Friday, May 31, 2013

"The Devil Knows" Cover Reveal

As some of you may know, the fabulous Black Cauldron Publishing is the publisher behind my debut novel, The Devil Knows. I'm proud to say I've gotten some great reviews so far, and it will be available to the general public in it's newest, most updated form on June 6th in both paperback and for the Kindle!

I'm hard at work finishing up a short prequel, Eternal Beginnings, for my Eternal series! YAYS! I'm finishing my pre-edit before I dive in and make the additions which are necessary. Then it's off to be beta read and then re-edited!

But for now... I will leave you with the NEW cover for The Devil Knows!

The Devil Knows is a New Adult paranormal dramance!

College student, Megan, is devastated when she discovers that her best friend, Anya, has been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Stricken with grief, and unable to find conventional answers on how to help her friend, Megan turns to something so out there it couldn't possibly work or could it?

Despite knowing the risks, Megan knows that she may be the only one that stands between Anya living and meeting her maker. That alone gives her the courage to gamble it all against the odds.

In comes the devil, and an unlikely alliance forged in something so dangerous it may cost her the ultimate price.

Her soul.


About the Author

K.C. Cavanaugh was raised a small town in Northeastern Pennsylvania.  From a young age she had the penchant for creating stories whenever she had the opportunity. 
K.C. still lives in Pennsylvania where she spends her free time with her family – including her boyfriend, children, and dog.
The Devil Knows may be her debut novel, but it will be far from her last! She is currently working her End of Days apocalyptic fantasy trilogy, her Eternal paranormal series, and wrapping up a novella entitled Unforseeable Past
To get the latest news on K.C. Cavanaugh you can follow The Cavanaugh Connection (her blog) at or like her fan page at

Thursday, May 30, 2013

Dragonfairy Press Sale!

For a limited time, all Dragonfairy Press Kindle ebooks have

been reduced in price. All stand-alones and first-in-series titles are

$0.99, and all later-in-series titles are $1.99.

Saturday, May 25, 2013

Morgan Kelley Blog Tour - Last Stop - Interview

Hi Morgan! Thanks so much for stopping by The Cavanaugh Connection!


Tell us a bit about your writing – How long have you been writing? How many books have you written and in what genres?


I'm a lover of romance with a thriller of police procedural twist, but mostly my books are about the relationships. I think that when you find characters that mesh well, they make a really great story. I have a deep love for finding the answer to mysteries. I've done paranormal and I didn't love it.


I've been writing over a decade, with my first novel coming out back in 2003. I'm about to release my most current novels this month. Celestia is Falling (book one in the Croft & Croft Romance series and Darkness of Truth- Book 6 in the FBI/Romance series) I believe that takes my total to 14 novels. Nine of which were in the last year. As you can see, I took some time off to be mom.

Most of my books are in the Contemporary Romance genre.


The Junction

Serial Sins


The Killing Times (1)

Sacred Burial Grounds (2)

True Love Lost (3)

Deep Dark Mire (4)

Fire Burns Hot (5)

Darkness of Truth (6)


Celestia is Falling (1)


Then the paranormal romance genre.

The Blood Betrayal (1)

The Blood Redemption (2)

The Blood Vengeance (3)

The Blood Retribution (4)


When did you know you wanted to be a writer?


I think the love of writing was always in my soul. Even as a child I wrote a great deal. I believe my first book was written at 9.

It was a picture book with only a few words, but it was my start.


Where is your favorite spot in which to write? Garden? Study? Kitchen table?


I generally write on my laptop on my couch. I sometimes use my office. I generally sequester myself for the two weeks it takes to produce a book. When I put n the ear buds, everyone knows to not even talk to me.


How long does it take you to write the first rough draft of one of your books?


It takes me 10 days to write a novel. By the time I finish, it's about 450 pages. I then go back through and add the finer details.


(Like the sex scenes or murder scenes) That brings my book count up to 500 pages. It goes to be proofed and edited and I sometimesadd a few more pages.


