M.A Grace's Blog, page 9

Giveaway with Hunter Shea

Are you fan of winning free stuff? Are you a fan of Hunter Shea? Are you a fan of the dark and paranormal? Are you a fan of books? Ok how about a fan of getting autographs?  Well YOUR IN LUCK!!! Enter today to win one of two Hunter Shea books. We have a signed copy of Evil Eternal and a signed copy of Forest of Shadows for you to win!!! Find out how to enter below! 


Only one priest can battle the ultimate evil! An evil as ancient as time itself has arisen and taken root in New York City. Father Michael, the mysterious undead defender of the Church, answers the call to action from the Vatican, while Cain, a malevolent wraith that feeds on fear and blood, has taken the life and form of the city’s mayor and readies a demonic army to ignite the apocalypse.
With an unlikely ally, Father Michael will prepare for the grim confrontation as he grapples with his sworn duty to God and the shreds of humanity left beating in his immortal heart. The time is ripe for Cain and the fulfillment of dark prophecies. Father Michael must battle Cain and his horde of demons in a final showdown that could very well herald the end of mankind.







  The dead still hate!
 
Something dreadful happened in the remote Alaskan cabin. Something monstrous. The shadows are closing in…and they’re out for blood.








ENTER TO WIN A SIGNED COPY!!!Entering is really easy.  Answer this question...
What monster are you afraid of? 
With your answer include a way for us to get in touch with you if you win (ie: email, facebook, etc) and put if you have a preference for which book your trying to win. 

GOOD LUCK!!!!

