Posts Tagged ‘writer’

Mystery

Date Published: May 17 (available for presale now)

Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing

Tucson, Arizona – Eighteen-year-old Matt Garrison is harboring two terrible secrets: his involvement in the drowning death of his 12-year-old cousin, and a night of drunken sex with his best friend’s mother, Crystal, whom he finds dead the following morning. Guilt forces Matt to act on impulse and hide his involvement with Crystal. 

Detective Winston Radhauser knows Matt is hiding something. But as the investigation progresses, Radhauser’s attention is focused on Matt’s father. Matt’s world closes in when his dad is arrested for Crystal’s murder and Travis breaks off their friendship. Despite his father’s guilty plea, Matt knows his dad is innocent and only trying to protect his son. Devastated and bent on self-destruction, Matt heads for the lake where his cousin died—the only place he believes can truly free him. Are some secrets better left buried?

Redemption Lake is a novel of love and betrayal. It’s about truth and lies, friendship and redemption, about assuming responsibility, and the risks a father and son will take to protect each other. 


Excerpt

For the next hour and a half, he drifted in and out of sleep. Cradled by the night sounds of the desert outside the open window, each time a memory emerged, his thoughts thickened and folded back into sleep. At one point he heard water running for a bath. A little later, he heard a car outside. Oh God, please don’t let it be Travis. He stumbled to the window and opened the curtains. In the street, two long rectangular taillights moved away, turning south onto Oracle Road.

Matt leaned against the wall, staring at the sunflower sheets on Crystal’s bed. The same bed he and Travis had jumped up and down on when they were eight. The digital clock read 10:38 p.m. His head throbbed. He needed to close his eyes. Crystal would wake him in time to leave before Travis got home. He fell back onto the bed.

When he woke up again, the room was very dark. He wore only his boxers and a white T-shirt his mother had insisted upon—claiming his usual dark one would show through his tuxedo shirt. As if the color of his T-shirt could ruin her perfect wedding. But he’d been ingenious and found another way to ruin things for his mother. He turned toward the empty space beside him. It took a few moments for him to realize where he was. He closed his eyes, shook his aching head to clear it. Crystal was his best friend’s mother. What the hell was he doing in her bed?

He thought he heard the sound of the front door open, then close again. Oh God, please don’t let it be Travis. His eyes adjusted to the darkness. One event at a time, he remembered everything.

Fully awake now, he shot from the bed, rocking for a few seconds before he achieved balance, then hurried to the window. The moon hung over the mountaintop, its light silver and unforgiving. Crystal’s driveway was empty. Whoever he’d heard, it wasn’t Travis. On the other side of the street, an engine started. This time the taillights were round. Definitely not Crystal’s Escort. The car turned north on Oracle Road.

Matt let out the breath he’d been holding and glanced at the digital clock—its red letters told him it was 11:20 p.m. He needed to get dressed and leave. The dance ended in forty minutes and Travis would head home. He grabbed his tuxedo pants and shirt from the chair. His hands shook so hard he could barely work the fly and the button on his trousers. He slipped into his shirt, then sat on the edge of the bed. As if he had the flu, his head throbbed and his stomach felt queasy.

He rushed down the hallway toward the bathroom. And when he did, he saw the puddle of blood on the floor beside the bathtub.

He hurried across the room, jerked open the pale green shower curtain.

Crystal lay naked in a bathtub filled with blood-colored water. Her hair, her beautiful blonde curls, had been chopped off, shorter in some places than others, as if a small child had done it. Some of the curls were floating on top of the water.

For a strange moment, everything remained calm and slow.

Her head was propped against one of those blow-up pillows attached to the back of the tub with suction cups. The tint of her skin was pale and slightly blue. Crystal’s eyes were open and staring straight ahead—looking at something he couldn’t see. Blood splattered the white tiles that surrounded the tub. It dripped down them like wet paint. One of her hands flopped over the side of the tub. A single thick drop fell from her index finger into the crimson pond congealing on the linoleum floor. It covered her neck and shoulders. Tiny bubbles of frothy blood still oozed from the gash in her neck.

An empty Smirnoff bottle sat in a puddle of blood on the tub’s rim beside a straight-edged razor blade.

The bathroom was so quiet. Nothing but the sound of his own breathing. He clenched and unclenched his hands. His body grew numb. “Oh no. Oh God, no,” he said, the words thickening in the air in front of him. His head filled with strange sounds—the drone of insects humming, violinists tuning their strings. “What have I done?”