I can get a book out from blank page to e-book in 8 weeks, if my proofer isn't backlogged.


Do you ever get part way through writing a book and find the characters are

leading the story off in a different direction to how you had envisaged? If so, what

do you do about it?


That happened with The FBI/Romance series. It was meant to be a one book deal. I wrote it, read it, and then decided that Elizabeth and Ethan had much more story left in them. I then added Callen Whitefox to the mix, and if you read Deep Dark Mire you know what happened there. It took on a life of it's own. Now they have a cult following. I actually get emails begging me to not kill Ethan or Callen off. It's funny! It almost ended at book one.


I'm a firm believer that each book is like a child. You nurture it and let it grow. They lead the writer, not the other way around.


Is there such a thing as an average writing day for you and if so what is it?


I believe that if you want to earn the title of 'author' you need to bleed for your craft. I'm up every day at 2 am. I write from then until about 7 am. I get the kids ready for school and then I work straight through until bed time at 9 pm. I log about 80 hours Monday through Friday. On the weekends I do thirty more. I'm very hands on with a book. I like to control freak it to death from start to finish. I couldn't do a book two hours a day. Each book is 190,000 words. That would take a year if I only dedicated the minimum. Since this is how I pay my bills, I have to work long hours.


How do you create the characters in your books?


I get a basic idea of what I want them to be like (Strong female figure, weaker one etc.) and then I let the story just flow. I don't get bogged down in details at the beginning. It weighs the story down in your mind and makes it one hot mess by the end. If you over detail a story before you put it down on paper, you're going to trip yourself up.


I don't watch TV or movies, so I know that any character that pops into my head is my original creation.


What is your favorite book of all time?


The Girl With Silver Eyes by Willo Davis Roberts. It was my childhood favorite, and I still have it on my book shelf. It gave my first adventure in reading as a child.


It was the first novel my mother let my buy with my own allowance. It to this day is the catalyst that began it all.


As an adult, it's the classics. Poe is my obsession. I have his ravens tattooed all over me.


What is your favorite film of all time?


Practical Magic. I love that it's as close to the real Wicca as you'll get in Hollywood. It has a special place in my heart.


Biggest myth about being a writer?


That anyone can do it. This is a craft that takes practice.


I cringe when people say, "oh, you sit home all day and write? Must be nice."


It's a hard job, and not for the weak or undedicated. It takes organization and skill.


Advice to aspiring writers?


My biggest advice when I'm asked 'HOW' I do it, is simply this. Start ONE project and finish it. If you bounce around and never complete the one you're working on, you never will. You're only as good as your next book. I give this advice out all the time, but no one listens. It's more fun to take on 6 projects at once, but when you read the work you've completed. It will suffer.


Maybe that's unpopular advice, but it is what it is.


Questions Direct From the Fans!


Is your husband one of her characters?


Yes, but I'm not telling which one. Some think he's Ethan or Callen. Then some think Flynn or Jacques. I think he's more Greyson, but what do I know? My husband gets a kick out of it when people ask him who he is...


Why a threesome?


Ah yes, this question. I'd like to say I'm shocked, but I get it a lot. To my knowledge, there are no Thriller FBI books out there that feature a crime solving trio. I built my niche and I'm loving it. When I first came up with the idea, my proofer begged me to not do it. There's a fine line between romance and porn. You can't cross it and ever come back. I think that the relationship between Ethan, Elizabeth and Callen is well done. It's not smutty. It's not mom porn. It’s a relationship between three people that have a deep love and attachment to each other.


When I started this series, again, it was meant to be one book. It grew and when I introduced Callen in Sacred Burial Grounds I knew he was meant to only be with Elizabeth. He's the opposite of Ethan Blackhawk. They balance her out perfectly. Ethan's smooth and slick. Callen is funny and easy going. Elizabeth is tough but compassionate. As a unit, they just work.

Or at least that's the feedback I get.


