Beyond the Wail: A Fireside Chat with Father Mahoney

Today I present another Fireside Chat for the paranormal anthology, Beyond the Wail. In this character interview our intrepid Richard Dale sits down to chat with Father Mahoney, from the story The Poltergeist and Aunt Betty by Ginger C. Mann.

And don't forget to keep scrolling down past the interview for a giveaway, book trailer, and a listing for the book's wonderful blog tour.

And now I give you...

A Fireside Chat with Father Mahoney

“Welcome everyone, to another Fireside Chat. I’m Richard Dale, your host. Today, our guest is Father Mahoney, of the St. Philip’s Catholic Church in Lake Charles, Louisiana.” Richard nods to the man sitting opposite to him. “Welcome Father. Why don’t you begin by telling our audience a bit about yourself.”

“Thank you, Richard, and thank you for having me here. A ‘bit about myself?’ I am a son of Irish immigrants from Chicago, and now I'm the newest priest at St. Philip’s Catholic Church in Lake Charles, Louisiana. It's a beautiful parish, and the church is over 100 years old. This is my fourth year to serve there.”

“As you said, you are now firmly established in your faith, but you essentially rejected the Church for some time in your younger days. Care to elaborate on the reasons for your crisis of faith?”

Father Mahoney pauses. “There was a time that I rejected the church, yes. It is difficult to remember it, but I will tell you a brief account. As a child, I was badly bullied by a minister. I was raised a strong Catholic, and my family was active. Of course, as a son in a  an active church family, I soon became an altar boy. It started out well for me, but as time passed, I discovered that the priest who advised me was not a gentle man. In fact, I now recognize that children frightened him. For any tiny mistake I made, he was careful to berate me publicly. He used other tactics, too – no, no details, but many things that kept me in fear of him. He was good at control, and he terrified me so completely that he gave me nightmares. I was too frightened of him to ask for help, so this went on for some time. One morning, after I served Mass especially poorly, he grew so angry that he began to hit  me. I was lucky that my mother was standing there to witness that, or it could have gotten much worse. She pulled me away immediately, and took action with church authorities. However, like so many abusers, this priest was not disciplined. I stopped serving on the altar, but the next week, another child was up there in the same position. That burned in my gut until it wore me down. I could not let it go, and neither could my family. We left the church over it. After awhile, I could not stand the sight of any church. My mother returned to a different one after a few years, but I was sure I would never go back.”

“Yet you did, but not before pursuing other interests, such as ghost hunting.” Richard pauses slightly. “Your first substantial paranormal encounter was at Auschwitz. How profound an experience was that, and are there any ongoing consequences?”

Father Mahoney closes his eyes, as if struggling with himself. He looks down, then gathers his strength and faces the host. “This is less of a reaction and more of a story, Richard, if we have the time?”

Richard nods. “We do.”

“First, your audience needs to know that I considered myself an Atheist before I studied the paranormal. In fact, I rejected all spirituality. God’s representative hurt me, and for me that made God a monster. So, I wrapped all spirituality in the same package with that monstrous God, and threw it out. I chose psychology as my course of study, but then I discovered parapsychology. I liked that subject  a lot, mainly because it tended to view paranormal activity as a mental condition, and nothing else.

“I was fond of ghost hunter groups back then. I found them so easy to ridicule: plenty of gadgetry, lots of heartbeat monitors and ultra sensitive cameras, and  for what? Time-lapsed, blurry melodrama. Oh, and folklore. They were great at folklore. Tell a story, find a blur in a picture frame. Tell the story again, and sell the blur.”

“Not an uncommon reaction to these types of groups.” Richard murmurs sympathetically.

“Apologies, Richard, I am being unkind. It's an echo of who I was back then, and I hope I am not the same now. I often cringe at how callous I used to be. Well, there was a group of ghost hunters who tolerated me, even though I was a young Ph. D. student who “knew it all,” and talked to them like they were idiots. However, they were thick-skinned and refused to take it personally. They dismissed my ideas about as thoroughly as I dismissed theirs, and then we would go out for beers afterward. I enjoyed giving the “logical rebuttal” speech in the middle of their films – the kind  that set their entire premise on its ear. They enjoyed pipping me  the rest of the time, and so we called it even.

“So I was happy when they approached me with a “special project”. They wanted to film a sequence on location at Auschwitz. (Don't even ask me how they worked that out with the bean counters  at the University.) Before I knew it, we were there on site, hunting for disembodied spirits and fog wisps. They set up their thousands of wires and their beep-boop machines and started crawling the place dressed in jumpsuits and night vision goggles. Comical. Then, it happened.

“I didn't follow the troop, I just sat there in the middle of the courtyard. Looked to be the same one where prisoners were brought for mass meetings by the Nazi keepers. As an abused child, my heart breaks for the oppressed. I found myself remembering the victims of the slaughter, thinking on them solemnly. I told myself I might have said a prayer, back when I believed in anything. Instead, I grabbed my sketchbook. I had pasted a  list of Auschwitz victims inside the front cover. I studied it for a minute, thinking about how their lives ended. Then, on a whim, I began to mention them out loud.  Right there in the middle of the courtyard, I spoke about about ten names at random.

