Things are looking up for Maylin Cole and her 4-year-old daughter,
Margo. Fleeing an abusive relationship, the private clinic Heaven’s Hope
offers shelter and the promise of a new life. Led by the charismatic and
beguiling Seraph Nakir, they learn a surprising truth: they’re actually
angels who have lost their way.
Everyone has an angel name and is being prepared to ‘ascend’ when
the time is right. Their angelic identities will play a significant role in
aiding humanity when the world ends.
As the weeks pass, Maylin becomes accustomed to the peculiar confrontational
therapy. The black curtains and bars on the windows no longer trouble her. The
lack of privacy, mystifying theology, and strange rules become commonplace.
She sees Margo less frequently since the children are kept in the basement.
The death of another patient awakens Maylin to dark secrets within the walls,
and soon the horrifying truth about Nakir and Heaven’s Hope is revealed.
Maylin must confront her insecurities, rediscover her individuality, and use
her wits and resources if she hopes to save Margo and the other children.
Inspired by a true crime case, this slow-burn thriller roars to a
pulse-pounding climax, reminding the reader to think independently, ask
questions, and be careful who you trust.
Read an Excerpt:
Maylin stared at Nakir in disbelief. “I…I can’t do
this.”
“Administer Uriel’s punishment. Now,” he replied.
Maylin looked at the man’s back as he knelt before the fireplace like a
monk at an ancient altar. Then she looked back at Seraph Nakir. “No.
N-no way…”
Nakir tilted his head, his dreadlocks falling to one side. He scowled at her.
“The injury was against you,” he said. “So, it is only right
that you be the one to dispense his punishment.”
She shook her head, eyes still wide, and thrust the poker toward Nakir.
He refused it. “You must, my daughter. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a
tooth. His bruises for your bruises. Go ahead. Begin.”
“No, no—this isn’t right. It’s not—”
“Carry out the punishment!” Seraph Nakir bellowed, stepping
forward to tower over her.
About the Author:
J. Todd Kingrea is the author of "With A Blighted Touch" and The Deiparian
Saga ("The Witchfinder," "The Crimson Fathers," and "Bane of the Witch"). He
has also authored two non-fiction books, two short stories, and role-playing
game scenarios. When not writing, he enjoys collecting and watching movies,
reading, and prowling through dusty old bookstores. He and his wife live in
Galax, Virginia.
You can find him online at www.jtoddkingrea.com, on Facebook, X, and
Instagram. Stay in touch at jtoddkingrea@yahoo.com.
An eerie suspense novel, in which a grieving woman takes a job at an isolated mansion only to become wrapped up in the curse that seems to have befallen its eccentric owner.
Emily Grace has endured the worst loss imaginable. But can she survive a remote manor haunted by more than just memories . . .?
Drowning in grief, Emily Grace has lost everything: her home, her friends, her career. Only one lifeline remains—a job working for an eccentric millionaire. Along with his wife, he’s been building a mansion on a secluded island surrounded by a harsh and unforgiving sea. But when she disappears under mysterious circumstances, Emily Grace is hired to finish the project.
Locals believe the house is cursed, but their warnings go unheeded as Emily Grace works to rebuild her life. After what she’s been through, nothing can scare her—except perhaps the attention of a handsome man offering more than friendship. And yet, there’s something strange about this solitary fortress. Accidents. Mishaps. Ghostly whispers through the surrounding forest, footsteps when she’s completely alone . . .
Is there truly a curse or is the ethereal specter in the window an omen of something more sinister?
This spooky standalone from phenomenal crime author Elena Taylor will have readers sleeping with the light on for weeks! With vibes of Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, fans of Riley Sager and thrillers with light horror elements will love The Haunting of Emily Grace!
NOW IN PAPERBACK!