I do get some comments about too much sex. I look at it this way. I keep each book to 8 sex scenes per novel. Each one is 2 pages. That's 16 pages of sex in a book that has 500 + pages. To me, that's minor. There are people out there that are more 'shy' when it comes to sex. I'm not. I think the relationship between a man and woman is a beautiful thing and let's face it. We all have sex. Elizabeth is just having MUCH better sex. I so want to be her when I grow up! Or maybe I just want Ethan and Callen!


Who do you hang out with when not writing?


Other than my kids?


My Bff Tammy and my husband. Tammy and I went to high school together and the hubs and I have been married 16 years.


I'm a fairly reclusive person. (Translation: I work pretty much all the time!)


What would you be if you weren't a writer?


A cop. I love a mystery. I actually applied and tested to be an ATF agent, but I have back issues. I couldn't pass the doctor's physical.


Are you Elizabeth?


I shall never tell! She and I resemble each other. I'm told she has my sarcasm, but I'm not nearly as tough as her.


As for the men aspect, I don't kiss and tell :)


What do people think when they meet you?


I don't know. I think KC could answer that better. She's met me. I hope people think I'm friendly and funny, but I have a very odd sense of humor and I talk death a lot. I might frighten people.

I'm okay with that.


Are you really the same in person as they persona you portray?


Yes. I am who I am. I pull no punches. Don't ask me if your ass looks fat in a pair of jeans. I tend to not have a filter.


If anything, I'm honest to a fault. That's why I don't have a FB page. Who knows what I'll say...


What kind of books do you read?


When I read, I like JD Robb, Heather Graham and Jayne Castle. I also read the classics. They're a requirement in my house.


I think that if you haven't read Melville, Poe, or Austin, you're missing something. Fun reads are great, but come on! Lord of the Flies was awesome!


"KILL THE PIG!" (for those of you that get that, MWAH!)


Are you as funny in person?


My husband doesn't think so. In fact, he'll say "You're cutting apart men to rebuild another person? You need therapy!" If anything he's creeped out more than entertained. I think I'm hysterical.


I may be biased though.


What do you really think about guns? Your characters are cops and they carry them, but what is your opinion?


Oh boy. This is a hot topic. Okay, there's not going to be a cookie cutter answer for this one. Either someone's going to agree or think I'm a huge idiot. I personally love guns. I have a few. I own a few Ruger 9 mms. I target shoot often. It's cathartic. THAT being said, I think that we need stricter gun laws on purchasing guns.


My characters are respectful of their side arms and weapons. At work they're in their desks and at home, you'll often see Ethan or Callen unlocking safe to get their weapon. You don't see them sleeping in them or making light of them. I guess since I'm of Native descent, I'm used to hunting and rifles. I don't shy away from them. I believe in the right to own a gun. I don't believe in the right to senselessly take a human life.


It's a conundrum.


If you could meet one dead person for lunch and to talk, who would it be?


Mary Shelly. Frankenstein is a classic, and she rocked it out. She wrote that in a writing contest against her family. I mean... come on! Truly inspiring and iconic. Or as my 12 year old would say.. Epic!


What do your kids think of your job?


Daughter: Working today, Mom?

Me: Yep, as always.

Daughter: Great Can I have _____________ (insert some needless item here)

Me: *sigh*


My daughter wants to read my books, but because of the sex, I don't allow it. She thinks it's cool, especially when she needs a research paper written.


I'm her paper monkey. I'm going to start charging! I do admit that she helps me with crime scenes. I ask for grossness input and she says 'yay or nay'.


Which is why when a grown adult tells me my killings are too gross, I tell them my 12 year old approved of them. (She wants to be a medical examiner.


I'm prepping her for reality.


My son could care less. At 4 all he really wants to talk about is Minecraft and zombies.


Why did you pick Morgan Kelley as your name?


One of those names is REALLY my name and that's all I'm saying.


Do you hang out with other writers?


