Showing posts with label Supernatural. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Supernatural. Show all posts

Thursday, 1 October 2020

October Frights is coming...


 Yes, my minions, the annual October Frights Blog Hop is back!

This year we have 15 authors participating to brings the scares with stories, posts and giveaways.

This is the lineup for 2020




My posts will be as follows:

Oct 10 - Hop intro and a flash fiction story
Oct 11 - Fairy Tales Punk’d story spotlight
Oct 12 - October Frights Drabble Time
Oct 13 - Souls Day Book Spotlight 
Oct 14 - Dark Poetry Corner
Oct 15 - The Camelot Immortals Series Spotlight



There will also be a month long group giveaway as part of the blog hop. 

The October Frights Giveaway
Starts Oct 1st - Ends October 31st


Check it out here:




Sunday, 24 May 2020

Book Spotlight: Dark Divinations

Today I have for you a real treat with a spotlight for the new supernatural anthology, Dark Divinations recently released by HorrorAddicts.net Press. Enjoy.





Dark Divinations (edited by Naching T. Kassa)






It’s the height of Queen Victoria’s rule. Fog swirls in the gas-lit streets, while in the parlor, hands are linked. Pale and expectant faces gaze upon a woman, her eyes closed and shoulders slumped. The medium speaks, her tone hollow and inhuman. The séance has begun.

Can the reading of tea leaves influence the future? Can dreams keep a soldier from death in the Crimea? Can a pocket watch foretell a deadly family curse? From entrail reading and fortune-telling machines to prophetic spiders and voodoo spells, sometimes the future is better left unknown.

Choose your fate.
Choose your Dark Divination.






**********

An excerpt from Dark Divinations

The Moat House Cob

Alan Fisher
Tower of London, 1887


I had earned the position of Her Majesty’s Keeper of Wise Animals after a priest witnessed my unfortunate encounter with a foul-mouthed and heretical black goose along the Thames. He reported me to the Lawless Assizes which gave me a simple choice: burn at the stake for witchcraft or turn my talents to the service of the Queen. I, not unwisely, chose the latter. My crimes against the proper way of things would be held in abeyance until I died a natural death or the Assizes decided to end me in flames. The goose—not given such a chance—was burned, squawking out dire curses on all and sundry.
The wise animals were kept in a smallish room at the top of a corner battlement at the Tower of London, except for the Prophetory Raven, who had the run of the entire Tower, like the rest of his wing-clipped fellows. It was escorted to the room each morning by the Yeoman Warder Ravenmaster, where it would spend the day uselessly pecking grubs off a map of the Empire so I could note which grub it went after first. For the past five years, it had favored the flavor of the grubs inhabiting the vastness of the open Pacific, where little of note had happened, or would happen.
Useless, the Prophetory Raven. Useless, the Revelation Mice of Cambridge. Useless, the mad parrot that had once been owned by John Dee and only squawked Enochian riddles, a language I had sadly not been taught at Balliol. Useless, Her Majesty’s Keeper of Wise Animals, but still I walked up the dank stairs every day. Every day I recorded anything the wise animals might reveal and every day I fed them and slopped their shite out into the courtyard and every evening I fled back to my room at the base of the tower.
All in all, still better than being burned alive.
The wise animals were so considered because they had foretold the future, at least once. In most cases, only once. But they were collected, some of them having lived long beyond their years. Dee’s Parrot was in its third century, if indeed it was the same bird that had warned Queen Elizabeth of the coming Armada. The Prophetory Raven was at least two decades beyond the ordinary life of its fellows and was famed in a very small circle for screaming ceaselessly on two seperate days that madmen tried to shoot our Queen Victoria. It was otherwise silent. The six Revelation Mice, who got into ink whilst scurrying about the University Library of Cambridge and left in their tiny footprints an obituary for Prince Albert two weeks before his death, had never written anything again. I should know. I had to apply ink to the feet of the little bastards every evening before setting them loose on a large sheet of white paper. Every morning, I threw out the ink-smeared paper that had no more wisdom on it than the droppings they left.
But then there was the spider. The Moat House Cob was big as my splayed out hand and dark as pitch, except for orange lines crossing its back. Or abdomen, as a spider-fancier once told me it was called. Seemed as if every day the lines were different. It had been found with a witch around 1750. According to the tale, it crawled from her clothes as the flames took her and nearly escaped. An alert executioner trapped it in a goblet. Left in a box for examination, it wove the name of its captor’s son into its web overnight. That day, the boy died of a spider’s bite. The story got to the Lawless Assizes quickly enough and the Moat House Cob was one of the first wise animals brought to the Tower, preceded only by Dee’s Parrot and a stoat that could predict storms at sea but passed away in 1709.
The Moat House Cob was not useless. It was placed in a wide flat glass box, with a map of the world pasted against the back of it. It was my charge—as much as humoring the parrot and inking the feet of the mice—to record where it wove a web. It always wove one, every night, somewhere on the map. I took note of the location in the Ledger of Wise Animals, a series of tomes which went back to Dee’s Parrot first asking for a biscuit in Enochian. The majority of the time, the web’s location meant nothing. After making my notes, I would open the top of the cage—after I made sure the Cob was near the bottom and far from me, which it always was—and wipe away the web.


