Monday, October 28, 2024

Magic Unleashed The Grimm Files Book One by Delta James #giveaway #Paranormal Romance, #Urban Fantasy #CountdowntoHalloween2024 #bookseries

 


Date of Publication: 9/20/24

Number of pages: 131

Book Description:

Mysterious deaths. Impossible magic. And the sexy

dragon who might drive her to murder.

In the shadowy heart of modern-day New Orleans,

where the supernatural simmers just beneath the

surface, Phoenix Duvall is a force to be reckoned

with. As a formidable fairy enforcer, she stands as

the city’s last line of defense against the demonic

threats that prowl the night. She’s trained from childhood and is armed with lightning-fast

reflexes, mastery over fire, and deadly weapons, Phoenix knows she’ll only come into her full

power when she finds and bonds with her fated mate. But Phoenix has never been one to wait for

fate—until it throws her into the path of Griff Broussard, a hard-nosed dragon shifter detective

with secrets of his own.

Griff has been investigating a series of gruesome deaths that defy all logical explanation. As their

paths intertwine, Phoenix is forced to confront the truth: Griff is her fated mate. Together, they

form an uneasy alliance to combat a rising demonic cult. But as their chemistry ignites, so too

does the danger surrounding them.

Griff becomes possessed by the very demon lord they’ve been hunting. Phoenix faces an

impossible choice: uphold her duty as a fairy enforcer, or risk everything—including her life and

the fragile balance between worlds—for the man she’s come to love.

As the battle for New Orleans intensifies, Phoenix must confront her deepest fears and make a

heart-wrenching decision in a final showdown that will determine the fate of both worlds.

Magic Unleashed, the first book in The Grimm Files, is a gripping paranormal romance where

love is a double-edged sword, and the price of power could be everything.


Excerpt:

With no warning whatsoever, Phoenix bolted after it—whatever it was. She might be some

badass faery enforcer, but he wasn’t about to let her go alone. Griff flung a handful of bills at Finn

and bolted out the door behind her.

The muggy night smacked him in the face like a slap as he emerged, keeping one eye on the

retreating figure and the other on Phoenix. Whoever or whatever it was, was fast, but Phoenix was

faster. She seemed to levitate just above the ground—even without her wings—as she closed the

distance.

“Phoenix!” Griff called, but to no avail. Phoenix didn’t break stride, turn around, or even

slow down. The figure ducked into an alley, and Phoenix followed, the darkness swallowing her up.

Griff raced to catch up with her, rounding the corner just in time to see the figure disappear

through a door at the end of the alley. Griff saw Phoenix skid to a halt. He could feel the presence of

magic in the alley. Many parts of the city felt as if magic had been mixed into the mortar that held the

buildings together.

Griff caught up to her, breathing heavily as he glanced at the door. “Looks like we found our

lead.”

Phoenix nodded, her grip tightening on her knives. “And it’s not going to wait for us.”

With one last glance at Griff, she pushed the door open, stepping into the unknown.

Griff Broussard wasn’t a stranger to darkness. It lingered at the edges of his life, always

threatening to swallow him whole. But tonight, as he stood at the threshold of the old door, staring at

the door Phoenix had just disappeared through, that familiar darkness felt different. It was alive,

pulsating with magic and danger, pulling him into its depths like a predator sizing up its prey.

The metallic tang of the night air filled his lungs as he pushed through the door behind

Phoenix, muscles tense and instincts flaring. His senses sharpened. Even in human form, his dragon

nature simmered beneath his skin, the beast pacing impatiently, ready to be unleashed at the first hint

of a threat. He couldn’t help it—not here, not now, not with the echoes of his father’s unsolved

murder still whispering at the edges of his mind.

Phoenix was already a few steps ahead, her movements fluid and silent as she navigated the

narrow hallway beyond the door. Griff’s gaze swept the space, noting every detail—the cracked tiles

on the floor, the flickering overhead light, and the faint trace of something old, something ancient

lingering in the air. Magic. He could smell it, thick and oppressive, curling around him like smoke.

“Phoenix, wait,” he hissed, his voice low but urgent.

She glanced back at him, her eyes sharp and alert, but there was a flicker of impatience in her

expression. Phoenix always charged headfirst into danger, relying on her instincts and speed.

Griff had always been the opposite—calculated, methodical. He needed to understand what

they were walking into before they stepped too deep. But there was no time for planning now. The

person they’d been chasing—their only lead—was somewhere ahead, and they couldn’t afford to

lose it.

Without another word, Phoenix continued forward, her hand brushing the wall as she moved.

Griff followed, the tension between them thickening with each step. He knew she could handle

herself—hell, she was probably better suited for this than he was—but that didn’t stop the protective

instinct that flared in his chest whenever they were in a situation like this. He hated that about

himself. Hated how being around her always made him feel more… vulnerable. More aware of the

fact that she was a storm he could never quite tame. Murder, magic, and a fated mate. Fairy enforcer Phoenix must stop a demon cult—and save the dragon shifter she loves. Can she risk everything?



About the Author:

Delta James is a USA Today bestselling paranormal

and contemporary romantic suspense author, whose

goal is to captivate readers with stories about

complex, curvy heroines and the dominant alpha

males who adore them. For Delta, romance is more

than just a love story; it’s a journey with challenges

and thrills along the way.

After creating a second chapter for herself that was dramatically different than the

first, Delta now resides in Florida where she relaxes on warm summer evenings

with her loveable pack of basset hounds as they watch the birds, squirrels and

lizards. When not crafting fast-paced tales, she enjoys horseback riding, walks on

the beach, and white-water rafting.

Her readers mean the world to her, and Delta tries to interact personally to as many

messages as she can.

Website 

Amazon 

Tour Giveaway 

$25 Amazon GC



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Thursday, October 24, 2024

A Woggle of Witches by Adrienne Adams #Halloween #CountdowntoHallowen2024 #picturebooks





My Review

This not-too-spooky book is about a group of witches who live in the forest and sleep on hammocks in the trees. They take off one night after eating dinner and have a ton of fun.


The story is cute and follows along for a quick read. The story is not that impressive but this is a Halloween picture book and can be overlooked.

The illustrations, although dark in nature, are adorable and create great movement that actually tells the story better than the words. Each turn of the page made me grin to see what the witches were going to do next.

4 stars.


Disclosure: I picked up a copy of this book from my local library. The views here are 100% my own and may differ from yours. ~Michelle, Reading Authors Network





Tuesday, October 22, 2024

Ghosts of Sleepy Hollow: Haunts of the Headless Horseman Haunted America by Sam Baltrusis #giveaway #countdowntohalloween2024



 Book Description:

Nestled on the banks of the Hudson River, Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown are

steeped in history and ghost lore. Famous for Washington Irving’s “The Legend of

Sleepy Hollow,” the storied Westchester region also has a dark history of witches,

spies, and pirates.

Rumors of Headless Horseman sightings surge during spooky season while visitors

flock to the Valley’s haunted hot spots like the Old Dutch Church and the famed

writer’s Sunnyside home.

Join author and journalist Sam Baltrusis on a bone-chilling journey through the

streets of Sleepy Hollow as he breathes new life into the legendary village’s long-

departed souls.


Amazon


Excerpt:

Sleepy Hollow, New York is brimming with ghostly legends that have somehow taken on

a life of their own.