While I'm friends with KC Cavanaugh, I don't hang out with writers. They tend to be too intense for me. I have an inner circle and I like to keep it small.


When you write, do you lock yourself in a room or listen to music? What's your



I sit and listen to music. Within Temptation. It's the only thing I can write to. I have no idea why.


I don't outline.


I do a character list, to keep the people straight.


I sit and bang out a book.


That's all.


Where do you see yourself in 3 years?


I see myself still writing. I would like to hit 40 novels by then, if I can keep up the pace. If writing ever becomes stressful, I'll walk away. I don't do it for the money, I do it for the enjoyment.


Why FBI and Romance?


I love me some police and FBI men. I also believe in 'Happily ever after'. For me they just go together.


Where can readers follow you?



Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Blind Dating Tour Stop - This or That

The Cavanaugh Connection got down to the nitty gritty with Kerry Taylor to find out some personal preferences. ;)
1. Pepsi or Coke? Coke
2. Soda or Juice? Juice
3. Pulp or No Pulp? Pulp
4. Rock or Rap? Rap
5. Hip Hop or R&B? R&B
6. Tv or Movies? Movies
7. Scary or Comedy? Comedy
8. Books or Magazines? Magazines
9. Night or Morning? Morning
10. Kisses or Hugs? Kisses
11. Bicycle or Motorcycle? Bicycle
12. Up or Down? Up
13. Noise or Silence? Noise
14. Run or Walk? Run
15. Burger King or McDonald's? Mcdonald's
16. Apples or Bananas? Bananas
17. Mexican or Italian Food? Mexican
18. Winter or Summer? Summer
19. Spring or Fall? Spring
20. Chicken or Beef? Chicken
About Blind Dating:

A light-hearted, funny romantic comedy - perfect for fans of Hilary Boyd, Christina Lauren, Lindsey Kelk, Deborah Cooke, Claire Cross, and Jill Mansell.
When mid-forties, divorced, single-mother-of-three, Kimberly, realizes her own mother has more of a life than she does, she decides to do something about it. Encouraged by success stories from people at work, she joins a dating chat room, ICQ, which starts to rock her world.

All of a sudden she’s a swinging single, online, with extreme dates, a little dirty talk, and a sense of her new, sexy self— until that fateful moment when her long-time chat-room buddy, LonelySingle, wants to meet.

"Are you trying to find a man on Facelook?" her Mom questions, after years of being told it is Facebook!

What if he doesn’t like her?

What if she doesn’t like him?

These are the thoughts, inside her head. Until they meet and realise, that they have been friends offline aswell as online!

What happens next?

A light-hearted, romantic comedy about a single mom finding true love, which was right before her eyes.

About the Author:

A single mom of three living in Madrid, Kerry Taylor has been through many tugs-of-war in her life – from being stalked and abused to separated from her estranged husband – all while expressing her life through writing in different forms.
She has released a series of autobiographies in the form of short stories and poetry: Stones of My Heart, Life’s Pebbles, Emotional Rollercoaster of a Single Mom, and Gravels of Moments.
Get your copy today via the links below!

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Whisper by Michael Bray

This post is brought to you by The Cavanaugh Connection for


By Michael Bray


It was supposed to be a fresh start, a place for Steve & Melody Samson to start their new life together away from the noise and crime of the city. However, their new home – an idyllic cottage nestled deep within the dense solitude of Oakwell Forest has a disturbing history, hidden for generations by the local villagers, who are desperate to keep their sleepy town free from potential media attention. As Steve and Melody begin to notice the strange and bizarre things that are happening to them, they begin to unravel the complex web of lies and deceit perpetrated by the locals.
Told both in a modern day narrative and flashbacks to the Buildings construction in the 1800s, we learn of the terrible things that reside within Hope House, and the reasons for the history of murder, suicide and insanity for the previous owners of the house.
As Steve and Melody delve ever deeper, they are plagued not only the malevolent forces that reside within the house, but also the very real attention of the increasingly unstable realtor Donovan, who has horrific secrets of his own that he will go to any lengths to keep a secret.
Michael Bray

                   Copyright © Michael Bray 2013
ISBN-13: 978-1482745443
ISBN-10: 1482745445
The author or authors assert their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author or authors of this work.