“I paused and looked up from my book for a moment. A  skinny man stood there, staring me down. I thought for a moment that he was with us, but then I noticed that he was almost naked. His face and form faded back and forth, as if he were made out of mist. His eyes sagged like pits. Before I could react, another man came forward. Both of them stared at me in the same way, as if they were trying to make up their minds about something. The first one spoke. He said, “Do you see us?” All I could do was nod.

“Then, I noticed something else, Richard: looking around that courtyard, I saw no fewer than ten wispy forms  wandering the grounds. I watched them walk right through the ghost hunters, who ignored them. On a hunch, I began to speak again, reading the same ten names from that list in my book. One by one, they wandered in my direction. When I passed their names, they wandered off again. Most of them sat down, hugging their legs. Some of them stood up on occasion, and they would begin to flail as if they were taking a beating. I was looking at suffering people, but never once did I see any of their oppressors. Furthermore, my colleagues continued to turn a blind eye, and so did their equipment. Not so much as a “blip” registered  on the paranormal tracking devices. Looked like another folklore-telling, smudge-selling outing for them. I was the only witness to this scene, or so I believed.

“The place was dark and dank, and the people looked to be in hell. I witnessed them there, still in their torture chamber, as if their souls languished here after their bodies left them behind. I wept openly, casting about for something to do, some way to help. I focused, not with my eyes, but with my heart. I concentrated on my connection with them. As I did so, their forms grew clearer.  I sat there beside them, watching their agony and weeping tears of grief.

“It was then that I looked up. Above the scene, misty like the spirits around me, I saw a radiant light in the sky. Something felt . . .  alive in it. To look at it filled me with joy. I turned to the man next to me and tapped him on the shoulder. I pointed up, trying to ask him what it was. He stared at the ground and hugged his knees. I tried again, he shook his head and wailed. I sat and cried with him. It was all I could do.

“I moved on to the woman next to him. I sat by her and said, “I see you.” She was startled – so startled that she looked straight at me. One of her eyes was missing, and the other was streaming,  either with tears or disease. I reached out my hand, and she took it. Felt like a downy feather, her touch. I said, “There is something up there. A beautiful light. What is it?”

“It was then that I witnessed my first miracle, Richard. She raised her face and looked straight into the sky. As she looked, the eye that had been missing reformed itself in her skull. Her flesh filled out and hair grew on her head. She was suddenly young and beautiful. She stared back at me, two crisp blue eyes wide with surprise. “I don't hurt anymore,” that is what her face said. She turned away, and I saw her take the hand of the man next to her. He tossed her off initially, but she shook him until he looked up angrily, with war on his face. Then, he caught sight of her, all new and restored like she was. He said, “Schlomit?” Then, he looked past her and froze in place. As the light in the sky bathed his eyes, his body straightened into a handsome young man. He gazed at Schlomit, who I assumed was his wife, and they embraced each other.

“The two of them walked away after that, hand in hand. They were headed toward the light that healed them, but I honestly can't say where they went. For my part, I gazed for a moment on that spectral light. Nothing logical about this, but for the first time since my own abuse, I thought I might be worthy of love.

“Now, we scientists like to have cross-validators in these little field experiments, so imagine my surprise when I caught the tour guide staring straight at me. This was no university educated “paranormal specialist.” It was a minimum wage adult, babysitting a few college kids on a ghost safari. He didn't speak, he just pointed to each and every spirit who remained on the grounds, and then up to the sky. He saw exactly what I saw. We locked eyes. Knowing that my German was as rusty as his English, I chose not to speak out loud; but eyeing each other, we made a gentlemen’s pact nonetheless. One by one, we approached every spirit and encouraged them to look up; look away from their private hell. Some of them listened. Some of them did not.

“We had to leave, and I could not give my debunking speech on the ghost video. I took all kinds of snark for it, but I didn't care. Instead, I buckled down, focused on trying to help the victims I could still see. In the end, I could not force any decision on them. I could just show them and watch the healing, or respect their decision to suffer. If they suffered, I would sit next to them, hold them, and cry. That changed a man's mind once. Just one man, but it was enough to make me keep trying. I stayed in that same courtyard until my colleagues dragged me out.”

Father Mahoney pauses, visibly upset. “Someday, Richard, I will go back. I will sit with those souls for an eternity in that squalid place, if there is a chance of saving even one more of them from hell.”

There is a moment of silence before Richard speaks. “Well. A profound experience indeed. I’m not quite certain what to ask as my next question—wait, I believe it’s time for some refreshment.” They are interrupted by the arrival of a gentleman carrying a tray with shot glasses and a decanter. “I see Jenkins has brought the whiskey. Wonderful. I believe it’s just the thing we need.” Richard smiles as Jenkins sets the tray down and waits. “Care for a nip? It’s an excellent Irish whiskey. Jameson I believe.”

