Spooky Story for Halloween~

In celebration of the upcoming All Hallow's Eve, I thought I'd share an excerpt from my newest paranormal novella The Color of Water. Set on the North Carolina coast, it's the story of Samantha who loses her dad at sea and finds herself trying to protect her mom from a supernatural beast most everyone else believes is a real human. Enjoy~



~from Chapter 8~



On the sidewalk in front of us, a man leaned on an iron fence, half hidden in a bougainvillea vine. I smelled him before I could really see him, a weird mix of pipe smoke and alcohol and something salty like seaweed. The silky voice told me who it was before he leaned forward into the light of a nearby house.

“Pardon me, miss. Didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, reaching out two nut brown hands to Karla. As Teach caught her hands in his own, I saw a tattoo on his forearm in the moonlight – a blue demon stabbing a heart across his rippling muscle. He gently steadied Karla, ignoring me.

“It’s fine,” Karla said. “I should watch where I’m going.”

Teach stood there, holding onto Karla’s hands, staring deep into her eyes like a lover. No one was allowed to look at my mom like that, not while I was standing there.

“Do you mind taking your paws off my mother?” I said, forgetting any warning Matt might have given me.

“I’m only trying to help,” he said, releasing her finally. “Perhaps I can make it up to you?”

“No really, its fine,” insisted Karla, trying to move past him. He caught her by the shoulders, holding her close to him.

“Can I see you again?” he begged in an urgent whisper.

“Let her go, you creep!” I yelled.

“A little something to remember me by,” he purred in her ear, a chunky gold bracelet emerging from his jacket pocket draped across his thick fingers. I was sure it was the exact same bracelet I pitched in the ocean weeks ago. He moved to lay it over her wrist. Without thinking, I snatched it away.

“Run Karla!” I yelled as I pushed my mom’s shoulder. She took off toward home as Teach turned his eyes to me. Even in the dim moonlight, I could see his crazy eyes, aqua blue like some stormy Caribbean Sea.

“Give it back, Samantha,” he said like a parent to a naughty child, patient but annoyed.

“How do you know my name?” I stalled.

“I know many things about you. I know you foolishly meddle in things you know nothing about, for instance,” he said, moving toward me, his eyes locked on mine. His words stung me.

“What is this thing?” I said, holding up the chain. If it wasn’t Louise’s bracelet, it was just like it. “Do you give it all the women you plan to kill?”

Teach laughed, a low chuckle, still coming toward me as I backed away, stumbling over the cracked sidewalk into the street.

“You might say that,” he admitted. “But I don’t give it to anyone who doesn’t welcome it.”

“Who welcomes death?”

“You’re young. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Now give it to me,” his tone growing more insistent. I held the bracelet behind my back.

“Not until you promise to leave my mother alone,” I said, my voice quivering like a leaf in the wind. The energy radiating off Teach now burned my skin, like standing too close to an open fire.

“I don’t make bargains with little girls. What’s mine is mine,” he snarled, his skin tightening over his skull and then evaporating to reveal the bones underneath. His blue eyes burned like coals in the darkness, inhuman and unnatural. The heat felt like it would scorch my eyebrows off. I fell as he swung at me, screaming.

Happy Halloween!!

Storyteller: The Complete Trilogy now available in Print

At long last, the Storyteller Trilogy comes to print! My very first e-books have been brought together in one hefty paperback volume with a beautiful new cover.

If you've ever wanted to hold Storyteller in your hand, now's your chance. And if you've never read Storyteller, you're in for a treat!

The Storyteller Series tells the story of a young fairy hidden in the human world who has to save her home world- The True World- from forces that threaten to destroy everything. It's an epic middle-grade tale to appeals to all readers that's been compared to The Chronicles of Narnia and Fablehaven.