All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
1        Hope                                            
2        Whispers                                

THE SMELL OF DEATH hung heavy in the morning air. The child ran through the forest, snatching quick glances over her shoulder as the Gogoku elder followed, crashing through the undergrowth in pursuit. She veered to the left, ducking under a gnarled, overhanging branch, and hopped over a protruding root as she tried to put some distance between herself and the elder. Her bare feet were bleeding, but in her fear, the child barely noticed. Her only concern was her pursuer, and ensuring that he didn’t catch her. She angled back towards the village, her instincts driving her back toward her home, even though she knew it was now a place for the dead. The elder was closer now; she could hear him grunting as he drew closer. She snatched another quick look over her shoulder, and as she did, her foot twisted under her, sending her sprawling to the ground. The pain from her twisted ankle was explosive, and although the child tried to scramble to her feet, it was too late.
He had found her.
The Gogoku elder stood above her, breathing heavily, and streaked with the blood of his fellow people. His eyes glared with fury from behind his painted face. The frightened child scrambled backwards, for the time being, the agonising pain in her ankle forgotten, her eyes were instead fixated on the spiked club held in the muscular Elder’s hand, which was matted with sinewy clumps of flesh and slick with blood.
He followed her gaze and unleashed a bloody grin, his yellowed teeth filed to points as was customary for Gogoku elders. They were supposed to be the village protectors, guardians and hunters, but something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. A shallow breeze pushed through the trees and the elder blinked, casting his eyes to the dense canopy, his brow furrowed as he listened.
The child also looked, the fear within her for the time being replaced with curiosity at the absolute silence which had fallen over the forest. She glanced back to the elder, her brown eyes full of fear, horror and betrayal. The elder looked back, and smiled.
He had done as they had asked of him, and now all apart from this one child were now dead. Another breeze moved the trees, and this time, both child and Elder heard it. The trembling child closed her eyes and waited, as the elder reared back and brought the club down hard with a guttural roar of rage.
1.  HOPE
THE HOUSE WAS CALLED Hope, and Melody loved it as soon as she saw it. She threw her arms around Steve’s neck, in the way she always did when there was something she really, really wanted. He smiled awkwardly as she released her grip and grinned at him.
“It’s perfect. It’s exactly what we were looking for,” she said, turning back towards the building.
Steve was not convinced. He wrinkled his nose, and gave the place a cautious once-over.  The agents had said the house was early eighteenth century, and to Steve, it appeared that it hadn’t been repaired or renovated since. It stood like a faded white slab against a backdrop of orange and brown autumn leaves, which had left the surrounding trees looking bare and gnarled. The house looked tired and grubby, and Steve wondered when it was last given a bit of TLC..
The single lane private road which led to the house snaked through the trees, and as it winded its way deeper into the depths of Oakwell Forest, it narrowed so that eventually the overhanging canopy was close enough to brush against the roof of their blue Passat.
As they neared their destination, the road had opened up and gave into a driveway of sorts, which in turn opened to the front yard area of the property.
The house was set a little further back behind an overgrown garden abundant with weeds, which like the house itself looked tired, unloved, and in some way forgotten. At the periphery of where the forest and the boundaries of their property began stood a rickety awning which was somehow still standing despite its dilapidated appearance. A sign hung limply from its underside and bore just a singular word carved in an old, swirling script.
Steve’s hope—as he eyed the sagging, patchy roof and rotten window frames—was that it wouldn’t cost a fortune to cover the repairs and to keep the place warm in the winter months— if they decided to make an offer on it at all. He supposed he could do a lot of the work himself, but by the state of apparent disrepair (evident even from some distance away), he could see it being more trouble than it was worth and perhaps now understood why the asking price had been so low.
A gust of wind made the trees whisper in unison, and he shuddered involuntarily. It was certainly a unique selling point— a house in the middle of the forest— but as a city boy through and through he wasn’t quite sure that he was ready to make such a huge leap from the concrete jungle to the literal one. The trees continued to sway in unison, leaving mottles of diffused mid-morning sunlight skittering across the ground. Melody turned to Steve and grinned, and he knew then by the excitement which shone in her eyes that he would be fighting an uphill battle to talk her out of making an offer on the place right there on the spot. He felt a pang of discomfort, a strange unease that stirred him as he looked beyond the house at the dense tangle of oaks and birches, which seemed to stretch ever upwards in their quest for sunlight. He suddenly felt very small and insignificant.
The Estate agent, a greasy, bird-like fellow by the name of Donovan saw Steve’s discomfort and with the graceful ease of a serpent, slithered his way over and leaned in close, invading Steve’s personal space.
            “Don’t worry about the trees. They just take a bit of getting used to,” he said, nodding towards where Steve was staring, “The last couple who lived here were in this house for many happy years before they decided to sell up and move to Australia.” He flashed his wide, salesman grin.
Steve didn’t like Donovan, and only hid his contempt for the horrible little man for the sake of Melody, who he loved more than anything.  He chose not to respond for fear of putting the gangly idiot in his place, and without missing a beat; Donovan saw this as his signal to continue his pitch.
“It has everything a young couple could need, Mr. Samson. And of course, needless to say you won’t have any noise from the neighbours”  
Donovan said it with a chuckle, which he quickly killed when he saw that Steve wasn’t joining in. He cleared his throat and reverted to what he knew, which appeared to be grinning at Steve with a mouth which seemed to contain too many teeth.  Melody called out from behind the house; her disembodied voice carried on the wind towards them.
“Steve, come take a look at this.” She yelled excitedly.
Donovan rolled his eyes in a clumsy attempt to build some rapport. Two guys together, best pals to the end. Steve's disdain for the man grew a little more as he walked towards the back of the house to look for his wife.
The rear of the house was bathed in blazing sunshine, causing him to squint as he rounded the corner. Donovan had produced some cheap looking sunglasses from the pocket of his even cheaper looking suit, which only served to add to the general ridiculousness of his appearance. Steve saw the reason for Melody’s excitement and felt a dull gnawing in his gut which he couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was just anxiety or the fact that he was out of his comfort zone. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.  Melody would have laughed at him and called it the heebie jeebies, which was as good a description as any that he could muster up. Although he hadn’t been able to tell as they approached by car due to the impenetrable density of the trees, it was now clear that Hope House sat on the lip of a gentle sloping hill. The back of the house  led on to a long, narrow garden at the end of which was a wide, gently flowing stream which cut directly across the bottom of the boundary to the property. The view from the house was stunning, giving the three of them a beautiful panorama of the immense forest which seemed to have swallowed the house some years ago as it had spread outwards. Steve was not one to be easily impressed, but even he couldn’t help but draw breath at the view.
“Beautiful isn’t it?” Donovan said as he removed his idiotic sunglasses and slipped them into his breast pocket. Steve chose not to reply, but Melody could barely contain herself.
“I love it!” she said, as Donovan flashed his salesman’s grin at her. Steve also noticed that their slimy host helped himself to a quick glance at her chest before continuing with his pitch.
“Your wife has impeccable taste Mr. Samson,” Donovan said around the grin that seemed glued to his face.
And lovely tits,
Steve imagined the smarmy salesman adding, but Donovan said nothing. Instead, he helped himself to a second lingering glance at Melody’s tight T-shirt.
“We haven’t even seen the inside of the house yet.” Steve said, for the time being, content to ignore Donovan’s ogling.
“It will be perfect. I just know it!” Melody said over her shoulder as she walked down the garden towards the stream for a closer look.
“You hear that Steve," said Donovan, clapping his hands together. “It seems your lovely wife approves.”
Steve nodded, noting that Donovan seemed to think they had now switched to first-name terms.
