Wednesday, June 11, 2025

Finding Time To Write: Guest Blog with Hunter Shea


In the early days of my writing journey, my biggest dilemma wasn’t writer’s block, searching for the perfect story idea or how to get published. It was how to find the time to actually sit down and write. In the 90s, I started dabbling in writing short stories when my wife was severely ill and in and out of the hospital for a couple of years. Writing became a means of escape, but it soon turned into a passion. I moved up to writing a novella, then a novel (a romantic comedy of all things), all while mostly being home alone with nothing else to do but worry. 

Thankfully, my wife got better and before we knew it, we had two babies enter our lives when every doctor but one told us it could never, would never happen. In the early years of having two beautiful babies that needed our full-time attention, not much writing got done. I wanted to write a horror novel, the horror genre being my true love, but I knew there was no way I could dedicate the necessary time. So, I cranked out short stories when I could. What I didn’t do was stop writing altogether because I knew I had a lot to learn, and I just enjoyed that time with my keyboard, even when there were crying babies in the next room. 

When my girls entered the toddler stage, I thought it was time to get to work on that novel. I read every Leisure Horror book that came out, and desperately wanted to be published by them (and work with dream editor Don D’Auria). I had what I felt was a great story. I just needed to dedicate my time. The issue was, with a handicapped wife, two children and a full-time job, how the heck was I going to find the time?

And here’s where the most important part comes in. What every writer in a similar situation needs is a partner who fully supports them. And man, did I hit the lottery. I knew I was going to have to give up slacker time, which usually consisted of vegging out in front of the TV when I was plain exhausted. My wife made sure to keep the kids occupied every night for at least an hour or two while I closed the bedroom door and wrote. I usually started around seven or eight pm, clamping on headphones and listening to movie soundtracks to drown out any noise at home. The only caveat was that the music couldn’t have any lyrics, so the words didn’t mess with my flow. 

I wrote every single night, and then would try to get in more writing on the weekends before the kids were up and running around. Now, even with that time, it still took almost two years to get that first book all the way to the end. There were necessary interruptions, and sometimes I was just plain exhausted, where even getting a paragraph down was a victory. That book became Forest of Shadows, and it was miraculously signed by Leisure books. Alas, they imploded before the ink was dry, and I was devastated. For the first time in a decade, I stopped writing altogether for about a year. I was so downright depressed that I had come so close and watched my dreams fall apart. 

But it was my wife who encouraged me to get back in the chair because she saw how much joy the process of writing gave me. To give this kind of support to a person who had very few writing credits under their belt is beyond incredible. I mean, here I was, locked in a room, missing time with my family, missing family events, missing trips to the movies or ballgame, for what? A dream? A wish? Sure, I could self-publish, but I wanted to do it the old-fashioned way and succeed or fail on my own merits. 

Well, Don D’Auria eventually came calling to me this time around when he found a new publisher, and I was off to the races. With an actual published book on my resume, I was fully dedicated to writing as much as I could. The girls were older now and had lived with a father who stayed in his room for some time each night. They understood the routine, and I have to say, very rarely came knocking when they heard key tapping on the other side of the door. By keeping to a schedule, my body and brain became accustomed to lock into create mode each and every day. I switched my hours at my job so I was home earlier and could knock out my writing and still play with the kids and put them to bed at night. With this routine in place, I was comfortably able to write a novel and two novellas each year. 

The key to it all is support, consistency, and as my friend likes to say, compulsion. I can never thank my wife enough for giving me that daily space to do what I love. And now that my girls are in their twenties, I think I’m prepared for the day when grandchildren are running around the house and I’m slipping off for a bit to write while I hear my wife say, “Grandpa’s writing, but he’ll be out soon and you can play.”


We Are Always Watching
Hunter Shea

Genre: Horror
Publisher: Dark Wolf Books
Date of Publication: 5/27/2025
ISBN: 979-8895679234
ASIN: B0F3QTH2WK
Number of pages: 353
Word Count: 94K

Tagline: They See Everything. They Know Everything. And They Never Stop Watching…

Book Description:

When West Ridley’s family is forced to abandon New York for a crumbling Pennsylvania farmhouse, he expects misery—but nothing could prepare him for the horrors lurking within its walls. His father’s worsening illness, his mother’s exhaustion, and his grandfather’s drunken ramblings paint a bleak picture of their new reality. But it’s the eerie warnings and shadowed figures that truly unnerve him.