The contents of his stomach rose. He crouched in front of the toilet and heaved until nothing more came up. Then he started to rock, back and forth, muttering what he already knew was a useless prayer. Please, just let her be okay. He said it over and over like an unstoppable mantra. If only he could keep saying the words, maybe he could reverse this unthinkable thing.

Maybe she was still alive. He straightened up and stepped over to the bathtub to check Crystal’s neck for a pulse. As he bent closer, he smelled the metallic scent of her blood as it mixed with her perfume and the stale, metabolized smell of alcohol seeping through her skin. He placed two fingers on her neck, searching for her carotid and pressed. His fingers slipped into the gaping hole. It felt wet and warm. He screamed and jerked them out. They were covered in blood.

He swiped his hand on the front of his shirt, then checked the other side of her neck for a pulse. Please, just let her be okay. Nothing. He shook her by the shoulders, then tried again. Still no pulse. At that moment, he stopped his mantra.

Though he knew she was dead, he held her hand—soft and still warm. It belonged to Crystal, who’d taught him to line dance, who liked hot buttered popcorn with cheddar cheese grated on top. Crystal, who was sometimes irresponsible and drank way too much. Crystal, who’d cheered for him at bat in Little League, cheered just as loud as she had for her own son. Crystal, who’d always be sitting in a bathtub of blood. “I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand, then let go. “And I swear to you, Travis will never know what happened between us.”

Struggling to his feet, he headed for the kitchen phone to call 911. Halfway to the bathroom door, he stopped. Blood smeared the front of his white shirt. And there was still blood on both his hands, drying beneath his fingernails. His body was slick with fear. He smelled it, tasted it, and felt it coming out of his pores like sweat. His mind told him to call the police, to tell the truth. His heart told him to keep his promise to Crystal. It was the last thing she’d ever ask of him.

He dropped his chin and stared at his shirt. Holy shit. If anyone saw him like this, they’d think he’d killed Crystal. The thought stopped him. Had he? Was he capable of doing something so heinous?

The bubble of panic in his throat got bigger. He hurried across the bathroom to wash his hands. There were more clumps of hair in the sink and a hardened blue streak of toothpaste. He used toilet paper to pick up the hair clumps and dropped them into the trashcan. Looking at the uncapped tube beside Crystal’s toothbrush, he felt as if something had been cut out of his chest.

He grabbed the sides of the sink, stared at himself in the mirror. The face staring back resembled no one he’d ever seen before. Was it the face of a murderer? Had he just pushed someone else to her death? He shook his head—breathing in short gasps, like a swimmer gearing up for a plunge. His lungs burned as if he were being swept away by a strong current.

When the memory of his cousin’s death surfaced, as it often did, Matt used his fists to hammer the stranger’s face he saw reflected in the medicine cabinet. The mirror fractured, sending out long cracks in every direction. The face split into interlocking parts like an abstract puzzle. One jagged sliver fell into the sink, breaking in half. It left a black and empty space in what had once been the mirror.

He held onto the sides of the sink again and rocked slowly in front of it, still staring at the blood on his hands and under his fingernails. “You’re all right,” he said, but could barely hear the words, the sounds inside his head were so loud.

In his mind he saw himself letting go of the sink and getting as far away from this nightmare as possible. But it would destroy Travis to come home and find his mother like this. Matt had to intercept him.

He washed his hands, then rinsed the blood from the sides and bowl of the sink, recapped the toothpaste and tucked it into the medicine cabinet. He wrapped the shards of mirror in toilet tissue, careful to avoid getting his fingerprints on the glass, and placed them in the trashcan, jagged sides down. There were no towels in the bathroom, so he wiped his wet hands on his pant legs. Panic rolled in, sucked him under.

What should he do? Call the police? His father? 911? If he did, there’d be a recording of his voice and he’d have a lot of explaining to do. The police often suspected 911 callers. They might take his DNA. What if they found semen inside of Crystal? What if they matched it to Matt’s DNA? If that happened, they’d know. It would be in the newspapers. It would hurt Travis. He couldn’t let that happen.