~Praise for Storyteller~

This story blew me away. As a middle grade story, it's a success with plenty of social strife and a little innocent romance. But what really gets me is the world building, the fantasy and the adventure. Plus, there is an element of danger that soon builds into quite a gripping story, nothing at all what I expected in the early chapters. The writing is smooth and easy to read without being simplistic. The plot development is solid, and I really enjoy the unique way Lily learns about her mother.

The character development is also noteworthy. Each person, friend or foe, is unique and believable. The good guys aren't perfect and the bad guys are scary, but not invincible.

Overall I loved this story because it's exciting and reminds me of The Neverending Story. It's one I know I'll read again and again. I recommend this to young and old, anyone who loves fantasy and modern fairy tales. ~ Goodreads reviewer

Find it now on Amazon!
Or if you prefer e-books, the entire series can be found on
Smashwords.

Follow me on Goodreads for updates on all my books. Enjoy!

The Color of Water Giveaway

The cure for anything is saltwater –

sweat, tears, or the sea.

~Isak Dinesen

I love the sea. I've always loved it, although I haven't always lived near it. I once thought I'd grow up to be an oceanographer or a marine biologist, but fate had other plans for me. And truth be told, the ocean can be a frightening thing. I'm always in awe of the men and women who are brave enough to sail it. I enjoy riding in boats, but I'm always glad to get back to dry land. I'm truly happiest on a beach.

My latest southern gothic novella, The Color of Water, was inspired by a trip to the North Carolina coast a few years back and a visit to the historic town of Beaufort. Beaufort is just about as old as a town gets in North America, founded in 1709. It's seen the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, and everything since. With all that history, you can imagine what a great graveyard it had. And ghosts. Lots of places in North Carolina have ghosts, but Beaufort has the best in my opinion. Pirates, merchants, soldiers, and little girls - there's just about any type of ghost you might want there.

So Beaufort combines two things I adore - the ocean and history. When I visited, I knew immediately it would be the setting for my next book. The Color of Water is a novella, so it's the perfect length for a rainy, fall afternoon, cozying up on the couch with a ghost story. Fans of love triangles and super sweet teen romance may be disappointed. The story is very much about the ebbs and flows of life and death, about holding on and letting go. It's also about the connection of a parent to a child, so while there are some elements of a first love, it's also about much more. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

~About the Book~

Life is unpredictable. Why would death be any different?

Sixteen year old Samantha’s Dad died in a sailing accident and her Mom’s moving them to the sleepy, backwater town of Beaufort, North Carolina, so they can make a new start. Afraid to sail again, Samantha takes her mind off the past by trying to solve the mystery of who's killing young women on the island, only the killer is way more than your ordinary psychopath.

Turns out, the blood-thirsty ghost of Blackbeard returns to Beaufort on the high tide to collect the souls of beautiful young women and now he wants her mom. With only the help of a two-bit psychic and the ghost of a young, drowned sailor she might be falling in love with, Samantha struggles to save her mother. But Sam has some demons of her own to conquer first.

  ~ From Chapter One ~

   It’s funny what you notice when you’re dying. It’s not your breath or your heartbeat, or the ripple of your mind slowly coming undone. It’s what you love. For me, it’s the color of the water. First, it’s green like bottle glass. Then it’s deep, dark blue-black, like a midnight sky.

   The water seeps into my ears blocking everything else out. It creeps into my clothes, through the strands of my hair. It invades my nose, my mouth, and slides into my lungs, into my stomach. It envelopes me, claims me as its own. I’m going with it.

   And then something jerks me back. In the murky water, I can barely see what it is through my salt-blinded eyes. It’s Dad. He’s got me. He’s tugging on my vest, trying to unhitch the tether and I wonder why. Something breaks free and he pulls me up with him. The vest I’m wearing pops me up to the surface like a cork.

   On the surface, my lungs vomit out searing salt water, even as more angry waves bash us against the hull of the sloop. She’s completely upside down. Dad’s pushing my limp arms up on The Tempest, trying to make me grab a hold of something, anything to keep my head above water.