“Jameson is a fine whiskey, thank you Richard. I'm still an Irishman to the core. I do love a nip from time to time.”

Jenkins pours two glasses of liquor, serves both men, and then retreats. Richard Dale takes a sip of whiskey and asks, “As someone with a gift for interacting with the otherworldly, what most fascinates you regarding the paranormal and ghosts in particular?”

“I think the most fascinating, and also confusing, aspect of spirits is the fact that they are well aware of what they are. It's cliché to imagine them wandering the earth believing they are still alive – as if they ignored their death somehow. However, I find that rarely happens. Death is a major event, and the dead are even more aware of it than the living. Now that I am attuned to them, I see them frequently. Most of them pass on to wherever they are going. But some stay. It is rare, but they have their reasons. Those reasons are as individual as they are.”

“On a different subject, do you have any hobbies outside the Church?”

He smiles. “I love a good game of chess. I was once a tournament champ all across the Midwest. Care for a match, Richard?” He turns his head. “Or perhaps you, Jenkins?”

Jenkins blinks, and replies. “I shall have to decline, sir. I don’t play. But thank you.”

Richard smirks somewhat. “Yes, I believe Jenkins is a bridge man. I’d be happy to take you up on your offer of a game, after the interview. And speaking of such, what is your idea of perfect happiness?”

“I have seen and felt perfect happiness. It is in that Presence that I saw for the first time in Germany, and still see today. I dream of spending every moment in that eternal Light.”

“And admirable sentiment, Father.” Richard finishes his whiskey and sets down the glass. “What is your fondest memory?”

“Ah, this is where I can tell you about Her.

“After some time in Auschwitz, I began to remember my own mornings of hell, when I was beaten down by my tormentor. They paled in comparison to what the wailing spirits of Auschwitz had seen, but somehow my stay there made my monster rear its ugly head again, and so my nightmares returned. I found myself crouched in a ball, an eleven-year-old boy sniveling, waiting for a troubled priest to beat me up again. I would not uncurl for anything or anyone, because he was as real to me as you are Richard: standing above me, holding a stick. My instinct was  to protect myself.

“I felt a touch on my shoulder. Downy, like the touch of Schlomit. The wind blew my hair, and I smelled roses. The touches persisted, they would not leave me alone. I finally peeked out through my fingers, the way kids do sometimes. A woman looked back at me. I never saw her face clearly – its form kept shifting; but I saw she was a spirit. She was made of light, though, not the misty, grey, filmy stuff I saw in the other ones. She pointed with her hand, inviting me to stand and look at something. I was too frightened, so I hid my face again.

“She did not leave me. Instead, I was surrounded by the fragrance of roses, and little downy feathers seemed to fall all over my skin. I peeked through my fingers again. Her face was still there, out of focus, but . . . I could tell she was weeping. She surrounded me with herself, light and fragrance and feathers. Wind through my hair, and soft melodies in my ears. I struggled between self-defense and enchantment, determined to keep safe, but wishing I could look at her longer. Finally, I dropped my hands. Fingers made of light lifted my chin, feathers in the breeze caressed my face and urged it up, up, up. Without knowing what I was doing, I looked straight into the sky and gazed on that radiant light. She held me there while I took it all in. The love, Richard, it was indescribable. Nothing hurt me anymore, not even my most secret fears. I fell for Her that day, and She has been with me ever since, an adorable Presence by my side.

“You see, priesthood is a logical vocation for a man like me. There is not a woman alive who could take Her place.”

“Quite amazing. As to your vocation, what is the most rewarding aspect of being a priest?”

“It continues to reward me when I see the healing of a broken soul. One does not have to be a ghost to suffer, Richard. I lost my love of the Catholic Church because someone's bad actions defaced God. I strive every day to right that wrong, and represent God with kindness. Sometimes, one of the sufferers listens, “looks up,” and sees the love that waits for them. Those are good days, Richard. Very good days.”

“One last question. Have you ever met anyone else with your particular gift for seeing ghosts?”

“A relevant question! The answer will surprise you. I find that almost everyone has this “gift”. It's just a question of focus. Some minds are especially attuned to the unseen. I find that these are people whose minds are not burdened by expectations of “real” and “normal”. I notice that many children and animals see exactly what I see.

“Other minds are sensitive as well: people who are diagnosed “mentally ill” sometimes are seeing spirits that walk the earth. Where it gets dicey is when they can see actual spirits, but then hallucinate others. I find that I can sometimes guide these types, and help them to tell the real from the imagined, and do some good. Spirits usually want to be seen by someone, and they often gather around a living person who can discern them.”