He hurried back into Crystal’s bedroom. Hands shaking, he sat on the edge of her bed and put on his socks and shoes. Then, as if he were someone else, running through an obstacle course, he went into the kitchen and gathered the empty beer bottles. He took them out into the garage and carefully placed them in their cardboard carriers. Next he wiped the kitchen table, closed the open drawers, loaded the dishwasher, emptied the ashtrays, then made Crystal’s bed with fresh sheets. He tossed the sunflower sheets into the washing machine and started the cycle, careful to wipe his prints from the lid and dial. With the same cloth, he wiped down the edge of the plastic shower curtain, then pulled it closed—the way he’d found it. For the most part, his fingerprints were easily explained. He’d spent almost as much time in Travis’ house as his own.

Matt stood in front of the coffee table. He heard the candles guttering, smelled the wax melting. He blew them out, then picked up the clothes Crystal had discarded in the hallway beside the bathroom door. Folding them neatly, he then placed them on the chair beside her window. He grabbed her red cowboy boots from the living room and set them beneath the chair. It was the least he could do for Travis.

The clock on the stove read 11:45 p.m. The Narrow Way didn’t allow opposite sex teenagers to spend unsupervised time together. Jennifer’s parents would pick her up from the dance. That meant Travis would be leaving for home soon.

If Matt hurried, he could intercept him, convince him to spend the night with Matt and his dad. He raced into Travis’ bedroom, jerked open the drawer where he kept his T-shirts. Surely he had a plain black or a dark blue one somewhere. Matt lifted the stacks of folded shirts until he found one, then ripped off the tuxedo and stained T-shirt, slipped Travis’ shirt over his head, then grabbed his jacket from the kitchen chair and hurried outside.

On the back deck, insects clustered around the light fixture, high-pitched, insistent and frantic. The sound reminded him of Crystal’s voice when she’d pleaded with him not to tell Travis. Why hadn’t he agreed?

In the carport, Matt unlocked the trunk of his Mustang, a restored nineteen sixty-seven Grande that had been his mom’s first car, and dropped both the jacket and the bloodstained shirt inside. Silence ballooned into the night air around him, a strange silence with a ticking heartbeat. Then he remembered the cufflinks. Crystal had tucked them into his shirt pocket. He checked. They weren’t there. He plunged his hands into his pants pockets and then the tuxedo jacket. No cufflinks. He didn’t have time to go back inside. He had to stop Travis from coming home.

When he climbed into the front seat, he looked out through the windshield, but the dome light inside the car and the darkness outside had changed the glass into a mirror. He turned away. His face was the last thing he wanted to see.


Susan Clayton-Goldner was born in New Castle, Delaware and grew up with four brothers along the banks of the Delaware River. She is a graduate of the University of Arizona’s Creative Writing Program and has been writing most of her life. Her novels have been finalists for The Hemingway Award, the Heeken Foundation Fellowship, the Writers Foundation and the Publishing On-line Contest. Susan won the National Writers’ Association Novel Award twice for her novels and her poetry was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

Her work has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies including Animals as Teachers and Healers, published by Ballantine Books, Our Mothers/Ourselves, by the Greenwood Publishing Group, The Hawaii Pacific Review-Best of a Decade, and New Millennium Writings. A collection of her poems, A Question of Mortality was released in 2014 by Wellstone Press. Her novel, A Bend In The Willow, was published in January 2017. Redemption Lake, the first in a 3-book detective serieswill be released May 17, 2017. Prior to writing full time, Susan worked as the Director of Corporate Relations for University Medical Center in Tucson, Arizona. 

Susan shares a life in Grants Pass, Oregon with her husband, Andreas, her fictional characters, and more books than one person could count. In her spare time, Susan likes to make quilts and stained glass windows. She says it is a little bit like writing, telling stories with fabric and glass.

 

Contact Information

Website: http://susanclaytongoldner.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/susan.clayton-goldner

Twitter: https://twitter.com/SusanCGoldner

Blog: http:///susanclaytongoldner.com/my-blog—writing-the-life.html

Goodreads: :  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33150434-a-bend-in-the-willow

 

Purchase Links

Amazon: Buy it on Amazon

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/redemption-lake-susan-clayton-goldner/1126040153?ean=2940154076378

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/redemption-lake-2

 

Giveaway

An e-book of my first novel, A Bend In The Willow

About the Book

Title: Blood Moon

Author: Nancy Gray

Genre: YA Fantasy

Mercy finds herself on a ship bound for the Ashen capital with her companions. But things don’t go smoothly there after Mercy, Mirilee, and Erebus decide to sneak ashore to take part in a festival. They get more than they counted on when they witness a public execution of Sylvan Islanders and Mercy is captured after being mistaken for a Sylvan spy!

