Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts

Monday, May 19, 2014

Morgan Kelley's Lost & Broken brought to you by Stephanie's Book Reports




Lost & Broken

Book Two in the Littlemoon series


They say you don’t pick your cases when you’re a private investigator, they pick you.
Well, that’s exactly what has happened for the Littlemoons. Since closing the biggest case of their careers, in the private sector, the jobs are pouring in.
Now, they just have to pick and choose.
The next case seems easy, almost too good to be true.
All they have to do is find a missing bible with a hidden birth certificate.
How hard can that be? It’s an all-expense paid trip to the Derby, and a once in a lifetime opportunity.
As the team arrives on the scene, of a famous Kentucky farm known for its ghostly haunting, it’s a lot more dangerous than it seems. Someone’s out to make a killing, and they don’t care who
gets caught in the crossfire.

Lost books.
Stolen lives.
And things that go bump in the night.
It all means one thing.
Julian, Tori, Kane and Christina have to stay one step ahead of the person willing to kill, or the team too will have something in common with the spirit haunting the place.

They’ll find themselves Lost & Broken…


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  © Copyright 2014 by Morgan Kelley LLC All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or in an information storage or retrieval system without written consent from the author. All characters are fictional and any similarity to real life or individuals is coincidental.

                          ~Prologue~
                                       Kentucky
                                   Hesser Plantation
                                  Nineteen Fourteen
           


God! She couldn’t handle the creaking anymore. It was beginning to drive her absolutely insane. If she didn't know any better, she would think that the house was haunted.

How was that even possible?

There was just no way.

Hesser Plantation wasn't that old, so there shouldn’t be anything creaking or groaning. No one died here, so how could they have a ghost?

Climbing out of their bed, she crept as quietly as possible to the cradle. Once there, she stared down at the little baby sleeping safely inside.

He was her pride and joy.

Her only son.

Gently tucking him back in, she glanced over to the now vacant bed. At one time, she would enjoy coming here to sleep. Now, that wasn’t true. When her husband lost his favorite little piece of fluff, he became almost unbearable. It was as if he blamed her for the trollup running away.

Who knew that he had so much of an attachment to the little whore he bedded in his free time? Maybe if she was a chambermaid, he might actually see and pay attention to her once more.

The most astounding part was that as of yet, her husband hadn’t replaced his mistress. Certainly, he should be able to do it without much effort. After all, she was nothing more than a local girl who worked in their scullery cleaning up after their family, and tending the bedrooms.

What he even saw in that blonde piece of trash, she had no idea. Her parents barely spoke in complete sentence as they toiled away in the fields. How he could ever even be attracted to her, appalled and astounded her. It had to be the fact that she’d open her legs for any rich man who passed her by.

Well, she had news for her. The man of this house wouldn’t be divorcing his high society wife to shack up with some waste of skin and bones.

Unfortunately though, now that she was gone, he was miserable as sin. Thankfully, he had taken the time out of his busy fornicating life to impregnate his wife. At least now she had a rightful heir to their family fortune. Her future was ensured the second a son was born into the Hesser family.

She did what no one else had rightfully done. She’d given him a legitimate child to carry his name and bloodline.

Kudos for her.

Then, anger filled her. When she had found that the little trollup was pregnant with her husband’s child, she wanted to retch. No, she wanted to grab her greasy blonde hair and bash her head off the floor that she scrubbed. Well, fortunately for everyone involved, that situation was handled. It wasn’t hard to scare the little piece of trash into submission. The night that baby was born, it was taken and sent off.

There would be no Hesser child unless it was born from her womb. If drastic measures needed to be taken, so be it.

Thankfully, the girl’s parents were upset that their daughter had disgraced herself by getting pregnant by a married man. Once they found out, that was easily rectified. They were wise enough to know that their daughter committed an unforgivable sin. A few choice words, and they realized that her loose morals could cost them everything. When she showed up with the sheriff to terrorize them, it didn't take much. It was funny, since she would have bought the child, just to sell it off to someone in a foreign country.

Yes, that was how angry she was.

To add to it all, her husband wasn’t even told that she had given birth. The family promised the little whore would stay away and keep her mouth shut.

Or else.