Well thank you Father Mahoney, for agreeing to this interview. It was a distinct pleasure. Now for that game of chess…

What is it about fear and the unknown that pulls so passionately at the human heart? Perhaps we are drawn not to the darkness itself, but to the resolution, the overcoming of what we most deeply dread. After all, the more terrible the struggle, the greater the victory when it comes at last. Presented in this anthology are twelve remarkable stories of the darkness that overshadows us, and the resolution that may be found beyond them. They are stories of fear and oppression, but ultimately stories of hope, stories that will take you BEYOND THE WAIL.

Beyond the Wail is available at Amazon

Book Release Blog Tour

Featured Author: Danielle E. Shipley
	Saturday, October 10, 2015 Are you Afraid of the Dark? John's Writing
Featured Author: Alex McGilvery
	Sunday, October 11, 2015 Ash Krafton: Emotion Between the Lines Scott E. Tarbet, Author Writer's Law of Motion
Featured Author: T.N. PAYNE
	Monday, October 12, 2015 Author Sarah Hunter Hyatt Notes from Author Ginger C. Mann
Featured Author: Ginger C. Mann
	Tuesday, October 13, 2015 L.K. McIntosh J S Brown Fairies & Pirates
Featured Author: L.K. McIntosh
	Wednesday, October 14, 2015 Rampant Games Scotty Watty Doodle All The Day Terra Luft — View From the Crystal Ball
Featured Author: Jay Barnson
	Thursday, October 15, 2015 A Storyteller's Journey Creativity from Chaos Christine Haggerty
Featured Author: A. F. Stewart
	Friday, October 16, 2015 Tales by Julie Perpetual Chaos of a Wandering Mind Alas, Earwax
Featured Author: Amanda Banker
	Saturday, October 17, 2015 Sebastian Bendix Alex Campbell Semi Short chic
Featured Author: Julie Barnson
	Sunday, October 18, 2015 The Ink Caster The Road to Nowhere Invicticide
Featured Author: Sebastian Bendix
	Monday, October 19, 2015 The J. Aurel Guay Archive :DandiFluff... OriginiquEquanimity
Featured Author: Tirzah Duncan
	Tuesday, October 20, 2015 Alex McGilvery's World A.M.Harte In The Spotlight
Featured Author: F.M. Longo
	Wednesday, October 21, 2015 Ever On Word The Cult of Me Cobblestone Scribe

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Beyond the Wail: Fireside Chat with Elizabeth Young

Today I present a Fireside Chat. Our intrepid Richard Dale interviews Elizabeth Young, one of the characters of the story Date Due by Danielle E. Shipley. Date Due is included in the paranormal anthology, Beyond the Wail.  Be sure to scroll down past the interview for a giveaway, book trailer, and a listing for the book's wonderful blog tour.

Fireside Chat with Elizabeth Young

“Welcome everyone, to another Fireside Chat. I’m Richard Dale, your host. Today, our guest is writer, Elizabeth Young.” Richard nods to the woman sitting opposite to him. “Welcome Ms. Young. It is a great pleasure to have an author of your immense talent here today. I’m quite the fan. I’ve read most of your stories and essays, and look forward to reading your first book.” He smiles broadly, positively gushing. “Why don’t you begin by telling our audience a bit about yourself.”

“Well.” Elizabeth’s brows rise, gentle black arches in a round brown face. “Isn’t that interesting. Here I’ve thought myself to be relatively unknown, only for your interview invitation to arrive scarcely an hour ahead of an e-mail from a publisher expressing interest in my work. I can only suppose an imminent change in fortune. Ahead of that, there’s little enough to tell about me. Or perhaps it’s only that the price an author pays for the crafting of fiction is the famine of words left to speak of themselves. Still, I have managed to scrape together a professional bio.”

She leans back in her seat, her low voice gone huskier as she speaks as if weaving a tale. “ ‘Elizabeth Young has not always considered herself a writer. But from as early as she knew that words come together to make stories, she has loved them both. She finds herself drawn to fictional worlds where the ordinary and extraordinary live in subtle harmony – paranormal, contemporary fantasy, anything with an underlying magic that makes her blood sing. A current resident of the American Southwest, in the hours between grading the papers of her community college World Literature class, she fills her own pages with dreams.’ ”

“You are too modest. You have many fans, myself among them.” He smiles. “But I’m sure you want to get on with the interview, not hear me prattle.” His expression changes slightly, becoming more serious. “The life of a teacher must be fulfilling. As must be the life of a writer. Tell me, what would you most like your readers to gain from your work?”

“Oh, nothing so grand.” Her full, red lips pull into a slight smile. “I only wish to grant them the temporary divorce of body from soul. These forms are so limiting, are they not? Restricting us to little more than what we can see, taste, touch, and so forth. A good story will take you out of yourself. Allow your spirit into others’ minds and hearts. Your world expands, immeasurable. You live a thousand lives. That is no small magic, and I’ve found I have the knack.”

“A great knack, I assure you. Who are your personal inspirations and influences in the world of literature?”