Nestled on the banks of the Hudson River, the fabled region —which includes the

adjoining Tarrytown— has become the go-to place during spooky season thanks to the

popularity of Washington Irving&#39;s &quot;The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.&quot;

Late-night lantern tours in search of a decapitated soldier&#39;s galloping ghost? Yes, please.

If one spends enough time walking through the labyrinthine paths of the village&#39;s historic

cemeteries, however, there&#39;s something sinister oozing beneath Sleepy Hollow&#39;s rustic, story-

book facade.

It&#39;s as if the entire hamlet is under some sort of enchantment. Or, as Irving penned in

1820, it oddly feels like the locals are somehow bewitched and &quot;are subject to trances and

visions.&quot;

The revered writer referred to the area as the &quot;spell-bound region,&quot; and rightfully so.

According to several first-hand accounts, creepy music and disembodied voices emerge out of

thin air

Based on Irving&#39;s mythical take on his later-in-life hometown, it should be no surprise

that the Headless Horseman isn&#39;t the Valley’s only fearsome phantom seeking postmortem

revenge.

The entire region seems to be teeming with paranormal activity. Several publications

sensationally claim that both Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown together make the &quot;most haunted

places in the world.&quot;

But, is it?

After digging beneath the surface, it&#39;s difficult to pinpoint what&#39;s actually paranormal

activity versus a made-up ghost story that has been collectively conjured over a 200-year period.

Alex Matsuo, a Maryland-based author and paranormal investigator who has written

about the area’s alleged paranormal activity in her Spooky Stuff blog, believes that the line

between fact and fiction is somehow blurred in Sleepy Hollow.

“After Washington Irving&#39;s infamous tale plunged the area into fame, I would

hypothesize that perhaps some of the paranormal activity could be attributed to thought-forms,”

Matsuo told me. “There&#39;s also the case of self-fulfilling prophecies that people can accomplish

without realizing it.”

Matsuo cited the replica of the bridge in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery as a potential hotspot

for ghostly encounters that are freakishly fueled by the expectations of thrill-seeking visitors.

 “Just by knowing the tale and the true story behind it, they would already get a case of

the creeps,” she explained. “Then, with tensions rising, they hear a branch break or footsteps, and

they get really spooked. They go home and tell their friends and family about the creepy

experience, unknowing that there was an animal nearby causing the ruckus.”

Also, there are what paranormal researchers call thought-forms or an outward

manifestation of the heightened emotions of those who visit Sleepy Hollow during spooky

season. Matsuo believes that based on this concept, extreme fear can somehow take a physical

form within the spirit world.

“When you have a massive amount of people invested in a story, even a fictional story based on

real people, that energy has to go somewhere,” she said. “In the case of Sleepy Hollow, it may

have manifested into paranormal occurrences. I would guess that most of that energy is more


organized, but I wouldn&#39;t be surprised if some of that energy was displaced, which could explain

some of the random paranormal events that have happened over the years.”


SLEEPY HOLLOW’S HEADLESS HORSEMAN

By Sam Baltrusis

For more than two centuries after Washington Irving unleashed “The Legend of

Sleepy Hollow,” the Headless Horseman is still very much alive in pop culture.

Elizabeth Bradley, a historian and author of Knickerbocker: The Myth Behind

New York, rattled off a few of the various adaptations of the great American ghost

story on the October 26, 2022 edition of WNYC News.

“It has such legs and you can see that in all of the different interpretations,“

Bradley said during the radio interview. “There truly is a version of ‘Sleepy

Hollow’ for every generation.” It’s an impressive list that includes Disney’s

animated classic from 1949 and Tim Burton’s supernatural horror flick starring

Johnny Depp and Christina Ricci.

Of course, no one can eclipse the original which was initially published with a

collection of essays and stories for The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent in

1820.

“Irving&#39;s version of the Headless Horseman is set in the Hudson Valley region,

and it pits an outsider, a Yankee, named Ichabod Crane against a very insular

Dutch community,” Bradley said. “Throughout the course of the story, Ichabod

pursues a local Dutch heiress in an effort to integrate himself into this community

and is ultimately run out of town by the apparition of the Headless Horseman.”

Bradley told WNYC that she believes the famed short-story writer created the

headless Hessian in an attempt to populate a young nation with its own ghosts and

mythologies. “You have to remember that Irving was born the year after the

American Revolution ended,” she said. “The war was in the rear-view mirror of the

people of Sleepy Hollow and a very new United States. It was an opportunity to

create a whole regional culture. He really seized the moment and had a lot of fun

with it.&quot;


How did “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” become associated with All Hallows’

Eve? Bradley explained that the holiday wasn’t even on Irving’s radar when he

fleshed out America’s first monster. “He doesn&#39;t mention Halloween once in the

story,” she said. “[The Headless Horseman] is often associated with having a

pumpkin for a head,” she said, adding that the character’s jack-o’-lantern prop was

added in Disney’s The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad and, over the years,

the haunting imagery then seared itself into pop culture. “Most people only knew

the Disney version and that’s where the Halloween association really started to

come into play,” Bradley added.

J.W. Ocker, author of The New York Grimpendium and creator of the OTIS: Odd

Things I’ve Seen blog, is on board with the idea that the Headless Horseman has

somehow become the unofficial ambassador of spooky season. “The Headless

Horseman is the spirit of fall,” Ocker told me during a sit-down interview at the

Sleepy Hollow Hotel. “Every monster wants to be associated with autumn, but

there’s something about him running through a forest with the leaves changing

colors that makes him the patron monster of Halloween. The bigger Halloween

gets, the bigger he gets. Everytime you feed Halloween, you feed him.”

Ocker agreed with Bradley that the animated version from the Disney movie has

ingrained itself into the American psyche. “Our generation grew up with the

Disney cartoon,” he said. “You can’t think of the Headless Horseman without

thinking of the purple-cloaked, cackling creature from the animated version. The

imagery has almost become a part of the monster’s brand.”

The United States of Cryptids author said he always thought the Headless

Horseman had a jack-o’-lantern in one hand and a battle sword in another, but was

shocked to learn that Irving didn’t include the macabre accessories in the short

story. He was also convinced that the Headless Horseman eventually caught up

with Ichabod Crane on a covered bridge. Not true.

“People who visit Sleepy Hollow always want to see the covered bridge, but it

doesn’t exist,” Ocker said. “If I could change one thing to the original story, I

would make it a covered bridge. It just seems fitting.”

Despite being tweaked a bit in the modern adaptations of Irving’s story, Ocker

said the Headless Horseman is still his all-time favorite galloping ghoul. “Irving

gave us the first real American monster,” he told me. “I’m not a very patriotic guy,

but as an American there’s something that speaks to me about the horseman. It’s

our monster. Frankenstein is from Germany and Dracula is from Transylvania.

Thanks to Irving, we have our own.”.

The secret to the short story’s success? Ocker believes the ambiguity of Irving’s

fearless phantom somehow amplifies its mystique. “All we know is he was a

Hessian soldier who lost his head during the American Revolution,” he told me.

“There’s not much of a backstory to him. He’s this vague creature that pops up in


the graveyard and runs around on his horse. He’s not jumping out of your closet.

He has no face, He’s in essence an invisible man and there’s something unnerving

about him as a monster.”

