If you love The Mentalist - Check out - Bet you can't... FIND ME

Author of the DI Lorne Simpkins Thrillers - Mel Comley says: "One of the best paranormal mysteries I've read."

“Imagine a killer who can kill at will from a distance. No gun, no weapon. Nothing more than a thought."

Catherine Mans has the ability to see and hear what others can’t. With the help of Homicide Sergeant Cody Allen, she’s turned that talent into a successful profession as a psychic consultant.

But Catherine’s past is coming back to haunt her. Someone is threatening the lives of everyone she loves.

Nine bodies have been discovered, and Catherine is the FBI’s prime suspect.

To prove her innocence, she must unravel the secrets of her past, and answer the challenge of a deranged psychic.

Bet you can’t…FIND ME!

"If you love the psychic suspense of Kay Hooper and the witty characters of Tammy Hoag, you'll love Find Me!"

PROLOGUE

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for You are with me…

But He wasn’t with her.

She leaned against the cold steel door, her eyes closed in prayer. “Father, why have you forsaken me? What sins have I committed that you would punish me this way?”

When you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide my eyes from you; even if you offer many prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood.

“Fiank-o!” she screamed.

Her eyes flew open, and she spread her hands in front of her. Blood rimmed her manicured nails. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw the blood-soaked blouse plastered to her chest. So much blood for such a tiny body.

Ripping at her blouse, she mewed like a wounded animal. “Then take my eyes, so I no longer see the blood of my child on my hands. Take my ears, so I no longer hear the shrieks from below, the clanging of the chains.”

Silence met her cry. God was no longer listening. She sank to her knees and ripped at her hair, bordering on madness. How could they do this to her? Had she not served them well for more than ten years?

“You know what you must do, Aggie. I have seen the feux-folet. She is the child of Diablo, and she has cursed you.”

For a moment, rage blocked the pain squeezing her heart. “You!” Her eyes filled with hatred, fists clenched at her side. “You brought this upon us with your superstitions and your curses.”

“Mwen pòv zanj pèdi—you know I speak the truth. I was here when she was born without life, her body blue, her soul already beyond this world. Five years have come and gone. As she grows, so does the evil. They warned you this day would come.”

The old woman’s words washed over her like a river of ice, extinguishing the fire of her rage, leaving only a cold, still emptiness.

“I begged them, Mother. Begged for her life as her blood seeped through my fingers. I have served God, and I have served the spirits. But they have forsaken me.” She raised tortured eyes to beseech the old woman, her efforts met with stony silence and beady eyes filled with accusation. “I begged them!” Her voice tapered to a whimper. “She is only five. I have lost Catherine. Must I lose Mary also?”

The old woman knelt beside her. Taking her right hand, she pried open the fingers and closed them around the cold steel of the knife. “You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down. You disobeyed. You have been punished. Now pick up your cross, and carry it.”

The silence in the room was broken only by her whimpers; the old woman had left as quietly as she’d come. The knife lay heavy in her hand, just as the task before her lay heavy on her heart.

She rose and opened the door to the basement, ignoring the shrieks and clang of the chains. Her feet descended the steps slowly, the old woman’s words echoing inside her head: You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down.

Excerpt - The Gifts - never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee

“Fire’s out, Sheriff. We opened the windows, but the smell is still pretty bad.”

Sarah nodded, her eyes misting. “Thanks, Billy.” Swallowing hard, she tried to stop the gagging reflex that hit her the second she entered The Lodge. There was nothing in the world worse than the smell of burned flesh. Tommy and three of the volunteer fire fighters were still outside vomiting, and Joshua looked slightly green, although he was holding up better than most. Dammit! They weren’t prepared for this. She wasn’t prepared for this.

“Are you okay, Doc?” Sarah noted the grayness of the doctor’s face, the blueness around his mouth as he slipped on his mask and nodded.

Sarah allowed her gaze to drift around the room, looking for something, anything to look at besides the badly charred body of what she knew must be Marisa Hutchins. They had caught the fire in time to save most of the room, but the body was burned beyond recognition. She swallowed hard again, concentrating on breathing through her mouth. She had to focus on her job, not her feelings. Her gaze fell on the small pink card on the dresser. Picking it up, she shivered as emotions ran up her arm, making her skin crawl, chilling her to the bone. Evil had its own special feel, and this was evil. A gift from me. You’re next.

“Anything on McAllister’s whereabouts?”

Sarah felt Joshua’s keen gaze on her face. She would have to look at him eventually. Struggling to control the overwhelming fear that threatened to pull her into the darkness, Sarah placed the card inside a plastic package and handed it to Joshua. She wanted a hot shower.

“He told me he was going to Richmond, but I didn’t ask where. Said he’d be back tomorrow.”

“I’m finished.” Doc Hawthorne rose, his shoulders drooping more than usual. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He’d delivered these children, watched them grow up. He shouldn’t have to sign their death certificates. “Not much more I can do here. I’d say it’s Marisa Hutchins. You can wait for the autopsy to make it official.”

Sarah grimaced. She didn’t need an autopsy.

“The Edgewood forensic team is on their way. Said they’d be here within the hour,” Joshua stated.

“Thanks, Joshua.” Sarah had hated calling in outsiders, but they just didn’t have the equipment, or the expertise, to handle this type of situation. Nothing like this had ever happened in Glade Springs. Gavin McAllister had a lot to answer for.

“What do you make of the card?”

Joshua was turning the package over in his hands. Sarah glanced at it, a cold chill running down her spine. . . . never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.

“You’re next.” Joshua read the card out loud and glanced at Sarah. “Who do you think he means?”

“Not a clue,” Sarah lied. “We’ll run it through the system, see if anything like this has happened anywhere else.”

“Good idea.” Joshua hesitated, “Sarah, I think this card is for you.”

Sarah didn’t bother answering. She’d known the second she touched the card it was for her. You know, echoed in her mind.

“Joshua, stay here, lock it down and wait for Edgewood. Go ahead and do the photographs and sketches of the scene. I have to go tell the Hutchins.” Sarah knew her voice was quivering. She cursed silently at life’s cruel joke of giving her the ability to feel what others felt. She was having enough trouble controlling the pain and fear she’d picked up in this room. She didn’t know how she was going to handle the parents’ emotions.

“Sarah, why don’t you stay? I’ll go.”

Sarah met the concerned green eyes, not trying to disguise the pain in her own. “It comes with the territory, Joshua. It’s my job.”

“What do I do if McAllister shows up?”

Sarah considered her answer carefully. She knew Gavin McAllister hadn’t killed Marisa. The evil she’d felt in that room wasn’t attached to him. He could, of course, sue the city, but at the moment she didn’t give a damn. It wouldn’t hurt him to cool his heels for a couple of hours. And, dammit, he was partially responsible. If he hadn’t come here none of this would have happened. At least in jail he’d be safe and one less thing for her to worry about.

“Book him.”

Joshua nodded. Sarah was in charge. “The Hutchins are pretty religious people. Why don’t you call the new minister, have him meet you out there?”

“Bless you, Joshua. You always seem to know the right thing to do.”

“Comes with the territory, remember? It’s my job.”

Sarah exited The Lodge, her thoughts serious. Joshua would make a good sheriff. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about that when she left. She turned her thoughts to the new minister. She hadn’t had an opportunity to meet him or his wife. What was his name? Cooper. Picking up the cell phone, she automatically dialed the number and hoped it hadn’t been changed. How was she supposed to address him? Was it Reverend, Father, Pastor?

“Hello.”

“Mrs. Cooper?”

“Yes.”

“This is Sheriff Burns. I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to call on you and welcome you to Glade Springs, but I wonder if I could speak with your husband, please?”

“He’s asleep, Ms. Burns.”

Sarah frowned. No Sheriff Burns, and the Ms. Had been spoken with disapproval. It was apparent Mrs. Cooper didn’t believe in women sheriffs. She probably didn’t believe women should work at all.

“Could you wake him, please? It’s an emergency.”

“Oh, no, I could never do that. Never.” The voice had changed, a slight tremor just beneath the words.

Good Lord, she’s afraid of him, Sarah thought. What kind of minister instilled fear in his wife?

“Mrs. Cooper, I’m sorry, I’m a little upset, and I’m afraid I haven’t made myself clear. I know it’s late, but we’ve had a,” Sarah paused. “We’ve had a death in the community. The family is going to need him. Please put your husband on the phone.”

“I’ll have him call you in the morning.”

“Mrs. Cooper . . .”

The phone went dead. And people wondered why Sarah didn’t go to church. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in God; she just didn’t believe in organized religion. As usual, she was on her own.

A half hour later Sarah stood outside, breathing deeply in an attempt to control the tears streaming down her face as she waited for Doc Hawthorne. Thank God he’d been here. She should have known he would feel an obligation to do just that. He’d been there for thirteen years through every broken bone, every cough or late night fever. He wouldn’t desert them now.

Sarah watched his approach, realizing for the first time just how old he was getting. She’d ignored the Mayor’s ravings at the council meetings that they needed to start looking for a younger doctor, someone more up to date. How much longer could he last? And getting a doctor to come to a small town like Glade Springs wouldn’t be easy. Of course, there was always Edgewood. It was only a two-hour drive, but what about emergencies? The next time the mayor brought up the subject, Sarah would be more open-minded. Not a replacement, because no one could ever replace Doc Hawthorne. Maybe a partner.

“I gave Irene a sedative. She’ll sleep until morning.” His eyes never left Sarah’s face, the question left unspoken between them.

“Dammit, Jim, I can’t stop him if he wants to see her.”

Doc nodded. Edsel Hutchins wanted to see his daughter. “Call me when he comes in. I’ll be there.”

Sarah nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He would be there, sedative in hand. They both knew sedatives weren’t going to help Edsel Hutchins when he saw his daughter’s body. It was almost two a.m. and Sarah felt a desperate need to hold Nikki. To know she was safe. That, like sleep, was a luxury she didn’t have. It was going to be a long night.

#fridayflash Cookies For Davey

Cookies For Davey

Davey Crimmens wheeled his bike around the corner of Third Street, slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop less than two feet from the old woman. Jesus, where did she come from so fast?

"Davey, could you help me, please?"

Davey hesitated, weighing his options. He could keep on riding and ignore her, but he was already in trouble for sneaking off to the swimming hole yesterday. One more incident and mom would ground him for sure. And the old woman knew his name, which meant she most likely knew his mother. Parking his bike against the old wooden fence, her followed her through the gate.

"What do you need?"

She smiled at him, and motioned for him to follow her inside the house. "Could you move my rocking chair in front of the window for me please? Been trying to move it all day, but these old hands, you know." She held her hands out in front of her.

Davey shivered as he looked at the bent and gnarled fingers. Must be some kind of disease. The quicker he got out of here the better he'd feel.

Grabbing the rocker he hefted it toward the front window. "Here?"

She smiled at him again, running a hand over his dark curls. "That's perfect, sweetie. There's a plate of chocolate chip cookies for you in the kitchen. Why don't you take some to your friends?"

Davey made his way to the kitchen, stopping short when he saw the card placed next to the plate of fresh baked cookies. "Cookie's for Davey."

That was strange. How could the old woman know he'd be the one coming by today? His mother must of have told her. Good thing he stopped. Grabbing a handful of cookies he turned back to thank her, but she was gone.

Shrugging he shoved a cookie in his mouth, closed the front door behind him and grabbed his bike. He'd thank her tomorrow, or better yet tell his mother to thank her. That should score him some points.

Mike Thomas was waiting for him at the end of the street and Davey pulled up next to him, handing him a chocolate chip cookie. "Sorry, I’m late."

Biting into the cookie Mike grinned at him. "Was beginning to think your mom locked you up."

Davey shook his head. "Naw, she was mad, but not that mad."

"So what took you so long?" Mike licked the chocolate from his finger. "You got anymore cookies?"

Davey handed him another one. "I had to stop and help the old lady on the corner move a chair. Worth it though. These are the best cookies I've ever tasted."

Mike dropped the cookie he was holding. "You mean old lady Harrod?"

Davey hopped off his bike and picked up the cookie. "Five second rule."

"Don't eat that cookie!" Mike's voice trembled slightly, but still came out just short of a scream.

Davey stared at his best friend, his hand automatically stopping short of his already open mouth. Mike was pale, eyes huge, body shaking. "What's wrong with the cookies?"

Turning his bike around, Mike headed in the direction of his house. "I’m going home, Davey. Old lady Harrod's dead. She hung herself yesterday."

Davey stared at Mike's retreating back as he grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Dead? Sniffing the cookie he broke it open. It looked real. Could she have baked them before she died? But he'd seen her. Talked to her. Tossing the cookie in the ditch he wiped his hands on his jeans, a strange feeling washing over him. He suddenly felt hot and cold at the same time, and his hands were shaking.

Grabbing his bike he set off toward home, wobbling slightly. I'm not scared. Mike's acting like a baby. Probably lying anyway. Trying to scare me. Well, I'll show him. I'm ten years old, and I'm not scared of no ghost.

Davey managed to get past the corner without looking directly at the house, peddling fast he sped down Main and turned on Parrish, eager to get home. "Mom, you'll never guess what Mike told me."

"I'm in here, Davey." Claire Crimmens called out from the living room. Smiling at her son, she put aside the paper and gave him her full attention. "What did Mike tell you? I hope he's not trying to get you sneak off again."

Davey shook his head. "Naw, he said the old lady on the corner hung herself yesterday. But I know she didn't, 'cause I seen her when I rode by. Helped her move her rocking chair in front of the window."

Davey saw the color drain out of his mother's face, but she was still smiling. "Mom?"

Claire patted the seat next to her on the couch. "Come here, Davey."Waiting until he was seated next to her, Claire placed her arm around him. "Mrs. Harrod was old, sweetheart, and she had crippling arthritis." She gently stroked his hair, running her fingers through the curls. "She had a son, and he always visited in May. He was supposed to be here today, but there was a car crash and he was killed. I guess she just couldn't face the thought of going on without him."

Davey swallowed, blinking hard at the wetness behind his lashes. "But I saw her mom. Talked to her. She gave me cookies."

Claire pulled him close, continuing to stroke his hair. "I was supposed to go over today and move her rocking chair for her. She liked to sit in front of the window and watch for his car. Always had a huge plate of chocolate chips cookies on the table with a little card that said "Cookies for Davey." Claire raised his head, looking into his eyes, noting the unshed tears. "Her son's name was Davey too. Don't be scared, sweetheart. You did a good thing and I'm very proud of you."

Davey leaned in closer. "I ate the cookies, mom," he whispered.

Claire hugged him and stood up, pulling him up with her. "And I'll bet wherever she is right now she's smiling knowing that her "Cookies for Davey" didn't go to waste. Come on, you can help me cook supper."

Davey followed his mother to the kitchen, his step a little lighter, back a little straighter. He was ten years old and he'd seen a ghost. Heck, he'd not only seen a ghost he'd talked to one, and he'd eaten cookies. Just wait until he told the guys about that. Maybe Susie Whitlow would sit with him at lunch.

Ripple In Time - WIP Part 2

I haven't decided exactly what I'm going to do with this. Short story, novella or novel. Ideas are running rampant and I hope to really get started on it this week.
Hope you enjoy.

Part 2


Fumbling with the doorknob she finally got it open and sprinted across the room to Casey's bedroom, turning the handle and pushing. The door wouldn't budge. "Casey!" Valerie pounded on the door, continuing to push.

"What?" Casey pushed the chest away from the door and opened it a crack. "Jesus, Val, it's only four a.m. I knew you wanted to get an early start but this is…" Casey took a good look at Val's face, noting the paler than usual complexion, as well as the tears streaming down her face. Pushing the chest completely out of the way she opened the door. "What's wrong?"

Valerie struggled to bring her breathing back to normal. "I heard a scream. I thought. . ." She couldn't finish the sentence, instead she reached out and pulled

Casey into a tight embrace. "I thought he'd killed you."

Casey broke the embrace. "Who, that sweet little old man you rented this place from?"

Valerie had the decency to flush. "Okay, so he gave me the creeps too. But I did hear voices and then there was this horrible scream."

Sighing, Casey knew she wasn't going to get back to sleep so she headed for the kitchen and a fresh pot of coffee. "Maybe it was your lady in white?"

Valerie perked up at the idea, but immediately discarded it following Casey into the kitchen. "Ghosts don't usually talk in groups, and I've never heard one scream like that."

Casey filled the coffee pot and turned it on taking two cups down from the cabinet. "You're always telling me that it's an unknown phenomena. How do you know ghosts don't scream like that?"

Valerie pondered the question for a moment. She couldn't be sure, but it sounded human. Too human. "Well, I'm going to ask Mr. Jenson if there's anyone else around here, and if there is we're going to get at least part of our money back."

Casey chuckled, and shook her head. "We stole this place as it is, Val. Two hundred dollars for a full month? I expected it to be run down, poorly furnished and a real dump. Instead it's clean, and the furniture looks almost new. Where else could we find a deal like that?"

Casey's words sunk in and Val felt the hairs rise along the back of her neck. What had she been thinking when she'd read the brochure? "Yeah, where else could anyone get a deal like that?" She whispered.

# # #

Grabbing her easel, canvas and paints Valerie headed to the clearing at first light. Two pots of coffee and daylight had gone a long way in dispelling her earlier fears. It really was beautiful here, and she couldn't wait to start painting.

At least Mr. Jenson hadn't lied about the clearing. Setting up her easel and canvas Valerie walked around the clearing, getting a feel for the place. She had the feeling something had stood here in the past. Perhaps another cabin. The grass was lush and green as if tended by some unknown hand. The forest closed it off in a perfect circle.

Returning to the easel she prepared her pallet and picked up a brush. "Okay, guys. Show me what you want me to see."

Valerie knew she often tranced out when painting and hours passed like minutes. Still she was surprised when she looked around and noticed the deepening shadows and sun disappearing below the horizon. Where had the day gone? Standing back she looked at the canvas and frowned. She recognized the clearing, but there was definitely something new there. A huge stone occupied the center. More disturbing though was the water-like ripples flowing from left to right. The painting was ruined. Sighing she packed up and headed back to the cabin. Casey was just coming out the front door as she trudged up the porch.

"Hey, I was just coming to look for you. I had to cook supper again and it was your night."

Valerie shrugged, mumbling as she passed her. "Sorry, I lost track of time."
Casey followed her into the cabin. "You better put something on that sunburn. What happened anyway?"

Tossing the painting into her bedroom, Valerie put her easel and paints away before coming back to the living room and flopping on the couch. "Bad paint, I guess. A total day wasted."

"I doubt that. You only buy the best paint. Let me have a look." Casey picked up the discarded painting, frowning as she noted the ripple effect. "Is this the clearing you were in?"

Valerie nodded. "With the exception of the rock in the middle."

Casey looked closer. "That's not exactly a rock, you know."

Valerie joined her looking closer. "Looks like a rock to me."

Casey gave her a condescending look. "You really need to get out more. It's an altar."

"Altar? What kind of altar? And what's for dinner?" Valerie took the painting and propped it against the wall. Maybe it wasn't a wasted day after all.

"Looks like a sacrificial altar to me, and we're having franks and beans."

Valerie grimaced. "We had franks and beans last night."

Casey grinned. "Maybe tomorrow night you'll cook."

#samplesunday Ripple In Time - A WIP

"Okay, tell me again why Connecticut?" Casey Burgin asked, wiping the sweat out of her eyes as she geared down to take another rocky hill on the road from hell, which supposedly would lead to the cabin of their dreams.

Valerie Marsh grabbed for the door and dash as they hit another bump in the road, wondering not for the first time if Casey's beat up '97 CRV was going to make it to the cabin. "You said you wanted something off the beaten path." She grinned as the road finally evened out. "You have to admit this is definitely not a beaten path."

Casey slowed to a snail's pace as overgrown tree branches closed in around them. "I don't think anyone has been up this path in years, Val. Where the hell did you find this place?"

Valerie pouted and pulled out the brochure, tossing it across the seat. "Someone mailed it to me right after my last art show. Said it was just the kind of place for my paintings."

Casey cast a quick sideways look, eyebrows raised and jaw set as they hit another rut in the road. "Meaning?"

Valerie shrugged. "I guess because of the lady in white."

Casey cursed under her breath, rolling her eyes toward the heavens. "Another lady in white? I mean, what is that about 20 in the last two years? I think every state has one."

"Not like this one," Valerie smirked. "She's been documented on video and photographs."

"Oh, and that makes it real." Casey grimaced, avoiding another hole in the road. "Do you have any idea how much of that stuff turns out to be fake every year?"
Valerie sat back in her seat and stared at the passing countryside. "I'd know if she was fake. There's something here, Casey. Something really strange. I can feel it."

Casey turned a corner and the cabin came into view. "And just where is this lady in white supposed to materialize? You can't expect me to maneuver up and down this God-forsaken road in the dark."

Valerie shook her head. "A lot of people have seen her along Route 59 and inside the Union Cemetery. They say she actually darts in front of passing cars. One driver even thought he'd hit someone the night she darted in front of him, but they could never find a body even though there was a dent in the hood of the car. A lot of renowned ghost hunters have been here. One group even documented hearing a woman weeping one night in the cemetery."

Casey pulled up in front of the cabin and parked turning to give Valerie her best "you're kidding me look". "Really, Val? A woman weeping in a cemetery. That would sure convince me it was haunted," she replied sarcastically as she looked at her home away from home for the next month. She was already thinking the cabin was a perfect backdrop for "The Hills Have Eyes" when the front door opened and a perfect character for the next "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" movie walked out.

"Who the hell is that?" She whispered.

Valerie grabbed the brochure, stuffed it in her purse and opened the door of the CRV with a smile. "If you'd read the brochure you'd know. That's our landlord, Mr. Jenson."

Casey followed her from the vehicle at a much slower pace. She wasn't afraid of ghosts, or anything already dead. It was the living you had to worry about.
Landlord my ass. That man's the next serial killer in my newest novel, and you can bet a sweet penny I'll be pushing furniture against my bedroom door every night.

Shaking the proffered hand, Valerie continued to smile while fighting the urge to rush inside and wash her hand. There was no way she was going to let Casey know the sight of Mr. Jenson had totally freaked her out. The picture on the brochure had to be from another century when he still looked human. The bony fingers that had clasped hers were cold and stiff, belying the 90 degree temperature outside the cabin.

"Mr. Jenson, this is my friend Casey Burgin. You may have heard of her, she has several best sellers on the market."

Casey shot Valerie a withering glare as the cold bony fingers closed around her hand. "Nice to meet 'ya. Afraid I don't read much." Handing Valerie the key, he stepped down from the porch. "Live about a mile south of here. You girls need anything you just let me know."

Casey and Valerie stood on the porch watching as he shuffled slowly down the overgrown lane and disappeared into the trees. Casey wiped her hand on her jeans. "You can't tell me you didn't find him just a little creepy, Val."

Opening the screen Valerie stepped inside the cabin calling over her shoulder. "With the things you write and things I paint, most people find us a little creepy. He's probably just a nice old man."

Casey doubted that, but followed her inside pleasantly surprised that although the cabin was small, it was immaculate. She'd imagined a ratty old sofa with rusted springs, and spider web covered furniture. Peering into the bedrooms she called out. "I've got dibs on the blue room. The view is gorgeous."

Valerie joined her at the window. "See, told you you'd like it here. You can set up right here in front of the window and kill all the people you want."
Casey grinned at her, flopping on the bed. "Yeah, but what about you?"

Valerie continued to stare out the window. "Mr. Jenson says there's a clearing about a quarter of a mile from here that I might find interesting."

Casey sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. "I don't like the idea of you going out there alone. Especially to some place he recommends. He may be a sweet old man, but there's something in his eyes that sent chills down my spine."

Valerie nodded. She'd felt it too, but then she often had that chilled feeling. Especially when she was painting. "Let's get unpacked. I saw a grill out back, and you're cooking tonight."

Casey groaned leaving the comfort of the bed. She hated cooking. "I saw a nice bed and breakfast on the edge of town. If we stayed there we could order room service."
Valerie chuckled. "And miss all this ambience? You can't tell me you don't already have a murder rolling around underneath that curly mass."

# # #

Two hours later unpacked, fed and feeling the effects of the long drive they retired to the porch swing with a bottle of wine. Nightfall was descending fast and a multitude of sounds cascaded from the forest. Valerie could tell Casey was itching to get started on her new novel. She felt the same itch, wanting to grab her easel and paints. Standing up she stretched and turned toward the cabin. "I'm calling it a night. I want to make an early start in the morning."

Casey refilled her glass and sipped it, enjoying the cool breeze that had sprung up. "Go ahead. I'll lock up."

Valerie woke to the sound of muted voices, rising and falling in a song-like crescendo. Rolling over she punched the pillow, irritated at the thought of sharing their getaway with other campers. Mr. Jenson had promised they would be the only ones in a ten mile radius. Closing her eyes she allowed the warmth of the bed coupled with the cool air from the air conditioner to lull her back to the pre-sleep stage. A blood-curdling scream broke the silence of the night as a thin line of hairs stood up all over her body. Tossing back the covers she sprang from the bed. Casey.

The Ones Who Stayed Behind--A short story WIP

I started this last night, and it's actually a spin off from Tell Me Your Dreams, which I hope to enhance in the near future. I'd love your opinions on what you think of this. It's not my normal genre, although there will be a mystery aspect. It's also slipstream, which is something I've never tried before. All crits and comments are definitely welcome.

THE ONES WHO STAYED BEHIND

"Goodnight, Ms. Barnes."

"Goodnight, Jamie. Have a great weekend, and don't bother locking up I'm shutting down early tonight myself."

Closing the file on Sylvia Scott, Jenna Barnes breathed a sigh of relief and satisfaction. Contrary to what most people believed, nightmares weren't always just dreams. Some became real, terrifying and deadly. The human psyche had an amazing ability to create things. Things that could actually manifest. Things that could not only scare you, but trap you forever in the nightmare of your dreams.

Leaning back she closed her eyes, allowing the quiet to relax the stiff muscles around her neck and shoulders. She felt it then. The slight chill in the room. Another amazing aspect of the human psyche. The subtle ability to sense what we can't see. The physical reaction to an unknown mental stimulation. The room grew colder. She could feel the hair rising on the back of her neck. The slight increase in heartbeat accompanied by shorter breaths. A surge of adrenaline creating a strange sensation in her bowels that slowly spread upward, down her arms, causing a slight tremor in her hands as they gripped the arms of the chair. Someone was watching her.

Opening her eyes she watched as her breath formed a small stream of mist. He was standing in the doorway, watching her with huge pale eyes the color of a cold morning grey mist. He was young. Five, maybe six. Sandy blonde curls were tousled as if he'd just woken. His clothing was period, but it was his feet that bothered her most. Barefoot and covered in mud that left small impressions on her Rose colored carpet. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in. I'm Dr. Jenna Barnes. And you are?"

"Matthew. My friends call me Mattie." He took a step into the room. "Are you the dream lady?"

"Some people call me that. Are you having bad dreams, Mattie?"

He nodded, shuffling one foot in front of him. "She wants to stay with them, but I don't want to."

Moving slowly Jenna reached for a note pad and jotted down several notes. A million questions were racing through her mind, but she knew she had to go slow. He needed to be able to trust her, and she would have to earn that trust. "Would you like to talk about it?"

He nodded, taking one step closer to the sofa. "It's my birthday."

"Really? Well, happy birthday. And that makes you how old?"

Reaching the sofa he rubbed one hand up and down the arm. "Six."

"You can sit down if you'd like, Mattie."

He walked slowly around the sofa, letting one hand slide gently over the fabric. "You can't help me can you?"

Jenna felt her heartbeat quicken as she sensed his retreat. She was going to lose him unless she acted quickly. And she knew she had to be honest with him if she was going to gain his trust. "I think I can, Mattie. Maybe not exactly in the way you really want, but I can help."

"I have to go now." He let his hand slide slowly along the back of the sofa, head bowed as he moved slowly toward the door.

"Would you like to make an appointment to come back? I'd really like to talk to you about your dreams."

He nodded, stopping just inside the doorway. Grabbing her appointment book Jenna turned the page. "How about the same time tomorrow?"

He nodded again, shuffling his feet slowly toward the front door. He turned, hand on the doorknob, pale eyes misty. "You know they're not really dreams, don't you?"

Jenna swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that threatened to choke her. "Yes, Mattie, I know they're not really dreams."

# # #


Love the mystery and suspense of the The Killing? Check out The Jacody Ives Mysteries.

Can Children See Ghosts/Spirits?

I’ve often found this an interesting question, as my only true experience of actually seeing what I knew had to be a ghost occurred at the age of five. Many times I’ve observed children with “imaginary” play friends, and now that I think back on it wonder just how imaginary those friends really were.

Coby and I occasionally experience what appears to be some type of paranormal activity in our home. Not often, and usually not anything drastic, just little things that truthfully could be explained as normal most of the time. Once or twice in the last month I’ve actually felt like there was someone here. One of those weird feelings that someone is standing in the dining room, or in my office.

Occasionally my computers will come on by themselves, or go off. Going off isn’t a problem, as all computers shut down at times, but the turning on or switching windows isn’t all that normal.

Night before last we were sitting out front with the neighbors. The front door was open and the kitchen light was on giving an inner view of the living room and kitchen beyond. Our neighbors’ three year old little boy came up and sat in her lap. He kept staring at our door, and finally piped up: “There’s someone in your house and it’s a ghost.” I looked at his mother and she tried to shush him, telling him there wasn’t a ghost in our house. I’ve never heard our neighbor discuss ghosts or spirits, and little Ben has been to my house many times and never have I heard him mention ghosts. But he insisted that there was one in my house that night, and he’d seen “him”.

I don’t really know what type of TV Ben watches, but his mother is a kindergarten teacher, and both parents are rather strict on the boys leading me to believe it’s very doubtful that they’re watching the type of television shows that would lead to them believing in ghosts.

That night I kept hearing things in the back room, and after I went to bed I kept hearing noises like someone was walking up and down the hall. At one point I “felt” that someone was standing in the bedroom door, but I, of course, could see no one.

If children actually do see ghosts/spirits it would be interesting to study that field of the paranormal as to why. Is there something different about our eyes as children that allows us to see things we don’t see as adults? Do ghosts/spirits reveal themselves to children because they have no fear of rejection from children?

Most adults who have paranormal experiences immediately doubt what they’ve seen, and start making excuses for it. And if ghosts/spirits do reveal themselves to children, then that would mean they have control of who sees them and who doesn’t. Interesting theory, but only theory, as we have no scientific proof that ghosts/spirits even exist.

I have a site I’ve been monitoring now for several years. I think I’m going to make some video tapes of children at play, old birthday parties, etcetera and play it there next time I go. See if the laughter of children and their chatter has any effect on the paranormal activity in this area. It may not help, but as I’ve learned in the past—it can’t hurt.

So, what do you believe? Can children see ghosts/spirits?

Book Review - The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Originally released in 2006, now available on Amazon Kindle for $.99. A bargain for Mystery Lovers.





The Gifts:
A Jacody Ives Mystery
By Linda S. Prather
Echelon Press
ISBN 1-59080-462-7
279 Pages

Linda S. Prather gives us a wonderful first novel! I am constantly amazed at the quality of books being submitted for reviews by new authors. I wholeheartedly recommend The Gifts: A Jacody Ives Mystery to lovers of mystery and suspense.

Prather is interested in and has studied metaphysics, delved into touch healing, dream analysis, meditation, psychic phenomena and hypnosis with a degree in metaphysics. She is now a Certified Clinical Hypnotherapist. With this background, she provided two benefits in her book. One is that she talks about “gifts” as part of daily conversation. This makes her writing much more fluid and knowledgeable and thus more enjoyable to the reader. Second, she brings characters into play with little emphasis on these gifts. The story is suspenseful and action-packed, and some of her characters just happen to use their gifts to help solve crimes. Little emphasis or mystique is applied. I found this, perhaps, more intriguing than those authors who are bringing together these individuals into special “groups” who then can apply their special gifts to resolving crimes that nobody else can. It isn’t that I don’t like these others, because I do. I just found Prather’s approach a little more sophisticated and perceptive.

Jacody Ives is a master at uncovering secrets. So is the man who wrote under that name, Gavin McAllister. One of the secrets that had been uncovered was that Gavin had been a twin at birth, but they had been separated and adopted by two different families. The first twist is that Corrine, his sister, had met her adopted brother and had fallen in love with Gavin’s brother. As happens nowadays, Gavin’s sister was going to marry his brother. But, before that could happen, Corrine (Cory) was murdered. And, so, this time finding out the secrets of the murder was personal…and became even more so! Gavin discovered that he would have to use all of the skills and gifts that he had given to Jacody Ives in order to work through the madness he would encounter.

Gavin’s brother, Rob, was completely broken by Cory’s torture and murder but in the midst of this turmoil, Cory “appears” to Gavin and sends him, not only on the trail of her murderer, but to save the life of a young girl. Torn between the two, Rob’s partner and close friend to both of the boys, Carl Jackson, promises to be there for Rob. Gavin goes to where he had been sent by Cory’s ghost: Glade Springs, West Virginia.

“The Mother’s Day Killer” had entered many lives. He had once had a lover and in her law enforcement position, she had helped to put him in jail for a long time. But because of her involvement, she and her daughter were moved into the witness protection program. They now lived in Glade Springs, West Virginia.

Ghosts, dreams, and visions have become part of every day for a number of people. Why? Because murders are occurring. They repeat the horrendous actions of the Mother’s Day Killer…and now he’s letting them know that “every day” is Mother’s Day! What has happened? Has the killer been released from prison? Did they convict the wrong man? And why is everything happening in Glade Springs? Could a ghost really lead the way to solving these crimes? One thing is certain, she’s there to help protect the little girl, but even ghosts need help!

You got it! This mystery keeps the pages turning! In the back of your mind, you are trying to figure out whether it’s the pastor, the deputy—just who is the killer and how will he be stopped?

During all the danger, Gavin finds he is attracted to the Sheriff, Sarah, and also that her daughter has won his heart. He comes to believe that this little girl is the one Cory sent him to save. If he’s going to be able to do it, he’s going to have to become a real-life Jacody Ives!

Prather’s characters become real to you—even the ghost! Her story is well developed and sufficiently complex to keep you wondering all the way to the end. The ending has both happy and sad results, but what better way than to have characters who are true to life. I’m hoping that Prather brings Jacody back to us in the future. I’ll be looking for her next book, and her next book and the one after that…hey, buy The Gifts! You’ll love it!



G. A. Bixler
IP Book Reviewer