First Two Chapters from Eric Johnstons 9111 Sharp Road

Chapter 1
Not long after Dad died, Mom told us we had to go live with Gramma. She said we couldn’t afford our house anymore.Gramma lived in a big, old house in a far off village I had never heard of called Orchard Hills. Gray—just like in an old photograph—two stories tall, big windows that looked like giant eyes, and a foundation of mortar and stone, it was the creepiest house I had ever seen. Just something about it made me think there was something strange lurking behind every window, things even older and creepier than Gramma herself.We weren’t that close to Gramma. In fact, my six-year-old sister, Lori, and I had never even met her. Mom always said she had a few screws loose, that maybe she wasn’t all there in the head, perhaps suffering from dementia and was possibly dangerous.But we had nowhere else to go.Coming into Orchard Hills on our moving day, the first thing I noticed was there didn’t seem to be anything in this village that was separate from the cemetery. There were tombstones as far as the eye could see.  “Mom,” I asked from the passenger seat, “is this entire town just one big grave yard?”She began crying, but didn’t answer me. I assumed she was thinking about Dad. This was going to be tough. I really missed Dad, and I was going to miss all of my friends. I could feel the tears beginning to well in my eyes. I looked away to hide my face.“Mom,” Lori said from the backseat, “Amanda’s crying.” Sometimes I just wanted to punch her little face in.“I’m going to kill you!” I screamed, unbuckled my seatbelt, and turned around. Tears were streaming down my face, my eyes, swollen. I couldn’t see, but that fact didn’t stop me from trying to land a punch.“Help me! Help me!” Lori cried and undid her own seatbelt. She was trying to open the backdoor.“You’re not going anywhere!” I screamed.And then I was flung against the dashboard, my head cracking into the windshield. “Listen, both of you!” Mom yelled, crying. “I am not having this. You two will behave yourselves or else. You got it?”We never pushed Mom to be specific with her “or else” threats. It used to mean “or else Dad is getting involved.” Now it meant “or else you’ll have to live with the fact you made me cry.” Both Lori and I shut up, turned around, and sat back in our seats.We continued going up the road in silence. This road seemed to be as close to Main Street as anything, in fact, I think it was probably the only road in this entire town. According to a sign we passed, it was called Sharp Road.Eventually we came to the house as the gravestones thinned out. “Ninety-one eleven Sharp Road,” I said, reading the house number. “That’s our new address. Sounds creepy.” The day was stormy, with rain threatening to wash us out as we ran our stuff from the car to the house. The lawn appeared as though it hadn’t been mowed in decades, perhaps centuries, making the trek between the car and the house difficult. The weeds literally reached up to my chest.The front door opened up into a dining room with wooden floors and white, plaster walls. Directly to my left, I saw something most peculiar. There was a toilet and an old-fashioned bathtub in what looked like a closet not ten feet from the dining room table. How odd. The thought of an open bathroom next to where we were expected to eat our meals made me want to hurl. “Come in, come in,” the woman I assumed was my gramma greeted us, wearing, strangely enough, what looked like sheepskin died pink. She grabbed me in a tight squeeze, pushing the breath from my lungs. The perfume she wore stunk worse than anything I had ever smelled before. I tried to push her away, but my hands just pushed into rolls of fat and sweat.“Nice to meet you, Gramma,” I grunted through a flabby arm.She finally released me and looked at me in the queerest fashion. “Amanda, you look just like your father.” Everyone said that. I had long brown hair just like my father.“Mom, what room is mine?” Lori shouted from behind me. She was carrying a pile of pillows and blankets that were taller than she was.“Whoa, Lori, what are you doing?” Mom said, rushing in from behind her. She managed to save the falling tower of pillows just before they spilled over everywhere.“Good save, Mom,” I said, finally managing to pull away from Gramma. I immediately went to her aid. Not because I wanted to help her, but because I just needed an excuse to get away.“What room is mine?” Lori asked again. Before we could venture off to find bedrooms, Gramma bounded upon us with arms wide open, “Come here. I wanna hug you both. How are my grandbabies?” Get ready for round two, I thought as I braced myself.She swept us both into a fanatical hug, squeezing tightly, and seeming to offer no hope she would ever let go. “I could just eat you both up.”For a second, I thought she was actually going to make good on her “threat.” Maybe my mind was just playing tricks on me, but for a second, I was sure she had my entire ear in her mouth.“We’re good,” I grunted. Mom wasn’t exaggerating. This woman was loony tunes.She squeezed us a bit harder, pushing my face into her armpit. It was disgusting. All that flab with its disgusting taste of sweat laced with salt and bacteria. I couldn’t breathe. Lori struggled too, but she was smaller, so she managed to duck out from under Gramma’s beefy arms. I cried for help, but my voice was muffled by jelly rolls.“Mom, can you let her go, please?” Mom asked.Gramma held on to me for another few seconds and then finally let go. I breathed heavily, as if I had just finished a five-mile sprint. “What a couple of lovely, delicious children you have here.” Her choice of the word “delicious” concerned me a bit, especially when I looked into those crazed eyes.Mom and Gramma began talking about things I had no idea, nor any interest in learning, about. While they talked, I walked in the family room off to the left of the dining room. There was what looked like a wood-burning stove to my left, with a couple of rocking chairs in front of it, and a rack full of logs beside it. There were at least fifteen deer and coyote heads mounted on the walls. Disgusting. “Mom,” I called back to her, “this place is weird.”“Honey, your gramma and I are talking.” Her voice was somber and lonely. I really wished Dad were here.Across from the stove was a doorway that led to a set of stairs heading up to the second floor. Mom had said on the way here that our rooms would be on the second floor.There really wasn’t any point in going up to my room empty-handed. “I, uh, need to go get more stuff,” I said under my breath and headed out the front door.The car didn’t have a lot in it. Moving into a house where someone already lives creates the issue of excess furniture. Mom insisted we leave most of the stuff at our old house, so there were mainly just boxes of books, some video games, and clothes.Gramma and Mom were still talking as I came back in. Lori was standing there with pillows and blankets in hand, having recovered them after hugging Gramma. She looked like she was waiting for directions to our bedrooms.I told Lori to just follow me upstairs, that we would just choose our own rooms, since I was sure Mom wouldn’t be in the mood to help us, and I wanted to stay as far away from Gramma as possible.We went up the staircase. Walking up those steps produced the most amazing sort of echo; the sound of light, but heavy-sounding steps down an empty hall.It just sounded so cool, yet it made me a little uneasy.The upstairs was a rather large, L-shaped corridor with five rooms off of it. It looked as though Gramma hadn’t been up there in years, if ever. Cobwebs filled every corner; dust coated the floor. There was even a door that led directly outside, not onto a balcony, just outside to a thirty-foot fall and a broken leg or two.“Is that the door to the hospital?” Lori asked, dead serious.“What? No, it’s….” And then I realized she was joking. Door to the hospital, ha, very funny, Lori.“Yeah, because if you walk through it, you’re going to the hospital.”“I know, Lori, I get it.” I had to admit that it was a pretty funny joke, especially for a six-year-old. “I guess we’ll just have to call this ‘the door to the hospital, eh?’”“Huh?”“Never mind. It was your joke. If I lost you, that’s your own fault. Hey, why don’t you take that room down there?” I pointed to our left past what must have been the smokestack from the wood-burning stove.The room I chose was at junction of the L, just past that “door to the hospital,” or as I would think of it, “the door to nowhere.” It had green wall paper covering broken plaster. I had never seen a house this old, and I had no idea before moving in there just how strange old houses could be. The windows, too, were strange. Everything looked wavy, as if the glass was defective.I threw down my bag of clothes. There was a bed set up in the room already, and by the looks of it, it had been in there for quite a while. The covers were neat, the pillows fluffed, but a cloud of dust billowed into the air as I sat on the bed. Gross, but tolerable, I supposed. I laughed out loud as I thought about how disgustingly awful it was.I could hear footsteps coming to my door. They were a bit lighter, so naturally, I assumed they were Lori’s. “Lori, check this out.” I stood and went to the door, but there was nobody there.Strange. I felt hairs sticking up on my head and my neck, and my heart started beating faster. I wouldn’t exactly say I was scared, but….“Amanda, hey look at this!” Lori said, jumping out of her room directly to my right. The smokestack blocked most of my view of her room.“Lori, you scared the bejeebies out of me. Is there anyone else up here?”“I don’t know, but you gotta look at what I got in my room!”My heart-rate slowed a bit as I entered her room. It was a lot like mine, except with pink walls instead of green. But most noticeably, there was a white pipe running from the floor to the ceiling. Lori jumped on it as if it were a fireman’s pole and attempted to climb it. She managed only a foot or two, but then slid back down. “Isn’t this awesome?”“I wonder what it is,” I said. “Looks like some sort of plumbing.” I thought for a second. What room was directly below this one, where that pipe might have come from? Being so new to this house, it took me a second to remember that it was the bathroom. “Lori, you know what that is?”“What?”“It’s the main pipe for the bathroom.”“It is? Ew. Does that mean there’s poop and pee in it?”“Sure thing. Also has farts.” I heard from Mom later that day that it was a vent stack, sometimes called a stink pipe, that carries gases from the septic system to the outside so that it doesn’t back up into the house. These pipes were usually in the walls, not jutting up from the floor in the middle of the room.“That’s gross. I don’t think I want this room anymore.”“Tough luck, chum. You gotta play the hand you’re dealt.”“Huh?” she said with an exaggerated look of confusion.“I don’t know. Just sounded good.”I turned to leave Lori’s room but paused as I saw a dark shape walk past the door. “Lori, did you see that?” I cried. It wasn’t your regular shadow. This had more substance to it. “It was like a—”“Ghost!” Lori screamed, finishing my sentence.I don’t know what came over me, but before I knew it, I was rushing out into the hall to get a better look at whatever it was. There was a man walking away from me, toward that strange door to nowhere, as if he aimed to walk through it. He was dark, almost impossible to see, but I could barely make out his clothing. He was wearing one of those hats you see all the men wearing in old movies, as well as a matching suit.And then he was gone.