Praise for The Haunting of Emily Grace:
"Taylor doesn’t just conjure suspense—she dissects it, peeling back the fragile layers of identity, memory, and trust until nothing feels safe. The Haunting of Emily Grace is deeply unsettling in all the best ways." ~ Carter Wilson, bestselling author of Tell Me What You Did
"Beautifully evocative and atmospheric, The Haunting of Emily Grace is a one-sitting read. I couldn't put it down." ~ Lisa Hall, bestselling author of suspense
"gut-tightening suspense" ~ Edward J Leahy, author of the Dan Brady and Kim Brady mysteries
Watch the The Haunting of Emily Grace BookTrailer:
Book Details:
Genre: Suspense with a touch of light paranormal/horror
Published by: Severn House
Publication Date: May 21, 2026
Number of Pages: 288 pages
ISBN: 9781448318889 (ISBN10: 1448318882), Paperback
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Severn House
Read an Excerpt:
ONE
Over the Water
Grief is a scab that I can’t stop picking at, no matter how hard I try. It pokes at me now as I sit in my truck on the deserted ferry dock, surrounded by dense morning fog and waiting for the boat to take me across an expanse of dark water to a house rumored to be cursed.
My fingers trace a photograph taped to my dashboard. My hand trembles, likely from an empty stomach or sleeplessness, as both are constant companions. But I outline the beloved face, forever frozen, like a precious object in amber. Lost to me in the real world, calling to me from the next.
The ferry slides into the dock in front of me with a bump against the pilings. A lone figure moves across the empty deck, while an old, grizzled seaman stays inside the tiny wheelhouse. One captain and one first mate.
Tying the ferry off with ropes thicker than my arm, the mate’s actions are practiced and steady. He lowers a ramp and waves me forward. Ever so slowly, I roll across the water, fighting against holding my breath—the superstition I’ve clung to my entire life every time I cross a bridge. The thirty-minute sail to Salish Island, and tiny Monk’s Rock where my new job awaits, won’t allow me the indulgence, so I might as well continue to breathe despite my need to cling to anything, even a silly belief, to keep me safe.
After parking the truck as the mate directs, I wait as he shoves bright orange chock blocks around all four wheels, as if, without a barrier, my vehicle might drive itself into the sea.
I open my door a crack; our eyes meet. “Can I get out?”
“Of course.”
The first mate is rugged, with an air of confidence like he’d be good in a crisis. Smooth skin on his cheeks. Bright, inquisitive eyes. Broad shoulders visible under the bulky uniform of dark green waterproof overalls and a yellow slicker.
He holds out his hand as I step out. “Careful. Parts of the deck can be slippery when it’s this wet.”
Electricity flies between our fingers, and I pull away as if he poses a threat. I don’t want to feel desire. Intimacy is dangerous. But what does it mean that I’m looking at men again?
He gives me an odd look. “We’ll be underway in a few minutes.” He walks back to the ramp, where two men unload a battered white cargo van. The three of them quickly stack boxes to one side, lashing them in place. No doubt provisions for an island that’s home to five hundred hearty souls—and me. At least for the time it takes to complete the finish carpentry in one enormous house.
I’d once been a very good carpenter. Before my life exploded into hospitals and medical visits, overwhelming helplessness and all the endless paperwork connected to dying. Since then, I’ve done a poor job of putting myself back together. The rough pieces of grownup life refusing to fit a new pattern now that I’m alone.
My mentor Bill Thomlinson had started this project less than a week ago but fell and broke his leg in multiple places. After he came through the surgery, metal pins in place, he convinced the homeowner to take a chance on me.
“You need this,” he said to me over the phone, his voice surprisingly strong for someone coming out of anesthesia. “I’m done watching you flail. This job can save you. Don’t let me down.”
Now I stand on the deck of a private ferry while the engines roar out a steady vibration under my feet, and wonder if I’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake.
Crossing to the rail, I pin my eyes where the horizon must lie out beyond the mist. Clouds above and waves below. Indistinguishable from each other because of the heavy air, thick like smoke. My stomach lurches at the thought of everything that swims underneath my feet and the unknown depth of the sea.
Breathe in . . . breathe out . . . focus on the future. Focus on the work.
All I know about the job ahead of me is that the original carpenter vanished, forcing the owner, Cameron Lang, to bring in someone else, but then Bill ended up with pins in his leg. Given that I haven’t slept in so long that I shouldn’t be trusted with power tools, I hope that whatever the curse is, it doesn’t come in threes.
When I feel like I’m losing my mind, it helps to ground myself with something physical, so I grip the hard, cold rail in my hands. No matter how much ending my life is a viable choice, some small part of me refuses to let death win again.
The fog brightens, and we cross a physical line in space, plunging into a blue so pure it hurts my eyes. I gasp and grip even tighter as the sky separates from the water, which now spreads out below me in an endless black void.