The words “WE SEE YOU” scrawled on his ceiling are just the beginning. Something sinister roams the halls at night, whispering through the silence, watching from the darkness. Grandpa Abraham swears the house is haunted. But the truth is far worse than restless spirits—because in this house, secrets are buried deep, and the Guardians will do anything to keep them hidden.

As the Ridleys unravel the mysteries of their new home, one thing becomes chillingly clear: escape is impossible. No matter where they go, the watchers remain.

A pulse-pounding horror thriller packed with eerie suspense, We Are Always Watching is perfect for fans of Stephen King, Paul Tremblay, and haunted house stories that linger long after the last page. Dare to uncover the truth? Order your copy today—before they see you first.

Amazon    BN     Dark Wolf Books


Excerpt:

His foot crunched on a three-foot long stick. It was gnarled and thick, a perfect walking stick and weed slasher. Whisking it back and forth, he swatted at the wild vegeta tion, heading for the woodpile. It would make a great bonfire. He’d never been to one in person, but he’d seen plenty in movies, especially the flicks from the ’80s with teen campers in peril.

West loved those movies, especially the parts where girls took off their shirts and either went skinny dipping or had sex in the woods or an empty cabin. Actresses took their clothes off a lot back then. He’d never even seen a naked boob until Anthony showed him this strange astronaut/vampire flick called Lifeforce. The girl vampire was totally naked, front and back, for half the movie. West’s mind was blown. Horror, sci-fi, and his first naked woman. The constant flip-flopping between arousal and terror left him both exhausted and too tired to sleep that night.

Something crashed through the brush to his left. He stopped, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. There was a garbled growl. The sounds of two cats tussling gave his nerves sweet relief. Not wanting to get in the middle of their fight, he veered to the right.

Closing in on the haphazard mound of wood, he realized what it was. The farm would have had a barn at one time. It must have collapsed decades ago. The old walls and floorboards were blighted by the sun and elements. The stench of decay grew stronger with each step. Weeds grew through the gaps, some of them so thick, they hid whole sections of the former barn. “I wonder what took you down,” he said, lifting boards here and there with the tip of his sneaker. The ground beneath it was black as pitch and had an odd smell, like something scorched and long forgotten. Could have been a fire. Or maybe it was a storm, some hurricane that sent people to their cellars. That is, if hurricanes happened in this part of Pennsylvania.

Did Grandpa Abraham’s place have a storm cellar? And what about a fruit cellar? He heard about them all the time, especially when it came to places for crazed killers to hide bodies. What was the point of a fruit cellar? Why stick your fruit in some hole?

There was sudden movement in the brush behind him. He waited for one of the cats to slink into view. The sound didn’t repeat itself and no cats came out to play. West felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He had the very uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched.

Out here, surrounded by the tall grass, anyone could be lurking.

He closed his eyes and saw the words on the ceiling over his bed. WE SEE YOU West was suddenly very uncomfortable. All of this was so alien to him, he felt as if he’d stepped into a place where he didn’t belong. “Time to go back inside.”

He trudged away from the collapsed barn, unable to shake the feeling that there were eyes at his back

 

 

About the Author: 

Often called THE KING OF THE CRYPTIDS, Hunter Shea is a lifelong horror hound and NY Times bestselling author of over forty books of monstrous mayhem, ghostly frights, and newfound terrors. Some of his bestselling books include the critically acclaimed Creature, They Rise, and The Montauk Monster, the nostalgic Money Back Guaranteed and One Size Eats All series, and Jessica Backman’s Death in the Afterlife paranormal trilogy. His books have been found in the International Cryptozoology Museum and his face on the Discovery Channel where he talks about, well, monsters.

He can be heard and seen on his two long-running podcasts, Final Guys and Monster Men, both informed and humorous explorations of horror’s best – and worst – movies, books, and video games, as well as interviews with some of the hottest writers, directors and producers in the genre. You’ll also find exciting first-hand accounts of true-life hauntings, UFOs, cryptid encounters and more.

Website – www.huntershea.com








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Friday, May 23, 2025

Finding Time to Write with Valerie Storm #YAFantasy


Finding time to write has been one of the most difficult things of being a writer. I have been working since I was twenty-one, and recently became a teacher. The last two years have seen a significant decline in my writing – finding the time is impossible, especially between family life or dating (as has been my norm lately).