To read more of this story, and the other great tales, go to Amazon.com or order the special edition, signed copy with hand-painted tarot cards at HorrorAddicts.net



Thursday, 10 October 2019

October Frights 2019 Begins!

Welcome to the October Frights Blog Hop!




It's that time of year again when the blog gets all creepy and spooky and the creatures of the night come out to play. It's time for October Frights. This year during the hop week I'll have some stories for you, some new book covers, some poetry and lots of ghosts and ghouls. So pull up and chair and get comfortable, but be sure to leave the lights on...

We kick things off with a blast from the past and a little story I wrote a while back. Settle in for a strange spooky tale ...



Leaking Out


Drip, drip, drip.
The sound dances with the sunbeams streaming through the bedroom window. It’s a rhythm, a mind-numbing vibration of liquid striking metal. Such a strange sound to hear in the morning, the drip, drip, drip of the tap.
Or is it the tap?
Maybe it isn’t a leak. Maybe it’s something else. Blood flowing through the veins of the house. Drip, drip, dripping someone’s life away. All oozing out over the sink. Or the floor.
I wonder why I thought that?

I smell coffee.
I’m in the kitchen.
How did I get here? I’m not sure. My memory plays tricks these days. Or maybe time is playing tricks. Either way, I’ve gotten used to it. Mostly. But the dripping noise is gone. Maybe it never was. Maybe it was in my head. Probably was. Too many things are in my head.
But I still smell coffee. And toast. He made breakfast. He always made breakfast when we were first married. Or maybe I did. No, that’s not true. He did. He was sweet in the beginning.
I don’t think he’s here anymore. I think he left. But I don’t know why. Why would he leave? None of this feels right. All I know is the house is empty. Shut up tight. It’s so quiet.
And there’s no breakfast on the table. Just dust.

We were happy.
I thought we were happy.
I must’ve been wrong.
Something must’ve been wrong.
Our happiness had cracks.
He didn’t love me.
Or he wouldn’t have… no, I won’t… he didn’t… couldn’t have… he left me?
No.
I left?

Drip, drip, drip.
I can hear it again. The wet noise.
It isn’t coming from the kitchen. It sounds like it’s coming from the bathroom.
But it may not be coming from anywhere, except my head. It’s hard sometimes to know.
I’m standing outside the bathroom door now. But I was just in the kitchen. Wasn’t I? I think I was. Maybe not.
I don’t want to be here. Why? Why do I want to run? Something happened in there? I think it did. My hand is shaking.
I’m afraid.
But I can still hear the dripping.
I open the door.
The room is empty. A cheerless room.
I look down.
The stain’s still there. It’s been scrubbed and scrubbed, but it wouldn’t come out of the tile. Where the blood dripped into the widening pool of red. Bright, bright red. The stain’s pinker now.
It’s even kind of pretty. If I forget what made it.
Blood. Too much blood.
Painted on my memory. Scarlet and screaming, and all jumbled with questions. Why's and how’s. I don’t have answers. I’m not sure I want answers. I might not like them. I’d rather forget. I like it best when I don’t remember it at all. Those are the best days.
But that’s not today. Today’s not a day when I don’t remember.
Today I know what happened.
Someone died.
No, someone was murdered.
I remember.
My husband murdered me.