“Not quite got your sea legs?” The first mate watches me with barely disguised curiosity.
Salt spray traces tears down my cheeks. I must look like I’m crying. “I didn’t expect to come out of the fog so abruptly.”
“It does that sometimes. Now you see it, now you don’t. No matter how often we sail through a bank, it always feels like magic.”
“I can imagine.”
He lingers nearby. Maybe there’s little to do once the ferry is underway. Although small talk is beyond my ability, part of me longs to hear his voice again, even if I say things that sound insane.
The temperature drops as we head further out to sea.
We’re soon dodging between uninhabited land masses. “Some of these islands are so low they disappear in high tide.” He gestures to the slopes of land. Rocky outcroppings just under the surface. Dangerous, like unexploded mines in the sand.
Panic rises. The water below us taunts me—my troubles will be over if I simply fall into a watery grave. The voice becomes louder and more insistent that I should do something I can’t take back. To keep my mind off the words in my head, my eyes search for the defiant piece of US rock thrusting out of Canadian waters. If I can make it back to dry land, I can get through another day.
“That’s what you’re looking for.” The first mate’s breath tickles my ear as he comes closer, speaking over the hum of the engines, the slap of water on the hull, and the cry of seagulls. My gaze follows his arm to the far-off outline of Salish Island, where Monk’s Rock perches off the northern-most end, tethered to each other by the narrowest of bridges.
“Take this.” He presses a business card into my hand. “Just in case.” Under his name is a single word, handyman, and a phone number.
“Adrian Han?” I look up, his eyes capturing mine. “I thought you were the first mate.”
“I’m a lot of things.” His words are casual, but something reflects in his expression, an emotion I can’t put my finger on.
“You might realize at some point there’s a project you need help with. Nothing against your skills. Everyone needs another set of hands once in a while.”
“I have a helper.”
“Chuck, yeah. I’ve worked with him before.” His tone is carefully neutral.
My new boss made the arrangements for Chuck to help me with anything that requires two people. Am I going to regret his choice?
“How do you know why I’m here?”
Adrian’s carefree expression returns. “Emily Grace Turner. Carpenter. Here to finish the End of the World.”
It’s a jolt that he knows anything about me when I’ve worked so hard to become invisible. He reads me again, and his tone turns reassuring. “It’s a small town—people talk.” He gestures toward the wood rack that fits over my camper shell and the bumper sticker: Proud Member of the Carpenter’s Union. “Plus, your name was on your ferry registration.”
I chuckle for thinking his words are sinister until a darker emotion, one that looks like fear, crosses his face. “That house—” His lips purse as if he holds something back. “Just call if you need help. Anytime.”
The island takes clearer shape, and Adrian returns to the wheelhouse, his absence palpable, as if a physical hole remains in the air after he’s gone.
He’s taken his fear with him, except for the small part he’s left behind with me.
***
Excerpt from The Haunting of Emily Grace by Elena Taylor. Copyright 2025 by Elena Taylor. Reproduced with permission from Elena Taylor. All rights reserved.
Meet the Author:
Elena Taylor spent several years working in theater as a playwright, director, designer, and educator before turning her storytelling skills to novels. Her first series, the Eddie Shoes Mysteries, written under Elena Hartwell, introduced a quirky mother/daughter crime fighting duo.
With the Sheriff Bet Rivers Mysteries, Elena returned to her dramatic roots to bring readers more serious and atmospheric novels. Located in her beloved Washington State, Elena uses her connection to the environment to produce tense and suspenseful investigations for a lone sheriff in an isolated community. The third in the series, Kill to Keep, launches summer 2026.
The Haunting of Emily Grace is Elena’s first standalone suspense novel.
Her favorite place to be is at Paradise, the property she lives on south of Spokane, Washington, with her equines, dogs, cats, and hubby.
Strange visitors have appeared in Ethel, their clothes and mannerisms jarring against the familiar rhythm of the coastal town. The woman in Orla and Dave's spare room speaks in archaic phrases and marvels at electric lights, while the silent man staying with Molly and Cormac carries a translucent device that glows with symbols no one recognizes.
As fog rolls in from the sea, bringing with it the now-familiar whispers and cold spots that signal another haunting, the four friends realize they must unravel the temporal mystery before them. The clock tower strikes at midnight, and both past and future hang in the balance.
