Excerpt From “Scraps of Paper — Revised Author’s Edition” by Kathryn Meyer Griffith

imagesAbigail Sutton’s beloved husband walks out one night, doesn’t return, and two years later is found dead, a victim of a long ago crime. It’s made her sympathetic to the missing and their families.

Starting her new life, Abigail moves to small town and buys a fixer-upper house left empty when old Edna Summers died. Once it was also home to Edna’s younger sister, Emily, and her two children, Jenny and Christopher, who, people believe, drove away one night, thirty years ago, and just never came back.

But in renovating the house Abigail finds scraps of paper hidden behind baseboards and tucked beneath the porch that hint the three could have been victims of foul play.

Then she finds their graves hidden in the woods behind the house and with the help of eccentric townspeople and ex-homicide detective, Frank Lester, she discovers the three were murdered. Then she and Frank try to uncover who killed them and why…but in the process awaken the ire of the murderer.

EXCERPT:

While cleaning the baseboard in the living room, she noticed it was loose and had the hammer in her hand ready to nail it down again when she spied a scrap of paper sticking out from behind the piece of wood.
Such a simple act, yanking at that slip of paper, but it would change everything. Pulling it carefully from its hiding place, she saw it was a tightly folded and yellowed scrap of white paper laced in spider webs and dust. The sort of white drawing paper she used to sketch on as a child. She unfolded it slowly. There was printing on it, bright red crayon scribbling as a child might do. At first Abigail wasn’t sure what it was. Then she looked closer and read:

ME AND CHRIS ARE SO SCARED. HE WAS MEAN TO MOMMY AGAIN, MADE HER CRY. HURT HER. WE HATE HIM!!! in a childish scrawl. There was a J at the bottom.

She stared at the scrap of paper and reread it. It was obviously old. No telling how long it’d been behind the baseboard. She refolded it and tucked it into a compartment of her purse. The two children’s names who’d once lived there, if she recalled correctly, had been Christopher and…Jenny. Amazing, the note could have been from them. How strange, after all these years, for her to find it. But who was HE?

Abigail couldn’t stop dwelling on the note as she resumed her work. She made it a point to search for other scraps of paper sticking out from hidden places. A treasure hunt. By the early evening, when she had to quit painting for the day because her body refused to move, she’d uncovered yet another scrawled note in red crayon, all caps, similar to the first one from under the baseboards.

It said: WE WENT TO BED AGAIN WITHOUT SUPPER. SHE WAS MAD. I AM SO HUNGRY. C

Was it from Christopher? She put the note in her purse with the other one. She was trying not to feel sorrow for the mistreated children. After all it had been so long ago. But she couldn’t stop thinking about them and what these notes meant. Had they been abused and in danger? From whom? And why should it bother her so?

***

Since childhood Kathryn Meyer Griffith has been an artist and worked as a graphic designer in the corporate world and for newspapers for twenty-three years before quitting to write full time. She began writing novels at 21, over forty years ago now, and have had sixteen (nine romantic horror, two romantic SF horror, one romantic suspense, one romantic time travel and two murder mysteries) previous novels and eight short stories published from Zebra Books, Leisure Books, Avalon Books, The Wild Rose Press, Damnation Books and Eternal Press.

Kathryn has been married to Russell for thirty-four years; has a son, James, and two grandchildren, Joshua and Caitlyn, and lives in a small quaint town in Illinois called Columbia, which is right across the JB Bridge from St. Louis, Mo.

All Kathryn Meyer Griffith’s Books available at Amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Kathryn+Meyer+Griffith

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00B1W4A2K

Excerpt From “Running with the Train,” Spooky Short Story by Kathryn Meyer Griffith

Sarah has been lonely most of her life. She’s been searching for a love that she’s begun to believe will never come. Her family and friends at home depend on her, need her…but they can’t give her what she really wants. True, eternal love. Like the wolves have.

So as a solitary traveler, desperate to try something new and get away, she goes on an adventure of a lifetime to the Grand Canyon; rides the train from Williams to the South Rim and sees these huge wolves running alongside. Sees them in the evening twilight scurrying unbelievably below on the Canyon’s ledges among the trees. She’s told there are no wolves any longer in the region but she hears their haunting cries. No one else sees them and no one else hears them. Just her.