~***~

To celebrate the release, two lucky winners will win a free copy of the print book or e-book - your choice! Be sure to enter :)


a Rafflecopter giveaway

You can always find The Color of Water on Amazon :) and Goodreads! and if you'd like to learn more about me, Lisa Cresswell, please visit my web site. Enjoy!

October 28 ~ Finding Inspiration

OK, I admit it. I’m dragging in the inspiration department here lately. Working hard on revisions means I’m not creating much new stuff, although I did just finish some flash fiction for Halloween and Christmas. The pressure of the 31 Day Blog Challenge pushing me to come up with new content every day got me thinking about my “inspiration” process. Where do I find my ideas?

So, as I thought about it, I realized most of my ideas, but not all of them, start with a theme. The flash stories were inspired first by those holidays, but secondly by the feeling or the message that I wanted to convey.  I had a general idea what genre I wanted to write in, i.e. gothic, steampunk, but after that, I think my ideas come from a conglomeration of things I’ve been thinking about, heard or read. Things that are stewing about in my subconscious. Going on trips to places I haven’t been, or places I haven’t been in a long time inspire me as well. Seeing an intriguing person can inspire me too.

Because I can’t travel all the places I’d love to go, I’ve found myself creating boards on Pinterest that inspire me.  I can’t say that any one photograph on Pinterest has led me to create a story, but the photos there have certainly helped me flesh out the worlds I’ve created in my head. The same with music. I can’t write with music playing because it distracts me, but the feeling music invokes can definitely be inspiring.  I even created playlists for my books; you can take a listen here.

So what inspires you? I’d like to know…

 