In Brian Haughton’s Lore of the Ghost, he mentioned that Irving was living in

Birmingham, England when he wrote “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” and

surmised that the celebrated American author “probably picked up on some of the

elements he used in the story” overseas. “The headless ghost motif was known in

German folklore at least as early as 1505 when it was recorded in a sermon written

by Geiler von Kaysersberg, who mentions headless spirits being part of the Wild

Hunt,” he noted.

While Haughton wrote that Irving was strongly influenced by the stories told by

Dutch immigrants during his childhood in New York, he suggested that it’s also

likely that the writer was inspired by the recurring headless ghost motifs from

northern European folklore. “The tradition of the headless ghost is found

worldwide in many diverse cultures, and exhibits broadly the same characteristics

connected with death and death warnings,” Haughton reported. “Popular tradition

attributes such hauntings to the wandering spirits of those who died by beheading,

either by execution or accident.”

Haughton is in agreement that Irving’s story continues to leave a profound mark

on popular culture. “Irving’s dark story of the headless Hessian soldier who rides

forth every night through the dark lanes of Sleepy Hollow, and the dénouement of

the tale involving a supernatural wild chase through the woods, has had a

significant effect on the nature of American hauntings,” Haughton wrote in Lore of

the Ghost. “The influence of Irving’s tale on popular culture is evident.”

Alex Matsuo, author of Women of the Paranormal, told me that there may be an

underlying reason why “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” continues to strike a chord

with American readers. “We don&#39;t think about it often, but there are countless

legends that were created to dehumanize a group,” Matsuo explained. “Instead of

perceiving the Hessian as a real person, granted a terrifying figure during the time

of the Revolutionary War, he turned it into this story that is meant to remind

people that the Hessians were not meant to be trusted, even after the war was

over.”

Even though Matsuo sees a deeper meaning to what could be viewed as a

cautionary tale, she said the Headless Horseman keeps luring her back to the

Hudson Valley area, “Between the story of the Hessian soldier who lost his head

around Halloween in 1776, and Ichabod Crane encountering him while trying to

avoid him at all cost, there is a lesson to be learned there,” Matsuo said. “But I

think the way that Disney commercialized ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,’ plus

the Tim Burton film, there is a romanticization of the spell-bound region that has

cemented it into Halloween traditions.


SALEM VS. SLEEPY HOLLOW

By Sam Baltrusis

It’s a tale of two extremely different, yet oddly similar, Halloween destinations:

Salem vs. Sleepy Hollow. Will the witches overthrow the Headless Horseman —or

will heads roll— in the ultimate Samhain showdown?

According to J.W. Ocker, author of The New England Grimpendium &amp; The New

York Grimpendium, both locations have their “woes” and cons during spooky

season.

“I love this topic because depending on how you twist the narrative, you can say

these two towns are nothing alike or you can say they are so similar that it’s scary,”

Ocker told me during an in-person interview at the Sleepy Hollow Hotel.

“The number one similarity is that they are both extremely popular Halloween

destinations,” he said. “You get those click-bait articles every year. Both Salem

and Sleepy Hollow are always at the top of every list.”

Because they are known for their October attractions, both locations rely heavily

on tourism to feed their local economy. “While Salem is changing and becoming

more of a suburb of Boston, the bottom line is if they lose their tourism, they will

lose their existence.”

The author of A Season with the Witch added that both cities successfully brand

themselves. “No other town can be Salem even though there are tons of other

locations that had witch trials especially in the Northeast. But no one can say

they’re the Witch City,” Ocker said, “only Salem, Massachusetts can do that.”

In comparison, Sleepy Hollow is known for the Headless Horseman. “There are

other towns in the country that call themselves Sleepy Hollow, but this area is the

only place that can theme themselves around Irving because he actually lived here

and was inspired by the region when he wrote the story. It’s basically Washington

Irving land.”

According to Ocker, both Salem and Sleepy Hollow are successful at embracing

their respective themes. “There’s something about these two Halloween

destinations that’s authentically spooky,” he said. “They’re also great fall

destinations. The Hudson Valley and New England are top-tier places known for

their foliage.“


Other similarities include their proximity to major metropolitan areas. “Salem is

close to Boston and Sleepy Hollow is a short drive from New York City,” he said.

“They have this small-town, big-city atmosphere to them. They also have traffic.

Who would live in Salem or Sleepy Hollow unless they’re spooky, right?”

Another similarity shared by the Witch City and the Hudson Valley seems to be

their eerily picturesque cemeteries. “There’s the Old Burying Point on Charter

Street that almost serves as the hub of Salem in many ways,” he told me. “It’s even

more true in Sleepy Hollow. The cemetery is extremely important. The Old Dutch

Church is on the hill and Washington Irving is buried in the cemetery. The location

fits right into Irving’s story and you can almost map out Ichabod Crane’s journey.”

Speaking of the famous chase from Irving’s “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,”

Ocker uses the tale as a metaphor to describe the differences between the two

tourism-driven destinations. “In my mind, Salem is Ichabod Crane and Sleepy

Hollow is the Headless Horseman,” he explained. “Salem is so far ahead in regards

to marketing themselves, but I feel like the Headless Horseman is slowly creeping

up from behind. In most people’s minds, Sleepy Hollow is a less evolved version

of Salem, but one day it will catch up.”

Ocker pointed out that Salem had a huge head start. “The very first Haunted

Happenings was in 1982,” he explained. “North Tarrytown didn’t even become

Sleepy Hollow until 1996, so they’re almost fifteen years behind Salem.”

There’s also the obvious geographical hurdles holding back the village. “Sleepy

Hollow isn’t set up to be a Salem because it simply isn’t walkable,” he told me. ”In

Sleepy Hollow, you definitely need a car. In the past, they tried turning the area

near the chase statue into a plaza, but the problem is that the street is the same

Broadway that’s in Manhattan. It’s a busy road and it’s potentially dangerous to

put outside seating or a cafe near the statue. The infrastructure isn’t there yet.”

For Ocker, Sleepy Hollow’s greatest weakness is also what makes it so special.

The OTIS: Odd Things I’ve Seen blogger said he prefers celebrating spooky season

with his all-time favorite monster, the Headless Horseman. Why? After spending

an October in Salem while writing his book, A Season with the Witch, the New

Hampshire-based writer prefers the smaller crowds and the old-school charm of the

Hudson Valley.

“In Salem, there’s the witch-trials tragedy of 1692,” he said. “The inciting

incident in Sleepy Hollow is just American letters. It’s art. So there’s no

underlying guilt, which is nice. But without that guilt you don’t have the friction,

the narrative, and the interesting public relations angles. The appeal of Salem is a

tragedy and in Sleepy Hollow it’s just a story.”

The lack of an underlying cautionary tale, Ocker told me, also complicates things

when it comes to creating paranormal-themed tourism. “Now that Sleepy Hollow

is a spooky town, they’re trying their best to pull as much haunted content as they


can to make it more interesting,” he said. “It’s really hard to find great ghost stories

in Sleepy Hollow, but it was like that in Salem too.”

Thanks to all of the lantern tours in the Witch City, one can’t walk down Essex

Street without hitting an allegedly haunted location. In Sleepy Hollow, however,

the haunts are definitely spread out.

“There’s a passage in ‘Legend’ where he talks about this Hudson Valley being so

haunted,” Ocker said. “There are tons of stories and the Headless Horseman is just

one example out of all of those tales. In the story, he sets the area up as an

interesting place with a lot of legend and lore.”