Still, I find little moments to continue my passion. I love writing – it frees and heals me. Whenever little moments arise, I grab them hard and fast and don’t let them go. The other day I was driving at 5:30 AM, when the sun was just rising. The sky was blue dipped in gold, and it was so, so beautiful. Immediately I envisioned a scene in which a character was talking to someone else, sitting atop a roof and kicking her feet beneath a peaceful sky, just like mine. I wrote an entire chapter just from that, and I’m still thinking about it weeks later.

Find those chances and don’t lose them!


Fate of the Storm
Demon Storm 
Book Eight
Valerie Storm

Genre: Young Adult Fantasy
Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing
Date of Publication: 5/13/2025
ISBN: 9781956883343 
ASIN: B0F4BD7X8Y
Number of pages: 374
Word Count:  97,896
Cover Artist: @Ginkahederling

Book Description:

The shadows have retreated with Raven's downfall, but darkness still curls at the edges of the world. For a moment, though, Kari and Ari have a moment of peace. There is a glimmer of light that threatens to wash away the darkness as they finally bind their fates together in a formal ceremony.

But Raven hasn't given up, and there's an older, crueler foe who hasn't forgotten Kari - the Lord of Demons, the very one who crafted the Catalyst which Raven sought to control, still trapped in an ancient Tree.

Kari's moment of joy comes to a halt as the world shakes and Taris is ripped apart.

Velthas has risen.
Bewitching Exclusive Excerpt: 

Zina scoffed. “If I had not treated you as an anomaly—if I had not taken the prophecy into consideration and been blinded by my own fool goals, would we be here?”

Kari approached her and leaned against the wall beside the window. “Something would have guided us here eventually,” she said. “That’s what Guine said. You really are arrogant if you think it’s all on you.”

Zina laughed, though it was tired and desperately lacking any amusement. “Maybe the Catalyst would have followed its fate. I certainly am not so full of myself that I would take all the blame for the wiles of destiny, if such a thing exists. But the fact is I made great leaps in the wrong direction not because I thought it was right, but because I was selfish.” She turned and looked at Kari with shadowed, gray eyes. “I am sorry for everything my actions put you through, Kari.”

Kari’s heart twisted. She cleared her throat. “An apology, from you?”

Zina smiled wryly. “You won’t get another.”

Kari’s tail twitched at the way she said that. “Thank you, Zina. I forgive you.”

Zina closed her eyes and turned to the window again.

“Zina…” Kari hesitantly started. “If there is something you know, something you think you have to prove…well.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “We saw your letters to Nova. We know you’ve been talking to the angels,” she said quickly before she could regret the words. “If Kinera—the Seraph of Nalmi—told you to do something…” Kari exhaled an annoyed breath. “Listen, we’re all in this together. Every single one of us has a task, and every single one of us is going to celebrate tomorrow after we’ve won. But that means we have to rely on each other, trust each other.”

Zina was quiet. Kari was afraid their talk would be over, replaced with defensive anger.

At last, Zina hummed. She dug her fingers into the window and shoved it up, allowing a freshly cool breeze to whip her hair out of place. “You always hated my secrets, Kari. I regret to inform you I rather enjoy them.” She smirked and a glint came to her gray eyes, a liveliness Kari hadn’t seen since they’d come back. “You will know everything you need to when it’s all over.”

“That’s not enough, Zina,” Kari insisted. “Whatever she’s asked you to do, you don’t have to. Or we can help you. I can—”

“If you could help me with this, I would gladly let you,” Zina said. “However, this is a burden I have carried for a long, long time. I have no regrets now. Do you understand, Kari?”

Kari opened her mouth, then closed it. She bit her lip. “Zina…”

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” Zina said firmly, “I have no regrets. Do you understand?”

She repeated the question in a tone made of steel; Kari had not heard her talk so since the days of her training.

“I understand,” she muttered. “But if I find an alternative, I’m taking it.”

Zina’s lips twitched into an almost-smile. “I expected nothing less.”

 

About the Author:

Valerie Storm was raised in Tucson, Arizona. Growing up, she fell in love with everything fantasy. When she wasn’t playing video games, she was writing. By age ten, she began to write her own stories as a way to escape reality. When these stories became a full-length series, she considered the path to sharing with other children and children-at/heart looking for a place to call home.