October 23 ~ My 13 Stories 'til Halloween Entry

Pike wiped the blood from his hands and started for home. He ignored the pinch of his boots, which were a might too small. It did little to help his somber mood. The trees hung heavy with rain, their dead leaves littering the cobblestone pavement, blown there by a cold, gusty wind. The flames in the streetlamps had long since been extinguished by the storm. Pike found his way by habit, having been down this winding lane many times. He walked along an overgrown hedge, taking care not to brush against it, although he couldn’t have been any wetter.
Pike thought his eyes saw things scurry into the shrubs, creatures that had no business being there. He cast about on both sides, trying desperately to see through the darkness. He saw sinister shapes and form and dissolve into the black, never becoming clear enough to seem real. He paused, unsure if he should go any further. He strained to make out the sounds of animals, something alive other than himself. The rain drowned out any other noise, but the feeling of not being quite alone remained.
Pike took a deep breath and trudged forward, attracted to the warm glow of a tiny window in the inn just ahead. Once there, he pounded his fist on the door several times. The door was locked.
“Who’s there?” came a soft voice.
“It’s Pike. For the love of God, open up!”
After the click of several bolts, the door swung open. A pudgy, round woman hid behind the door, peering out into the night with huge eyes.
“Come in, Mr. Pike. Quickly.”
Pike did so, peeling off his soaked overcoat and warming himself by the crackling fire in the hearth. He nodded to the only other customer, a man he knew as Mr. Dunforth. Dunforth was a spindly, impossibly thin person with a sharpness about him that Pike never cared for.
“What a wretched night,” the barmaid fretted while she did up all the locks again.
“Closing early, aren’t you?”
“Haven’t you heard?” asked the thin man at the bar.
“Heard what?”
“They say there’s a werewolf about,” said the barmaid in a hushed whisper.
“A werewolf? Here?”
“Aye.”
Pike took his usual spot at the far end of the bar and was served a frothy ale without even asking for it. He took a long swig on the pint and wiped his upper lip on his sleeve.
“I haven’t seen anything like that since I was in India,” he said.
“You’ve traveled to India?” asked the barmaid, hopeful for a change in subject.
“Aye, in Her Majesty’s Service. Four long years.”
“What was it like?”
“Bloody hot. Even wetter than here. The jungles had more creatures of the night than you could shake a stick at.”
“Vampires and the like?”
“Some natural, some not. All terrible.” Pike took another long drink of ale.
“Mr. Wiggins lost half a flock of sheep to something last night. Tore them to shreds. Could only be wolves,” said the barmaid.
“Or werewolves,” said the thin man.
“There are worse things than werewolves,” said Pike with a laugh. “I’ve seen things that would curl your hair, Dunforth. All ten of them!” The bony man scowled and smoothed back his thinning hair with one hand.
“Such as?” He dared Pike with a smirk.
“I’ve seen snakes as big around as your pointy head. Swallow you whole, they would. And tigers. Oh, the tigers are the worst. Sly, cunning creatures. Deadly smart. Sneak up on you and kill you just for looking sideways at them.”
“Just a dumb animal,” muttered Dunforth, sipping his own ale. “You can kill any animal with a gun.”
“Not the Sakra. I saw one once. That’s not a tale many live to tell.”
The plump woman leaned in close to hear Pike’s gravelly voice.
“A Sakra?”
“No beast is more feared in all of India. Its half tiger, half man.”
“And you saw one?” Dunforth scoffed.
“I did indeed. How do you think I got this?” Pike removed his hat for the first time and pulled back his loose gray hair to show a set of parallel scars that ran from his ear to his throat. The barmaid gasped.
“I was on the night patrol in a village much like this one. Something had been terrorizing the locals, carrying off their chickens, slaughter their beloved cows. The sergeant told me to keep any eye out for marauding dogs, but it was much worse than that.”
Even Dunforth couldn’t keep from watching Pike reliving the tale, his piercing green eyes taking on an almost fiery glow in the dim light.
“It was hot there, even at night, and the sweat was pouring off me when I heard a woman’s scream, way off down the street. I ran as quick as I could and when I got there, I saw something that’s haunted me for the rest of me days.”
“What was it?” asked the barmaid. Completely engrossed, she absentmindedly wiped down the bar with a rag, not realizing that she had done it twice already.
“A tiger that stood like a man, dragging the bloody corpse of a young woman with one hand.”
“Don’t you mean paw?” corrected Dunforth.
“Maybe he had her in his jaws? At any rate, he climbed down from a balcony nimble as a cat, but when he jumped to the street, he landed on two legs like a man. He saw me, my rifle aimed right straight at his black heart, and screamed like a wild animal. His fangs and claws were dripping with blood, so fresh was its kill.” Pike violently grasped the air, as if to show how the Sakra’s claws reached for him.
“Did you shoot it?
“I tried, but the rifle jammed. The beast attacked me before I could run.” Dunforth snorted.
“If it was so deadly, why aren’t you dead now?”
“I would be if the Sakra hadn’t had something else in mind for me.”
“Oh, now they think? What utter rot!” Dunforth laughed, but it sounded more like a man trying to tame his own fear.
“I said they were cunning, didn’t I?” Pike finished his ale with one last gulp.
“Yes, indeed you did.” Dunforth stood up and slapped a coin on the bar. “I believe I have better things to do than sit here and listen to this nonsense. May I have a room, please?”
“Certainly,” said the barmaid.
“Don’t want to brave the dark, Mr. Dunforth?” teased Pike.
“It’s too far in this storm. I’ll catch me death on a night like this.”
“Perhaps the Sakra has other plans for you as well?”
“What? There’s no such thing,” Dunforth sputtered, clearly annoyed.
“Of course there is.” Pike smiled, revealing a row of sharp ivory teeth belonging more to an animal than a man. The barmaid, who had been retrieving a room key from a drawer, looked up to see the form of Pike grow into that of a snarling orange beast, all fangs and claws and roar. Her gurgling scream was the last thing Dunforth ever heard.

***

If you enjoy scary flash fiction, be sure the visit the 13 Stories 'till Halloween blog for more!