Have her senses left her; her loneliness made her crazy?

For there are wolves…unearthly prowling creatures that follow and achingly call to her…and in the end she must decide what she will do when she finally comes face to face with one.

EXCERPT:

The landscape, lush pines amidst rocky ground, rushed past the train’s window, blurring into a sea of green and russet. For a second, she thought she saw something…something running alongside them, a blur like a shadow. Then another and another one. So strange. The train wasn’t traveling that fast but the shadows were.

“You see that?” she asked the chatty woman in front of her, pointing. “Those shapes running alongside us?”

“What? I don’t see anything, running or otherwise.” The woman glanced back at her over her shoulder and smiled. A nice older woman on vacation with her nice gray-haired, hard-of-hearing husband.

“Right there among the trees–.” But when she looked again, they were gone.

“Animals maybe? Deer?”

“No, they looked more like huge dogs or wolves, even.”

“Honey,” the woman said, “there haven’t been wolves in these parts for years. Oh, they’ve reintroduced a Mexican species, bred in captivity, into the Blue Range of eastern Arizona, but they’re not allowed in this area. If they slip through, they’re captured and returned to the reintroduction area. A while back one made it all the way to Flagstaff but got killed crossing a highway on the edge of town.”

“Oh.” Must have been imagining things, Sarah thought. Well, truth was, she’d always been obsessed with wolves. Since she’d been a child she’d see them everywhere: in the intricate patterns of swaying tree leaves, above in racing clouds and in the swirling night fog outside her windows. Didn’t know why, she just did. Always, she’d been drawn to them. Was it because they were supposed to mate, cling to only one other of their kind, for life; when she’d been searching for and not finding her own true love since she was sixteen? She was still alone.

Oh yes, she wished more men were like the wolves. Faithful and everlastingly loyal.

Yeah, that’s what I’m looking for. A wolfish man who’d love me forever. She chuckled softly.

She returned to reading the travel leaflet on the Grand Canyon’s sites a person must visit. She almost knew it by heart. But she’d never been to the Canyon and didn’t want to miss anything.

With a sigh, she put the brochure in her purse, her fingers brushing against the tiny wolf charm attached to her keychain. If she didn’t know everything about the South Rim after as many times as she’d read that pamphlet, and looked at the websites on the Internet, she’d never know. Besides the magnificent view from the South Rim, she wanted to see the Buckey O’Neill Cabin, Kolb Studio, Hopi House and Lookout Studio. Have an ice cream soda at Bright Angel Lodge and gaze out at the Canyon through the windows. Since she was spending the night on the Rim, staying at the El Tovar Lodge, she’d have plenty of time to see them all.

Alone. Well, it wouldn’t be so bad. She could see whatever attractions she wanted whenever she wanted. Stay as long as she wanted. Or go. Not having to please anyone but herself. That was the good thing about being single. About the only good thing.

The train hostess for their car was at her side. “The buffet’s out now if you’d like anything.” The girl’s smile was genuinely friendly. Her name, she’d told them as they’d boarded, was Katie.

“Thank you. What are we having?”

“Danish, muffins of three varieties, orange juice and coffee. Fresh fruit. Help yourself.”

Sarah came to her feet, hands on the seat in front to steady herself, new purse hanging from her shoulder. The train lurched rhythmically from side to side and it made keeping her balance a little tough at times. It’d be easy to fall into some strangers lap. On second thought, if the stranger was young and handsome…hmmm.

Of course few of the men in the car were young or handsome. Or unattached. Most of the passengers were families or older retired couples. No chance of a love connection there.

Making her way to the rear of the car table filled with goodies, she poured herself a cup of coffee and placed two Danish, one cherry and one cheese, on a paper plate.

She’d never been on a train before. At her age, that was sort of a joke. But she’d really been looking forward to it. The train ride. This trip. New adventures. Anything to get away from her stale old life in a small Illinois town and open herself to the wondrous world she knew was out there somewhere waiting for her. It was past time she went looking for it.

For years she’d felt as if Arizona and the Canyon were beckoning her. Come to Williams. Come to the Canyon. Something truly incredible is waiting for you. She’d finally heeded the call because she could no longer deny it.