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Thursday, May 15, 2025

Poseidon’s Daughters: Reckoning by Reign Reeves Pearson #SciFi #Thriller




Poseidon’s Daughters: Reckoning
Poseidon’s Daughters
Book 1
Reign Reeves Pearson

Genre: Sci-Fi, Thriller
Date of Publication: March 21, 2025
ISBN: B0DZNZ6QPC
ASIN: B0DZCKJBGX
Number of pages: 262
Word Count: 62,400
Cover Artist: Reign Reeves Pearson

Tagline: They wanted a ghost, she’ll give them a reckoning

Book Description: 

They trained her to be a weapon. Now, she’s turning the blade on them.

Eirianwen was Poseidon’s crowning achievement—until she walked away from everything. She’s evaded them for years, carving out a life in the shadows, leaving behind the bloodstained world they forced her into. Now, the past she’s been running from has finally caught up. A storm-wracked night. A breach in her sanctuary. Someone is watching. Someone is waiting. And this time, they don’t just want her dead—they want her to doubt herself. They want the world to believe she’s lost her mind.

They’ve been watching her. Manipulating her. Preparing for her downfall.

Now, the elite organization that built her is coming to collect. Not to kill—to control. They don’t need to break her. They just need to make sure no one believes her when she starts screaming.They want her to understand that her escape, her freedom, was all an illusion.

Erased. Discredited. Untouchable.

But Eirianwen has spent her whole life surviving. And when the walls start closing in, she doesn’t run. She hunts.

Poseidon wants her desperate. Unraveling. Helpless.

They’re about to learn just how dangerous she can be.

Amazon

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/hpJsOfvRKxI

Excerpt 

Eirianwen ripped out the earpiece and slammed it onto the desk. Panic swirled at the edges of her mind, but she forced it down. Now wasn’t the time. She grabbed a larger bag from under the desk, slung it over her shoulder, and stormed out. In the closet, she set the bag aside, pressing a hidden panel on the side of her bed. A drawer slid open, revealing her arsenal. Her hands shook as she armed herself, snapping a knife into its sheath and loading a handgun with quick, practiced movements. Now, to find them. Moving swiftly, she ran through the house, slipping out the back door and straight into the storm-charged air. Sullivan’s workshop. If she was going to do this right, she’d need a shovel. She yanked open the heavy wooden door, eyes darting over the mess inside.Where the fuck is it? Why is this place always such a goddamn disaster?

A glint of metal under the workbench caught her eye. She crouched, snatched up a spade, and bolted back outside. The rain had started in earnest, cold drops slicing through the thick humidity. She sprinted to where the trackers last pinged, her boots sinking slightly into the softening earth, almost tripping thanks to a low spot. Looking back at the spot, it was all wrong. She knew something was buried there.

Gripping the shovel tightly, she drove it into the ground. The soil gave easily...far too easily. The clay should have been a nightmare to dig through. Someone had already done the work for her. Within moments, her blade hit something solid, and dread curled in her stomach. She dropped to her knees, clawing at the loose earth with bare hands until the objects were free. Her breath hitched. Six trackers. All of them. Cold, useless, and buried like a mockery of her own paranoia. Eirianwen sat back on her heels, mud caking her fingers as she stared at the pile in her hands. Someone knew.

Her cheeks burned hot, but the rest of her body felt frozen. Tears welled, spilling silently down her face as the questions flooded in. Why? Why would Sullivan do this? Had he done this? He wouldn’t put the kids in danger—would he? Where were they? How long had he planned this? Her stomach twisted. Then, her phone buzzed—a single notification. Hands trembling,  she wiped her palms on her pants and yanked it from her pocket. Wi-Fi restored—a new alert. Someone had just crossed the perimeter.

“It better be Sullivan and the kids.”

Eirianwen exhaled sharply, swiping at the sweat and tears streaking her face. Standing, she brushed the dirt from her clothes as best she could, shoving the useless trackers deep into her pocket. She locked her phone and steadied herself. If the kids were with Sullivan, she needed to stay calm. Normal. They couldn’t see the weapons strapped under her clothing. At least the incoming storm gave her an excuse to rush them inside. She’d get them safe first—then she’d deal with Sullivan. She turned toward the tree line, heart pounding in her throat. The property was massive, and she had built the house at its farthest edge. Finally, headlights cut through the gloom. A vehicle emerged. Not Sullivan’s truck. A cold, electric jolt shot down her spine. Every instinct screamed at her.