So that ends today's post. Be sure to hop on over and check out the offerings of the other participants as well. Here's the list.

Tuesday, 29 January 2019

Interview With Author Joab Stieglitz

Today I have another author interview, this time with supernatural thriller author Joab Stieglitz, who chats about his books and writing. Enjoy. 


Interview With Author Joab Stieglitz




Why don’t you begin by sharing a little about yourself.

I live in Alexandria, Virginia with my wife and our two dogs. I work for a large software publisher as an Application Consultant to pay the bills, and I am an avid role-playing game enthusiast.


How long have you been writing, and how many books have you published to date?

I had been writing another book, a Tolkienesque fantasy journey tale, for about 25 years. But I wrote in fits and spurts “when the muse hit me.” As a result, the initial chunk was written at one time. The next bits were written over the course of several years. I had another period of productivity. And then several more years passed before I wrote again. Along the way, the characters, tone, plot, and even the genre changed several times.
When I turned 50, I was at 300+ pages of junk. I put that aside, and started fresh with my historical, supernatural thrillers. I wrote one chapter a week for three months and had a finished story. I also had the outlines for two more books laid out. The first book was published in July 2016, the second in January 2017, and the third in July 2017. And all three were recorded as audiobooks as well.


Why did you write this book? What was your inspiration?

The idea arose from a Call of Cthulhu RPG campaign that I ran for several years in the 1990s. The characters were initially those of my friends in that game. In the books, however, only the names and occupations of the protagonists resemble the game sessions. The stories are completely different.


What did you enjoy most about writing your book?

The most rewarding part of writing my books was seeing my thoughts come together on the screen. Prior to that, they were just a stream of ideas, but once they were set down, in a specific order, and tied together with a consistent narrative, it became real!


Do you have a favourite author, or writing inspiration?

I am a fan of the Titus Crow stories by Brian Lumley, Philip Kerr’s Bernie Gunther series, Robert J. Sawyer’s Quintaglio books (Far Seer, Foreigner and Fossil Hunter), and The Laundry Files books by Charles Stross.


How do you research your books?

I use the Internet to find historical details to throw in. Vintage maps, photographs, newspaper articles, biographies, etc. all help to add color to the story. I have subscribed to various museum and newspaper archives in order to get access to more obscure regional and local information.


What advice would you give beginning writers?

Outline your story. I use Scrivener to keep my notes, research, and manuscript organized. Know where you want the story to go. That’s not to say that things won’t change along the way as you develop the manuscript, but know what the major scenes of the story will be before you start.


What do you like to do when you're not writing? Any hobbies?

I am an avid role playing game player and game master. I run or play in several games on a weekly or bi-weekly basis.  Playing and preparing games gives me ideas that I sometimes incorporate into my writing.


What’s your next project? Any upcoming book secrets you care to reveal?

I have several projects in progress. I am working on a second trilogy featuring characters from the Utgarda Trilogy. I also have another project revolving paranormal activities during World War II. And I am preparing for my first non-fiction venture, a guidebook to being a Role Playing Game Master.


The Old Man's Request: Book One of the Utgarda Trilogy is available on Amazon




The Old Man's Request: Book One of the Utgarda Trilogy

Fifty years ago, a group of college friends dabbled in the occult and released a malign presence on the world. Now, on his deathbed, the last of the students enlists the aid of three newcomers to banish the thing they summoned.
Hampered by the old man's greedy son, the wizened director of the university library, and a private investigator with a troubled past, can Russian anthropologist Anna Rykov, Doctor Harry Lamb, and Father Sean O'Malley gather the knowledge and resources needed to defeat the entity?

The Old Man's Request is a pulp adventure set in the 1920s, and the first part of the Utgarda Trilogy.