In her seat again, she ate her Danish, drank coffee and then went back for a plate of fruit. Food wasn’t half bad. Getting up so early to make the nine-thirty A.M. Grand Canyon Railway train from Williams to the South Canyon Rim had made her ravenous.

She gazed around as she sipped her coffee. The train trip experience was sort of hokey, with the generic cowboy skit at the station depot first and the well-rehearsed over-done spiel Katie the hostess had laid on them from the minute they’d boarded. But sweet. She hungrily drank in the southwestern atmosphere, the rocking of the train, the sights passing on the other side of her window.

The feeling that something amazing was going to happen to her.

A little boy across the aisle wearing a cowboy hat grinned at her and she smiled back. Everyone was being so nice. Probably felt sorry for her. Poor woman. All alone. On vacation all by herself.

She didn’t care, she was having a great time. Soon she’d be at the Grand Canyon and couldn’t wait. Her eyes slid back to the window. Maybe she’d see more wolves. No, that’s right they didn’t have wolves around here, she reminded herself, as her fingers traced a wolf shape on the glass. What animals did they have around here? She wasn’t sure. She’d have to ask Katie. Katie seemed to know everything there was to know about these parts.

Sighing under her breath, she wondered why she was thinking of wolves again. What was wrong with her lately anyway? Deep in thought, she continued to stare out the windows. Enjoying the ride.

“We’ll be pulling into the depot at the Grand Canyon in about five minutes,” Katie cheerfully announced. “If you’re riding back with us this evening, or tomorrow afternoon, be sure to be on the train on time promptly, or we’ll leave without you. And if you have to take a taxi back to the depot it’ll cost you a hundred and eighty dollars easy.” Her smile was practiced.

The passengers filed off, and along with the growing crowd from the other train cars, a herd of lemmings, Sarah excitedly headed towards the South Rim.

As most of the people milling around the Rim, she oohed and aahed, when she walked up to the short stone ledge and gazed over at the breathtaking sight of the rock abyss that went on forever. The sun was a ball of fire above her and sweat had begun to trickle down between her shoulder blades. Glistened on her flesh. Good thing she’d remembered to wear a hat and sunglasses. On the Rim there was no shade.

There was a stiff breeze blowing and it was shoving her closer to the precipice. She dug in her sneakers and straightened her spine. She wasn’t afraid of heights as some of those around her appeared to be. A few people were holding themselves away from the edge, their faces drawn and white as ghosts. Not Sarah. She was fearless. Leaning over her eyes took in as much of the magnificent gorge as they could, within reason. She wasn’t a fool. Not too close.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” There was a man standing beside her.

She looked over, her heart speeding up then slowing down when she saw he was old enough to be her grandfather. Nice long gray hair, though. Classic features. He might have been a retired actor as handsome as he still was. “Yeah, beautiful. I wasn’t prepared for how gorgeous it’d be. The subtle color variations in the rocks. The formations within the Canyon. The way it looks like some fabulous immense 3D image. Like you could just reach out,” she lifted her hand towards it, “and touch parts of it.”

“The way the light shines on the stone,” he added. “The endless textures.”

“Yes.” She fell silent, hoping he’d move on, but he didn’t.

“So hypnotic,” he continued. “I wonder how many people feel this urge to…jump.”

She turned and looked at him then. Laughed softly. “I hope not many. It’s a really long way down.”

He laughed at that. “People fall from here all the time.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No. They’re usually fooling around like those two over there.” He tilted his head at a young couple, the woman taking a picture of the man standing atop the stone ledge showing off. Arms spread wide. A silly grin on his face. “Lose their balance or get vertigo and…over they go.”

She shook her head. “So that’s how people die in these parts, huh?”

“Not always,” the man replied. “Some die down in the Canyon. Hikers mostly who underestimate the extreme heat and make the fatal mistake of not bringing along enough water or they just get lost. Or they drown on the Colorado River in the dangerous rapids. Or perish trying to climb the steep rocks.”

He slung his camera over his shoulder and exhaled. “Then there’s all the bizarre disappearances lately. Can’t say what’s happened to those people. But it’s gotten really spooky. Four people have gone suspiciously missing from Williams and in the Park in just the last week. Two the week before.”