Chapter 2I had trouble sleeping that night. This was a large adjustment for Lori and me. First of all, we were in a strange, new place, but also, and more importantly, our father was gone. Mom never told us how he died, saying it wasn’t something we should have to think about. I was to take the fact of my dad’s death as a matter of faith, that he was no longer around because he no longer existed, that he was dead. It hurt, and what was worse, I wasn’t even sure if I fully understood what death was. The fact that he wasn’t here with us anymore made me think every day and night about him, and how much I missed him.The moonlight coming through the wavy glass of the windows created strange shadows on the walls. I lay in my bed, thinking about the meaning of life, what it meant to die, and where my dad fit into all of that. In a way, I took Dad’s death a lot harder than Lori. I knew him better. Sometimes, she acted as if he were just a name, a faceless figure that had never actually been there. He was dead, but did that mean he was truly gone forever?
I was at Dad’s funeral. Mom, Lori, and I stood there at the graveside as the casket was lowered into the ground. A part of me didn’t really believe he was dead. I needed proof. I needed to see for myself.“He’s not really dead!” I screamed, rushing toward the open grave. I leapt on top of the casket and tried to pry it open, but before I could, a set of strong arms pulled me back and pushed me to the ground.It was the man in the old-fashioned suit and hat. “Who are you?” I shouted. He only smiled in response and then disappeared.Mom grabbed my arm and pulled me back to the group of family and friends, all of them looking at me with a mixture of disdain and sympathy. I could almost read their thoughts through those hurtful looks: I feel so sorry for that pathetic child.
I woke with a start. Nothing but moonlight greeted me as I sat up in bed. Shadows danced on the walls and across the floor, creating weird shapes across the walls. The sound of wind gusting outside made me think of The Wizard of OZ. I imagined I could look outside the window and discover that the house—or just the room I was in—was blowing away to some far-off land.In reality, the east-facing window just above my bed showcased a large pine tree with its limbs blowing in the wind. The limbs shook ever more violently as the gusts increased.The long grass swayed in the wind as well, but there was something else out there. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like people walking around, people in dark clothing.I pressed my face against the glass. It was cold to the touch. Who were those people? Or were they people at all? They certainly had humanoid shapes, but I could make out what looked like wings on their backs, as well as glowing red eyes.There were at least five of them, but less than ten. They seemed to be running about, chasing each other, then before my eyes, they seemed to multiply. Before, there were less than ten. Now, there had to be no less than several hundred, if not more.After several minutes, they gathered in a circle around the tree. They started chanting something that sounded like a combination of animalistic screeches. It was hard to hear over the wind. I leaned closer to the window, the side of my face pressing against the cool glass.Then the bed moved, and I slipped, knocking my head against the window. Boy, did that ever hurt. I lay on the floor for a moment. Stars danced across my vision.I didn’t immediately get up. Something was telling me to stay down, to stay out of the sight of the window. A moment later, I realized the screeching—the chants—had stopped. My window face-plant seemed to have gotten their attention—attention I most definitely didn’t want.And then I heard something, a tapping at the window just above my head.I looked up and screamed.Staring in at me was a pair of bright red eyes sunken deep within an inhuman face. I closed my eyes. Please go away, please go away. But I could hear the breathing, the tapping at the window. The thing that was out there wanted in. It wanted me.Then I heard a cracking sound. Was the window cracking? As I looked, instead of cracks, I saw the spreading of ice across the glass.My heart raced. What do I do? I rolled away, to the other side of the room against the wall that I shared with Lori. What I wouldn’t give to be in her room right then, to be far away from this being staring in at me. It tapped the glass again. The ice was now gone, only having been there for a few brief moments. From my new vantage point, I saw the red eyes reflecting off the glass and back into its face. The sharp angles of its nose, the long, drawn-out knives of its teeth, its leathery skin, and the bat-like snout reminded me of some sort of vampire-like creature.It cracked its head into the glass, and then pushed itself off the side of the house, and in the light of its glowing eyes, I could clearly make out wings measuring at least twenty feet in total span.The gusting wind couldn’t dampen the sound of the creature’s screeches as it flew away. The others that had been standing outside appeared to fly away as well, for I could see the glow from their eyes lift into the air.I had no curtains, no blinds. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep, especially not in this room, where there were two windows—one on the east wall and the other on the north wall—and nowhere to hide.But somehow I did. Somehow I drifted off to sleep without even getting back onto the bed.
In the early hours of morning, just before sunrise, I was awoken by the creaking of a door, possibly the door out in the hallway, the one that led to pain and suffering, as if it were opening and closing.And then I heard the voices, voices calling my name. “Amanda…Amanda…Let us out.” I don’t know if I was just hearing things, letting my mind run wild. Maybe my mind was playing tricks, but why did the voices sound so real, so clear?
I could barely eat my breakfast. Picking at my pancakes, I could not gather the strength or desire to lift a single bite to my mouth. Those red eyes burned through my memory, searing my mind, ruining any semblance of appetite I may have had.Lori seemed to be doing the same, looking as though she had some huge, foreboding weight on her shoulders, and picking at her food.Gramma came in from the kitchen, carrying a steaming plate of sausage and hash browns. “Who wants sausage?” she said with an abnormally cheery manner. Well, not abnormal for her, I supposed. Her hair was done up in giant pink curlers, her bright red lipstick smeared messily across her lips in a way that made her resemble The Joker from Batman, and her light blue nightgown left little of what was underneath to the imagination.I could feel the urge to throw up, to vomit all over my pancakes.But I somehow managed to calm the urge and say, “No thanks, Gramma. I’m really not that hungry.”“Me neither,” Lori said.   Gramma smiled, looking ever more like an insane clown, and shoveled a mixture of sausage and hash browns right on top of my uneaten pancakes. “You two should eat. You’re both too thin. Eat up.” Then she went back to the kitchen.I couldn’t even imagine eating any more, especially not when all my food was mixed together like that. It was a bit disgusting to say the least. “Gramma?” Lori asked as she pushed her plate away. Gramma had piled the disgusting mixture onto her pancakes as well.“Yes, dear?” she said as she returned from the kitchen with a plate of something green and blue and possibly deadly. I breathed a sigh of relief as she sat down and started eating it without offering it to either me or Lori.“What were those things at my window last night?”Gramma stopped, suddenly choking on the “food” she had been shoveling into her mouth.“Gramma, do you need me to get you something to drink?” I asked, getting up. “No, no, dear,” she managed through several sharp coughs. Then she turned to Lori, staring at her with a worried expression, “What do you mean?” she asked even though it was obvious she knew exactly what Lori meant.“They had glowing red eyes…and their faces looked…I don’t know, like—”My mind flashed back to the night before, to what I saw. The red eyes. The bat-like form. “It was like a bat, a giant bat,” I finished Lori’s sentence.Lori shivered in what looked like a mixture of disgust and dread.So it wasn’t just a dream, a figment of my imagination. Lori had seen those creatures as well, and something about this made Gramma uncomfortable.She knew something.“Gramma what are they? I saw them too,” I said. “And I think they wanted me to....” I thought back to the voice I had heard in my sleep. “Amanda…Let us out.”“They called to me too,” Lori said. “That pipe in my room, they were talking through that…and it was glowing red.”Gramma stood, taking her plate to the kitchen and dropping it so hard in the sink that I thought for sure it would shatter. Was she crying? I couldn’t tell for sure. She had her back turned to us, but I could clearly see her shoulders moving up and down, as well as hear her sniffles.“Gramma, are you all right?” I asked. I stood up and walked over to her. When I put a hand on her shoulder, she swiped her hand around and nearly took my head off. I ducked just in time. “Gramma? What’s going on?”She rushed away from me, never uttering a word, ran through the dining room, into the family room, and into the bedroom just past the wood-burning stove and slammed the door.“What’s wrong with Gramma?” Lori asked.“I don’t know. We should leave her alone. Where’s Mom?”I didn’t realize at the time that the answer to that question would be just as frightening as that creature at the window.