*Contains mature themes, open door sex scenes, and mature language.
Three
years ago, the small town of Ethel, VA, was rocked to its core when the
lighthouse became a beacon for something an-cient and hungry. Every year since
then, we’ve cast a protection spell, tying knots in rope while visualizing a
protective shield, at the weathered tower a week before Samhain, our voices
car-ried away by the salt-tinged wind. This year’s no different.
Cormac’s
slender fingers intertwine with mine as we ap-proach Orla and Dave across the
grassy shoreline. We’ve man-aged to mostly heal from the toxic tendencies of
the past—the jealousy, the competition, the midnight arguments that left scorch
marks on the walls. Magical abilities complementing each other have a tendency
to do that, like puzzle pieces finally finding their fit.
The
mid-October sunlight glints off Cormac’s long, blonde hair, turning each strand
into spun gold against the blue sky. We don’t meet here at night anymore, not
since the shadows began to move independently of their owners. She gently
squeezes my hand in reassurance, slight crow’s feet crinkling around her eyes
with a smile that blooms one of my own in return. She tries to continue her
broody exterior by wearing a scuffed leather jacket with silver buckles, but
her face is too full of light these days to continue the façade.
“It’s
about time you two showed up,” Orla says as she wraps me in a hug, her dark
curls tickling my cheek. Her automatic soul-possessing ability takes hold
straight away, a warm honey-like sensation flooding through my veins. I feel
her anxiety—sharp and metallic—and she feels mine. While hers is about the
treacherous events three years ago, mine is about the small vel-vet box burning
a hole in my pocket, holding a moonstone ring for Cormac.
I
know she’ll say yes; I hear Orla’s thoughts echo in my mind like a whisper in
an empty room. To assuage her anxiety, I push forward images of Cormac and me
from earlier in the morning. We’d stayed in bed, all consumed with passionate
kisses and bodies moving in rhythmic dance together; sheets twisted around our
ankles, the taste of her still on my lips.
Okay,
okay, you’re excused for being late, Orla sends through the connection, her
mental voice tinged with amuse-ment. Then it’s gone as Dave, tall and
broad-shouldered in his flannel-lined jacket, gently pulls her out of the hug.
He com-plements her power as Cormac complements mine, his deep voice carrying
over the crash of waves against the shore.
“Did
you actually expect them to be on time?” he asks her, his breath visible in the
chilly air.
Orla
looks at me, her eyes sparkling, and we snicker like schoolgirls sharing a
secret.
“Some
of us know how to keep a woman in bed,” I goad Dave, watching his cheeks flush
crimson.
Before
he can respond, Cormac says, “Guys, I think you should come over here,” her
voice tight with tension.
She’s
rounding the other side of the lighthouse, her boots crunching on the path. I
jog over to her, worried she might be in danger, the wind whipping my hair
across my face. Once I’m next to her, I’m struck with frozen terror, my breath
catching in my throat. As Orla and Dave’s footsteps catch up, I try to count
the sleeping bodies sprinkled around the remnants of a bonfire.
Sprawled
across the damp autumn ground lies a peculiar as-sembly of slumbering
figures—some adorned in woolen cloaks and flowing medieval gowns; others draped
in shimmering flapper dresses and tweed vests and flat caps. The incongruous
sight sends a chill down my spine, conjuring memories of that haunted night
years ago when phantoms in pheasant feathers and tarnished armor materialized
from the mist. Could history be repeating itself? I draw Cormac closer, my
fingers tightening protectively around her shoulder. A bitter wind sweeps
through the clearing, rustling crimson leaves and stirring the strange visitors
from their dreams.
“Oh,
halloo,” calls a woman with cascading silver-streaked hair that catches the
morning light. Deep laugh lines frame her eyes as she rises gracefully to her
feet, brushing debris from her embroidered skirts. Her button nose crinkles
above heart-shaped lips as she smiles warmly. “I’m Marie. We weren’t expecting
anyone so early.”
“You’re
days early for Samhain,” Orla informs her, her voice carrying across the
clearing.
“Samhain!”
exclaims a younger woman with stylish curls and bright eyes. She leaps up,
clapping her hands together with enthusiasm, silver bracelets jingling at her
wrists. “I’m Florian. I absolutely adore a proper shindig.”