“Most anything with atmosphere, something providing a sense of place so present, you can almost feel its nearness brushing up against your skin. I’ve found it often enough in prose, though poetry does a fine job of it, too; I love a thoughtful haiku – the whole of a hymn in the space of a breath. Hmm, naming names… Francis Hodgson Burnett’s secret garden. L.M. Montgomery’s tales of Prince Edward Island, and Tolkien’s of Middle Earth. The folklore of Russia, Ireland, China… And Poe,” she reflects. “I have long felt drawn to Poe.”

“Fascinating. I too, enjoy reading Poe. Such an interesting author, with a intriguing life. And speaking of intriguing, what is the oddest thing that has ever happened to you?”

Elizabeth pauses to consider, her eyes on the ceiling, nostrils softly flaring outward with every measured exhalation. A finger idly strokes a dark twist of hair fallen over her shoulder. “Aged five or so,” she recalls. “Visiting with my father’s parents – both of them writers, too, as it happens. I was going through the books on their shelves, looking for words I was just beginning to learn how to recognize. But they wouldn’t stay still on the page. The letters shimmered and danced, seeming to drift out of alignment, toward my hands. I was at once alarmed and bespelled.

“My father blamed ocular problems, my mother blamed dyslexia. They allowed my grandmother to school me through much of my adolescence; she had experienced the same phenomenon, growing up, and so knew how to help me through until the printed word stayed where I wished it to. I’m very grateful to her being there, to keep the experience from scaring me off of reading. I think of her every time I come up for air from a story that’s held me enchanted, or whenever I see a word seeming to shimmer out of the corner of my eye. I owe her the greatest part of me.”

He leans forward, an eyebrow raised. However, as Richard is about to reply, they are interrupted by the arrival of a gentleman carrying a tea tray. He leans back with a smile. “Oh, I believe it’s time for our tea break. Thank you Jenkins.” Richard nods as Jenkins sets the tray down and waits. “Care for a cup? It’s an excellent Earl Grey. We also have lemon cake.”

“Yes to the good Earl, if you please.” Elizabeth sits up at attention. “I can never refuse a cup a tea.”

Jenkins pours two cups, serves both tea and cake, and then retreats.  Richard Dale takes a sip from his cup, and asks, “As one who has brushed the paranormal, I must broach the subject with you. What are your views on things beyond our reality, such as magic, or ghosts?”

Elizabeth’s eyes regard him mildly over the rim of her cup, kissed with lipstick. “I’m none too certain they are so very far beyond. An author of fiction encounters many things, having opened their mind to possibilities so often dismissed as unreal. For better and worse, there’s a good deal more magic beneath the surface of things than the average person suspects, I think.”

He sighs. “I have to agree with you there. Strange things abound, closer than one cares to know.” He clears his throat, and changes the subject. “On a slightly less esoteric subject, what is your idea of perfect happiness?”

A faint crease appears between her brows. “It strikes me as unattainable. Everything comes at a cost of one kind or another, so you’ll always come up shy of perfection.” Her lips twitch into a smile. “That’s just something you resign yourself to after a fruitless quest to write ‘the perfect book’. Still, I believe perfect contentment is possible. It all comes down to whether you determine that what you’ve gained is worth the price you’ve paid.”

“And in that vein, do you have any hobbies to aid your contentment?”

“Outside of reading? I enjoy traveling, particularly to places a bit off the beaten track. Walks in the woods are ever inspiring to me. A ramble through the sequoia giants of Yosemite in early winter…” Her gaze drifts faraway, voice turned wistful. “The trees’ breath mists same as ours, in the cold. Tumbles from the trunks like smoke. They look like dragons.”

“What a charming image.” Richard sets his teacup down. “What is your most prized possession? Why do you value it so much?”

“My own person. It may not be much to look at, as bodies go, but it is essential. It… anchors me. Provides a point of contact here, in this world, so my spirit can wander through worlds of imagination without the worry of drifting out of reach. For all my fondness of travel, I do like returning home again.”

“Yes, no place like home as they say. One last question. What would you consider to be the best quality of human nature?”

“Its courage,” she says, without hesitation. “It takes such bravery to be human. So much to fear. So much to dare.”

“Well thank you Ms. Young, for agreeing to this interview. It has been a rare delight.”

“The pleasure’s been mine, Mr. Dale.” She extends a hand for a farewell shake. “Perhaps the next time we meet, I’ll have that first novel written.”

Richard shakes her hand warmly. “I look forward to reading it, Ms. Young, and another meeting.”

~*~

Beyond the Wail

What is it about fear and the unknown that pulls so passionately at the human heart? Perhaps we are drawn not to the darkness itself, but to the resolution, the overcoming of what we most deeply dread. After all, the more terrible the struggle, the greater the victory when it comes at last. Presented in this anthology are twelve remarkable stories of the darkness that overshadows us, and the resolution that may be found beyond them. They are stories of fear and oppression, but ultimately stories of hope, stories that will take you BEYOND THE WAIL.

Beyond the Wail is available at Amazon

If you'd like to check out the book further, hop aboard the Beyond the Wail Blog Tour!