"Whether you are a fan of old school horror like H.P. Lovecraft or modern fast-paced mysteries and thrillers, The Old Man's Request is for you." - James Vitarius, Author of The Bone Room

" Fans of novels that gallop through a maze of surprises and intriguing turns will be thoroughly satisfied." - Chris Ryan, Author of City of Woe

"Joab Stieglitz offers up a really well crafted thriller filled with enough suspense and action to adroitly move his plot along." - Ron Fortier, Pulp Fiction Reviews



About the Author


Joab Stieglitz was born and raised in the Warren, New Jersey. He is an Application Consultant for a software company.  He has also worked as a software trainer, a network engineer, a project manager, and a technical writer over his 30 year career. He lives in Alexandria, Virginia.
Joab is an avid tabletop RPG player and game master of horror, espionage, fantasy, and science fiction genres, including Savage Worlds (Mars, Deadlands, Agents of Oblivion, Apocalypse Prevention Inc, Herald: Tesla and Lovecraft, Thrilling Tales, and others), Call of Cthulhu, Lamentations of the Flame Princess, and Pathfinder.
Joab channeled his role-playing experiences in the Utgarda Series, which are pulp adventure novels with Lovecraftian influences set in the 1920’s.



Wednesday, 24 October 2018

Halloween Week: The Weeping Lady



Welcome to Halloween Week! This year I'm doing a monster theme, and to kick things off, I'm showcasing a new freebie I have, my short story The Weeping Lady. This is a ghost tale loosely based of the White Lady and La Llorona folklore. It was previously published by Xchyler Publishing as part of the Beyond the Wail: 12 Grave Stories of Love and Loss anthology. So prepare to be haunted...



The Weeping Lady by A. F. Stewart




Eva has mother issues.

And now she has a missing sister.
Rushing home to help with the search, she tumbles into family secrets, local legends, and worst of all, a ghost that haunts the nearby river. What connection does she have to the lingering spirit? Is the ghost really responsible for her sister disappearance? What horrible mystery surrounds the truth about her birth mother?  Can Eva confront her tragic past and save her sister? Or will the ghost finally claim its own?


Download from Prolific Works









Here's a little snippet:



Eva Douglas was headed home.

And she wasn’t happy about it.

As she neared the town limits, Eva manoeuvred her car off the road and parked in the shadow of the forest. Over the purr of the still-running engine, she debated with herself, hesitated, and stared at the outlying reaches of her childhood. Through the early morning sun glinting past the windshield, she could see the edges of Ashford, her quaint, picturesque hometown, that perfect hamlet she thought she left behind. Instinct urged her to flee, to turn around and drive back to university, back to her newfound sanctuary.

If only her sister hadn’t gone missing.









Saturday, 13 October 2018

#October Frights Day Four: Spooky Story Time



Today it is time for some spooky stories, for those tales to read with the lights on, all about things that go bump in the night...