Ocker’s recommendations for tourists visiting Sleepy Hollow? “Follow the chase

route,” he said. “Start at the John André monument and walk to the cemetery. Of

course, it’s not a very pleasant walk because there are cars whizzing by you. But in

October, there’s a lot more to do in Sleepy Hollow. It’s not every day like it is in

Salem, but they have something going on every weekend.”

Another telltale sign that Salem is currently in the lead as a Halloween

destination? Ocker pointed out that the Witch City’s annual Haunted Happenings

parade happens at the beginning of October while Sleepy Hollow holds its

celebration during the last weekend of the month. “It’s very telling who is better at

promoting the holiday,” he said.

Ocker insisted, however, that New Yorkers are slowly learning to capitalize on

the power of the Headless Horseman. “In Sleepy Hollow, you’re starting to see

recycling bins that are branded. Their fire engines and police cars now have

themed logos,” he said. “Even the fire plugs are black and orange. If you look

around Sleepy Hollow, the Headless Horseman is everywhere.”


About the Author:



Sam Baltrusis, author of Ghosts of Salem: Haunts of the Witch City and featured in

The Curse of Lizzie Borden shock doc, has penned eighteen paranormal-themed

books including Haunted Boston Harbor and Ghosts of the American Revolution.

He has been featured on several national TV shows including the Travel Channel&#39;s

A Haunting, Most Terrifying Places, Haunted Towns, and Fright Club (1 &amp; 2). He

also made a cameo in the documentary The House in Between 2 and on several


additional television programs including The UnBelievable with Dan Aykroyd,

History’s Most Haunted, Paranormal Nightshift, and Forbidden History. Baltrusis

is a sought-after lecturer who speaks at libraries and paranormal-related events

across the country. Visit SamBaltrusis.com for more information.

https://sambaltrusis.com/

Spooktacular Giveaway

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Monday, October 21, 2024

Donor 73101:A PIP INC Mystery by Nancy Lynn Jarvis #giveaway #cozymysteries #bookseries


Donor 73101: A PIP Inc. Mystery

Cozy Mystery

5th in Series

Setting - California

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Good Read Mysteries (August 15, 2024)

Paperback ‏ : ‎ 243 pages

ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 979-8990936607

Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0DC5H77N2


Aiden O’Rourke needed cash to help pay for college so he made money by selling his sperm. He

was young, attractive, smart…and popular. Now many years later, his offspring are coming

forward—eleven of them and counting—and connecting on a website they created called

Donor73101.com.


Pat Pirard, Santa Cruz County Law Librarian turned PI, is approached by next door neighbors

Tina and Robin who want to start a family. Because Tina was conceived via sperm donation, they

want to be 100% certain that their baby and Tina won’t have the same father.

It doesn’t take Pat long to determine that Aiden O’Rourke was Tina’s sperm donor. It also

doesn’t take her long to discovers that one by one, his offspring are being murdered. By whom

and why? Well, that’s a mystery.


Excerpt 

Although it was only a few minutes past 6:30pm, it was dark, not unexpected in Santa Cruz in

early January. The Uber driver popped his hatchback and offered to help them with luggage. Tim

declined, moving the four suitcases―one for him and three for Pat―on to the sidewalk.

   Pat started to pick one up. “Leave it,” Tim instructed. “We can come back outside for those in a

minute, but before we bring in suitcases, I want to carry my bride across the threshold.”

    Pat giggled. “I’m a modern woman. No carrying needed.”

“That may be, but I’m feeling old-fashioned at the moment.” He smiled at her, put one arm

around her back just above her waist, and attempted to scoop her into his arms.

She slipped away from him, laughing as she did. “I bet you can’t catch me before I get inside on

my own, my old-fashioned caveman,” she flirted, heading for the front door.

 “I can be a caveman if that’s how you want to be carried, but you’re being carried,” he said, his

tone full of playful mischief. He gave chase and tossed her over his shoulder when he caught her.

Pat squealed, but was laughing too hard to resist, which is how she came to greet her tail-

wagging Dalmatian, Dot, who jumped against Tim’s backside in an attempt to get her head up

high enough for the backward slung Pat to scratch her ears; her cat, Wimsey, who abandoned his

rule about avoiding Tim and rubbed against his legs, and Tina and Robin, their pet-sitting next-

door neighbors, butt-first, draped over Tim’s shoulder.


About Nancy Lynn Jarvis



Nancy Lynn Jarvis wore many hats before she started writing cozy mysteries. After earning a

BA in behavioral science from San Jose State University, she worked in the advertising

department of the San Jose Mercury News, as a librarian, as the business manager for

Shakespeare/Santa Cruz, and as a realtor.

Nancy’s work history reflects her philosophy: people should try something radically different

every few years, a philosophy she applies to her writing, as well. She has written seven Regan

McHenry Real Estate Mysteries; five PIP Inc. Mysteries; a stand-alone novel “Mags and the

AARP Gang” about a group of octogenarian bank robbers; edited “Cozy Food: 128 Cozy

Mystery Writers Share Their Favorite Recipes,” and short story anthologies, “Santa Cruz Weird,”

and “Santa Cruz Ghost Stories.”

Author Links

Website    Goodreads

Purchase Link - Amazon

Giveaway


Sunday, October 20, 2024

Upas Street Shocking Specter by Sherrill Joseph #GIveaway #countdowntoHalloween2024 #middlegrade #bookseries






Do you dare enter Dr. Frankenstein’s la-BOR-uh-tree? 

 A fearless quartet of teen sleuths, the Botanic Hill detectives, travel to Llanfair, a fictitious Welsh village in present-day California, to solve the mystery of the Shocking Specter.

The green-glowing apparition reportedly roams the countryside, setting fire to buildings and meadows during the new moon. The occurrences began shortly after a motion picture stagehand Scotty Roberts’s accidental death by electrocution in this case inspired by the filming of Universal Pictures 1931 classic horror movie Frankenstein.

Supernatural?

Coincidence?

Or is criminal activity at work?

And why, nearly a century later, has the Shocking Specter returned?

 

Readers will enjoy learning about real-life horror film star Boris Karloff, Frankenstein author Mary Shelley, other key players in the movie’s production, and some early Hollywood cinematic history. Our fabulous four might need to kick some monsters to the curb to solve this challenging mystery!

  For ages 9 to 14. Adults like this series, too! My present-day Middle-Grade mysteries have a twist of history, this time, harking to the filming of 1931's Universal Pictures classic horror movie  Frankenstein. It is not within the Young-Adult genre that serves ages 14 to 18. 


  

Amazon * Author’s Site 

* Goodreads

 

**Don’t miss the rest of the series!**

Find them on Amazon



Sherrill Joseph was a shy kid whose BFF was Nancy Drew. From her, the author learned to seek adventures, be kind and fair, help others everywhere, and become a mystery author someday.

Convinced early on that she was an architect in a former life, Sherrill was receptive to the magic of her Southern California neighborhood’s historic houses. To this day, she dramatizes those old “castles,” filling them with mysteries, staircases, a ghost or two, and exaggerated occurrences.

The author graduated Phi Beta Kappa and summa cum laude from San Diego State University. Once retired in 2013 after teaching kids for thirty-five years in the San Diego public schools, the inner child in Sherrill created the multi award-winning Botanic Hill Detectives Mysteries series so her grandkids and all kids can gallop with her and her four forever-thirteen-year-old sleuths in their standalone cases after clues to nab the bad guys.


Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

$20 Amazon


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Saturday, October 19, 2024

#Review: Curious George Goes to a Costume Party by Margaret & H.A. Rey #childrenspicturebooks #bookseries



Synopsis:

George is excited to attend his first costume party, but there's just one problem--he doesn't have a costume! Will the mischievous little monkey be able to find the perfect one without starting too much trouble?

Mrs. Gray's party isn't just any party--it's a costume party, and George and the man with the yellow hat aren’t wearing costumes! No matter—there are plenty in an old trunk upstairs, and soon George is trying on all kinds of outfits. But it's not long before George gets in the bed sheets. His new look may give the guests a scare at first, but in the end George is the life of the party!

My review:

I did not necessarily grow up with the Curious George series of books but I did love them. This edition is simply great.

To have George trying out Halloween costumes is pure fun. Of course he wants to know what he looks like and all sorts of havoc happen.

I love how George is well, curious, and always keeps working on things until he figures it out. His ever present yellow-hatted friend is always there to support him. This book also had a cast of other characters that obviously love George. Who wouldn't love him even when he is in mischief? In this book, he tries out so many costumes until he finds just the right size. Don't we all do that?

One of the things I love about this book, like others, is the color that is injected throughout and that the illustrations are real. The stories always make you want to smile and simply feel good.

5 stars.

Disclosure: I picked up a copy of this book from my local library. The views here are 100% my own and may differ with yours.

~Michelle, Reading Authors Network

Friday, October 18, 2024

The Bluff by Bonnie Traymore #countdowntoHalloween2024 #thriller

THE BLUFF

Genre: Domestic Thriller, Psychological Thriller

Publication Date: September 1, 2024

Number of Pages: 277

PRINT ISBN: 979-8218417543

Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Synopsis:

The Bluff by Bonnie Traymore

“What do you have to lose, Kate?” Ryan asked me, as we stood on the bluff looking out on Lake Michigan.

Turns out, almost everything.

When I first moved from Manhattan to this small town six years ago, I worried about many things. I worried about finding a job. I worried that I’d be bored. I worried that my relationship with charming photographer Ryan Breslow was moving too fast. But I never worried about whether the ground beneath my feet would crumble—both literally and figuratively.

My marriage didn’t go as I’d imagined. A year ago, Ryan met his untimely death in a car accident that’s still under investigation. Isolated and alone, all I wanted was to sell my home and leave Crest Lake and its painful memories behind.

But with my home inching ever closer to the edge of the crumbling bluff, the property has become unmarketable. All of us on the lakefront have lost chunks of property, and tempers are at a boiling point about what to do next.

And now, on the evening of a contentious vote about how to fix this pressing issue, my nemesis on the shoreline committee has been murdered. I know how it looks, but it’s not what it seems. But I have to get my plan passed and cash out.

Because I do have secrets.

And they won’t stay buried forever.

Read an excerpt:

PROLOGUE

Doug Mitchell takes in the shoreline of Lake Michigan, letting his Sundancer drift around in the currents. The sight of his house high atop the bluff reminds him of what’s at stake. The vote is tonight, and it’s sure to be a doozy of an evening. There’s a cool wind whipping up what little sand remains on the shrinking beach, and he can see the bare patch of earth where the southern stairs collapsed two years ago. But he feels safe and warm on the deck with the soon-to-be-setting sun still overhead, beaming down on him.

It’s not the same shoreline it was decades ago, but then the world is an ever-changing place. He knows this, although he doesn’t let on about it to most people. Right now, his mind is drifting to another place, and he feels a delightful stirring. He pictures the curve of her back. Her slender, graceful neck. The look on her face when he makes her moan. He takes another sip of his cocktail, closes his eyes, and sinks into it.

After a few minutes, a different kind of feeling washes over him. He’s dizzy. And tired. Way too tired. He’s barely had one drink. He opens his eyes, and the world appears blurry. He feels clumsy. Almost immobile. Shaking his head, he tries to snap out of it, but everything’s…

Fuzzy.

Confused.

Off.

He came out here alone, he thought, although he didn’t check the cabin before leaving the dock. A figure is standing on the deck now, too far away from him to make out who it is. It’s someone, though, and even with his mind dulled, he knows this isn’t good.

Seized with panic, he struggles to pull himself out of the quagmire. Finding a last burst of strength, he attempts to spring up and go on the offensive, but his legs are like rubber. His body rocks forward a bit, accomplishing nothing.

He sinks back into oblivion as the figure approaches.

You?

ONE

Kate

I arrive five minutes late, breathless from my run in from the parking lot. The proceedings haven’t started yet. I rush in, whip off my scarf and coat, and take a seat.

Just in time.

The stage is set for a contentious evening. Tonight, the town council will vote on the pressing issue of the failing bluff. I head up the shoreline committee, and I’ve been invited here this evening to present my plan, one of two the board will consider.

“Hi Kate,” the board member next to me says. “Glad you made it.”

She gives my shoulder a squeeze, confirming that I’ve got her vote.

“Of course,” I say. “Sorry I’m late.”

A tingling sensation creeps up my spine, and a feeling of dread squeezes my stomach like a vise. Perhaps it’s the weather. It’s early fall, but it may as well be the dead of winter. It’s bitter cold and gray, with intermittent downpours. The howling wind whipping off Lake Michigan has been keeping me up at night. It’s the same kind of weather we were having when my husband met his untimely death a year ago, which is likely stirring up some buried feelings. A widow at forty-one. Not the way I expected my life to go when I moved here six years ago.

“The meeting of the Crest Lake Township board of directors is now in session,” the president proclaims, banging his gavel with the countenance of a man desperate for power and relevance. Sam Bolger’s his name.

Sam takes role, and it’s lost on nobody that Doug Mitchell is absent. I fiddle with a strand of hair, twirling it between my fingers. It looks darker in this light, almost auburn. My eyes search the room, and hushed tones fill the silence as people whisper to each other.

Where the hell is Doug?

Are we really going to start without him?

I hope he’s okay.

His allies look concerned, naturally, but even his opponents seem troubled, although that could be an act. It would be unacceptable to show their glee, in the event they were feeling it. But I’m not feeling smug or excited or victorious. I’m feeling nervous. Doug is scheduled to present the opposing plan, and there’s no way he would miss this meeting.

Tempers have been flaring over the issue of what to do about the eroding bluff. The police had to be called during the last public hearing. And there have even been a few death threats, anonymous posts that most of us brushed off.

Silly, really. We’re all on the same team, trying to fight mother nature. Desperate to give ourselves the illusion of control. Struggling to keep our large, lakefront luxury homes from plummeting onto the shrinking shoreline that hugs the massive body of water eighty feet below the fragile bluff.

On some level, we all know that whatever we do will only be a stop-gap in the big picture of geological time, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s what’s making people so angry. Humanity’s stubborn insistence that we can bend the planet to our will. Because it’s obvious that we can’t, and perhaps it’s easier to blame each other than to face the realization that humans are at the mercy of forces we don’t really understand and can no longer control.

The president seems to be stalling, fumbling with his computer as he tries to pull up the agenda and project it onto the TV screen. The board member to my right shares a theory with me. Perhaps Doug’s pulling a stunt for dramatic effect, she whispers in my ear. Maybe the president’s in on it—he’s on Doug’s side—and Doug will come bursting in at the last minute, waving some new study in his hands. But after a few moments, it’s clear to everyone that’s not going to happen.