Look for the full novel, 9111 Sharp RoadOnly 99 Cents on Kindle!Novels by Eric R.JohnstonAn Inner DarknessA Light in the DarkHarvester: Ascension (with Andrew Utley)

5 Festive Halloween Treats to Give Classmates

A friend recently contacted me about a Halloween Treat article she wrote. And after seeing the above picture I thought it was to cute to not pass on!



Spider Pop- Cut up a black trash bag into 4 inch squares – just enough to cover the number of spiders you want to make.  If you cut a 4 inch strip off of the top of the bag you will still be able to use the rest of the bag.  Wrap the black plastic square over a Tootsie pop.  Twist 4 black pipe cleaners over the plastic to hold it in place, then spread the pipe cleaners out to create spider legs.  Bend the legs once to form ‘knees’ and then again at the bottom to form feet.  Now your spider treats are done.  If you are short on pipe cleaners you can get by using just 3 pipe cleaners per spider, as most people won’t count the legs.  These treats are also great to hand out for trick-or-treaters on Halloween night.


You can check out all 5 Treats by going to her page here:http://www.liveoutnanny.com/blog/5-festive-halloween-treats-to-give-classmates/

Excerpt from Emily Hill's Book Ghost Stories and The Unexplained

This incident could repeat itself in any year, in any city, where Those from The Other Side cross paths with The Living:
 “Ghost Stories and The Unexplained: Book Two” ~ Excerpt
Seattle Homes ~ On Seattle Graves By Emily Hill