That was the part she liked best. If the family wanted to lose their land, their oxen, and asses, it could be brought to fruition.

Little did he know, that this was all for the best. It wasn’t like her husband was the only one the trollup was sleeping with. Rumor around the house was that she had tried to bed her husband’s brother and cousin too. Unfortunately, he was the weaker man, unable to keep his dick in his pants. Had she known that he was like this before she married him, there never would have been a wedding.

Who was she kidding?

That almost made her laugh out loud.

Her husband was the wealthiest bastard in Kentucky. She would have married him anyway. Allowing him to have his little side pieces was fine with her. It meant less time that she had to tolerate his voracious sexual habits.

Thankfully, he managed to give them a son. At least she could look past having to sleep with him because of that. Even after thinking it, there was a little piece of her that mourned their marriage. She was stupid to believe all the sweet words he had once whispered in her ear when they were courting.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Moving back to their bed, she once more heard the sound. Since she was alone, it terrified her. It sounded like weeping.

But how could that be?

The hired help lived downstairs or in the other building, so no one was in the rooms surrounding hers. This floor was exclusively for her and the man of the house. The private wing was off limits to anyone but them.
Walking to the balcony, she stared out at the plantation that was legally half hers. They had an empire here, and she was damn glad. It was perfect, and that’s the way she liked it. In her life, there could be no distractions to ruin it. Some might call her ambitious, but she knew the truth. Love brought her into this marriage, but business made her stay.

She just wouldn’t have it any other way.

Yet, that was another lie. She would trade it all to go back in time to when he loved her.

Really, truly loved her.

Again, she heard the noise but this time, it sounded like singing. No one would dare be making noise at this time of night near their room. If they woke the baby, they would be immediately terminated.

Glancing around, she listened to the sound and prayed that he would come home. Even if he was drunk, it would mean that she wasn’t going to have to be there alone. Sometimes you needed to take the lesser of the two evils in life.

Every evening, after the trollup’s disappearance, the house scared her. It seemed to come alive with some noise. In her mind, she knew that was impossible. There had to be a rational reason. Possibly the grand plantation was settling. All the new wood was finding its final resting place, or maybe she was a witch and cursed them before she left.

There were no such things as ghosts, and yet, she swore that she had seen one. Not face to face, but from the corner of her eye.

It was always in passing.

It seemed to speculatively watch her. Wherever she would go, or take the baby, the spirit would follow.

A cool breeze wafted in through the window, blowing the sheer curtains around. They appeared to be hands, reaching for her. In fact, the cold icy touch caressed her skin and gave her goose bumps.
It was June, and it shouldn’t be this chilly.

Then, she heard the laughter and knew she wasn’t alone. There was someone there with her. She could feel the malevolent eyes watching her.

Spinning around, she scanned the room and finally picked up the sight, albeit diminished by the lack of light in the room. What she saw scared and terrified her. The cradle, untouched by human hands, began rocking. It swayed as if someone was standing beside it and lovingly tending to the sleeping babe.

Her heart began pounding.

Not her child!

Her job as a mother was to guard her babe at any cost!

There was more laughter, and then the gentle sound of a lullaby being sung. It was one which she remembered all too well. It was the same dreaded melody which his mistress sang to her newborn child, just before it was taken away. It spoke of love and holding onto the child forever.

This couldn’t be.

She was gone.

The whore had run away!

It had been handled by her personally!
Much like it started, the song stopped without warning. In its place were the horrible wails of her child, calling out in some kind of agony. Every mother knew her child’s cries, and something was hurting her little angel.

The babe continued to wail, and the sounds pierced the night, shattering the silence. If she hadn’t been standing there, she would assume the child was in distress. The wails were becoming muffled, as if someone were placing the blanket over his face, trying to smother him in his sleep.

She needed to act!

No one could hurt her only reason to live.

Rushing to his side, she scooped him up in her arms and held him protectively against her body.

“You can’t have my son!” she screamed, holding her baby as if she were the only thing that stood between 
him and the end of his life.

There was more laughter, but it morphed, turning evil and malevolent.

“Leave my house! You’re not welcome here!” she demanded, as her son screamed at the top of his lungs.

