiate circles on the topics of gamingsimulations, fantasy world building and theology in fantasy settings. He is a fan of1920s pulp and science fiction as well as the 1950s aesthetics of Raygun Gothicand Atom-Punk.While he lives in central Ohio with his wife and two incredible young adults – allthree of which make him proud -- his heart will always be in West Virginia.
https://www.facebook.com/EdwardRollins.Authorhttps://www.amazon.com/stores/Edward-Rollins/author/B07X6PJ3QChttps://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19609364.Edward_Rollins
October 10, 2024
#Review It's Raining Bats & Frogs by Rebecca Colby #Halloween #countdowntohalloween2024
My review:
If a reader could have a book that looked at Halloween just a little bit differently, then this book is it! Instead of going house to house for candy, the witches, ghost,goblins, and all ghouls of Halloween, have a parade.
Unfortunately, the witches are unhappy because it starts to rain. Are they going to melt? Of course not, but what are they to do as their broomsticks are getting wet.
In comes a cute little witch with a spell or two. Does that fix the problem? Hmm... Of course read the book and find out.
I loved this book with its cute rhymes and fun illustrations. The pairing is perfect. The illustrator managed to make the pictures to move right before your eyes. For those who cannot read yet,they "said" exactly what needed to be said. The book helps the emergent reader with complex sentences as well.
I give this book 5 pumpkins!
Disclosure: I obtained this book from my local library. The views expressed here are 100% my own and may differ from yours. ~Michelle, Reading Authors Network
Where to find the author:
Amazon
October 8, 2024
Immortal Wounds by Angie Barton #giveaway #countdowntohalloween2024 #book series #
Book Description:
After witnessing the brutal deaths of her mother and husband, Isobel overhears a
confession from one of the murderers, a ruthless vampire who claims to be her
father. For fear that she and her unborn daughter’s death could come next, Isobel
uses the only magic she possesses and summons a portal to take her two hundred
years in the past to revisit an ancestor in Scotland who she believes may know the
truth of her parentage. However, in her haste, Isobel lands in the wrong century.
Before she realizes her mistake, she stumbles upon a family: a ferocious Highland
warrior and his two sisters.
Isobel could not have prepared herself for what she discovers during her stay: the
vampire who claimed to be her father, alive three hundred years in the past! With
the help of Meg, the youngest sister, and Mariam, both women’s ancestor, Isobel
finds herself belonging in a world she never dreamed of—one entangled with
vampires and webbed with revenge, curses, and a prophecy that has dictated all of
their lives for the last four hundred years. Did Isobel make an error landing in the
wrong time, or was it part of her destiny?
Amazon
SPOOKY COOKIES
I LOVE baking, especially around the holidays!
Every October I make these amazing double chocolate
chip cookies and it’s easy to say that they are a hit
with both children and adults! They are soft and chewy
with just the right amount of chocolate,
but it’s the candy eyeballs that are the star of the show!
INGREDIENTS
• ½ cup unsalted butter, room temperature
• ½ cup granulated sugar
• ½ cup dark brown sugar, packed
• optional: black food coloring
• 1 large egg
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• ½ cup + 2 Tbsp. Hershey’s Special Dark Cocoa Powder
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• 2 Tbsp. milk
• 1 1/2 cups chocolate chips (I use semi-sweet)
• Candy Eyeballs for topping the cookies
INSTRUCTIONS
1. Preheat oven to 350˚ F. Line baking sheets with parchment paper. Using an
electric mixer, combine the butter and sugars. You can add black food coloring at
this time to get a deeper shade of black in the cookies. Beat together on medium-
high speed until light and fluffy, 2-3 minutes. Blend in the egg and vanilla, scrape
down the bowl if needed.
2. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and
salt. Slowly add the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients in the mixer on low
speed just until mixed. Mix in the milk on the lowest speed and fold in the
chocolate chips.
3. Roll about 2 tablespoons of dough into balls and place on the baking sheets.
Flatten slightly. Top cookies with candy eyeballs.
Place cookie sheet in freezer for 10-15 minutes.
4. Bake for 10-11 minutes. Let cool on the baking sheets for about 5 minutes, then
transfer to a wire rack to cool completely. ENJOY!