Another
woman glides forward, her tweed vest firmly hug-ging her body. She loops her
arm possessively around Florian’s slender waist and extends her other hand,
adorned with bangles that glint in the early light. “Kiersten,” she offers, her
voice me-lodic but guarded.
“Molly,
and this is Cormac,” I reply, mirroring Kiersten’s protective gesture by
drawing Cormac against my side, feeling her warmth through her leather jacket.
“Might
there be lodgings available in your village?” Marie inquires, her eyes scanning
the distant rooftops visible through the thinning trees.
“Not
anywhere that could accommodate a gathering of this size,” Dave responds, his
weathered hands resting on his leather belt.
A
tall woman with anxious eyes approaches Orla hesitantly. A man with sandy blond
hair clutches her trembling arm as she nervously smooths out her skirt. Dave
and I don’t miss her flinch with his touch, juxtaposing their closeness. It
resurfaces memories from when Dave and Orla couldn’t touch. “Hello, I’m
Claudia,” she murmurs, “and may I present Alex?” Her delicate fingers twist
together nervously while Alex soothingly rubs her goosebump-covered arms.
“Orla
and Dave,” Dave announces, nodding curtly. When Alex extends his hand to Orla,
Dave intercedes and shakes his hand, so Orla doesn’t have to.
“Um,
Orla,” Alex interjects, his deep voice surprisingly gen-tle. “Pardon our
intrusion, but might Claudia ask you something rather personal?”
“Of
course, what troubles you?” Orla asks, leaning forward with interest.
“Do
you perceive others’ thoughts when you make physical contact?” Claudia
whispers, her pale cheeks blooming with a rosy flush that spreads to the tips
of her ears.
“Perhaps
we should escort this assemblage to our home-stead,” Dave interrupts, clearing
his throat. “We have several spare rooms. Not sufficient for everyone, but
certainly prefera-ble to camping outside.”
“We’d
be eternally grateful,” Marie responds, casting a con-cerned sideways glance at
Claudia’s distressed expression. “A proper rest would benefit us tremendously
after our... unusual journey.”
Meet the Author:
Stephanie Hansen is a PenCraft and Global Book Award Winning Author as well as an Imadjinn finalist. Her debut novella series, Altered Helix, released in 2020. It hit the #1 New Release, #1 Best Seller, and other top 100 lists on Amazon. It is now being adapted to an animated story for Tales. Her debut novel, Replaced Parts, released in 2021 through Fire & Ice YA and Tantor Audio. It has been in a Forbes article, hit Amazon bestseller lists, and made the Apple young adult coming soon bestsellers list. The second book in the Transformed Nexus series, Omitted Pieces, released in 2022. Her debut spicy paranormal romance, Ghostly Howls, released 2023. Her debut historical magical realism, Armored Hours, released 2024. The Armored Hours sequel, Guarded Time, released 2025 and the Ghostly Howls sequel, Ghostly Returns, released 2026. She is a member of the deaf and hard of hearing community, so she tries to incorporate that into her fiction.
Tagline: Six macabre, supernatural, fanatical, and dystopian tales all brought to you by the minds of six brilliant authors, each bringing their version of spellbinding storytelling in one anthology. Prepare to be fascinated by their unique perspectives, as they weave intricate stories that blur the lines between reality and the surreal.
About the Book:
Six visions of horror, each more unsettling than the last.
In Something Neighborly by D. Thomas Jerlo, a gremlin’s mischievous tricks twist everyday life into a nightmare.
In The Breezy Ridge Inn by David Boiani, an idyllic Vermont getaway hides sinister secrets behind its prayers.
In Consumed by Jenna Greene, the tolling of bells marks the countdown to sacrifice in a dystopian world.
In The Year of the Dead by Simon Parker, one man faces his last Christmas as humanity falls to the plague of the undead.
In The Clairvoyant Connection by Phil Thomas, a psychic on the 1986 boardwalk foresees a death she cannot stop.
And in Fortune Favours by Char Baker, a team of supernatural agents uncovers a deadly conspiracy of demons, shapeshifters, and betrayal.
Together, these stories explore mischief, faith, fate, and apocalypse — six doors into terror, each waiting for you to step through.