He smells the sale. Steve thought to himself as he watched his wife explore the garden.  He had a sudden desire to take her in his arms and hold her close. To protect her from— from what? Donovan? No. Donovan was an asshole all right, but he was harmless and certainly not Melody’s type. He couldn’t place it but something bristled within him to shield her, to protect her. He watched as she brushed her hair away from her face, and he knew without doubt that she wanted the house, and if that was the case, he would go with it. Not because she would kick up a fuss if he didn’t—he knew that she wouldn’t force him into the decision—he would agree to it because she wanted it more than anything, and if he could give her something that made her so happy, then he would do it without question. As if reading Steve’s thoughts, Donovan leaned close.
“How about we go and see the rest of the house and fill out some paperwork?” he said smugly, walking away before Steve could protest.
Steve glanced up at the house and couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching him. Shrugging it off, he waited for Melody to join him. Then arm in arm they followed Donovan as he led them to see the inside of the house.
September 16th, 1813
WIND AND RAIN HAD been assaulting Hope House all afternoon and into the evening. The fire was now no more than softly glowing embers in the huge stone hearth, and although it was cold, the man still did not move. Upstairs his wife toiled with the pains of childbearing. He could hear her calling to him to attend her in her need, and yet he didn’t move.
He was a good man and proud, and knew that he should be assisting her in her time of need, but he couldn’t. Not yet. The man scratched his orange beard with a massive, calloused hand and tried to block out the screams of his wife, who he loved dearly.
 He listened instead to the other sound, the one that was subtle; carried on the edge of the wind, and relayed by the house as it swayed and creaked and moaned.
It was speaking to him.
He had not been certain at first, but the longer his hearing attuned itself to those subtle creaks and whispers, the more he understood. Sometimes the words were soothing and sweet and loving and kept him company as he cut wood for the fire. But on other occasions, like today the whispers were cruel and dark, saying things which were twisted and frighteningly explicit.
His wife screamed for him again, and he knew that he should go to her, and he would—just as soon as he had heard what the house was trying to tell him.
He felt a sharp stab of rage towards her for her incessant screams, which made the task of listening to those subtle voices harder even than it was before. Concentrating all of his efforts on blocking out all but the noise of the house, he began to hear snatches of words as he sat in the rocker by the fire. Words that told him what he needed to do.
More screams rolled from the upstairs bedroom, and his half lidded eyes flicked to the staircase. He concentrated all of his efforts into listening to those words but his concentration was repeatedly broken by the noise from upstairs. Anger surged through him, and the whispers of the house encouraged him and coaxed him, telling him what to do and how to do it. And he nodded, for they were right. He would be able to hear them better if his wife would silence her screams.
Even though he was a big man, he was very quiet, any noise that he made masked by the raging storm as it barraged the house.
Still the voices spoke, soothed, and coaxed him. They told him that they could speak to him more clearly if only they could make themselves heard.
As if to prove their point, a second sound had joined his wife’s from upstairs, this time the cries of their newborn child. He shook his head, wondering how he could ever hear himself think when he was constantly surrounded with such noise.
Encouraged by the whispers, he moved to the staircase, pausing only to pick up his axe. He had freshly sharpened it earlier in the day, and was sure that it would do the job of at least affording him a little quiet time to allow him to decipher those secret whispers of the house. He quietly ascended the stairs as the storm raged and the house continued to whisper and creak in the wind.
Author Bio: 
Michael Bray is a Horror author based in Leeds, England. Influenced from an early age by the suspense horror of authors such as Stephen King, and the trashy pulp TV shows like Tales From The Crypt & The Twilight Zone, he started to work on his own fiction, and spent many years developing his style. After completing his debut novel in May 2012, he signed a deal with the highly reputable Dark Hall Press to print and distribute the book, which was released in September 2012.
A brand new anthology titled FUNHOUSE is scheduled for a 2013 release.