On This Night
On this night of blood and bats
Of howling wolves and pointed black hats
Of dreadful tales shared ‘round a fire’s glow
Of cackling witches and their familiar crows
Suppressed within tall grass, it is hard to see
But a haunted cemetery it is said to be
A chill and an eeriness hangs within its gate
As sinister whispers promise ill fate
Their words come straight from hell
Yet mesmerized you fall under their spell
For on this night of sinful play
The buried you disturbed now hunt you like prey
About the Author:
Award winning author, Angie Barton, published her first
novel, Immortal Wounds, in 2022. Angie’s love for
writing centers around the fantasy genre, but she also
enjoys writing thriller and romance. Her passion for
reading, which led to her love of writing, began in
elementary school with the Scholastic Book program. Her
parents, who are life-long avid readers, have been a huge
influence on her reading. Therefore anything and
everything Angie could get her hands on she read.
Angie has been an early childhood educator since 1986 and hold a B.S. in Child
Development. Her love for literacy has continued throughout her career, not only
for herself, but also with the children she has cared for and taught. What Angie is
most passionate about is helping others discover the excitement that reading
brings. Her greatest desire in writing is to create and bring joy and entertainment to
everyone she touches.
Currently, if Angie isn't reading at least three books at a time or working on a
rough draft for her next book, she can be found outdoors gardening, woodworking,
or relaxing by her pond. She shares that she's a Capricorn, tried and true, drinks
way too much tea, and that her "to be read" pile of books can spike at any time.
https://www.goodreads.com/goodreadsco...
Spooktacular Giveaway
Free ebook copy of Immortal Wounds
October 7, 2024
Bells, Book, and Corpses by T.C. LoTempio #Halloween #countdowntoHalloween2024 #cozymysteries
7th in the SeriesSetting - CaliforniaBeyond the Page (September 24, 2024)Number of Pages 207
It’s Halloween trick-or-treachery when murder pays a visit to a cursed mansion in the newNick and Nora mystery . . .Waincroft Manor has long been tied to rumors of witchcraft and fatal curses, and to NoraCharles, that makes it the perfect place for a Halloween fundraiser. But her first trip to thedeserted old mansion turns out to be truly ghoulish when she discovers a dead body. What’smore, the corpse is laid out in a coffin—with two bite marks on its neck. Then the autopsy comesback showing that the body was drained of blood, and there’s no stopping the local gossips fromwhispering the word vampire to anyone who will listen.
Determined to dispel the rumors and save the fundraiser, Nora sets out to prove the murderer wasquite human after all. Sifting through the clues, she learns of a bitter family rivalry that spansgenerations, and a more recent conflict that may point to the motive for the murder. And whenNick spells out a clue that proves to be the missing piece of the puzzle, Nora knows she’ll haveto watch her back—because there’s a killer out there who wants to keep some secrets buried, andthey’ll happily bury Nora right along with them . . .Includes mouthwatering recipes!
About T.C. LoTempio
While Toni Lotempio does not commit – or solve – murders in real life, she has no trouble doingit on paper. Her lifelong love of mysteries began early on when she was introduced to her firstNancy Drew mystery at age 10 – The Secret in the Old Attic. She and her cat pen the Nick andNora mystery series originally from Berkley Prime Crime and now with Beyond the PagePublishing. They also write the Cat Rescue series from Crooked Lane and the Pet Shop series,originally published by Midnight Ink and rebranded last year as “Urban Tails Pet ShopMysteries.” Book six in the Nick and Nora mysteries, A PURR BEFORE DYING, is releasedthis February from Beyond the Page. There is also a new series, Tiffany Austin Food Blogger,coming out in April.You can catch up with them at ROCCO’s blog, www.catsbooksmorecats.blogspot.com or herwebsiteAmazon
October 6, 2024
Dragon's Halloween by Dav Pilkey #review #CountdowntoHalloween2024 #bookseries #chapterbooks
As I do not have any "littles" around much anymore, I was unaware that this book is from a series of "Dragon's" books. I picked up this one for Halloween. The cover is adorable with the blue dragon and plethora of cats at his feet.
The story follows along Dragon as he tries to scare others and himself. As the book is chopped up into three small chapters, the first chapter is him trying to carve scary pumpkins, next scary costumes, and finally scares of the night. I have not told you much other than the titles for each chapter.
It is a perfect book for kids who are beginning to read, who like the author, dragons, animals, and most importantly Halloween. I found the short stories to be cute and engaging enough that I wanted to turn the page. The illustrations had all the colors you would expect for Halloween and a few more. The pictures went well with the words.
A nice little addition to the book was in thr back where the author illustrates how to draw Dragon. Fun! Also, the very last page asks kids questions of what costumes they might wear to a costume party and encourages kids to draw them.
Good book and it gets 4 pumpkins (but not too scary) from me.
Disclosure: I picked up a copy of this book from my local library. The views here are 100% my own and may differ from yours. ~Michelle, Reading Authors Network
Where to find the author:
