Tangled Tuesday - Guest Author & Spotlight: Curse of the Seven 70s by Sharon E. Anderson #PNR #vampires

Photo courtesy of  Shauxgirl via Wikipedia

Northern State Hospital

by Sharon E. Anderson

The day was sunny and brisk, the last vestiges of summer slowly succumbing to the crisp bite of fall. We drove out into the country, out of town and away from neighbors, we wanted to explore our new surroundings. My husband had met a new customer and he was excited to show me where this man worked.

Northern State Hospital for the Insane is located just about eight miles away from where I live. The 800 acre operation opened in 1909 and closed its doors in 1973. The hospital was in operation during the time when husbands committed their menopausal wives for being hysterical (in the Freudian sense), trans-orbital lobotomies were practiced, and mental institutions were called bughouses. The hospital had been a working farm with many of the barns still standing and, from what I could tell, could be brought back into service with little effort. Today, part of the campus is used to for Job Corps and a drug rehab center.

We strolled through the grounds that day, through the main barn, visited his customer who offered us access to a closed-off building across from the rehab center. My husband looked at me and winked. He knows I love old abandoned places, haunted places, even though they terrify me, they also help me feel alive.

Others have been here, ghost hunters, adventurers, but I had never been before. My experience with Northern State consisted of the dread I felt every time I drove past it on Highway 20. I held my husband’s hand as his customer unlocked the padlock releasing the heavy security chain wound through the double-door handles. ‘Good luck,’ he said and laughed as we went in. ‘Aren’t you coming with us?’ I asked. The man shook his head and said he didn’t like to go into the building; in fact, he avoided it as much as possible.

Astonished, I looked at my husband. ‘Just wait until we get to the atrium,’ he said.

Just wait? I had already felt the presence of inquisitive spirits watching us. Are you staying? Is he leaving you here?

When we entered the big room at the end of the hall, I had to stop. High ceilings with windows stretching fifteen to twenty feet up in a panoramic view, would let in as much natural light as possible. For a split second the windows were not broken, the room was not dingy and set with mold. People were sitting at tables, some paced, while others sat and stared out at the scenery. Nurses walked through the room stopping and chatting with patients. Are you staying? And then the image disappeared, and the room came into view. Windows now crusted over, brittle with time, and broken in the panes. The remains of tables and chairs lay in pieces scattered around the room. What was once a place of respite, now felt crowded and sad. Is he leaving you?

***

Curse of the Seven 70s
by Sharon E. Anderson

Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Booktrope Editions
Date of Publication: February 12, 2015
ISBN-13: 978-1620156506
ASIN: B00TK0SQJI
Number of pages: 180

Sometimes love proves sweeter than revenge… even for Vlad Dracula’s younger brother...

Cassandra Blake is having a very bad day. Her fiancé dumps her for a silicone debutant and convinces her to store his boxes of precious research. If that wasn’t bad enough, she’s just moved into a cottage stocked with only sardines, peaches, and 50 year old Scotch.

Heartbroken, hungry, and a little bit drunk, Cassandra soon realizes that just when you think things can’t get any worse, sometimes they can get very strange…like finding a skeleton in the basement of your newly inherited cottage. But when that skeleton suddenly becomes a hot, romantic, and business savvy vampire named Varo…well, things start looking up.…until his infamous older brother shows up, and their centuries old sibling rivalry threatens her chance at true love.

Can their love survive her conniving ex-fiancé, his vengeful brother, and the Curse of the Seven 70s?

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Bio:

“My stories are dark and twisted with a sense of humor, because if you can’t laugh at yourself, you’re already in hell.” ~Sharon Anderson

Sharon grew up in a haunted house in the sleepy wilds of Ballard in Washington, where front lawns seemed grander, roads wider, dad’s hands larger, and everyone was a friend… or at least a potential audience member. Sharon spent her time daydreaming and finding stories in the clouds to share with the neighborhood kids. As for the ghost… a less creative person might chalk it up to older house issues and an off-the-charts imagination…

First place winner of 2014 Chanticleer Book Review Summer Short Stories and Novelettes Writing Competition for her short story The Stone God’s Wife.

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Guest Author Spotlight - Junior Inquisitor by Lincoln S. Farish #darkfantasy #horror @lincolnfarish

Junior Inquisitor 

Lincoln S. Farish

Blurb:

Brother Sebastian is halfway up a mountain in Vermont, hell-bent on interrogating an old woman in ashack, when he gets the order to abandon his quest for personal vengeance. He has to find a missing Inquisitor, or, more likely, his remains. He’s reluctant, to say the least. Not only will he have to stop chasing the best potential lead he’s had in years, this job—his first solo mission—will mean setting foot in the grubby black hole of Providence, Rhode Island. And, somehow, it only gets worse…

If he’d known he would end up ass deep in witches, werewolves, and ogres, and that this mission would jeopardize not only his sanity but also his immortal soul, he never would’ve answered the damn phone.

Excerpt:

With deliberate movements, I again went from shadow to shadow, creeping away from my car and the shop. Even moving with care, I was sweating from fear and excitement, my heart still pumping rapidly. My brain was screaming, Run away, and I really wanted to listen to it. I wanted to just start running as fast as I could down the street. It would feel good for a few minutes, until I was caught.

I wiped my face before the stinging sweat blinded me. Last thing I needed was to twist my ankle on a pothole or unseen brick. I made it several more blocks in a generally south and east direction before I heard a car coming down the street toward me. I could just make it out—a panel van, the kind the cable company uses. This late at night, a vehicle like that was not going to be good for me. I ducked into a little stand of trees growing between two twelve-foot industrial fences and started running.

Maybe they didn’t see me, or maybe it was just some burglars looking for a house to rob.

The van’s engine revved, headed to where I’d been before my dash into the trees. Brakes, old and tired, squealed behind me. I tried to go faster, but the trees were thick, the light bad, and there was a lot of undergrowth and litter on the ground. At a full run, I would faceplant into a tree or step in a hole. The best I could manage was a slow trot. The hollow metallic bang of a vehicle door being thrown open crashed into the night. The howling came next.

***

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Tangled Tuesday - Guest Author Spotlight - The Crow Box by Nikki Rae #paranormal #fantasy #newadult @NikkiRaexX

The Crow Box

The Shadow and Ink Series

Book One

Nikki Rae

Genre: New Adult Dark Paranormal Romance

Date of Publication: January 15, 2016

ASIN: B01AN1DSZ4

Number of pages: Around 100

Word Count: 55, 323

Cover Artist: Nikki Rae

Book Description:

The small wooden box is dirty, the size of a human fist, and sealed with wax. When Corbin takes it upon herself to clean it and break the seal, a voice she has tried to ignore gathers strength. Shadows play on the walls at night, and with a family history of mental illness, Corbin fears the worst. But the voice tells her it is real. That its name is Six and it will prove it in time.

Drawn to this mysterious entity, Corbin isn't sure what to believe and the line between reality and her imagination blurs more every day.

Some doors should not be opened; can this one be closed?

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Excerpt:

A tap on the window. Something that was too much like a tree branch to really draw any attention. Then it got louder. I shoved the pillow over my head, sinking its weight into the cool fabric and throwing the covers over my head for extra good measure. I almost forgot where I was until I felt the rough fabric of the blanket that wasn’t mine. I tried to open my eyes, but I didn’t care enough to exert the amount of energy it took. Instead, I rolled over, sinking deeper into the darkness surrounding me.

I knew somehow that I had slept through all the daily activities, through group therapy and arts and crafts and TV hour. I knew it was past lights out and I found myself not caring that it would all be monitored. I could stay in this room, in this bed forever. Somewhere between sleeping and waking, between my body and muddy, thick mind, I heard the voice. I couldn't understand what it said, but it was a gentle, almost cooing sound, like one a mother would use on a child who had woken in the middle of the night from a bad dream. But they were down the hall and too far away to offer me anything.

The blanket shifted and I couldn't see because my eyes were closed; the blankets and pillow still covered my head. A moment of quiet, then the mattress dipped in next to me, in front of me. My heart pounded in my head, my throat. A second later, the pillow slid from my head, but I couldn't tell if it was my own doing. My head was too heavy; my thoughts were too clogged to get one solitary explanation through.

Hush now, the voice whispered. It was right next to my ear, right next to me. I'll show you.

Yes. Show me. Show me how to be insane. Show me how to be just like my mother. I kept my eyes completely closed.

Corbin, said the voice. As much as I hated to admit it, I liked the sound of my name in its tone. I liked how it hit me deep. It was the sound of sand being blown by the sea on a windy day. It was the feeling of fingers in your hair as you fell asleep, tangled limbs after a closely spent night. Softness and hardness of an intimate touch, one that couldn’t have possibly been delivered by anyone or anything else.

“Yes?” I hadn't realized I said the word out loud until my hot breath was bouncing back at me against the covers. I was afraid my roommate would hear, but her heavy snoring reassured me.

So you are with me, it whispered. Each word caressed my face, sent warm shivers through my skin and into the bone.

I opened my mouth to say something else, but I couldn't think of anything; I doubted I would even be able to get the words past my teeth.

Hushhhhhh, said the voice. I felt something slightly cold, yet not completely solid against my waist. It wasn't enough to make me shiver. It wasn't anything that woke me further from the drugs. My shirt slipped upward, past my belly button before it stopped.

I inhaled sharply and turned over onto my back, convinced that I was half-dreaming and if I switched positions, the dream would change just as easily.

A few moments of silence. A few moments of the tapping on the glass, the rustle of the wind outside as the rain pelted the roof. It lulled me back into comfort, back into darkness.

My little crow, crooned the voice. Again, right in my ear, right in front of my face. It made the blackness behind my eyelids shake, sprout leaves and take root. My precious petal.

I was almost unaware of the sheet moving off of me, the blankets shifting until I heard them rumple into a careless pile on the floor. My face became warm, the smell of damp dirt in my nostrils, the sound of static electricity zipping through my brain, setting off synapses to synapses.

“What are you doing?” I whispered. But my voice sounded so far away, like I was standing on top of a very high tower and trying to make my words heard to people down below.

I felt my hair being moved from my forehead, then a small, sweet amount of pressure applied there. Kissing you, my love.

I liked the gesture. It overrode any logic, any sense of self I could bring forth from the darkness.

“Why do you only kiss me at night?” I whispered.

Another small peck, warm and then cool against my cheek. I am strongest at this hour. The words slithered around my skin, crawled to the back of my skull like some creature that had suddenly sprouted legs. And you are most open to me.

“Open?” I asked, my head swimming with medication, my eyes glued shut, my body heavy with sleep that had yet to come.

I felt the slight breath of an amused, silent laugh. Yessssss, the voice whispered. Open, my crow.

I opened my eyes, but I was only met with darkness. I knew that it was all in my head as the dim room spun around me, but I didn't care. I didn't want to think about it or what it meant. It was easier to pretend. If I was the only one who knew, I was the only one who knew the truth. I couldn't be losing my mind if I was so in control of it.

About the Author:

Nikki Rae is an independent author who lives in New Jersey. She explores human nature through fiction, concentrating on making the imaginary as real as possible. Her genres of choice are mainly dark, scary, romantic tales, but she’ll try anything once. When she is not writing, reading, or thinking, you can find her spending time with animals, drawing in a quiet corner, or studying people. Closely.

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