She couldn’t help herself and asked, “How would you know that?”

“I’m a retired Williams’s police officer who has Ranger friends here in the Park.”

“Oh.”

“Well, have a great visit, young woman,” he said, “but I’ll give you a good piece of advice. Don’t go out alone at night anywhere around here or in Williams. Especially tonight.”

“Why tonight?”

“There’s a full moon.” And before she could ask anything else, he was gone. She watched him stride away down the path. Just a retired cop doing the tourist thing.

***

Since childhood Kathryn Meyer Griffith has been an artist and worked as a graphic designer in the corporate world and for newspapers for twenty-three years before quitting to write full time. She began writing novels at 21, over forty years ago now, and have had sixteen (nine romantic horror, two romantic SF horror, one romantic suspense, one romantic time travel and two murder mysteries) previous novels and eight short stories published from Zebra Books, Leisure Books, Avalon Books, The Wild Rose Press, Damnation Books and Eternal Press.

Kathryn has been married to Russell for thirty-four years; has a son, James, and two grandchildren, Joshua and Caitlyn, and lives in a small quaint town in Illinois called Columbia, which is right across the JB Bridge from St. Louis, Mo.

All Kathryn Meyer Griffith’s Books available at Amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Kathryn+Meyer+Griffith

Buy Link at Damnation Books: http://damnationbooks.com/people.php?author=79

Amazon Buy Page: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Witches%2BKathryn+Meyer+Griffith&x=12&y=18

Excerpt From “Too Close to the Edge,” A Spooky Short Story by Kathryn Meyer Griffith

Artist Penelope had been looking forward to going with her husband, sister and brother-in-law to see the Grand Canyon…even though she was terrified of heights and, when she got there, couldn’t bear to get too close to the edge. She watched people balancing on one foot, acting foolish, taking photos, oblivious of the death waiting below them at their feet. Their careless antics made her dizzy, took her breath away. Scared her.

Especially when the woman beside her relates the story of a small child that fell into the Canyon to her death the day before. Many people died that way. Over the edge. Many also died down inside the Canyon. Hikers. Lost people. People on the river going through the rapids.

Then she sees a young girl go over the edge and no one will believe her.

For there was no child that had died–that day anyway.

Was she seeing things that weren’t there…or was there another explanation?

EXCERPT:

“No, Jeff, I can’t. I can’t come any closer. Please, don’t make me.” I was cringing back, trembling, about ten feet from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, clinging to a scrawny tree as if it were my best friend. There was a June sun blazing down on me from a pure blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. No shade. About ninety degrees but it felt like a hundred.

“Ah, Penelope, you gotta see this! It’s breathtaking. Like one of those 3D images, but so much better.” My husband was snapping picture after picture poised at the edge in front of the rock ledge that snaked along the rim. A ledge no more than three feet high. It’d never stop anyone from falling a mile to their death into the Canyon.

“Nah, you go ahead and look all you want, honey. I’ll just stay here,” I let my voice fall to a whisper, “where it’s safe.”

My eyes glanced here and there at the people–there must have been hundreds–milling around us, taking pictures like crazed paparazzi, oohing and aahing…sidling way too close to the brink. There was a young man to my right who’d climbed over the small rock ledge and was posing not two feet from the drop off for a photograph some girl was taking. He laughed and jumped straight up. “Get me now! Look at me! Woohoo!”

I shut my eyes for a moment. I couldn’t bear to look. He was going to fall. I didn’t want that burnt into my retinas, his last death screams branded into my psyche, for the rest of my life, as he plummeted over the edge.

There was a family passing in front of me. A smiling mother, father, two kids. The smallest, a dark haired girl of around six or so, was dawdling behind. Now she was leaning over the rock rim, stomach balanced on it, legs straight up behind her, giggling and playing. No one was watching over her.

Oh, my God.

Shuddering, I couldn’t bear to look. I had to fight not to scream at her, Get away from the edge, child! What the heck was wrong with her parents anyway? They should be keeping an eye on her. She could fall so easily.

There were so many of the visitors doing much the same thing. Dangerously prancing around the rock ledges beyond the stone divider or sitting nonchalantly, legs crossed, on the ledge as if, Oh, no, I won’t fall. Never lose my balance. Not me. Were they all nuts?