The gentle caress on the back of her neck made her gasp in horror, as the cold fingers touched her flesh.

“Go away! What do you want?”

The laughter exploded around her as the curtains whipped in an angry invisible wind, found only in her bedchamber. It was as if they were reaching for her, and she was forced to take a step back to save them both. 

“I want my revenge,” the voice whispered, and then like it began, it suddenly ended.
No trace remained.

The room calmed.

There was peace.

She carried her son to the bed and stared down into his precious face. The screams had ended, and she was thankful. He stared up at her with tear filled eyes, blinking and trying to focus on the calming voice above him.

“It’s okay, my little love. No one is going to hurt you. Momma is here, and I’ll die to keep you safe.”

He stared up at her with his father’s eyes, and immediately began sucking on his fingers to sooth the fear he had been feeling.

“You’re safe,” she reassured, kissing him on his soft baby skin.

When the bed creaked, her heart began pounding in her chest. She could see the imprint of something 
moving across the flat duvet. Then, there was breath on her skin and a whisper in her ear.
It had her full attention.

“No, he’s not safe,” came the hushed voice. “He’s going to be mine.”

This time, it was her screams that filled the night.




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 Quotes



“There are days when you have to play the game, and ones where you just watch. Get ready, because today it looks like we’re about to get dirty.”
~ Julian Littlemoon.


“I feel like Pandora. I found the box, and now I’m wondering how the hell to put it all back.”
~ Julian Littlemoon.  

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About the Author

Morgan Kelley lives in the beautiful Pocono Mountains with her husband and two children.  After attending college at Penn State University and studying Criminal Justice, Morgan knew her only true passion in life would be murder and books.  She put them both together and began her career as a writer.  Other than books and writing, you can find Morgan hanging out in her garden and digging in the dirt.

Her other works include: The Junction, Serial Sins, The Blood Betrayal, The Killing Times (1), Sacred Burial Grounds (2), True Love Lost (3), Deep Dark Mire (4), Fire Burns Hot (5), Darkness of Truth (6), Devil Hath Come (7), Consumed by Wrath (8), Blood Red Rage (1) Lost & Broken (2), Celestia is Falling (1), Vegas is Dying (2), Christmas is Killing (3), and Love is Bleeding (4)

Please feel free to visit Morgan at her website: www.morgankelley.com, email her author.m.kelley@gmail.com, or visit her blog at www.morgankelley.blogspot.com. 

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Purchase Lost & Broken from Amazon today!
http://amzn.to/1oC3eYk



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Monday, April 21, 2014

Running in the Dark Book Blast - Brought to you by GHBT


Running in the Dark
Series- Book # 1
By- Inger Iversen
Publication Date- April 19th, 2014
Published By- Crushing Hearts Black Butterfly 

Trace’s job has always revolved around death. Trace is a Watcher, a position created assist to the undead to their final resting place without alerting humans of the vampire race. Whether his job is to witness the death of a fellow vampire or deal it, Trace has learned that being a Grim Reaper isn’t what he thought it would be. After years of killing, he’s ready for a new job, a new life, or to just disappear. When Bessina becomes his new target after she witnesses the death of fellow vampires Sam and Hope, Trace is ready to eliminate her—until a strange course of events turns the tables and has Trace protecting Bessina from his boss and running for his life.

 

Thursday, June 6, 2013

Love on a Killer Cruise ~A.N. Busch




   Happy Birthday to Sarah! Turning twenty-six and divorcing Brandon – her high school sweetheart – on the same day. With all of her plans for the future out the window, she tries her best to be content in a small apartment with her two cats.
   As the months go by her best friends, Tanya and Jenny, start setting her up on blind dates. After enough bad experiences Sarah refuses to let either of them pick a man for her again. When Jenny sees an ad from a local travel agency – a chance to win a ten-day trip on a single’s cruise – without thinking, or asking, she enters Sarah's name. Now Sarah is the winner of something she doesn’t want. With an enormous amount of pressure from her friends to go and nothing to lose, she packs her bags.
   The night of her twenty-seventh Birthday she meets Gabriel, a man she learns has as much baggage as she does. They make a promise to help each other let go of the past and it doesn’t take long before she lets him into her bed and her heart. Women start showing up dead, sad accidents may be to blame but Sarah finds out that some of the crew doesn’t think that is the case. The scary part is that they bare a striking resemblance to her. Sarah really gets worried when she is the person to uncover the third body and it is defiantly no accident after the security camera recording is looked at.
   The number of dead women keeps rising and to make matters worse the ship has stopped moving – broken-down in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Every time a woman is murdered Gabriel’s whereabouts are in question. Sarah finds herself hopelessly lost at sea with a killer. She doesn’t want to believe it but could it be the man she has fallen madly in love with is a killer? Could she be the next to die?