The cabbie looked at me expectantly as I reached for the door handle of his taxi, raising his eyebrows in the timeworn expression of, “Where to, lady?” After I settled into the back seat and closed the door he edged the cab away from the curb.“Greenwood, please – 82ndStreet – but along Greenwood Avenue, notHighway 99,” I requested.I was rummaging inside my purse, looking for my wallet, when the driver began his cabbie shtick.  “Big party?”“Yes.  A retirement party.  I work downtown.”“Uh huh.  So?  The company paid, right?”“Well, for the first part.  Then a bunch of us stayed late for drinks and gossip,” “So home is Greenwood?  You don’t drive?”“Well, I take the commuter bus in the morning and the direct busses back to Greenwood don’t run this late . . . I don’t think,” I said, my voice trailing off.  But what I was actually thinking was ‘Seattle busses run 24/7 and everyone knows it.’  “Maybe you’re thinking it’s not safe - making a bus transfer on a Friday night?” He had me pegged. I laughed hollowly. Highway 99 was “Ladies of the Night Land” back when this rather unsettling experience took place.  And the busses coming into my Greenwood neighborhood from downtown ran along Highway 99.  The city had posted signs on the utility poles declaring the highway corridor closest to my Greenwood cottage a SOAP Zone (Stay Out of Areas of Prostitution).  Vice squad officers would sit in their cruisers with clip boards and jot down the license plate numbers of cars who pulled over to talk to the ‘girls’.  Funny to think that just three blocks west of this tawdry zone was a quiet little community of turn of the century cottages within walking distance of one of the most popular destinations in Seattle – Green Lake Park.  “Well, my house is three blocks off Highway 99 and I don’t want trouble, you know?” “Whadda ‘ya mean?” he asked. Well, maybe he wasn’t so inside my head, after all. “You know, drugs and girls.  I don’t want trouble.”  It seemed like I was trying to convince himof one of Seattle’s hottest crime zones.  He laughed – loud and full.  It was obvious he thought I was a bumpkin.“Lady,” he said, shaking his head.  “You’ll have more trouble with ghosts chasing us, considering your preference for driving up Greenwood Avenue, than you’ll have with drugs, girls, and pimps along the highway,”“What do you mean?” “Ghosts! Greenwood Avenue!  What?  You don’t know?”Greenwood Avenue runs parallel to tacky Highway 99.  Either route would work fine bringing me home from downtown.  But as close to midnight as it was, I wanted to walk through my neighborhood from the stylish boutiques and trendy restaurants along Greenwood Avenue – and not from gritty, run-down Highway 99.  One would easily agree that walking through the neighborhood of rose-trellised garden cottages representative of Seattle’s Greenwood neighborhood felt safer than walking along the highway, particularly that late.“Ghosts?  Along Greenwood Avenue?”  I had never heard of such a thing.  He laughed. I had my own unsettling experiences at my Greenwood cottage, but this was the first time I’d heard a public acknowledgement that any hauntings extended beyond my own little cottage. “Tell me!”   “Well, cabbies just know these things.  It must be a rare occasion that you stay out late is all I can say.”  At this point we were approaching the Aurora Bridge.   At 46th Street we veered west to Phinney Avenue, which would become Greenwood Avenue thanks to the dogleg at 60thStreet.  I was watching the fare on the meter increase.  “Do you take Visa?” I asked sheepishly. “No lady.  Just cash.  My machine’s broken.” Right!  His machine’s broken – if he ever had a credit card terminal.  I needed to watch the meter and stretch the thirteen dollars I had left from my revelry in order to get as close to my house as my cash could take me.  How much should I ‘back out’ for a tip?  Five-dollars? “When the fare gets to eight dollars, I think you need to pull over.  I’m a bit short of cash,” I admitted.  “Right,” he said, no doubt having heard this line a million times.  “Got it.”  The eerie blue glow from the digital meter flashed into the cab, $5.96, and ticked upward as we crossed the Aurora Bridge.  I thought for a moment about the Aurora Bridge and all of the souls that must be gathering at midnight on the bridge – or just under the bridge – fifty-one meters down.  In 1998 a bus went airborne from the Aurora Bridge after a passenger shot the bus driver.  Three people died - the bus driver, the shooter, and one passenger.  Thirty-four survivors successfully held on for dear life as the bus plunged down fifty feet to the banks of the cut leading to Lake Union.  Thank goodness, everyone survived.  The bus, with its busted windows and twisted metal, didn’t land in the water.  Think of how many people could have drowned if it had!  If ever there were a place where ghosts would have expected it was the Aurora Bridge – the suicide bridge – and not Greenwood Avenue.  But then, I didn’t know the full story of Greenwood Avenue – its history.“So, ghosts?”  The terms of our transaction settled, I turned back to the cabbie’s story.“I’m just saying”.  Cabbies don’t like to pick up fares along Greenwood Avenue some nights.”“Really?  Which nights are those?”“Oh, you know.  Full moon nights, winter nights when the wind is blowing and leaves are swirling in the air.” I laughed, “You sound like a poet.”“I do?  Well, a little community theater maybe goes a long way,” he said.I couldn’t help it, I just couldn’t.  I peered out the window of the cab and located the moon.  A waxing gibbous. “I guess I’m safe, the moon is waxing,” I reassured myself aloud.  “Right”.“Besides, the leaves have already fallen – it’s November.  So. . . tell me. Why don’t cabbies like to pick up fares along Greenwood Avenue some nights?”“Because of the graveyard. . . and the ghosts that roam this neighborhood.”“Thisneighborhood?” I think my voice squeaked.“You don’t know the history of your own neighborhood?”“Uh, maybe not,” I admitted, glancing at the meter.  The fare reached $7.15.  “This avenue wasn’t always named Greenwood.  At the turn of the century it was Woodland Avenue.  The Woodland Cemetery was just over there – to the east.”“That’s where I live!”“Hmm.  Well then, you know the land is mostly bog as the run-off empties into Green Lake.  For seventeen years the Woodland Cemetery Association tried to turn this land into a thriving graveyard.”  He laughed.I wasn’t amused.  “What happened?”  “The coffins got water logged with the continual Seattle rain and run off. The constant moisture seeped under the coffins and, over time, the coffins pushed back up.”  We caught each other’s look in the rear view mirror.  He nodded to affirm the neighborhood folklore.  I leaned forward waiting for him to continue.“Plus, the rain beat on the earth of the newly turned graves and, in no time, the graves would have to be re-dug and the coffins reburied.”“Ech!  What the hell?  Then what?”“Well, Seattle was growing, busting at its seams.  The city needed land, pure and simple . . . and, the forefathers were greedy, like always, eh?”“But what does that have to do with the Woodland Cemetery?” “Opportunity!  The cemetery was losing money because word got around that the dead wouldn’t stay buried!  And, with Seattle becoming a turn-of-the century boom town, land was needed for houses!”“Houses?” He turned around and looked at me, shook his head and scratched his head. “Am I explainin’ too fast for you?” he asked sarcastically.I glanced at the meter - $7.41.  If I extended my cab ride, to get closer to home, it would cut into the five-dollar tip I originally had in mind for the driver.  We continued north.“Houses,” he repeated.  “The Woodland Cemetery Association disbanded.  The investors promised the Secretary of State that the graves would be moved to the Crown Hill Cemetery four miles away, or so.  Get it? ‘Hill’ - no bog, dry land for the dead. The coffins were dug up for the last time and moved from the bog to the hill. And thirty days later dirt was brought in by horse drawn cart so that houses could be built on this land.”  He swept his arm in a grand gesture toward my neighborhood.  “So the graves were moved.  End of story?”  I asked, hopefully.