February
is “Women in Horror” month, and to celebrate, I’m sharing a look at my new
release, The Route 9 Stalker. It’s technically a mystery/thriller, but
it has a strong horror element built into the plot. And how could a story about
a serial killer not be scary?
The Route
9 Stalker is a follow-up (of sorts) to The
Route 9 Killer and follows Detective Jim Rourke on a disturbing new
case.Although the books share two main characters, each stands alone as an
individual read, and you can read them in any order.
Here is the book summary:
The Route 9 Stalker
(A
Mystery/Thriller)
It
started with a body in the woods — and turned into a hunt for a deranged
stalker.
Late one evening, Megan Graystone enters a police
station and reports that she witnessed a man dumping a woman’s body in the
woods.
But with no concrete proof and no sign of foul play,
Detective Jim Rourke dismisses her story —
until a woman’s mutilated body is found close by. As Rourke investigates
the victim’s past, he learns that she was being stalked by a mysterious
stranger — and so were several other
murdered women.
Rourke discovers that the elusive stalker is playing a
twisted game; changing identities and vanishing after each murder. With no
other option, Rourke enlists Megan Graystone’s help to trap the stalker — although it means putting her in grave
danger.
Can Rourke stop the stalker before he kills and
disappears again?
When I wrote TheRoute 9 Killer, I
didn’t know I would eventually write another book featuring Detective Rourke.
But one day I was looking through my folder of ideas for stories I might write
“someday” and came across a simple premise: A woman sees a man dumping a body
in the woods, and the killer comes after her. I thought about it for a while
and began to toy with ways to expand the idea.
I started wondering: What if this wasn’t
this guy’s first kill? Who are the women he has killed? Why is he killing them?
How does he find his victims? I started piecing the story together in my head
and thought of ways I could bring Detective Rourke onto the case.
Three years after the events that took
place in The Route 9 Killer,
Detective Jim Rourke has finally put the unwanted publicity from that case
behind him, and he never wants to hear about serial killers again.
However, fate has delivered him a woman’s
mutilated body—the same body Megan claimed to have seen in the woods. When
Rourke’s fellow Detective Ed Dolenz uncovers similar cold cases, Rourke finds
himself hunting another serial killer. He learns that a man is stalking and viciously
murdering women he meets on dating sites. Rourke and Dolenz are able to link
the killings to a mysterious man who switches identities and vanishes after
each murder.
Is the man Megan saw in the woods
connected to the murders? Rourke thinks he might be, and he needs Megan’s help
catching him. But Dolenz theorizes that there might be more than one killer…
When I plotted the book, I decided Megan
would be a focal point of the story, and she plays a central role in helping
Rourke catch the killer. Right from the start, readers see that Megan isn’t a
big fan of the police, and she’s cautious when dealing with strangers. Although
she knows she’s potentially the target of a serial killer, she isn’t frightened
off. Why? Because she’s a lifelong horror movie fan and she follows “the rules”
of staying alive and defending herself against predators.
I intentionally played up the theme of
“protecting yourself” in the book. As a single woman living alone, Megan fits
the profile of the killer’s victims, but she’s smart and has a no-nonsense
attitude when it comes to her personal safety and boundaries. Some of that
comes from mocking horror movie heroines who make bad choices, but a lot of it
comes from her relationship with her best friend, Lori.
Throughout the book, whenever something
disturbing or strange happens, Megan talks to her friend Lori. This gives
readers a break from Rourke’s investigation, and readers can see what seemingly
innocent interactions Megan has with people turn out to be vital to the case.
Lori acts as a sounding board for Megan’s
concerns (or lack thereof) and Lori cautions her to be careful since “Rourke is
using her as bait for a serial killer.” Megan keeps reassuring everyone that
she’ll be okay and she can handle things. But can she?
Everyone isn’t who (or what) they seem in
this story, and without giving away any plot details or spoilers, I can say
that Rourke, Megan, and the killer come together in the end, and the story
packs a great twist ending.
I loved writing this book, and I
incorporated a bit of myself into the plot. As a lifelong horror movie fan (and
someone who loves Halloween), I decided to have the entire story take place the
week before Halloween. It added an element of surprise to the ending and helped
build suspense. (And yes, my best friend is named Lori. She thought the book
was great, by the way!)