Turning, I stomped across the asphalt walking path away from the offending sights into the stunted trees and dried up scrubs, wanting to be as far away from the rim as I could get. Between the heat and the tension of seeing people behave so recklessly, I was a nervous wreck.

“Hey, honey, don’t leave the path,” my husband yelled at me, his voice tinged with mild annoyance. “There are scorpions and snakes out there!”

Yikes. This whole place was a death trap.

I reluctantly crossed over to the outside of the path. I wasn’t as frightened of scorpions and snakes as I was of falling into the Canyon but I did as he asked anyway. He was worried about me. So sweet of him. “Hurry up, Jeff. The train leaves in about seventy minutes and if we miss it we’ll be stranded here for the night. Haven’t you taken enough pictures?” I’d lost count at about two hundred.

“Give me a few more minutes. There’s a view over there I got to get a photo of.”

Someone cried out in the distance and my stomach clenched. A cold sweat had broken out over my body. My shirt was soaked.

I waited by the tree trying to calm my nerves. What was wrong with me?

Truth was, I never knew I was afraid–terrified really–of heights until that trip to Yellowstone about twelve years ago. But I am. Terrified, that is. Driving up through the narrow winding roads to Mammoth Hot Spring Terraces all those years ago I got what could only be described as a full-fledged panic attack. I couldn’t even look over to where the road dropped off (as far as I was concerned) into eternity. My husband had been driving and we were slowly going up and up and up. I felt as if I were going to dwindle to nothing and blow away. Since then I’ve discovered I can’t go anywhere near the edge of a steep hill, an arroyo or a canyon. No matter how high a barrier it had around it. Anything higher than a ten foot drop off and I freak.

My husband makes fun of me. Good naturedly, of course. He loves me. Always has, always will. Just doesn’t understand my fear.

“What’s the matter,” he asked over his shoulder as he lined up another spectacular image in his camera’s viewfinder, “you afraid of falling or what? You won’t, you know. Just walk up to the rail and hold on, look down. I won’t push you over, I promise. You’re safe. I swear it.”

If he only knew.

It isn’t that I think I’m going to fall, it’s that something, primal and hungry, gnaws at the pit of my stomach, the minute I get near a cliff. I can’t move forward. Can’t move at all. I can’t even force myself to step up to the rail or fence or whatever is there between me and the chasm and glance down. And, oh, I’ve tried. I’ve never been a fraidy-cat and am usually fearless in most other aspects of my life. I hate it that I’m afraid of something. Anything. Especially when it makes no sense. I’m not going to fall if I don’t step over the edge.

For a second I wondered why I’d agreed to this trip.

***

Since childhood Kathryn Meyer Griffith has been an artist and worked as a graphic designer in the corporate world and for newspapers for twenty-three years before quitting to write full time. She began writing novels at 21, over forty years ago now, and have had sixteen (nine romantic horror, two romantic SF horror, one romantic suspense, one romantic time travel and two murder mysteries) previous novels and eight short stories published from Zebra Books, Leisure Books, Avalon Books, The Wild Rose Press, Damnation Books and Eternal Press.

Kathryn has been married to Russell for thirty-four years; has a son, James, and two grandchildren, Joshua and Caitlyn, and lives in a small quaint town in Illinois called Columbia, which is right across the JB Bridge from St. Louis, Mo.

All Kathryn Meyer Griffith’s Books available at Amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Kathryn+Meyer+Griffith

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00998TJ9M#_

Excerpt from “Witches-Revised Author’s Edition” by Kathryn Meyer Griffith:

Amanda Givens is careful how she uses her powers. She doesn’t want the people of Canaan, Connecticut to know they have a witch among them . . . even a good white witch. For years, she’s lived quietly in a remote cabin with Amadeus, her quirky feline familiar. At first with her husband, Jake, the love of her life, until a car accident; but now alone after his death. But when she’s wrongly blamed for a rash of ritualistic murders committed by a satanic cult, she knows she can no longer hide. She’s the one the cult’s after and she is the only one who can stop them and prove her innocence.

As punishment for fighting and destroying the cult, she’s drawn back in time by the ghost of the dark witch, Rachel Coxe, who was drowned for practicing black magic in the 17th century.