Book Release Blog Tour

Featured Author: Danielle E. Shipley
	Saturday, October 10, 2015 Are you Afraid of the Dark? John's Writing
Featured Author: Alex McGilvery
	Sunday, October 11, 2015 Ash Krafton: Emotion Between the Lines Scott E. Tarbet, Author Writer's Law of Motion
Featured Author: T.N. PAYNE
	Monday, October 12, 2015 Author Sarah Hunter Hyatt Notes from Author Ginger C. Mann
Featured Author: Ginger C. Mann
	Tuesday, October 13, 2015 L.K. McIntosh J S Brown Fairies and Pirates
Featured Author: L.K. McIntosh
	Wednesday, October 14, 2015 Rampant Games Scotty Watty Doodle All The Day Terra Luft — View From the Crystal Ball
Featured Author: Jay Barnson
	Thursday, October 15, 2015 A Storyteller's Journey Creativity from Chaos Christine Haggerty
Featured Author: A. F. Stewart
	Friday, October 16, 2015 Tales by Julie Perpetual Chaos of a Wandering Mind Alas, Earwax
Featured Author: Amanda Banker
	Saturday, October 17, 2015 Sebastian Bendix Alex Campbell Semi Short chic
Featured Author: Julie Barnson
	Sunday, October 18, 2015 The Ink Caster The Road to Nowhere
Featured Author: Sebastian Bendix
	Monday, October 19, 2015 The J. Aurel Guay Archive :DandiFluff... OriginiquEquanimity
Featured Author: Tirzah Duncan
	Tuesday, October 20, 2015 Alex McGilvery's World A.M.Harte In The Spotlight
Featured Author: F.M. Longo
	Wednesday, October 21, 2015 Ever On Word The Cult of Me Cobblestone Scribe

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Book Trailer

 

October Frights Blog Hop Winners (And Some Poetry)

The wonderfully fun and creepy October Frights Blog Hop is done, and a grand time was had by all. I'd like to thank the magnificent Clarissa Johal for her stellar job as host, organizer, and writer wrangler.  I'd also like to thank my fellow authors and hoppers, for their tireless efforts, and their amazing blog posts. Their excerpts, tales and stories were entering and terrific.

And now on to the giveaway winners.

Originally I was only going to have one winner of the ebook prize pack, but I had such a good time I'm giving away two prize packs. The winners are:

Susan Voss

Fee Roberts

Congratulations!

And now I will end this October Frights with one last creepy goodbye...

Unhallowed Darkness

Sing the shadows

softly sleep

While the daughters

gently weep

Beyond the dark…

Beyond the night…

Stir the murky

mutely creep

With lost promises

calmly keep

Beyond the dark…

Beyond the night…

The wind, it whispers

wide and deep

The breath shall still

death will reap

Beyond the dark…

Beyond the night…

© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved 

If you didn't win my giveaway, don't despair.

The Beyond the Wail Giveaway from Xchyler Publishing is still ongoing.

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October Frights Meets Beyond the Wail

Welcome to the October Frights Blog Hop!

And the Beyond the Wail Blog Tour!

Today, is last day of October Frights, but also the first day of the Beyond the Wail Blog Tour!
So I have a jammed pack post of a spooky spotlight, a review, an interview with one of the authors, Danielle Shipley, two giveaways, and more! Hold on to your hat as I present, the new paranormal anthology from Xchyler Publishing...

Beyond the Wail: 12 Grave Tales of Love and Loss

What is it about fear and the unknown that pulls so passionately at the human heart? Perhaps we are drawn not to the darkness itself, but to the resolution, the overcoming of what we most deeply dread. After all, the more terrible the struggle, the greater the victory when it comes at last. Presented in this anthology are twelve remarkable stories of the darkness that overshadows us, and the resolution that may be found beyond them. They are stories of fear and oppression, but ultimately stories of hope, stories that will take you BEYOND THE WAIL.

Today is the official release of the book!

There are some wonderful stories in this anthology, from a troubled Grim Reaper, mischievous poltergeists, vengeful ghosts, demons, magic, and much more paranormal fun. Here's a quick look and review.

 Beyond the Wail

12 Grave Tales of Love and Loss

OF MICE AND MONSTERS by Tirzah Duncan: Troubled by ghosts within and without, Benjamin struggles to become the man his girlfriend needs instead of the monster he is.

GO GENTLE by Julie Barnson: After the death of her boyfriend, a young musician uses her talents and a fabled violin to stop the fatal accidents at a dead man’s curve.

DEAD WATER by Amanda Banker: A stalled truck, an abandoned graveyard, and a town not found on any map take two brothers on a detour they’ll never forget. 

COLD SPOT by Jay Barnson: When a laptop is stolen from their computer security company, two high school buddies go to extremes to investigate. But, will they manage to return?

THE WEEPING LADY by A. F. Stewart: Eva Douglas must face her mother issues, past and present, when the disappearance of her sister forces a confrontation with a terrifying ghost.