“Now you’re moving too fast, lady.  Word is that not all of the bodies – I mean caskets – were moved.  Thirty days is not enough time to dig up forty square acres of graves.  Some of the dead were left behind – houses built over the caskets!”I had heard just about enough.  “Uh, you can pull over here.”“I’m just saying.”  We were at 80th Street and the meter flashed at $8.71 for the ride andthe gruesome history lesson. I handed over $13.00, which amounted to a $4.29 tip – nearly fifty per cent.  It didn’t seem fair.  I had been grandiose in my initial intentions.  Now, I wanted him to drop me closer to my house.  I didn’t want to walk though my neighborhood with this new impression so fresh in my mind.  I should have changed the subject, but I also had my pride to consider.  I looked at the bills – two crisp fives and three crumpled one-dollar bills, from my hand to his.The next instant I was standing on the sidewalk and he was making a U-turn on Greenwood Avenue.  He was speeding back downtown for another fare.  Or, perhaps like me, he felt spooked and wanted to get out of this ghostly neighborhood.  I watched his taillights.  A feeling of abandonment overwhelmed me as I looked up and down Greenwood Avenue.  It looked charming with its small shops, closed for the night, and bakeries that served great coffee. I could almost hear the laughter and the morning’s chatter that would fill the air the next morning. I turned toward home as an icy blast of wind hit me full force, causing my eyes to tear up.  I wrapped my coat around me even more tightly and turned up the collar.  I blinked and peered up and down Greenwood Avenue.  Not a soul in sight. I realized, for the first time, that as one turns into the neighborhood from Greenwood Avenue, the land does go downhill into what – a hundred years ago – could have been a bog. I headed east along 82nd Street as the lights from Greenwood’s business district dimmed and ahead of me the neighborhood grew dark and quiet.  All the while I was thinking ‘cemetery land’. Except for light from the street lamps situated at every other block, 82ndStreet was pitch black.  My high heels clipped against the sidewalk, and the sound travelled and bounced between the houses, revealing my whereabouts.  I started thinking about the stories I had heard from my neighbors over the years, like the little girl who had lived next door to me.  Her mother, Charlene, claimed that a child ghost inhabited their house and taunted her and her daughter.  Charlene had described a ghost that was dressed in a turn-of-the-century smock and pinafore.  Of course!  It made so much (more) sense now.A light drizzle began to fall. I wasn’t carrying an umbrella.  I had only five blocks to walk from Greenwood Avenue to the east end of Fremont Avenue – but they were five long city blocks. A dog barked from inside one of the houses, and a light was turned on.  I shrunk into my coat as a shadow appeared against the curtains. The curtain shifted as though someone were peering out at me.  I clutched my coat closer and scurried past that house.In the distance, I noticed a dog coming toward me, a rather mangy one, approaching from the direction of my house, now four blocks ahead.  As it grew near I spoke to it.  “Good ole dog,” I said with as reassuring a voice as possible.  I wanted the hound to know I meant no malice.  The dog turned its face up to inspect me – its one eye shining in the night. Had the other eye been lost in a neighborhood dogfight?  It limped along, and finally passed me.  I didn’t dare look back at the creature. The darkness created a shroud around me.  There was a street lamp one full block behind me and one in the distance – a block ahead.  I could hear the sound of footsteps.  At first I thought the sound was the echo from my own high heels, but I wasn’t sure.  I stopped.  Behind me, I heard three footsteps and then it sounded like someone dashed up a driveway.  I turned, but it was too dark to see anything.  The night was perfectly still except for the response of my footsteps – and theirs.  I took a few more tentative steps.  The echo, this time, came from in front of me.  I strained my eyes to see into the distance between the street lamp and me.  I could feel the rain landing softly on my head.  I could smell the musk that comes from over-soaked spongy earth.  Was it the smell of turned earth?  It certainly seemed so.  I slipped out of my high heels figuring that if someone were following me, or coming toward me out of the darkness, it would be better to throw them off by not making a sound.  I continued on, walking in stocking feet.  My feet were cold and wet.  Bad idea to be walking without shoes in the freezing cold, I concluded, too late.  But I also realized that if I slipped my heels back onto wet feet, I would probably ruin my shoes.  I had made my bed by getting out of the taxi too far away from my house, and now I was almost barefooted to boot!It was turning colder; a wave of arctic air hit me. I tightened my wind-whipped coat around me.  I needed a Kleenex; my eyes were tearing, and blurring my vision.  I blinked again as I stepped lightly.  I was hoping to quickly make it to the next street corner up – into the light of the street lamp.  As I stared unwavering toward the light I saw the most curious thing!  An orb of light moved across my path and maintained a steady distance, moving forward, about two feet off the ground. My first reaction was, “Fog?”  I needed to put the glow into a context with which I was familiar.  Actually, even a few wisps of eerie fog would have been more welcome than this orb – which stopped in front of me, just as it crossed my path – maybe fifty feet straight ahead.  I only had the taxi driver’s story on my mind – nothing else.  I was walking on land that had, at the turn of the 1900s, been a boggy cemetery.  I shivered from the effects of more than just cold weather.I stood completely still, shaking in the cold shadows, watching to see what the orb would do.  It remained perfectly fixed and I was growing colder, wanting to be home.  I heard a skittering noise behind me, not the sound a sleek cat might make, or a lumbering raccoon.  The sound was more like a rat skittering its way up a retaining wall, a frantic scratching noise.  It was that sound that drove me forward, in baby steps, toward the orb which waited for me near the lit intersection.  I heard the tinkling of wind chimes just beyond the brightly lit shape. I placed one foot in front of the other, ever closer to the sphere.The orb became diffused with each step I took.  Diffused and larger – as though it were taking shape.  It was, actually – taking shape.  I stopped again and finger-combed my wet hair back from my face.  The shape of a woman began to appear.  She was dressed in a long dress.  That’s all I could see, a milky white ‘presence’ of someone in a full-length turn-of-the-century gown.  I really didn’t have a feeling other than fascination.  She was moving across my line of vision, proceeding on as I drew closer.  She never looked at me – she stared straight ahead as she moved.  I would almost say, “floated”. Yes, that was it.  She stared straight ahead as she floated past me.  The stationary orb was no longer waiting for me to move forward. In front of me was an apparition, the spirit of a woman who had lived in this same neighborhood – my neighborhood – going about her business, just as I was going about mine – only she was on The Other Side of the Great Divide.* * *                                                                                                                                     Emily Hill, author and ‘The Ghost Chaser’s Daughter’ writes from personal experience about supernatural occurrences.  Her stories, from Beyond The Grave, are also derived from historical accounts, newspaper archives, and the stories whispered to her by acquaintances.  You’ll want to read the full accounting of Emily’s books on Amazon.  Her most recent release, ‘The Ghost Chaser’s Daughter’ is available in eBook and paperback format at http://www.amazon.com/Ghost-Chasers-Daughter-Emily-Hill/dp/147915931X/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1350337446&sr=1-2&keywords=The+ghost+chaser%27s+daughter