Dark and sinister secrets are revealed on their perilous journey. Erebus is forced to confront his inner demon, while Mercy discovers a demon of her own. In the midst of it all, Mirilee has a dark vision of the war they are trying to prevent. What will become of Mercy and her friends?

 

Author Bio

Nancy Gray lives in West Columbia, SC, with her husband, two daughters, and two crazy cats. She attended college at the University of South Carolina and attained a BA in Media Arts with a cognate in English. Her original career was as a graphic designer but writing is her calling. Her favorite genres to write are horror, fantasy (particularly young adult), steampunk, cyberpunk, urban fantasy, and occasionally light science fiction (space opera).  Many of her short stories and novels also blur the lines of genre fiction.  Nancy is an avid reader and also enjoys drawing, video games, and table top role playing games. She also enjoys anime and manga.

 

Links

Website: www.nancygray.net
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/WriterNancyGray/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/NancyGrayWriter
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Nancy-Gray/e/B01LZSB78L/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15639927.Nancy_Gray

Win a signed copy by following the link below:
Click HERE for the Rafflecopter giveaway


Book Excerpts

Excerpt 1

            “I know, decisions, decisions. How should we start, with a lie or with the truth? I know my physiology. You’re not from the Sylvan Islands. But, what are you going to tell me?”

            “I’m not from the Sylvan Islands. I’m one of the Forest Tribe.”

            He smiled very slightly. “Ah, so we start with the truth. I can already tell you’re going to be a very fascinating subject. Now, why were you in Crevane?”

            “I’m an escaped slave. I took an Ashen lover in Concord, and he convinced me to come to the capital with him. He sold me into slavery and told my masters that I was one of the Sylvan people.”

            The doctor sighed and said, “And now a lie.”

“I wasn’t lying.”

            The doctor acted like she hadn’t spoken. “You see, the body is an amazing thing. Eyes dilate, people sweat, they avoid eye contact, and everyone has a unique ‘tell’ for when they’re lying. You just have to know what to look for, but what to do about it? That also depends on the individual.”

            He put the scalpel down and began to look over his tray of tools. There were several types of knives and scalpels, a hammer, and some tools that she couldn’t place at all. He glanced at Mercy and then at the row of tools in front of him, and finally picked up the hammer. He grabbed her left hand and slammed the hammer down on the nail of her little finger. Mercy shrieked in pain, unable to hold the sound back in her shock and immense pain.

            “Now, that was for lying. Are you going to lie to me again?”

            Mercy swallowed hard but didn’t say anything.

            “You’re very bright. If you said no, I would have to do that to another finger. It’s in everyone’s nature to lie if they think that they have good reasons. You didn’t want to tell me that you were of the Forest Tribe, so I have to assume you’re a spy for them. Are you a spy?”

            Mercy said confidently, “No.”

            He frowned. “Hmmm…interesting. Then I’ll ask again. What were you doing here?”

            The doctor exchanged his hammer for a scalpel and held it just above Mercy’s right eye. Mercy felt herself beginning to sweat and found that she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the sharp object. He didn’t have to tell her what he was going to do if she lied to him this time, but she also knew if she told the truth it would mean he would hunt down her friends. Then they would be the next ones strapped down to the table.

            “I’m waiting. For every minute I wait, the scalpel gets closer.”

            He took a strange-looking golden device from his pocket. It clicked in a rhythmic way, and he stared at it intently, moving the scalpel closer and closer.

            Mercy shivered and closed her eyes.

            “Don’t make me pry your eyelids open. I have tools to do that too. Tick-tock.”

Excerpt 2

Erebus flinched at her expression as though he suddenly realized who she was. “Please, don’t look at me like this. I’m so thirsty. That whale carcass outside smelled so strong, and I came down here for a drink only to find this.” He continued in a terrified whisper, “There’s no blood. We’re weeks away from a port, and there’s no blood left here!”

“Don’t panic. We can provide blood for you. In the desert, Merilee and I gave you blood. And even if you don’t like them much, I’m sure that Beryl, Pyron, and Kylas would donate some blood for you too.”

He began to pace like a caged animal.

“But if I don’t get some soon, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I feel like I’m losing control. There’s something unnatural about that carcass, Mercy. Someone did something to it. It smells like it’s bleeding human blood.”

Mercy shivered. “Then you should take some blood from me. Since we’re still under the pact, you can’t take too much.”

“But what if I do? I’ve never fed from you when I was this thirsty.”

“I trust you.”

Erebus looked horrified. “Don’t, not right now. There’s something I didn’t tell you. The thing that Kylas saw in my shadow, it’s like the alternate version of me. I feel like I’m fighting to control it right now. I’m afraid if I lose to it then I won’t be able to come back.”

Mercy unbuttoned the top of her shirt and exposed most of her neck. “Then don’t. Take some blood from me.”

Erebus made an agonized sound and buried his face in his hands. When he looked up again, his eyes were no longer violet. They were the strange red color she thought she saw when she walked in. The expression on his face was a cruel grin, and it made her instinctively want to run screaming out of the room. He ran his tongue along his fangs, and when he spoke it sounded as though another voice was superimposed over his own.

“Well, if you insist.”

Mercy tried to run, but he moved so quickly that she barely even saw the motion at all. In an instant, he knocked her roughly to the floor and bit down hard on her neck. She had never felt so much of his venom. It made everything seem cloudy and surreal, like drinking too much blackberry wine at a celebration. The little light from the oil lamps lining the walls was misty. There were haloes surrounding the light like stars seen through tear-stained eyes. Mercy’s emotions were flowing in a spectrum of euphoria and terror as she felt him sucking up mouthful after mouthful of her blood. She tried to fight him off, but eventually she found herself not wanting him to stop.

Questions flooded the logical part of her mind as she felt her body becoming weaker and weaker. “Is this really how I die? Killed by the person that I love most? What will he do when he realizes he’s killed me? What will the others do to him?

Excerpt 3

Mercy reached for her silver knives. They had not been there a moment ago, but appeared as if summoned by her will. She ran the sharp edge against her hand, making the creature within the cave drool with desire. He strained harder against the chains, almost in frenzy. She waited patiently for him to settle down, like a spider waiting for a struggling fly to wear out before descending the web for its meal. She felt Erebus grabbing her by the shoulders, trying to pull her away and begging her to stop; but Mercy knew this place was in her mind, and she was the one in control.

“I’m blood bound to Erebus until we find the source of the rain. I know that you were involved in that as well. You’re a part of him, and you aren’t bound to me, at least not yet.”

The creature cackled its high-pitched laughter again. “You want to make a bargain with me, little girl?”

“Yes. First, I want you to swear that you won’t hurt or kill me or any of my friends, since that was the first thing that you tried to do the moment that you gained control.”

Erebus moaned and gripped her shoulders tighter. “Mercy, this is not a good idea!”

“Second, you’re to lay dormant again after Erebus gets enough blood to satiate his thirst – not your thirst, but his.”

Erebus’ demon just regarded her with a silent smile.

“And third, you owe me a favor to repay me for the blood I’ve lost to you. This pact will last until I claim my favor.”

It laughed. “You are a clever one. I’ll give you that, but now for my terms of the agreement. First, you will not harm me or my host, should he lose control again.”

“Very well.”

“Second, you’ll drink a few drops of my blood before you leave here.”

Erebus shouted, “NO! You won’t feed Mercy any of your tainted blood!”

It acted as though Erebus hadn’t spoken. “And finally, when the time comes for your favor it can’t be anything that requires me to dissipate, merge with Erebus, or any nonsense like that.”

“What will happen if I drink the blood?”

The creature smirked. “It will bind you to me and my host. You’ll be more attuned to him, more connected. You’ll even be able to tap into his power. The more of my blood that you drink, the more power you’ll gain. I’ll let you choose how much. It’ll be enough for you to have a taste of what it means to be a Weaver of Shadows.”

“It’ll taint you, Mercy. It’ll start to change you. Please listen to me! You don’t want to do this!”

“Only one drop.”

The creature grinned, cut its palm with the claw of its other hand, and reached out to shake. “We have an agreement, and may the powers that be strike the one down that breaks this vow.”

 

 

Dark Fantasy, Thriller, Horror
Date Published:  March 2017
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United by destiny, they must stand together to face an ancient evil…..
Ceri Edwards and two school friends lift the lid on an ancient book of recipes belonging to Betty Williams, a volunteer at the local hospital in Pontypridd, South Wales. Two Kansas City cops step off a flight at London Heathrow and one of them falls to the ground with a painful conviction that there’s something evil in the air.
United in their destinies, Ceri and the police officers are drawn into a world where prophecies are pitted against invisible forces planning to raze London to the ground and bring down the Royal Family.
It all rests with Dai Williams, recently knighted MI5 agent and reluctant hero, to bring some order to the improbable events and to ensure that afternoon tea at The Ritz continues for another hundred years. A great cross between Kim Newman and Ben Aaranovitch and a thrill for any fan of contemporary urban horror.
Excerpt
 
A decent, pot-bellied, cast iron cauldron usually sold for a hundred pounds. One that was antique and appropriately fire-tarnished doubled the sum. Use by an accredited witch—specifically a member of the Dynion Mwyn tradition—could nudge that figure into the stratosphere. That was because a well-used cauldron was believed to absorb spells into the metalwork, supposedly making incantations more effective. Debunking that idea was as fruitless as rubbishing homeopathy—particularly now that Welsh folklore remedies had royal approval and were being marketed under the Cymry Originals brand, with a crest of giant leeks crossed like swords under a flying harp.
None of that was of the slightest interest to the three girls peering into the bubbling contents of the vessel. Ceri, Dilys and Bronwen liked to imagine their Celtic magick delivered with Grimm determination and lashings of David Giuntoli whom they had already accorded the title of ‘Honorary Welshman’. He would know a good potion if he saw one and would have no time for fictional fripperies like wands. They were for stupid kids who knocked themselves out walking into the wall between platforms at railway stations. Owls were cool, though, although they were far too self-important to be used as posties.
All three would-be witches were outfitted courtesy of Georgio @ Asda. ‘Gold Witch’ was an absolute steal at three pounds—if zero carat bling rocks your cwch. They had also considered the ‘Mental Patient’ blood-spattered straitjacket costume, but Bronwen’s mum was a social worker and thought the mentally ill deserved more respect than a few pence-worth of garish polyester. A gorily-streaked, plastic meat cleaver was an optional extra and she thought it was very realistic.
It was all for show, of course. They had no need of such embellishments, but it kept their mothers happy—and, hopefully, ignorant of what they were up to. The fact that Halloween—or, more accurately, All Hallows’ Eve—was just around the corner, provided the perfect smokescreen for their activities. There was always the chance Ceri’s mum might enter the room while they were in the middle of adding an eye or two of newt, so they had the music system turned up loud and playing Super Furry Animals. Actually, newt eyes were so yesterday. They’d read that modern witchery had honed the ingredients down to essences of magic which could be bought over the internet if you knew where to look. Currently, they had no internet thanks to the stupid British government, so they’d had to improvise— after tossing salt over their left shoulders, crossing their fingers and reciting a hundred Hail Marys.

Other Books by David Graham:
Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
Published: July 2015
Horror, Supernatural, Thriller, Crime
What causes an adolescent – straight A student Brandon P Marshall – to walk downstairs naked, armed with a pair of Glocks, and go all Charles Manson on his family? This is only one in the horrifying trail of incidents that brings together Detective Sergeant Dale Franklin of the Kansas City Police Department and his poster-boy rookie, Steve Abrams. Meanwhile, across the pond, Dai Williams, in Battersea London, safe inside his improvised Faraday cage, is coming to terms with his special talents – talents that will take ‘getting-into-the-mind-of-the-killer’ to a whole new level. Al-Qaeda? Drugs Cartels? Internet freaks? David Graham’s The Screaming leaves no possibility untouched as Dai enters a bizarre and horrifying world where kids scream.
About the Author

David Graham lives in an ostensibly carbon zero house in rural Kent with his partner and cat amidst fields of maize and poly-tunnels of strawberries. Previously, he lived and worked in London as a consultant in the National Health Sservice. His previous non-fiction titles include: Medical Computing and Applications, Creative Sound and Computer-Assisted Medical Learning: Clinical Anatomy. David turned his attention to writing fiction in 2012. Since then, he has written one self-published novel (Looks Could Kill) and two traditionally published novels (Captive and Wet & Wild) under the name David Ellis. Looks Could Kill was in the Amazon Kindle Top 10 of spy thrillers and was downloaded more than 3,000 times. Captive was nominated for a Lambda Literary Award. He has also written two romance novellas under the name Richard Longfellow. His horror thriller The Screaming was published by Frostbite Publishing in the US in 2014, and by Austin Macauley in the UK in 2015. His new book The Knowing is the sequel to The Screaming and is due to be published early 2017 by Urbane Publications.


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