Now, as Amanda tries to rehabilitate Rachel’s reputation in an effort to save lives, as well as her own, and falls in love all over again with Joshua, her reincarnated dead husband from the future, she has to rely on a sister’s love and magical knowledge, and a powerful sect of witches named the Guardians to help her get home safely.

EXCERPT:

Now, with her heart breaking, her eyes shut, her hands waving languidly over the fire, she chanted the nefarious words that would bring her husband back from the dead.

Mandy…no, Mandy…

Something crashed against the door, as if something or someone were throwing themselves against it. Wood splintered, but the door held. Amadeus, who had powers of his own, was fighting mad now. It was his responsibility to protect her, protect her from herself, if need be. She heard him growling at her through the door.

Open up, Mandy. Open the damn door!

“No. I told you, Amadeus, either help me or go away.”

The cat grumbled beyond the door, hissed and spat as loud as any big cat, and the battering resumed.

Amanda’s eyes flew open, widened as the apparition began to take form inside the pentagram—the outline of a man, tall, his arms thrown over his face as if in defense.

“Jake?” She moaned, staring at the thing.

It lowered its hands and a ghoulish, misty face peered out at her, a face so full of torment and fear, Amanda fell back in shock.

“Don’t do this, Mandy, I beg you! Remember me as I was. I don’t belong there anymore.” She heard the plaintive whisper, an echo on the still air. Its hands reached out to her. “Let me go. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

She couldn’t stop. The enchantment wasn’t complete. It would be better when it was. He was between two worlds now and he would be frightened. Half-formed. Between two worlds.

If she wasn’t careful, those unearthly denizens—shade demons, she called them—that haunted that dead world could escape into hers. So dangerous. What the hell was she doing opening the forbidden portals like this?

What happened if she was a moment off, a word wrong and the demons came through? If she unleashed them? A disaster.

Amanda steeled herself, wiped the fresh tears from her face with the back of her hand. “Damn it, I want you back, Jake. I’ll have you back,” she swore.

She took up where she’d left off, knowing if she stopped at this point of the spell, it could ruin everything. Everything.

The door groaned behind her under its assault (damn but that cat was strong), the wind screamed outside the windows. The candles placed around the pentagram fluttered in a strange breeze in the shadowy room.

Amanda’s heart froze. She stopped in the middle of the spell, her eyes going wide with fear, her hands half-raised before her, and her head thrown back as the flames from the fire glowed more brightly across her tense face.

What was that word? Suureerustus? Summertus? Or…

She stared at the blurry figure trying to form in the circle. It was yelling at her now…something…something…she couldn’t make out the words.

It was no longer alone.

Things writhed around its melting feet, flew about its head. Terrible things. Things from the dead world. Unholy things. Gaping mouths with sharp bloodied teeth, glittering fiendish eyes in deformed, hideous bodies. Some almost human, some insect like. Others indescribable. Some growing before her eyes to be taller than she was.

Monsters. Coming through the barrier, crossing the lines of the pentagram, into her world.

Amanda grabbed the nearest thing with which to fight them off, a broom, and started swinging at them.

She was so busy hitting and spewing out new spells to keep the shade demons from coming through that she never heard the door burst open; never felt the cool storm wind enter the cabin until something determined and furry flew by her face toward the pentagram, hissing all the way.

Then Amadeus was helping her herd the malignant spirits back from where they’d come. All claws, teeth, and unearthly glowing eyes. He snarled the word Sutterus at her in passing and Amanda quickly supplied it in the spell where it belonged.

The demons began to slowly dissolve in shrieks of rage.

Don’t send us away! Don’t send us back there! Let us out. Out!

Jake’s figure returned. A shadow with hanging head. Just one or two sentences and the incantation would be complete. Jake would be there, solid, before her.

Amanda hesitated. The thing in the circle looked so pitiful. So unnatural.

Before she could finish, soft, but strong paws clamped tightly around her neck and wouldn’t let go. Something howled like a banshee in her ear, as sharp teeth angrily nipped it. She couldn’t breathe.

“Amadeus! Get off!” She screamed, tumbling to the floor with the huge cat on top of her, still holding on like a leech, its yowling and screeching enough to wake the dead—instead, it woke her.