Excerpt From Love on a Killer Cruise:
 
As if the pain in my head wasn't enough, my eyes popped open as I felt a sharp pain on my face along with a loud noise. My vision was blurred to the point that all I could see was that I was in a dimly lit room and there was a black figure in front of me. It was squatting over me, and although it was only inches away, the figures face was hidden in the shadow of a large hood over their head.
“So, I finally got you my little whore.” The voice was raspy and deep. I knew for sure it was a man and that he was trying to disguise his voice.
He held a gun in front of my face; like the one that had been in my bag. “You thought this would protect you from me? You didn’t think I knew you had it?” He tossed the gun onto my lap and then held out his hands. “There you go, take your best shot at me.” Hysterically laughter filled the air. “Shoot me.”
Gathering all my strength I asked, “Who are you?”
“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t know. I was on your little list.”
My list? “How…”
“You didn’t think I knew about this?” He reached behind his back and pulled out my notebook. “Come on, let’s not play this game. I have more fun ones in mind.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” I begged.
He sat down next to me, careful to keep his face in the shadow. “Who, how, why,” He mocked, in a whinny voice. “Such a whinny little whore! So many questions, yet you won’t answer mine. You know who I am Sarah. Guess!”
Every time I tried to think of one thing too long it hurt. The pain flared up in my head again and everything went black.
The shadowed man smacked me awake again, this time it was hard, making my head snap back and bang against some hard surface. “You stupid whore! You still think you are too good for me don’t you? Such a teasing whore to some men but you spread your legs for the pretty boy, and led another man on at the same time. But, me? Oh, you reject me! Looked at me as though I was some pathetic specimen of a man! That is why you are here. That is why you have to die!”

AUTHOR BIO:


 
   A.N. Busch was born in Huntington, West Virginia and is currently a stay at home mother of three in the Metro Detroit area of Michigan. Growing up with a love of reading; she set out in 2008 to write a novel of her own, Tempting Fate, which she self-published in 2012.

   When she is not writing or reading she can be found gardening, canning, crocheting, or taking on a new craft project.

   She is currently writing The Seven Saviors, a YA novella series, as well as two other Romance novels, and has plans for a series of Mystery Novels.






Monday, June 3, 2013

The Star ~ C. Warner-Thompson Release Blitz




Genre: Young Adult, Urban Fantasy



 

Abbii had been afraid of the dark for four long years. She hated the eerie silence that filled the night.

She would often try to forget by closing her eyes at night, but she would always be met by dreams of Shadows that would attack her, dragging her into the Darkness. Most nights, she would simply lie there with her bedding wrapped tightly around her, staring at the light coming in through her window, hoping that she would drift off into a dreamless sleep.

Ever since that day four years ago, the dark had frightened her; she had thought it would be a curse throughout the whole of her life, but something changed when she met him.

The dark seemed to lose its power and the moon’s light brightened.

Her dreams didn’t stop; nightmares still stole her sleep, but there was always a figure of Light that would save her and allow her to wake.

He said the same thing every night in her dreams. Keep fighting, Abbii.

She thought that he was part of her imagination, someone that she had created to save her, until she met him and was drawn into his bright hazel eyes.

His name was Nate.


Excerpt:

 

“I have faith in you, Abbii…”

Inhaling a breath, she allowed her fear to subside as she concentrated. She laid her empty hand by the side of Nate’s wound, feeling the warmth of skin spark against her own, and then poured the bottle with no further delay.