No one came out here. No one. She had made sure of it. For years, she had meticulously crafted the illusion of a perfectly ordinary life. She knew everyone in town—just enough to avoid suspicion, but never enough to invite curiosity. A delicate balance of friendly but distant. She never gave anyone a reason to visit. She didn't even use their real address! She picked up all of their mail and deliveries in town. So who the hell thought they had the right to pull up to her house? The SUV slowed to a stop, tires crunching against the gravel. The doors swung open in near unison, and two men stepped out. Sheriff Ford. Deputy Pines. Ford adjusted his jacket, his gaze steady, unreadable. Pines lingered a step behind, eyes sharp, scanning. Ford closed the gap between them, and gave Eirianwen a curt nod.

 

About the Author:

Reign Reeves Pearson is a writer, storyteller, and chaos enthusiast based in Houston, where she lives with her husband, four kids, and three cats who may or may not be plotting world domination. She thrives on Kopiko, rainy days, and an endless love for Final Fantasy VII and Dungeons & Dragons.

 

She’s been writing for as long as she can remember. But in 2019, a health scare forced her to take a hard look at her life, and the answer was clear: writing wasn’t just something she did. It was what she was meant to do.

 

Her debut novel and series, Poseidon’s Daughters: Reckoning, is her first and only planned adventure into sci-fi. Going forward, expect Southern Gothic chills, cosmic nightmares, and nostalgic ‘90s horror—all infused with her signature mix of heart, humor, and a touch of the macabre.

 

When she’s not writing, she’s probably dreaming up elaborate D&D campaigns, getting emotionally wrecked by Final Fantasy VII (again), or staring dramatically out a window while it rains.

 

Follow her chaotic creative journey at:

 

https://reignvox.com/

 

https://x.com/notorious_rrp

 

https://www.twitch.tv/ReignVox

 

https://www.youtube.com/@notorious_rrp

 

https://www.instagram.com/notorious_rrp/

 

https://www.instagram.com/reignreevespearson/

 

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/48135392.Reign_Reeves_Pearson

 

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Reign-Reeves-Pearson/author/B0DZDDF88T





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Tuesday, May 13, 2025

Release Day Blitz Same Place, Same Stars by Katey Taylor #ReleaseDayBlitz #PsychologicalMystery

 


Same Place, Same Stars
Katey Taylor

Genre: Psychological Mystery/Drama, 
Coming-of-Age, Adult Fiction 
Publisher: Katey Taylor
Date of Publication: 5/13/25
ISBN: 9781732750456
ASIN: B0DYK959FJ
Number of pages: 317
Word Count: 93,000

Book Description:

Twenty-one-year-old Natalia battles a rare parasomnia sleep disorder that propels her to act violently, experience night terrors, and put herself in dangerous situations—all while she’s unconscious.

After waking up covered in unexplained bruises, she lands herself back in a mental facility. Making friends has never been easy, but at Awana, she quickly bonds with her fun-loving roommate Lindsay and falls for Gabriel, a handsome yet severely depressed resident she secretly meets at night.

As Natalia wrestles with the harsh side effects of her medication, her reality unravels, exposing disturbing truths about those she trusts most. Though romantic relationships are strictly forbidden at Awana, Gabriel becomes her lifeline amidst the chaos. To be with him, Natalia must risk everything—including her sanity, and she learns some choices carry devastating consequences.

Filled with shocking twists, Same Place, Same Stars, is a psychological drama that unpacks the many layers of what happens when dark secrets refuse to be ignored.

Amazon     Kobo     BN

Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGIl0E7DhC4

 

Excerpt: CHAPTER 1

 

No sharp objects. Pack light.

My instinct is to run, but I don’t know how far my sore limbs will carry me.

Apathy is my last line of defense.

I reach for a baggy sweatshirt and leggings. This has become my uniform when I go away, not for any fashion statement but its functionality—it can be easily taken off before my body is searched by a nurse’s gloved hands. The pressure from the fabric causes me to hiss in pain. I carefully step each leg in to cover the tender scrapes and deep purple bruises along my pale white shins and thighs. The bruises are a reminder that I’ve messed up again.  