Blog Tour: Forbidden Fire

"She escaped, but she'll never be free."
 "Time held no meaning as my mind darted in and out of memories. Past and present collided to create a full-sensory collage out of my life: playing hide-n-seek with my best friends Luke--who always cheated by walking through walls when he was about to be caught--and Lucy; Mr. Caldrin critiquing my sketches and offering ideas to make them more realistic; targets changing faces, blending into the same person, their thoughts rippling through my mind like waves. Through it all, a demon stalked me from the shadows of my memories, never quite showing its face, but crouching, waiting. And then I dreamed...." 
Sam and Drake may have escaped, but they aren't free—not with a powerful Seeker after them. As Sam struggles with the ethics of her new powers and embraces a blossoming physical relationship with Drake, Lucy and Luke face challenges of their own. 
With forces coalescing inside and outside the Rent-A-Kid dorms, it's only a matter of time before the fire they started forces each of them to make choices they can't undo. But will it be enough to save them?



















• Website http://KimberlyKinrade.com • Twitter: @KimberlyKinrade • IPI Twitter: @IPIAcademy • Facebook: /KimberlyKinrade  • IPI Facebook: /IPIAcademy





NOTE: Kimberly's married name is Karpov-Kinrade, but my books are published as just Kinrade


Kimberly Kinrade was born with ink in her veins and magic in her heart. She writes fantasy and paranormal stories for children, YA and adults and still believes in magic worlds. Check out her YA paranormal novels Forbidden Mind and Forbidden Fire and her illustrated children's fantasy chapter books Lexie World, and Bella World, all on Amazon. 
She lives with her three little girls who think they're ninja princesses with super powers, her two dogs who think they're humans and her husband, also known as the sexy Russian Prince, who is the love of her life and writing partner. 



MY REVIEW!!!!!!
Book two is full of action. But not to much where you feel that it isn't possible. I love a book that keeps me flipping the pages like they are on fire (pun intended). Book two picks up where book one let off and runs with it. More of the characters loved from book one have their own starring roles in book two. Everyone seems to finally be clicking into a responsible role and doing well. As I said before this is full of action and it keeps you on your toes and the edge of your seat as you follow along. Can't wait to dive into the third book and see what happens next.

Win some spooky Decorations for your house!!

What a perfect thing to have set out for your Halloween guest to enjoy! Skull is flat on the bottom for sitting on surfaces and is hollow. Could be broken if dropped or slammed into hard surfaces. If you zoom in to the picture skull is not cracked but painted to look that way. 


You could win this skull by a quick and easy entry. 
Leave a comment about a time you were in a grave yard. Can be funny, sad, scary, romantic, heartbreaking, etc.  If you have never been to a grave yard tell a story of a time you were scared.

Win a paperback book by Ashley Fontainne!!!!