Nate’s body tensed and he clenched his hands into fists. No sound left his lips, but it was obvious that the pain was overwhelming. Abbii watched the alcohol mix with his blood, allowing it to grow thin until little blood actually remained. Taking hold of the towel from Nate’s grasp, she wiped his wound to clean the surrounding skin, and then repeated the wash with liquor. She placed the bottle on the floor and then wiped the wound clean for a second time, moving closer to examine it.

Pleased that it had been cleaned, Abbii took hold of the needle and thread, biting off as much as she needed. Threading the needle, she extended her hand, hovering it over Nate’s side. He had grown quiet, but Abbii could see that he was still awake; she could sense that he would lose consciousness soon if his wound was not sealed correctly.

She lowered her hand but stopped as something caught her attention. Ignoring the fact that her hand was shaking, Abbii could see a glisten of light at the tip of each of her fingers. Placing the needle and thread next to Nate, Abbii focused onto her hand, realising that she could sense her powers.

I wonder…

She glanced at the window to see that little light was visible due to the layer of snow which fell from the sky. The lamp at her side was also giving little light, as only its aura was lit and not the actual light itself. Abbii wondered how her powers had appeared without a specific source of energy fuelling them, but it took her only a moment to let the thought pass. Placing her one hand flat against Nate’s skin, so that his wound was between her thumb and index finger, she then moved her opposite directly above Nate’s injury.

“What are you doing?” Nate stirred, trying to see Abbii’s movements.

She ignored him and kept her hand against his skin. “Let me try,” she whispered.

Nate lay back down, proving that he had heard Abbii’s reply. The warmth from his body seemed to increase all of a sudden, but Abbii presumed it was due to the fact that her own skin had increased in temperature, and not Nate’s. As she moved towards his side, the light at her fingertips brightened until her whole hand shone like a star. She watched as the light seemed to fill Nate’s wound, soothing it with small shockwaves of energy.

Her fingertips lay against his skin which brightened her magic further. An image of Nate’s face appeared in her mind as she watched his wound start to heal ever so slightly, but she took no notice of it, and instead focused her concentration. Nate’s skin started to move, regenerating its wounded layers at a steady pace. Abbii started to feel light-headed, but she ignored the feeling and kept her magic bright. The deepest parts of Nate’s injury had been healed, but the top layers of his skin were still torn.

“You can stop now.” Nate tried to sit up, but Abbii would not allow him.

“I can do this,” she whispered.

Giving her no choice this time, Nate pushed himself to sit upright, grabbing hold of Abbii’s glowing hand tightly. As soon as his skin came into contact with her hand, she lost her balance and leaned against his shoulder. She found it hard to catch her breath and fatigue seemed to consume her; it had been a whole day since Abbii had slept.

“Rest, Abbii,” Nate soothed, stroking her hair away from her face.

 




Author Bio:

I was born in England in the West Midlands in 1991 where I am still currently living, growing up alongside one younger and three older brothers.

Books and writing was an interest that I began to develop from the first years of secondary school, and on my thirteenth birthday, I began to plan and design the idea to write a fantasy novel. I finished secondary school with high GCSE’s and then went on into further education to study English and all aspects of art and design. After six years of writing, planning and overall editing of the book, it was successfully completed, containing over 82,000 words, and self published in the first week of 2011.

With high expectations in myself, I immediately began to write a second novel in the series, while keeping my art and design a part of the process. The achievement of completing the first novel ‘Purest Light,’ allowed the ideas of the second to flow much easier and it was completed by early 2012. As I was writing the third and final book, New Beginnings, at the same time, the series was finished by its publication in 2013.

Writing is now a part of my everyday and I have started on my newest project, The Star, which is also planned to be the first of three. Only time will tell.

Links:


Twitter: @clemychum


Buy links:



Thursday, May 16, 2013

Whisper by Michael Bray

This post is brought to you by The Cavanaugh Connection for Blog-Tours.com

 
 
Whispers

By Michael Bray
 
 
 

Synopsis:

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.
 
 
Excerpt:
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
WHISPER
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.
 
 
 
 
 
 
CONTENTS
 
          Prologue                                 
1        Hope                                            
2        Whispers                                
 
 

 
PROLOGUE
 
1513
 
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.
 
Hope.
 
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.
 
 
2. WHISPERS
 
 
 
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.