I drag my worn leather suitcase that’s on its last leg away from our cottage and into the trunk of Olga’s station wagon. She doesn’t say a word as we head out of our driveway and onto the tree-dense highway. The branches are grayer than normal, though it could be my mood filtering the world in a cloud of indifference.

Olga rolls every window down even though it’s a brisk fifty-two degrees. Long drives make her sweat. I think she would never leave our small town if it were up to her, but I remain her forcing agent.

My eyes wander from the pastures filled with cows and horses to Olga and her wild blowing hair that is unusually more silver than black for someone in their thirties.

“So, what’s this ward like?” I ask, trying to break the tense silence.

“Don’t call it that. That’s not what it’s called. This is a treatment center.”

She turns up her classical piano playlist, the one she plays to calm her nerves, then hands me a folded piece of stock paper filled with smiling faces of young adults—those who, like me, are not teenagers anymore but not quite what I would consider adults either. Much like our mental state, we’re something in between.

The brochure states this center isn’t government funded. By the looks of it, it seems far out of the budget of Olga’s ballet studio salary and my unemployed status, but it claims as part of their philosophy that they take on special cases free of charge. Just my luck, they happened to have room for a last-minute drop-in.

After the stunt I pulled last night, I’m sure Olga would be willing to pay any price.


About the Author:

Katey Taylor is a San Francisco Bay Area-based author and published poet, with work featured in online magazines such as DarkWinter Lit, SWAAY, and Fauxmoir. She’s recognized for her ability to address complex topics with sensitivity and depth.









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Monday, April 21, 2025

Interview - Haunting Joy by A.L. Hawke #SupernaturalRomance


Tell us a little about your latest or upcoming release.

Haunting Joy is a ghost romance about a man leaving a busy urban life to live in Plymouth Hill, a small town in the woods. He finds an amazing mansion owned by a former Hollywood pop/music star. But the house has more of a dark history than he first realizes. And when he realizes his love interest is a ghost, he finds that, not only his romance threatened, but so is keeping the house and staying in Plymouth Hill.

Have you ever based your book or characters on actual events or people from your own life?

No. They’re influenced, but none are ever actual people I know.

Is there a theme or message in your work that you would like readers to connect to?

All my stories are about the importance of companionship. Humans need love, whether by lovers or friends. My characters who have shunned this end up in their own hell. Those that realize this live happily ever after.

What would your readers be surprised to learn about you?

I’m more of a storyteller than a writer. It’s all about my characters. I play with the written word and poetry in my world building, but I feel like I’m much more of an entertainer than a poet.

When you’re not writing what do you do? Do you have any hobbies or guilty pleasures?

I write a lot. I also work on the publishing aspect of writing, which takes up a bunch of time—like working with narrators on audiobook versions, etc.

Is there a genre that you’d like to write that you haven’t tackled yet?

I’m fascinated by mystery/suspense. I think many of my books have aspects of mystery in them, but I’ve never written officially within that genre. I also like the idea of writing a romance devoid of fantasy. Maybe one day…

Of all the characters you’ve ever written, who is your favorite and why?

I like Cadence Hawthorne, the main character of my witch story. She’s kind, cautious and innocent. But I also like Elise in my science fiction duology. She’s the opposite, a complete bitch, sure of herself but still with some vulnerability.

If this book is part of a series…what is the next book? Any details you can share?

It’s not a series. To tell you the truth, I enjoyed writing a standalone novel this time. I like my share of series writing, but sometimes I enjoy starting a story and just ending it. But I did group Haunting Joy with two other of my standalone supernatural romances: Shades, Phantom Masquerade. All three are supernatural romances involving angels or ghosts.

What is next for you? Do you have any scheduled upcoming releases or works in progress?

I’m working on a prequel to the witch series. But I was working on this with Haunting Joy, so… we’ll see.

What book are you reading now?

I’m turning to the prequel to Hunger Games.


Haunting Joy
A.L. Hawke

Genre: supernatural romance
Publisher: Phantom Heart, LLC
Date of Publication: March 19, 2025
ISBN ebook: 978-1-953919-77-9
ISBN paperback: 978-1-953919-80-9
ISBN hardcover: 978-1-953919-78-6
ISBN audiobook: 978-1-953919-81-6
ASIN: B0DZMNPQHL
Number of pages: 204
Word Count: 53,000
Cover Artist: Mirella Santana

Tagline: Peace ends in the spirit of joy.