Sam tables the vote for the time being and moves on to other issues. The board gets to work. There are a handful of mundane items on the agenda aside from the one that matters to me. What to do about the shoreline. I wait patiently as the board members work through other business, waiting for Doug’s arrival. He’s a board member and I’m not, and I’m surprised that they didn’t ask me to sit outside.

I wonder what will happen if he doesn’t show. Will they postpone the vote, or will it go my way by default, with my proposal the only option? Item after item is addressed, and I can feel my pulse starting to race as they tick them off.

Parcel tax proposal.

New library budget.

Changes to the vacation rental rules.

My stomach is in knots. Because if the vote goes my way, it will be a Pyrrhic victory, inflicting massive economic consequences on my lake front neighbors. Doug’s plan to simply shore up the bluff at the toe, the spot where the waves hit and wear it down, is the simple one. The less expensive one. But it’s got the environmental groups up in arms. They’ve grown increasingly vocal over the last few years.

The environmentalists want to force the removal of all existing seawalls, like the one Doug Mitchell installed in front of his home, and ban all such structures. Let nature take its course. Force lakefront owners to move back their homes or demolish them if they are in danger of falling off the bluff. But none of them are on the shoreline committee, and none are on the board. And they’ll be upset whichever way it goes tonight.

My plan is a compromise of sorts. But if I win, there will be consequences. Expensive ones that will dramatically reduce some people’s property values and limit beach access for everyone. And lots of visceral anger, much of it directed at me, especially from my wealthy lakefront neighbors who will absorb most of the cost. Several million dollars, split between ten of us. Sweat beads form at my temples as the minutes tick along to the rhythm of the cheap wall clock mounted above my seat.

Why do they keep it so hot in here?

The council meets at the town center, a small, institutional structure that used to serve as a middle school. The chairs are small and uncomfortable. I sit up and twist from side to side, trying to stop my lower back from cramping up. After an hour or so, there’s nothing left on the agenda but the bluff, and I’m wondering if they’ll postpone my presentation and the vote.

A knock at the door startles us.

Police, a voice calls out.

The door opens, and a young officer enters tentatively, crouching his way into the room. It’s a tight community, and he’s likely a bit intimidated. We’re a powerful bunch. If he ran into one of us around town, I imagine he’d be deferential. But this isn’t a coffee shop or a grocery store, and this isn’t a social call.

After a moment, he straightens up, and his face registers the requisite look of authority. “Doug Michell’s been reported missing,” he says. “He went out on his boat earlier today and never returned. The Coast Guard is conducting a search.”

My stomach sinks, and gasps echo around the room. We all sit with the shocking news for a few moments as the officer bites his lower lip.

He continues. “We’re going to need to interview all of you. Detective Whittaker is on his way. Please stay seated and be patient.”

And with that, the vote is delayed.

***

Travis Whittaker leans back in his chair, eyeing me. I can see tension lines in the detective’s forehead. He seems to have aged since I last saw him, although his thick, dark head of hair reveals few strands of gray. It’s his eyes. They look heavy and full, like the weight of the world sits behind them.

He’s been working his way through the group, and I’m second-to-last. It would have been better to get it over with. Waiting around only increased the tension. Nobody really knew what to say to each other, so there was nothing but awkward silence filling the space between us as we stood in the hallway waiting for our turns to go in and be interviewed.

“So, Ms. Breslow. You arrived five minutes late,” he says.

“I just said that,” I reply, immediately regretting my sharp tone.

The detective’s nostrils flare, ever so slightly. He’s an attractive man for his age—early fifties or so—with a neatly trimmed beard and dark, haunting eyes. Right now, though, he looks menacing.

“Yes. I was about five minutes late,” I say, in a softer tone. My throat feels as if it’s about to close.

He narrows his eyes on me and I look away. I catch myself absent-mindedly stroking my neck and stop myself, placing my hands on the table top.

This feels all too familiar.

“And why were you late?”

“The rain,” I offer. “It got heavy when I was driving down Lakeside.” I tap my fingers on the table top as I search for something to add. “I had to drive more slowly.”

He nods and jots something down on his notepad. Almost everyone at the meeting had to drive down that road in the rain. It’s not a very good excuse, but it’s all I can give him.

“Did Doug Mitchell give you any indication that he was planning to miss the meeting tonight?” he asks.

“No, not at all,” I say. “We were all shocked when he didn’t show up tonight.”

“Have you heard from him today?” he asks.

I shake my head no.

“When’s the last time you had any contact with him?” he asks.

I look off to the side, struggling to keep myself focused and calm. I turn back to him. “In person?” I ask.

“In general,” Whittaker replies.

“We’ve been on the same email and text chain over the last week or so. Exchanging information, in anticipation of the vote.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I swallow. He’s already seen our text stream, I assume. “Yesterday. Around seven in the evening.”

“Was that an email or a text?”

“It was a text.”

“And what did it say?”

I pull up my phone, hold it in my palm, and let him read the exchange. His eyes rest on my last line to Doug Mitchell.

If you do that, I’ll bury you.

It would have been less stressful for me if Whittaker’s face had registered some kind of surprise. Instead, he closes his notepad and puts his pen down. I struggle to keep a neutral look on my face. Then he informs me that I can leave and asks me to send in the next board member.

I start for the door but then turn back to him. “In paperwork,” I offer. “I meant I’d bury him in paperwork.” Then I turn away again and continue to the door.

“Don’t leave town,” he calls out. “We’re sure to have more questions as the investigation develops.”

I nod and keep walking.

***

As my car winds up the dark, curvy road to my lakefront home, I struggle to steady my shaking hands. This night already had me on edge, and I can feel my pulse racing as I reach the bend in the road, near the top. The part where the drop-off is the steepest. They replaced the guardrail with another one that looks exactly the same.

What was the point of that?

Sometimes I can ignore it and drive right past. On sunny days, when the sky is bright and the birds chirp and all is well in the universe. It looks so different in the daylight. But tonight is foggy and foreboding, and I drive slowly. So slowly, I’d probably get a ticket if an officer was behind me. I don’t look to my right though, because then I have to picture it, and imagine the look of terror on his face as he plunged through the rail and over the side.

What was he thinking?

Or was he not thinking at all?

Did he scream?

Or was there no time?

A chill runs up my spine as I turn carefully around the bend and breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes, I get a sensation that he’s in the car with me, and I can almost feel his breath on my neck. And now Doug’s missing, and I have no idea what to do next or what this means for me and my shoreline plan. All I know is I have to sell my house get out of this town, before I lose my mind.

Or worse.

***

Excerpt from The Bluff by Bonnie Traymore. Copyright 2024 by Bonnie Traymore. Reproduced with permission from Bonnie Traymore. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Bonnie Traymore

Bonnie Traymore is the Amazon International Bestselling author of six domestic/psychological thrillers. Her "popcorn thrillers" feature strong but relatable female protagonists who peel back the layers of suburban American life and give readers a peek inside. The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time. She's an active status member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.