THE POLTERGEIST AND AUNT BETTY by Ginger C. Mann: Aunt Betty is eccentric, but how much is ghost, how much is medication, and how much is just plain crazy?

THE ‘GRIM’ REAPER by L. K. McIntosh: When a soul reaper loses the source of their power,

they must either find the witch who stole it or a new purpose for living.

SHRINE OF MIRRORS by F. M. Longo: A spy on a mission becomes a believer in the supernatural when the theft of three ancient relics threaten to bring down the empire.

DEAD MAN HOCKING by T.N. Payne: A world-weary zombie learns to beware what you wish for, and not all sure bets are worth the gamble.

ST. PETER’S FISH by Alex McGilvery: Sam is a walking disaster of biblical proportions, but how much is he willing to sacrifice to escape, and will the Powers That Be allow it?

THE DIORAMA by Sebastian Bendix: A play set turns life around for Martin Taper, but things take a turn for the worse when he neglects it and the lonely child obsessed with it.

DATE DUE by Danielle E. Shipley: A magic library’s guardian determines to protect her treasured books, whether their authors elect to do things the easy way … or the fatal one.

Review of Beyond the Wail:

Since I’m one of the authors, I’m not going to do an in depth review, but rather give you one or two thoughts on each story.

OF MICE AND MONSTERS by Tirzah Duncan: 

I loved this story. It is powerful, haunting, and so excellently written.

GO GENTLE by Julie Barnson: 

Soft and sadly sweet, like the music that swirls in the story. I enjoyed it.

DEAD WATER by Amanda Banker: 

A terrific story, it pulls you in and doesn’t let go. Nicely engaging and chilling.

COLD SPOT by Jay Barnson: 

A nicely written interdimensional adventure, with some technological twists.

THE WEEPING LADY by A. F. Stewart: 

What can I say about this one? I wrote it. I like it.

THE POLTERGEIST AND AUNT BETTY by Ginger C. Mann: 

A quirky little story, amusing, a little disjointed in spots perhaps, but a fun read.

THE ‘GRIM’ REAPER by L. K. McIntosh: 

An interesting twist on the grim reaper theme, and nicely written. I’m not sure how I feel about the ending, but a great story nonetheless.

SHRINE OF MIRRORS by F. M. Longo: 

I might be a bit biased with this one, as I’m partial to historical fiction, but the author does a skilful job with the myths, legends and history of feudal Japan.

DEAD MAN HOCKING by T.N. Payne: 

A good solid zombie tale, very entertaining, and some nice depth of character. I liked it very much.

ST. PETER’S FISH by Alex McGilvery: 

I found this one delightfully offbeat, a bit surreal and even philosophical.

THE DIORAMA by Sebastian Bendix: 

This is a quiet story, with a creepy edge that sort of sinks into you as a reader.

DATE DUE by Danielle E. Shipley: 

This author is fast becoming one of my favourites, and she certainly doesn’t disappoint with this story. She weaves her words in a wonderful spell that creates a mesmerizing fantasy story.

Beyond the Wail is available at

Amazon (Kindle)

Amazon (Paperback)

Goodreads

Xchyler Publishing

Book Trailer

And now for our feature interview

Presenting Danielle E. Shipley,
author of Date Due

1. How did you come up with the concept of your story?

I came across an image accompanied by the phrase, “I wish I had a secret library with all the books in the world in it.” My brain’s third reaction – after playing a few bars of the intro from “Into the Woods” and just generally drooling over the thought of ALL THE BOOKS – was to question: Suppose someone had a library full of all the books never written? How far would this bibliophile go to keep the books’ authors from writing them out of his/her possession? I wondered “aloud” on my Facebook page, and multiple responders commented, “You totally have to write this.” My muse seconded the motion, and the “Losers Weepers” theme of Xchyler Publishing’s then-upcoming anthology contest matched my premise perfectly, so I basically had no choice but to get the tale down on paper.

2. How did you come up with the title?

I wanted something equal parts library-related and ominous. “Date Due” – the little phrase seen on library book check-out cards/receipts everywhere – fit both criteria to a tee. Like a librarian’s dark day of reckoning.

3. Please provide some insight into or a secret or two about your story.

One of my inspirations was Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart”. Both Poe’s narrator and mine are anonymous – the text never once gives their names – and both insist throughout the story that they’re not insane, despite the fact that they are blatantly out of their minds. And, y’know, they’re both murderers.

4. What was the most surprising part of writing this story?

It was slightly slow going, for a short story of mine. I can normally knock out a story of this length in a day or two, but this one took me ten. My narrator would not be rushed. She wanted to give me her tale just so, and in her own sweet time.

5. What was the hardest part of writing your story, and how did you overcome it?

The hardest part was titling all of the books the narrator called out by name. Coming up with a title is hard enough for me when I’m familiar with the story in question. To name a book I’ve never read? Horror! Fortunately, once I’d gotten a first draft out of the way, with “[TITLE]” acting as a placeholder wherever necessary, a couple of my best pals were willing to toss out some random options, and I picked and tweaked my favorites from the list to insert into the blank spaces.