Spooky Storytime





Midnight in Purgatory


At the crossroads, beneath the half-moon and the undertone stench of brimstone, the shadows gathered. The breath of a witch's hiss and the cold touch of death spelled the air, while the mocking laughter of the damned echoed in the trees.
A sniffle, a groan, and the shuffle of footsteps down the road swirled past the night as a hunched figure walked along the dirt, circling the crossroads. A long black coat flapped against spindly legs, the collar turned to ward off the chill, and a floppy hat pulled low engulfed his features in silhouette. The sound of his scuffing feet against the dirt made a strange rhythm, a scraping beat pulsing into the black abyss. Round and round he walked, only looking up and slowing to a halt when another figure, a man, strolled down the road.
The new man stopped in the middle of the crossroads, the grin of the devil on his face, smack in the center of the circle traced by the feet of the figure in the long coat. The fresh arrival reached in a pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes and matches. He lit a smoke, shadows and nicotine vapour passing over his face. He licked his lips and spoke.
“My name’s Nick. Time to deal.”
“Such a rush.” The voice of the black-clad figure smacked the night with a hollow tone vibrating halfway between a rasp and a croak and holding a weariness of a dead man’s bones. “Savour the moment. Ain’t nothing like it going to come your way again soon.” A cracking noise that might have been a chuckle sounded, and then, “Besides, it’s been a long time since I seen you. I want a good long look this time.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed and he sneered. The cigarette dropped and he squashed it under his shoe. “I know you, old man? We do a deal before? Because you can’t sell your soul twice, not even to the devil.” Nick laughed.
“Oh, we’ve met. A while back, but I didn’t sell my soul to you.” The figure in black lifted his head, a pale, gaunt face staring at Nick. For a moment it almost seemed his eyes glinted red under his hat. “That would be quite impossible, Nick, seeing you’re a fraud. You ain’t the devil.” A wicked grin lit the man’s face, and, for an instant, his appearance seemed… angelic. 
“I know you, Nick, back when your name was David and you ran two-bit hustles out of a revival tent. Back when you whispered your sins to the moon, and you came to another crossroads begging for a life that was wasting away from too much whiskey and cigarettes.” The man in black looked down at the dirt. “I see you never gave up that habit. Even after the cancer went away.”
“How did you…” Nick took a step back, the sneer and bravado gone and fear creeping across his face. “You've got no proof I did anything criminal.”
That cracking chuckle sounded again. “Of course, you done things criminal. Lined your pockets with other people’s money, lied, cheated, and things far worse to damn your soul. You and I know that. For the longest time, you were my favourite.”
A wisp of air, foul and hot, escaped his lips on the edge of a sigh. “But I can’t forgive this. You give the Devil his due, you don’t steal his thunder.” A smile flickered on his lips as the sky streaked wide with a booming noise and a flash of lightning.
Nick jumped and stumbled back against the edge of the circle etched in the road. A hot burst of fire and burning pain seared through cloth and flesh and Nick screamed. He jerked and fell forward on his face, before rolling onto his back with a whimper. “Who are you?”
The figure in black doffed his hat and gave a little smile. “Now, I’m hurt you don’t remember. Fifteen years ago you sold me your soul for good health and a charmed new life. Name’s Lucifer. And it’s time for me to collect what you owe.”
The crossroads circle erupted in a wall of hellfire, damnation and fresh new screams, followed by a trail of laughter. When the smoke and stink cleared, only charred ash and burns littered the road and the small echo of a man’s lost soul.


~*~



Waiting


The wind coughed dust along a dry parched riverbed, long devoid of water. The swirling gusts scraped and buried my bones, my decayed body losing its battle with the elements and time. The breeze and scattering dirt made the only noise in this curse-drenched corner of the world. All other life had long since fled or lay buried with me. I watched the last gleam of bleached white remains disappear under the unrelenting sand, still tied to the corpse of what I used to be. For now at least. That would change soon.
The earth had finally swallowed my bones and they would be coming.
I heard them out there in the distance. Had for some time. Drifting on the edges of the wind. The dark winged beasts, the curse-bringers, the carrion eaters of the soul. They were the ones that led me here to die. Soon, they would show themselves and my curse will reach its end.
The last of me would disappear into the darkness.






And we also have a giveaway!




For more October Frights Blog Hop

Thursday, 11 October 2018

Day Two #OctoberFrights: The 13: Tales of Macabre


Ready for some more dark delights? Today I have a book spotlight on the upcoming release of tales most creepy. Come feast your bloodshot eyes on The 13: Tales of Macabre by Stephanie Ayers. This book is a spooky collection of horror stories and the second book in The 13 series, the first being The 13: Tales of Illusory. We are also a stop on Stephanie's blog tour, so be sure to check that out too!






The 13: Tales of Macabre




Can you survive all 12?

Killer watermelons, murderous jewelry boxes, centenarian sea whisperers, creatures of myth/legend, and more...

This supernatural story collection will make you reconsider everything you thought you knew. At night you'll hover under your covers while looking over your shoulder in the day. Down, down in the depths they fell; bodies in the dark of a liquid hell. Can you survive all 12?

This is the second collection in The 13 series.








Available Here For Preorder
Releases October 26, 2018









About the Author




A published author with a knack for twisted tales, Stephanie Ayers is a coffee guzzling, word whispering, world building creative ninja and unicorn living in Ohio disguised as a human. She mothers her children, loves her husband, attends church, and avoids all things housework and zombies. When she isn't doing any of these things, she can be found stretching her creative wings designing book covers, promotional graphics, logos and more.




A Few of Her Favorite Things (Fast Five)

Favorite Books: The Stand, Divergent, Through the Looking Glass, The Forgotten Garden, and Inkheart.
Favorite Songs: Anyway by Martina McBride, Chasing Cars by Soul Patrol, Dream On by Aerosmith, Cotton Eyed Joe by Rednex, Cake by the Ocean by DNCE
Favorite Movies: Hope Floats, Divine Secrets of the Yaya Sisterhood, The Messengers, The Wizard of Oz, Mary Poppins
Favorite Foods: pizza, pasta, ice cream, chips, second breakfasts
Favorite TV Shows: Chicago Fire, Chicago PD, Law & Order SVU, The Voice, This Is Us









And now for the October Frights giveaway!




For more October Frights Blog Hop

Wednesday, 10 October 2018

Welcome to the #OctoberFrights Blog Hop 2018!

Welcome all you lovers of the macabre, the supernatural, of horror. It is the time of the dark night when the moon is full and the ghosts roam the graveyard. It is time for...

October Frights!




For the week of October 10-15, I'll have horrific treats for you with book spotlights, stories and my annual Dark Poetry segment. So come sit a spell while I weave an enchantment of cobwebs and inky shadow and pay no attention to those bones in the corner...




First up, I have a book spotlight for my own book, the latest addition to my Saga of the Outer Islands seires, Souls of the Dark Sea.

Souls of the Dark Sea 



From the depths, darkness is rising…

Something ancient and powerful stirs beneath the sea of the Outer Islands. A creature strong enough to challenge Captain Rafe Morrow, God of Souls, for control of the dead and the survival of the living.
Still reeling from the aftermath of his battle with the Goddess of the Moon, Rafe and the crew of the Celestial Jewel find a mysterious shipwreck and strange tales of bones. Tasked by a new ally to find answers, Rafe stumbles on long-buried secrets shrouded in the shadows of the Nightmare Crow.
Now armies of the dead ascend from the ocean. And their master is not far behind.

Set sail on a new adventure with ghosts, gods and sea monsters!


And it's 99 cents until Halloween!




An Excerpt



The hours ticked by and an unsettled day flowed into night, with the crew of the Jewel and the people of the town settling into slumber. Over Abersythe, the starlit clouds swirled, and the wind blew past the harbourmaster, past the Celestial Jewel wafting far out to sea. The dark waves gently rolled with the shadows bereft of moon while, below the surface, the sea creatures slept to the soft strains of a mother’s lullaby.

All seemed serene, yet something in the shadows stirred. Someone emerged from an in-between place, from the blackness of a veiled sanctuary. She swept from the folds of the gloom to a corner of a reef, against the silhouette of the Coral Rose shipwreck.

The ruined boat dwarfed her presence, its shade making her uneasy. Its empty shell somehow felt haunted even though it remained bereft of souls. She wondered at the queasy chill in her blood, in her night’s shadows even as she repressed the guilt tickling at the back of her mind.

I did this. Her conscience whispered, a persistent itch she tried to deny. But how could I know? And everything has a price. And what do mortal lives matter to me?

She turned her gaze away from the ship, staring at the sea. She gathered the night around her like a cloak, reflexively trying to hide. Above her head, she heard the beat of wings and the caw of a crow. The bird swooped down out of the sky and landed at her feet.

She stepped back, startled, and snapped at the creature. “Why did you want to meet here? Of all places?”

The Nightmare Crow cackled. “Why, Bevire, so testy you are. Are we having regrets so soon?”





The Souls of the Dark Sea Blog Tour Giveaway




And we also have an October Frights giveaway!




For more October Frights Blog Hop


Subscribe Now:

Search This Blog

Powered By Blogger

Monthly Pageviews