Catch Up With Bonnie Traymore:
www.BonnieTraymore.com
Goodreads


 

 

 

Thursday, October 17, 2024

The Memory Chest by Robert Leventhal #CountdowntoHalloween2024 #Poetry


Poetry

Date Published: May 23, 2024



 

With an unmistakable voice and a depth of presence, Leventhal's work zooms out and back inward, taking stock of it all. His poems survey the surrounding landscapes: be it historical, natural, political, or emotional. They reflect on love and loss with vulnerability, and on the prospect of aging with optimism and gratitude. They travel centuries back in time and simultaneously ask the question of what it means to be alive in the world today. Years of leadership in the Jewish community provides him access to Biblical language and wisdom. The artwork that accompanies the poems creates and elegant conversation between visual art and poetry. There is a deep reverence within many of these works that is balanced out by Leventhal's refusal to take himself too seriously, his zest for life, beaming in words and brushstrokes from these pages. (Dakota Read- Editor) 


Bob Leventhal served as sales and marketing executive for cleaning products company O-Cedar Brands for 19 years. For more than 15 years Bob was a Jewish communal lay leader in Dayton, Ohio. He was a day school president, a JCC membership chair and federation campaign leader. He even taught seventh graders in his temple’s religious school.

In 2001 he chose to combine his MBA and his Masters in Jewish Education to create a unique synagogue consulting practice at the Alban Institute in Washington, D.C. In January 2012 he became the Director of Leadership at United Synagogue. He led the team which created the Sulam Leadership Curriculum.

As he approached 65 he began to develop his interests in writing and painting. He took painting classes in NYC. He wrote a memoir Swept Away (2022) about his transition from business to consulting. He wrote the Memory Chest (2024), a conversation between painting and poetry. He has intentionally sought out colleagues and mentors to support these new learning journeys. Walk with Bob.

Website      Purchase

 

Tuesday, October 15, 2024

The Witch’s Debt Coal Mountain by Edward Rollins #giveaway #countdowntohalloween2024


Book Description:

When the ghost of Jake Calhouns

grandmother delivers a cryptic message to

him, he&#39;s drawn back to the mountains of

southern West Virginia, where he finds himself on a collision course with the

consequences of his past, the strained family ties that drove him to run, and the

woman he left behind.

Though he longs to return to the life he&#39;s made for himself in the city, a string of

deaths forces him to decide who he will be, where he belongs, and how he will

stop whoever is killing those closest to him.


Excerpt
&quot;You all right, Buck?&quot; He set his coffee on the small table there as he took more of my
weight than I intended.  
&quot;Yeah,&quot; I lied. &quot;Bit of a headache.&quot; I couldn&#39;t look him in the eye. &quot;I need to check on
something. Be right in.&quot;  
&quot;Sure you&#39;re gonna be all right?&quot; Dad picked up his coffee as I took my weight again.  
“I’ll live.” I nodded and started toward the sitting room. I steeled myself against the pain
I knew was coming and pushed my senses into the Curtain once again.  
The little room off the chapel was packed with overstuffed couches and an ottoman
which could double for a bed. I could see just clearly enough to avoid tripping, but it made
finding the cat a challenge. I moved from piece to piece, looking behind and under each. There
was no sign of it. It could have left through the chapel but I wasn&#39;t ready to accept that it had. It
was bothersome enough it was inside the church. I didn&#39;t want to consider what it would mean if
the thing could move across the consecrated ground of the chapel.  
&quot;Lose something?&quot; Bonnie asked from the doorway.  
Frustrated and defeated, I gave her a weak smile and let go of my view into the Curtain.
&quot;Hello, Bonnie.&quot;  
She stepped into the room, her coat and purse left behind somewhere. She wore a pained
smile on her lips. &quot;That the best you have for me?&quot;  
There were people in this town I didn&#39;t care to spare a kind word, Bonnie wasn&#39;t one of
them. She&#39;d done nothing but love me.  
I stopped fighting the smile she had always put on my face and replied, &quot;Well if it isn&#39;t
Bonnie Blankenship, the prettiest girl at Pineville High. How are things, Ms. Blankenship?&quot;  
&quot;Much better,” her smile touched her eyes and she stepped in close.


Of Women Wronged: Hillbilly Hauntings

The days grow shorter, the air turns crisp, and something deep within us all knows
that the world is changing. Halloween draws near and with it a thinning of the
Curtain this world from the next, allowing haints – restless spirits – to slip closer
by than they were on brighter days.
No part of the world is without tales of restless spirits; stories of the sorrow, anger,
or injustice endured by the living. In Japan they tell of the onryō, wrathful spirits
devoted to revenge against the living. In Mexico, they talk of La Llorona, who
wander the water’s edge, mourning the loss of their children. Across Europe they
speak of the White Lady, symbols of betrayal and life cut short. When it comes to
tales of lost love and betrayal, my beloved West Virginia isn’t without a tale or two
of its own.
We tell the tales of Zona Heaster Shue, Screaming Jenny, the Weeping Woman of
Sweet Springs, Kate Carpenter, and our own White Lady of Flat Top Manor. Each
a spirit bound by sorrow, betrayal, or unfinished business. Let’s take a moment and
remember each, but take care, it’s said that people die twice, once when their heart
beats its last, and again when someone speaks their name for the final time.
In Greenbrier County they tell the tale of Zona Heaster Shue who - in 1897 - was
found dead under questionable circumstances. Her husband, Erasmus, was quick to
claim she had died peacefully. Zona’s mother wasn’t having it. She claimed that
Zona&#39;s ghost began to visit her in the dead of night, accusing Erasmus of murdering
her by snapping her neck. Confronted with the charges, a local judge ordered
Zona’s body exhumed, and the evidence of Erasmus’ guilt was revealed. Erasmus
was convicted of the crime, but Zona’s spirit still didn’t rest. She is said to haunt
Greenbrier County still, a chilling reminder that justice isn’t bound by the grave.
In Jefferson County we find a different sort of tale. There, when wind moans
through the trees and the moon lights the ground just so, it’s said that you can hear
the pain filled screams of a woman long dead. Screaming Jenny, a local woman
who died in pain and terror. It was a cold night in autumn when Jenny, poor and
living in an abandoned railroad shack, tried to warm herself by a fire. Somehow,

her clothes were set ablaze and, in her panic, she ran screaming and blind in search
of relief. She ran right onto the railroad tracks and into the path of an oncoming
train. Locals maintain that now and then the figure of Screaming Jenny - still
engulfed in flames – can be seen running through the night. Her ghostly shrieks a
reminder of her final, desperate moments.
From the tranquil beauty of Monroe County comes a tale of another ghostly
presence born of sorrow and despair. Known as the Weeping Woman of Sweet
Springs, it’s said that she was a bride abandoned at the altar or perhaps a grieving
mother who lost her child. Whatever the case, the young woman fell beneath the
weight of her broken heart, and cast herself into the spring where she drowned. But
she wouldn’t have a place on our list if that was the end for her. It’s said that she
still wanders, a ghostly figure draped in a flowing white gown, her soft sobbing
proof that some heartache is too deep to fade, even in death.
From Mercer County and the grounds of an old plantation known as Flat Top
Manor comes the tale of the White Lady of Flat Top Manor, a restless spirit whose
tragic story is tangled in the past. Some say she was the young bride of the manor’s
original owner; others maintain that she was a servant who died at her master’s
hand. In either case, it is agreed by those who believe, that her life was cut short by
violence. Witnesses maintain that the air goes frigid long before her shadowy
figure - fleeting and ethereal – is seen gliding through the manor&#39;s hallways or
lingering at the edge of the woods. The truth of it is left to you, but the accounts of
witnesses and investigators alike have gone a long way to make Flat Top Manor&#39;s
reputation as one of the most haunted locations in the State.
Silent and still, the Greenbrier River flows through Summers County like an
apparition itself. It’s a peaceful scene as beautiful as any faery tale picture, but its
waters gave birth to a tale of lost love and lingering sorrow. Kate Carpenter was a
young woman deeply in love with the wrong man. Her family opposed her choice
of suitor and refused her their blessing. Unwilling to either set aside her love or go
against her kin, Kate threw herself into the river and drowned the dark, icy waters.
But as is the case in these tales, neither the depths of the river nor the touch of
death could quiet Kate’s restless spirit. She lingers near the place where she left
this world, a spectral form barely visible on misty mornings walking the
riverbanks. For Kate, death was better than the absence of the man she loved.
This Halloween, when autumn leaves rustle in a cold wind, remember the story of
these women as you sip your pumpkin-spiced drink. Their stories are the echoes of
unimaginable loss and suffering, and they leave us to wonder—what would we do
if faced with such sorrow? Would we find peace, or would our spirits, too, be