Book Description:

Alec was seeking a respite from city life. He thinks he has discovered it on Plymouth Crest, a manor overlooking the forest and a beautiful lake, golden in the sun. But Alec was warned the house is haunted by a murdered pop singer and Hollywood star.

Footsteps and howling winds soon disturb his sleep. One night, he finds an intruder, Joy, standing barefoot among broken glass in the kitchen. He chases her out. But she returns, enchanting him with laughter and boundless energy. It’s not long before Alec falls in love.

Joy ends when a belligerent character shows up and claims ownership of the house. Alec and Joy have a plan to evict him and bring some resolution to past horrors. If they fail, Alec’s dreams will crumble, and Joy might be subjected to a fate worse than death. But if they succeed, Alec and Joy might be separated forever—and so may end joy. To save Joy—and also have hope of being together—they need a bold plan, bringing them face to face with evils buried in the past, and finding a path to a shared future.

Amazon     BookFunnel


Excerpt:

With the sun’s rays shining between the green leaves of the trees surrounding the windows of his glass house, Plymouth Crest was enchanting. Gilded light shone through the leaves and branches creating yellow prism-like effects. And with all the green moss and thrush, it was enchanting—as if Alec lived in an English fae forest or Camelot, which he loved as a writer.

That was what happened during the day. But upon nightfall, all those large windows turned black. And then those same leaves and branches that covered the sunrays blocked moonlight. Then his house became very dark.

But not so quiet…

By the second week, he started hearing noises. At first, it was just stray creaks and cracks from the wood, and Alec figured it was simply the sound of an old foundation. But as time passed, he heard unexplainable things. Stray shouts and screams that sounded as if they were coming from the terrace outside. Doors opening and slamming shut downstairs. Kitchen cabinets left open. Plates and glasses being rearranged on the kitchen table. Doors left open all night. One morning, he even found the couch in the living room had been moved a couple feet. That was the creepiest. On yet another night, he awoke shivering. The glass balcony door of his bedroom was wide open. He was certain he had locked it.

As days passed, the noises only grew louder. One night a wooden chair tipped over downstairs in the dining room. Then another night, a plant was thrown from one of his tall cabinets in the foyer into the living room.

He began to not sleep. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but he couldn’t deny the noises.

Tonight, for hours, he had just stared at the white ceiling over his bed in silence. He had stared long enough for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. And after a while, the darkness made the faint moonlight that shone through openings in his dark mahogany velvet curtains seem bright.

His body jumped. His muscles reacted mechanically before he recognized the noise. It was glass shattering. Something had broken into pieces downstairs. It was so loud that he leapt out of bed and his hands scrambled along the walls to switch on the light. But the light wouldn’t switch on. That was weird because his old clock on the nightstand still read one-thirty-two in red digital letters, and the clock didn’t have back-up power. Electricity was another quirky thing about his house.

He opened the drawer in his nightstand by the bed. In his old house, he had always left a small flashlight by the bed. But the flashlight wasn’t there. It was probably still in one of the boxes in the garage. And he had left his cellphone downstairs.

There was more opening and closing of cabinets and drawers. This time, it wasn’t just stray noises, it seemed to be every few seconds. This didn’t sound like the usual cracks and creaks of some phantom haunting his place. He was worried there was an actual intruder.

He rushed along the inner balcony. Most of his downstairs could be seen from here, but his furniture—his couch, end table, and chairs—were cast in shadows by moonlight.

“Who’s down there?” Alec cried. “Show yourself.”

He was answered by another crash. That made him move faster, darting across his dark, empty living room and running straight to the source of the noise—in the kitchen.

He was wearing only underwear and felt a breeze before seeing the open kitchen door. After doors being left open frequently over the past week, he was sure he had checked the lock on this door before going to bed. He rushed over to shut it.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was home.”

Alec whirled around. That made the intruder on the other side of the kitchen island cover her mouth and snicker.

They stared at one another. Then she drew the apple up to her nose.

“What are you doing here?” Alec snapped.

“Eating an apple.”

“No, what are you doing in my house?”

 

About the Author:

A.L. Hawke is the author of the bestselling Hawthorne University Witch Series. The author lives in Southern California torching the midnight candle over lovers against a backdrop of machines, nymphs, magic, spice and mayhem.

 

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