I may be slightly obsessed with this cover because my review got used on the back cover...

But this isn't about me this is about Ashley Fontainne and her awesome books.


ASHLEY FONTAINNE
International bestselling author Ashley Fontainne is an avid reader of mostly the classics. Ashley became a fan of the written word in her youth, starting with the Nancy Drew mystery series. Stories that immerse the reader deep into the human psyche and the monsters that lurk within us are her favorite reads.

Her muse for penning this series was The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. The revenge on all those who hurt and betrayed Edmond Dantes and the incredible rollercoaster ride his journey takes you on intrigued her. Ashley's love for this book is what sparked her desire to write her debut novel, Accountable to None, the first book in the trilogy, Eviscerating the Snake. With a modern setting to the tale, Ashley delves into just what lengths a person is willing to go when they seek personal justice for heinous acts perpetrated upon them. The second novel in the series, Zero Balance focuses on the cost and reciprocal cycle that obtaining revenge has on the seeker. For once the cycle starts, where does it end? How far will the tendrils of revenge expand? Adjusting Journal Entries answered that question: far and wide.

Born and raised in California, Ashley now calls Arkansas home with her husband and four children. She also enjoys writing poetry and short stories and recently published Ramblings of a Mad Southern Woman: A Collection of Short Stories and Poetry on Life, Love, Loss and Longing, which is available on Amazon. Ashley is also a supporter of the Joyful Heart Foundation that assists victims of violent crime seek help and find healing, and donates 10% of all book sales yearly to the cause.





[image error]

YOU COULD WIN Ashley has donated her current 3 books to be given away to some lucky followers.
Prizes include: 


So here is your question: 
How far would YOU go for the truth?

Leave a comment and you could win one of Ashley's books (in paperback)!!!

Hex and the Single Witch by: Roxanne Rhoads

Anwyn Rose is descended from a long line of powerful witches yet she can barely cast spells young witchlings have mastered. She has one functioning witch gift, the power of knowing, which she puts to good use as a Detective on Flint’s Preternatural Investigation Team.

It’s a new era in Vehicle City, supernaturals are running the town.

The P.I.T has their hands full with paranormal crimes. Top priority is a serial killer, who appears to be a vampire, draining young women in the city.

Anwyn is on the case with her sexy partner Detective Mike Malone. Complicating things is her relationship Galen, a vampire who looks more guilty than innocent, although Anwyn trusts her instincts even if her power is on the fritz.

Mysterious spells, compromising situations, and a possible demon on the loose make it hard to focus on the case, but Anwyn has to make things right before the human police execute the wrong vampire.

Hex and the Single Witch contains magick, a little bit of mystery, a lot of supernatural mayhem, and a sexy love triangle that will leave you wanting more.


$4.99 On AmazonBuy Here


What some readers had to say: 
"There is some heat to this novel so be ready to get your blood flowing!!"~ Melissa Rheinlander (5 Star Review) 

"Page Turner with Benefits ;)"~ Kay Dee Royal (5 Star Review)

 

Sneak Peek at Seven Deadly Screams

Seven Deadly ScreamsHorror Work in Progress By: Toni Sinns


Jason stopped at the sound of a creek in the dark room. "Cloey is that you?" He called into the darkness trying to find any source of outlined objects, people or a source for light. Nothing. Just darkness like someone had painted black over his eyes themselves. A hot breath came over the nape of his neck and he smiled some. "Well you're a naughty one. Come here Cloey, I knew you'd turn around and finally accept me." 
Jason turned towards the direction he felt the warm air just as the lights turned on. His eyes grew in horror at the man he saw standing in front of him. A plain china mask covering his face but those blue eyes full of fierce insanity and the desire for murder...
Jason's screams could be heard around the house. Cloey and Trixy stopped and looked at one another. "What was that?" Cloey asked as she moved closer to her sister. "What do you think it was Cloey? The ice cream man offering free snow cones?" She tried to steady her hand that held the flashlight. The reality that she was going to die in this fun house by the hands of the psychopath was starting to seem undeniable.

Contest with Catrina Taylor

You may not know it but this picture is one of the prizes. And what prize is that you may ask? Well besides being a super awesome picture it is also a poster. That is right you can win this AWESOME poster.  But that isn't all. Before I tell you what else is up for grabs lets check out Catrina. 




Website
Twitter
Facebook
Amazon


A unique author with a passion for her family, Catrina Taylor is in love with the written word. As an avid reader she finds her mind enjoys the worlds created uniquely in Fantasy, Science Fiction and various crossover genre. As an author, she most often plays in a universe of her own creation.
Introducing us to the imaginary world of Xarrok, she has hooked readers, waiting to see where her imagination takes us next.
When she is not playing in the universe of her mind, she is playing with her children who she encourages to follow her passion for words, and excel in every area they show interest. In fact, this talented word smith finds that life through their eyes is a constant lesson in self discovery, happiness and curiosity.
Inspired by her everyday world of family, infused with an unquenched curiosity, and gifted with the ability to take us to places we could never have imagined, Catrina Taylor is an authour who promises to keep you fully immersed in a world of wonder and intrigue, waiting for more.
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


So make sure you hook up with Catrina and get to know her. She is a wonderful author and a great friend to have. She has also provided us with an EBook copy of her latest edition.....Mind Tricks



So the next question is how do you enter? Well here you go...Leave a comment to this question and your automatically entered to win!!! Easy! 



Question:What is another name for Catrina's cybernetics Species?

1 Lucky Winner will get the poster and the other lucky winner will get the ebook copy!!!