bound to the places where our hearts were broken? But let’s remember as well that
these spirits weren’t content to shuffle off the mortal coil the first time. Speaking
their names again – breathing life into their memory - might be enough to remind
them what binds them to this world.

The Haunted World of West Virginia’s Grannies
West Virginia, the place generations of my people have called home. Wild,
wonderful, and possessed of an undeniable beauty. But sometimes... the place just
ain&#39;t right.
Maybe it&#39;s the narrow roads snaking through claustrophobic forests. Maybe it&#39;s the
looming presence of the mountains, equal parts shelter, and constraint. Or maybe
it’s the tight-lipped locals, wary of strangers and burdened by the weight of tales
passed down since before their kin left the Old Country. Whispered stories that tell
of all manner of...other. Either way, it&#39;s hard to shake the feeling that my beloved
mountains are hiding secrets best left alone. That&#39;s the world that birthed the
Granny, or white witch; wise women, workers of poultices, charms, and yes - when
called for - curses. And it is the Granny that inspired my Coal Mountain series.
Only seems right to share a bit about them with you.
The origins of the Granny lie in the isolation and desperation of mountain life, in a
time and place far removed from modern medicine when the nearest doctor could
be a day or more away. When folks there got sick, they turned to the Grannies,
whose reputations were rooted in their understanding of herbalism and the
preparation of natural remedies; the ability to “stir a boil” and make a sick child
well. It was a short hop from a tea to cure a fever to a poultice to catch the eye of
the one you loved. And when the shadows grew long and the veil between worlds
thinned - as it’s said happens each Halloween - it&#39;s no surprise that folks turned to
the Grannies again, this time to keep that darkness at bay.
To their communities, the Grannies were keepers of ancient knowledge passed

down through generations; both revered and feared for the knowledge they
possessed. Their practices were a New World blend of Celtic, Native American,
Germanic, and African traditions, all interwoven with a dose of Christian beliefs
and survive still among the region&#39;s followers of Celtic Christianity.
Grannies - including my own - professed the ability to craft powerful charms and
perform rituals that could protect against the things unseen that haunted the West
Virginia wilderness. They were known to craft hex signs – a practice drawn from
Germanic and Pennsylvania Dutch traditions – and utilized these colorful symbols
to guard a place from evils known and unknown. While many of these wards were
small works of art, some were simplicity incarnate. Among the latter was the
simple use of &quot;haint blue,&quot; a soft, bluish-green color often seen on doorways,
windowsills, and even porch ceilings. Tradition maintained that &quot;haints&quot; - or
restless spirits – were unable to cross water. The color - mimicking water as it does
– was thought to create a protective barrier at doors and windows.
And then there were the curses—dark incantations spoken in secret, sometimes to
seek justice, other times to exact revenge. While not every Granny dabbled in
curses, there is no shortage of tales telling if a wronged woman who sought out a
Granny to set things right. As a teenager, I heard firsthand the tales of dead
livestock, blighted crops, or families plagued by mysterious illnesses after
someone crossed a Granny. It was plume foolish to doubt ht. It was the certainty of
the belief in the power of a Granny’s curse that led them to be treated with a blend
of respect and caution. Their power both admired and approached with
trepidation.
The folks of southern West Virginia being of primarily Scots and Irish decent, it
shouldn’t be a surprise that Halloween, or Samhain as it was once known, was a
time of great significance for the Grannies of the region. Folks had no doubt that
on that night the boundary between the living and the dead was at its weakest;
spirits walked freely among the living. So, the living turned to the Grannies as
gatekeepers, looking to them to perform ancient rituals – often Christian and pagan
in equal measure – to honor the dead, protect the living, and keep the darkest of
forces at bay. Bonfires – with deep roots in Celtic tradition - played a role in these
ceremonies. The Grannies would gather their communities around these fires,
where they burnt sage, rosemary, and other herbs believed to cleanse the area of
evil spirits.
The legacy of the Grannies remains tightly woven into the fabric of mountain
folklore, contributing to an all too familiar sense of unease that hangs about the

darkest corners, especially at Halloween. While many in the Mountain State have
forgotten the truth of their own stories, you can count on Halloween to breathe new
life in old tales, filled with strange occurrences, eerie encounters, and supernatural
events that defy explanation. And you can find signs of the past without looking to
hard. Children carve pumpkins having no knowledge that they are practicing an
ancient ritual meant to ward off evil. Candles burn in darkened windows absent
even the most distant remembrance of nights when they were lit to guide the
ancestors home on Halloween night.
As Halloween approaches and the nights grow longer, folks in my neck of the
woods aren’t strained by the idea that the world of the Grannies remains. The
world of the Grannies – that blend of ancient wisdom and supernatural wonder –
hasn&#39;t faded with time. No, it’ll never be truly lost. It floats through the hollers like
a whisper on the wind. It’s etched into the stone of the mountains themselves. So,
when the wind carries a distant howl to your ears, or the moon casts grasping
shadows across the ground, and you sense something off in the world... remember
that the ancient magic of the Grannies remains, just out of sight, but still in reach.

About the Author:


As a kid in elementary school, Edward Rollins hated
to read. Hated it…
Then his grandfather, who knew Edward loved the
Adam West &quot;Batman&quot; series, introduced him to
Batman comic books, the rest is nerd history. From
those early comics he went on to consume a steady
diet of books from fantasy to science fiction.
Eventually, he found a little game called Dungeons
and Dragons and a lifetime of telling stories was born.
He’s been a sailor, a soldier, a pastor, an engineer and a college professor;
sometimes all at once. Mostly, he hopes to know what he wants to be when he
grows up. Assuming he agrees to grow up…
A writer since college, he has published a handful of short stories and gaming
industry pieces over the years. &quot;The Witch&#39;s Debt&quot; is his first attempt at writing
“something of his own”.

Edward has lectured in convention and collegiate circles on the topics of gaming
simulations, fantasy world building and theology in fantasy settings. He is a fan of
1920s pulp and science fiction as well as the 1950s aesthetics of Raygun Gothic
and Atom-Punk.
While he lives in central Ohio with his wife and two incredible young adults – all
three of which make him proud -- his heart will always be in West Virginia.




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