I hope you will add both Route 9 books to your 2026 reading list. Readers have asked me if
I’m going to give Detective Rourke one more case to solve and complete a
trilogy. I’ve been considering it… What do you think?
If you love horror and are celebrating all
things scary this month, visit the Horror, Mystery & More page on my site: https://www.kelliwilkins.com/horror to read about all
of my spooky stories!
Until next time…
Happy Reading!
Kelli
A. Wilkins
Meet the Author:
Kelli A. Wilkins is an award-winning
author who has published more than 100 short stories, 24 romance novels, and 9
mystery/thriller/horror ebooks. Her romances span many genres and settings, and
she likes to scare readers with her horror, mystery, and thriller fiction.
Her latest book, The Route 9 Stalker, was
published in January 2026. This mystery/thriller is set in Central NJ and
follows Detective Jim Rourke on a disturbing new case. Meet him for the first
time in The Route 9 Killer.
Kelli’s 24th
romance, For Love’s Sake, an epic historical/fantasy
romantic adventure, was published in 2025.
In 2024, she
released Surreal Escapes, a collection of 7
speculative/spooky stories. Anything can—and does—happen in this anthology.
Rose is in her late 70s, living out her golden years at the Autumn Springs Retirement Home.
When one of her friends dies alone in her apartment, Rose isn’t too concerned. Accidents happen, especially at this age! Then another resident drops dead. And another. With bodies stacking up, Rose can’t help but wonder: are these accidents? Old age? Or something far more sinister?
Together with her best friend Miller, Rose begins to investigate. The further she digs, the more convinced she becomes: there’s a killer on the loose at Autumn Springs, and if she isn’t careful, Rose may be their next victim.
Praise for The Autumn Springs Retirement Home Massacre:
“Rose isn’t your average final girl. She’s a woman and a survivor who you’ll cheer for every step of the way in this smart, fast-paced slasher.”
—Erika T. Wurth, author of White Horse and The Haunting of Room 904
“A wholly original slasher novel with a uniquely strong and vulnerable heroine...Fans of the genre should put this on their must-read list.”
—Christina Henry, author of Alice and The Place Where They Buried Your Heart
“Autumn Springs is packed full of characters that you can’t help falling in love with, just as their bodies start hitting the floor. Fracassi sticks the knife in your heart and twists it. A tear-stained blood-soaked slasher for the ages.”
—Brian McAuley, author of Breathe In, Bleed Out and Curse of the Reaper
PHILIP FRACASSI is the Bram Stoker Award-nominated author of the story collections Behold the Void and Beneath a Pale Sky. His novels include A Child Alone with Strangers, Gothic, and Boys in the Valley. His stories have been published in numerous magazines and anthologies, including Best Horror of the Year, Nightmare Magazine, Southwest Review, Interzone, and Black Static. Philip lives in Los Angeles.
Bite-sized horror stories are brought to you by twenty-five authors. From
creepy crawlies to the seemingly normal pets. From hideous monsters lurking in
the dark to charismatic people showing their true colors.
Each tale is precisely 100 words and leaves a long-lasting chilling
effect. Some will make you question the security of the world around you, and
what's more terrifying than that?
Featuring drabbles by the following authors: Bernardo Villela, K.J.
Watson, David J. Vowell, Joshua Ginsberg, A.L. Smith, Petina Strohmer, Zari
Hunt, Paul Burgess, Diana Parrilla, Angel Zapata, Vanessa Bane, Marc Sorondo,
Jacek Wilkos, Arvee Fantilagan, Jodie Francis, Alex Azar, Andreas Flögel,
Jade Kalb, Andrew Buckner, Ken Whitson, Jãnis Bogužs, Andrea Tillmanns,
C.L. Hart, S.F.J. Painter, Monica Wenzel, Dragan Ivanović, and J.E. Feldman.
Read an Excerpt:
One Moonlit Night
Copyright 2025 by C. L. Hart
As fourteen-year-old Nevil Teodoro climbed down the trellis near his bedroom
window, a blood-curdling scream pierced the darkness, startling him so badly
that he nearly fell. Juan Soto, the head groundskeeper, ran up from the
gardens, his clothes covered in mud and his face pale as the moon.
“What’s goin’ on, Ese?” Nevil asked as he finished his
descent. “You look like you seen a ghost!”