Danielle's just for fun nerd Q&A:

Star Wars or Star Trek?

Not into either one. Sci-fi doesn’t generally do it for me.

Hunger Games or Divergent?

I’ve yet to read any of the Divergent books, but the Hunger Games trilogy made an impression on me, for sure.

James Bond or Jack Ryan?

Which one’s closer to Galahad from “Kingsman”? Or Carmen Sandiego?

Sherlock: Robert Downey, Jr. or Benedict Cumberbatch?

Very much enjoyed what RDJ brought to the table, but I’ve got to give this one to Cumberbatch. All my love to BBC’s Sherlock!

Spock: Leonard Nimoy or Zachary Quinto?

Aaaand we’re back to the final frontier. I respectfully abstain.               

X-Men or Avengers?

Mad love for the X-Men, but come on. The Avengers have Captain America. Forgive me, mutants!

Aliens or Predators?

I’d prefer to be preyed upon by neither.

Minions or Penguins?

I’m not sure how far either one would assist my rise to evil overlordship, but I think I liked the trailer for the penguins’ movie better, so we’ll go with that.

Batman or Superman?

Batman. Because we are the night.

Harry Potter or Pirates of the Caribbean?

ARRRRGH! *hoists the colors* *releases the Kraken* *drinks up, me hearties, yo ho* …Which is to say, PotC all the way.

Beatles or Rolling Stones?

Not sure I could even name a single Rolling Stone song. Beatles by default, then?

Peter Jackson or James Cameron?

Raising my glass to he who took me to Middle Earth and back again. Thanks, Mr. Jackson!

Steven Spielberg or George Lucas?

*flips a coin* Spielberg.

Vampires or Werewolves?

I consider vampires to be the more intriguing “what if…?” of a monster.

LARP or MORPG?

I’m told that the socializing I do with my characters on a daily basis counts as a live-action roleplay, so we’ve got ourselves a no-brainer!

DANIELLE E. SHIPLEY

Danielle E. Shipley’s first novelettes told the everyday misadventures of wacky kids like herself. . . . Or so she thought. Unbeknownst to them all, half of her characters were actually closeted elves, dwarves, fairies, or some combination thereof. When it all came to light, Danielle did the sensible thing: packed up and moved to Fantasy Land, where daily rent is the low, low price of her heart, soul, blood, sweat, tears, firstborn child, sanity, and words; lots of them. She’s also been known to spend short bursts of time in the real-life Chicago area with the parents who home schooled her and the two little sisters who keep her humble.

You can find Danielle about and about the internet at these social media links:

Website  Blog  Twitter  Goodreads  Pinterest  Amazon

~*~

Ebook Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Today you get another contest! 

Here's the Xchyler Publishing Rafflecopter giveaway for Beyond the Wail.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

I’ll be picking the winners in my ebook giveaway tomorrow (and most likely will be posting the name here on my blog tomorrow as well). Xchyler Publishing will be picking its own winners, and they will be contacted after the end of their giveaway.

Book Release Blog Tour

Featured Author: Danielle E. Shipley
	Saturday, October 10, 2015  Are you Afraid of the Dark?  John's Writing  Spreading the Writer's Word
Featured Author: Alex McGilvery
	Sunday, October 11, 2015   Ash Krafton: Emotion Between the Lines   Scott E. Tarbet, Author   Writer's Law of Motion
Featured Author: T.N. PAYNE
	Monday, October 12, 2015  Melissa McShane,   Author Sarah's Secret Stash  Notes from Author Ginger C. Mann
Featured Author: Ginger C. Mann
	Tuesday, October 13, 2015   L.K. McIntosh   J S Brown   Fairies & Pirates
Featured Author: L.K. McIntosh
	Wednesday, October 14, 2015   Rampant Games   Scotty Watty Doodle All The Day   Terra Luft — View From the Crystal Ball
Featured Author: Jay Barnson
	Thursday, October 15, 2015   A Storyteller's Journey   Creativity from Chaos   Christine Haggerty
Featured Author: A. F. Stewart
	Friday, October 16, 2015   Tales by Julie   Perpetual Chaos of a Wandering Mind
Featured Author: Amanda Banker
	Saturday, October 17, 2015   Sebastian Bendix   Alex Campbell   Semi Short chic
Featured Author: Julie Barnson
	Sunday, October 18, 2015   The Ink Caster   The Road to Nowhere
Featured Author: Sebastian Bendix
	Monday, October 19, 2015   The J. Aurel Guay Archive   :DandiFluff...
Featured Author: Tirzah Duncan
	Tuesday, October 20, 2015   Alex McGilvery's World   A.M.Harte
Featured Author: F.M. Longo
	Wednesday, October 21, 2015   Ever On Word   The Cult of Me

And be sure to give our October Frights bloggers list one last whirl: