Update: POPPY by Clarissa Johal #paranormal #amwriting

I'm still here! I haven't posted in awhile, and have gratefully handed blog space over to my fellow authors. I hope you've had fun perusing their books.

Update on my novel-in-progress:

POPPY is coming along nicely, and I expect to be finished by the end of December. I'll keep you updated on the release date, but with any luck, sometime in 2016! Here's a blurb to entice you.

Photo courtesy of Doug Wertman via Flickr

A red-headed, pink-loving mortician who speaks to the dead.
A moody, unsociable funeral director.
Poppy and Dante from STRUCK are back.

Something is lingering around Skyview Funeral Home—and it's stealing souls of the departed. With Dante in tow, Poppy is determined to put a stop to it. Will she be able to protect those who are trying to cross over, or will her soul be next?

If you haven't read STRUCK yet, take a peek...

Struck by lightning...claimed by shadows.

Caught a storm, Gwynneth is struck by lightning. She wakes in the hospital with a vague memory of a mysterious stranger. Following her release, the stranger visits her at will and offers Gwynneth a gift—one that will stay the hands of death. Gwynneth is uncertain whether Julian is a savior or something sinister... for as he shares more and more of this gift, his price becomes more and more deadly.

Available - ebook and print

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon CA
Barnes and Noble

Frightening Friday-Doll Parts, A Christmas Story

Continuing with my "photo-inspired" short story week...

Photo courtesy of Moyan_Brenn via Flickr

Doll Parts, A Christmas Story

"I think you'll like this piece." The shopkeeper led Nick into the dark recesses of the antique store. "It was from an estate sale. Took us forever to find the key for the cabinet. It was in a sealed vase. Even so, we never could get the lock to open."

He pulled a threadbare quilt aside. A worn, wooden cabinet stood. Inside the cabinet, was a plethora of dolls. Naked bodies were missing their appendages; the ripped-off arms and legs in savage disarray. Eyes stared lifelessly through the glass. Tufts of hair littered the corners. Plastic skin had been flayed from several skeletal structures. It was if the dolls had been cast aside by some masochist child. Or they had been stacked and put on display; the unfortunate trophies of a serial killer.

"My wife says it's 'objet d'art.' "  The shopkeeper gave a tired shrug.  "I think it was just someone's collection. But they'd be a good start if you're looking for toys to fix and resell."

"Not resell," Nick corrected. "To give away as gifts."

There was a small rustle from within the cabinet. The doll heads turned to face him, their lips moving in a silent plea. Let us out, Nick. Let us out.

Nick stepped back, his thoughts in disarray. The doll parts continued to twitch and shudder. Bent legs kicked at an invisible assailant. Clasping fingers were frozen in supplication.

"Did you want to try the key yourself?" The shopkeeper reached into the pocket of his over-sized sweater. "Maybe you can get it to work."

"No." His strangled reply barely escaped his lips.

Let us out, Nick. The glass on the cabinet shook, as if the dolls were seeking escape. Please!

Nick glanced at the shopkeeper, who seemed unmoved by their pleas. Maybe he doesn't see. But how can that be? He's looking right at them. 

Only you can see, Nick. The doll's child-like voices whispered desperately against the glass. Their torsos shifted, spines twisting this-way-and-that. Dismembered arms and legs rolled to the sides. Fingers scratched against the wood of the cabinet in an attempt to escape. Let us out. 

"You seem like you're a nice guy." The shopkeeper pursed his lips thoughtfully as he eyed the cabinet. "Let's say...fifty even. Clean them up, snap them back together, a little plaster to cover the damage. Good as new."

Nick turned and fled. The doll voices followed him, worming their way into his brain like beetles.

Thoughtful Thursday-Wildflowers

Continuing with flash fiction based on photo inspiration...
A peek into something bigger—most likely, they will come together as a full-length book later. Enjoy!

Photo courtesy of Neal. via Flickr

Wildflowers

It was the wishing that kept her alive.

She lay in a field of wildflowers. Plucking a petal from one, she flicked it away. “He loves me.” She plucked another, crushing its soft smoothness between her thumb and forefinger. “He loves me not.” She rolled over onto her side. Her hair, once secured around the crown of her head, was now tangled with leaves and trailed in a loose braid.

He appeared seemingly from nowhere; walking through the field and crushing wildflowers under his boots. Dressed in black from head-to-toe, his crisp, white button-up shirt stood in stark contrast. He looked as if he were off to a wedding. Or a funeral.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” Removing his top hat, he dusted it across his knee. Long, dark hair blew in the breeze.

“I’m lying here.” She didn't bother keeping the resentment from her voice. He was not the first to disturb her peace, though this one hadn't come the same way the others had.

“I can see that.” His eyes flashed annoyance. “You're in my field.”

“It isn't your field. ‘Tis mine. I've been here longer than you've crossed it.”

“Indeed?” 

She studied his clothing and demeanor; a curious mixture of old and new.

“Well, then. I apologize.” A bemused smile traced his lips. “Perhaps we may share?”

She sat up, the lace trim at the neck of her dress suddenly binding. “Perhaps.”

He settled beside her, long-legged and taking up what seemed like the last available space. “I didn't expect to see anyone else.”

“Nor did I.” She couldn't stop her gaze from travelling up to his face. It was an interesting face. Dark eyes, made to appear darker by the eyeliner he was wearing. A proud nose. Well-shaped lips. A silver ring hung from one of his earlobes. Only one. It matched the silver buttons along his black velvet coat. She gathered her long skirts closer.

“I started to turn back…” His gaze slid towards the line of trees. “But then I saw you from the woods.”

She caught the confusion on his brow. “There is but one path from here.”
It was the wishing that kept her alive.

He turned his attention to her face. “Seems a lonely path.” 

“I suppose it is…for some.”

“Will you walk it with me?” 

She worried her long braid and dropped her gaze.  “I am not ready to leave.”

"Neither was I," he replied. “I suppose we shall sit here and take in the scenery until we're both ready.”

“I suppose we shall.” The crushed petal she held between her thumb and forefinger slipped away like an afterthought. 

The wildflower-scattered graveyard once held headstones. They had crumbled to dust long ago, the dead now forgotten.

It was the wishing that kept them alive.

#Paranormal Wednesday-The Whispering Woods

I found this photo last month while looking for one of Irish Colcannon. The photo stuck in my head and is included in my week of photo-inspired flash fiction. Again, think of these as a peek into something bigger. Most likely, they will come together as a full-length book. Enjoy!

The Whispering Woods

Photo courtesy of Davi Ozolin via Flickr

The darkness was like a veil.

Slipping her feet from the bed covers, she winced as the lace from the hem of her nightgown scratched her ankles. She sat and listened. A barely audible whisper drifted from the open window. It was almost as if it was calling to her. The cottage was otherwise silent and still, the embers from the evening fire still burning in the fireplace.

She searched for her woolen cloak and found it dumped unceremoniously on the floor. Draping it over her shoulders, she fastened it. The sound started again and she froze, waiting for it to dissipate. Quickly slipping her bare feet into well-worn leather boots, she struggled to light the candle beside her bed.

The night held the impending breath of winter. A breeze slid through near-bare branches, stripping them of their leaves and stirring complaints. A full moon shone overhead, surrounded by a luminous fairy ring. Stars dotted an otherwise inky sky.

Following the now-distant sound, she made her way through the thicket of trees. Forest animals darted from her path, startled from their nocturnal activities. Her feet made shushing sounds through leaves that scattered the forest floor. She held the candle in front of her. Wax spilled onto her fingertips. The candle's flame hesitated before it went out with a puff.

An unattended fire burned in a clearing. Its flames licked up into the star-dotted sky. The burning wood crackled with delight. The fire's fevered intensity beckoned to her. She made her way towards it, if only to warm her icy hands before deciding if she should return to her cottage.

A whisper sounded from behind her. She whipped around, searching the forest with her gaze. The glow from the firelight rendered her blind.

Silence. The forest was still, almost as if it too, was holding it's breath.

She stepped from the comfort of the fire. Little by little, her eyes became accustomed to the darkness. The whisper started again. Two green spots flashed, like eyes. Startled, she suddenly felt the presence behind her.

It was the last thing she remembered.

Tangled Tuesday-Something About the Trees

This week, I'll be writing flash fiction based on photo inspiration. Think of them as a peek into something bigger. Most likely, they will come together as a full-length book later.  Enjoy!

Photo courtesy of Tijs Zwinkels via Flickr

Something About the Trees

She placed her hands on the trunk. A warmth emanated from the tree. It was a welcome warmth and she took comfort in it. Shivering and lost, she had spent the past few hours wondering if she would ever find her way out of the forest. The tree smelled good too. Not like oak or the green moss that veiled its trunk, but something else she couldn't define. She lay her cheek against its rough bark.

Someone was trapped inside the tree. 

The feeling hit hard and she pulled back. Her heart sped up. "That's ridiculous," she said aloud. "How can someone be trapped inside a tree?" Tentative, she scratched at the moss with her fingernail. It came away in a chunk and left a raw spot.

Suddenly, she heard a voice. She froze. Her stomach went in knots. The forest was silent except for the sound of her own breathing. That wasn't a voice, her thoughts chattered. That was somebody else's thoughts. 

"You've been wandering for too long," she whispered. "You're starting to hallucinate." She took a step back, unsure of what to do. The desperate plea started again, assailing her brain. And it was coming from within the tree.  My God, I have to get him out. "Hello?" She hit the trunk with her fist.

A bitter wind invaded the forest. Leaves sliced down from the branches overhead. Brushing against her bare arms, they left a trail of blood. Her blood.

She stared at the wounds, confused. Blood trickled down her arms and along her fingertips. The ground was splashed with crimson.

The pleading stopped.

Backing up, she tripped and fell over the roots that undulated from the forest floor. Her breath came in gasps as she scrambled to her feet. More leaves rained down on her, slicing through her skin like knives. The trees seemed to close in on her eagerly.

She was certain of two things; the man in the tree had been there for quite some time...and he wasn't the only one.

#SelfieSunday - #hittingabrickwall #amwriting #paranormal

Playing with the camera when I should be writing. 

Thoughtful Thursday-The Things That Scare

Photo courtesy of Anant Nath Sharma via Flickr

It may be because I write paranormal horror, but there are very few things that scare me. What ranks up there is watching my youngest during her horseback riding lessons and wondering why it takes my oldest so long to answer my texts. You know. mom stuff. The things most people find scary don't do it for me any more.

At what point do classically scary things fade into real-life scares? I can't say that I've ever been afraid of the paranormal. It is what it is. The real fear came after I had kids. The first time my 3-month-old spiked a fever, the first time my 2-year-old fell down the stairs, the first day of Kindergarten when I wondered just how far the umbilical cord would stretch. And it got worse. I still remember when my 7-year-old thought it would be a neat idea to do a back flip off the chair. That went well. Fast forward to school dances, hanging out at the mall, first texts and the internet--all scary, scary things.

That said, I do find this picture kind of scary. Not because of the shades of paranormal within it but because the thought of suffocating behind a sheet is freaky. Have a great week everyone...and mind the bed sheets.