“Get back in the house, Chico, and call Mama Cecilia.”
“You trippin’, Juan Solo? You want me to call una bruja vieja and
not la policia?”
“Ain’t no policia can stop a moon vampire!”
About the Author:
C. L. Hart is an editor who writes or a writer who edits. She primarily pens
dark fantasy (often Lovecraftian) and sweet romance. She resides in a tiny
town on the Northeastern Colorado plains with her adult son, her cat daughter,
and her cat grandson. When not editing, writing, or rehabilitating eldritch
horrors, she enjoys coloring, crafts, and cooking things that she hopes will
be palatable to someone besides the eldritch horrors.
Here, we do not care where you are from or who you are. We care that you are women. And we care about your minds.
Lakegrave is unlike any other school. Hidden in the mountains of Scotland, it only accepts one bright woman per specialist subject. With no teachers and no curriculum, the self-taught establishment offers its students the tools to expand their skillsets to then go onto being masters in their fields.
When Raven and her cousin Rowan are accepted, they are excited to refine their crafts and converse with fellow classmates.
That is until students go missing.
Some come back but they are not as they once were. Something is off about them.
Something is misplaced.
So when fellow student Esme wants to investigate and invites Raven to join, they uncover that there’s much more to the school than they thought with chilling secrets kept tucked away in its history. But with ghosts stirring and the cohort decreasing, will any of them make it to graduation?
There
isn’t much known about Lakegrave School for Young Women due to its remote
location and it being a new school, but it is the only school in the world
known for its unique education style—it’s completely self-taught. There are no
teachers, just one headmistress. The school only invites the best and brightest
women from across the globe to study there for one year before being scouted to
go on to their dream careers. This didn’t mean smart in absolutely everything
but a genius in our own field.
That
is the other unique thing—it also only invites one person per specialist
subject.
That’s
why Rowan and I were lucky enough to be accepted. Rowan is only just old enough
to attend at one and twenty years of age; I, on the other hand, have two years
on her. Luck was also on our side when we were encouraged to pursue different
hobbies instead of the same, otherwise we wouldn’t have been accepted
concurrently.
Leading
up to the school, I can only make out the tops of the building as the hedge has
overgrown so much. It’s as if the place has been neglected over the summer, if
not over the years. Such an odd notion for a new educational establishment but,
then again, it was something else before.
I
reach the main gate and see a crest at the top. In the middle, there is a sprig
of lavender and on each side of the shield are bees facing inward. This looks
like it’s been cleaned recently.
Couldn’t
say the same for the rest of the gate.
It
looks like it once was black, but it is brown now due to the rust. I don’t want
to touch it, so I nudge it open with my elbow and shut it again once I’m in.
It’s
called a school, but it would be better off compared to a castle, just like
every other boarding school that exists. The windows stretch tall and look like
they are modelled after a church. Although it is a fairly new build, its
appearance is like it has been designed as old-fashioned on purpose, fitting in
with something from the 1600s rather than the 1800s. And it almost looks like
it’s falling apart, the brickwork cracked and turning the walls into a darker
colour rather than its usual sand. It is preposterously big for a school that
doesn’t admit too many students. There is definitely some sort of beauty to the
building but for some reason, even in the daytime, it appears a little
ominous—as if the place is lifeless. It seems as though the garden has
overtaken everything as greenery and moss is growing alongside the building. To
the west of the school there are some greenhouses and to the east of the school
is a church.
The
ground crunches as I walk up to the building. There is a huge fountain which is
bordered by the driveway on either side but appears not to work, and a huge
statue coming out from the middle of it. I’m not that knowledgeable about Greek
gods but I know it’s Aphrodite.
It
seems fitting to have her standing guard over us.
I
pause by the front door, already hearing voices coming from within, so I grip
my violin case tighter and push the double doors inwards—letting them shut me
away for the next year.
About the Author:
Lauren (she/they) is a library assistant by day and writer by night. She is the author of WHEN THE DEMONS TAKE HOLD and YOUR DARLING DEATH. She has published several short stories including: ALIVE, JUST with The Horror Tree, THE CHILDREN OF OWL WILDS with Haunted Words Press, and THE SACRIFICES WE MAKE with Rooster Republic Press.
).png)
.png)