By the time she’d yanked the cat off, throwing him roughly against the opposite wall so that he yelped in pain, and she’d crawled back to the pentagram, Jake was gone. The enchantment broken.

Amanda gazed at the empty pentagram for a long time, suddenly horrified, disgusted at what she had almost done.

She’d almost crossed the line. Almost. Thank God for Amadeus.

She curled up on the floor next to the fire and sobbed, the last of her anguish finally releasing itself. The cat limped over to her and licked the tears from her face. He didn’t seem to be angry with her any longer. Just worried.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you, Amadeus, so sorry.” She pulled him into her arms, and hugged him like a baby until he began to purr. “Forgive me?”

Of course.

“Thank you for that, Amadeus. You saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life.”

He was smart enough not to answer that one. She snuggled him, rocking on the floor.

***

Since childhood Kathryn Meyer Griffith has been an artist and worked as a graphic designer in the corporate world and for newspapers for twenty-three years before quitting to write full time. She began writing novels at 21, over forty years ago now, and have had sixteen (nine romantic horror, two romantic SF horror, one romantic suspense, one romantic time travel and two murder mysteries) previous novels and eight short stories published from Zebra Books, Leisure Books, Avalon Books, The Wild Rose Press, Damnation Books and Eternal Press.

Kathryn has been married to Russell for thirty-four years; has a son, James, and two grandchildren, Joshua and Caitlyn, and lives in a small quaint town in Illinois called Columbia, which is right across the JB Bridge from St. Louis, Mo.

All Kathryn Meyer Griffith’s Books available at Amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Kathryn+Meyer+Griffith

WITCHES-Revised Author’s Edition:

Amazon Buy Page: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Witches%2BKathryn+Meyer+Griffith&x=12&y=18

12.00

Amanda Givens is careful how she uses her powers. She doesn’t want the people of Canaan, Connecticut to know they have a witch among them . . . even a good white witch. For years, she’s lived quietly in a remote cabin with Amadeus, her quirky feline familiar. At first with her husband, Jake, the love of her life, until a car accident; but now alone after his death. But when she’s wrongly blamed for a rash of ritualistic murders committed by a satanic cult, she knows she can no longer hide. She’s the one the cult’s after and she is the only one who can stop them and prove her innocence.

As punishment for fighting and destroying the cult, she’s drawn back in time by the ghost of the dark witch, Rachel Coxe, who was drowned for practicing black magic in the 17th century.

Now, as Amanda tries to rehabilitate Rachel’s reputation in an effort to save lives, as well as her own, and falls in love all over again with Joshua, her reincarnated dead husband from the future, she has to rely on a sister’s love and magical knowledge, and a powerful sect of witches named the Guardians to help her get home safely.

EXCERPT:

Now, with her heart breaking, her eyes shut, her hands waving languidly over the fire, she chanted the nefarious words that would bring her husband back from the dead.

Mandy…no, Mandy…

Something crashed against the door, as if something or someone were throwing themselves against it. Wood splintered, but the door held. Amadeus, who had powers of his own, was fighting mad now. It was his responsibility to protect her, protect her from herself, if need be. She heard him growling at her through the door.

Open up, Mandy. Open the damn door!

“No. I told you, Amadeus, either help me or go away.”

The cat grumbled beyond the door, hissed and spat as loud as any big cat, and the battering resumed.

Amanda’s eyes flew open, widened as the apparition began to take form inside the pentagram—the outline of a man, tall, his arms thrown over his face as if in defense.

“Jake?” She moaned, staring at the thing.

It lowered its hands and a ghoulish, misty face peered out at her, a face so full of torment and fear, Amanda fell back in shock.

“Don’t do this, Mandy, I beg you! Remember me as I was. I don’t belong there anymore.” She heard the plaintive whisper, an echo on the still air. Its hands reached out to her. “Let me go. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

She couldn’t stop. The enchantment wasn’t complete. It would be better when it was. He was between two worlds now and he would be frightened. Half-formed. Between two worlds.

If she wasn’t careful, those unearthly denizens—shade demons, she called them—that haunted that dead world could escape into hers. So dangerous. What the hell was she doing opening the forbidden portals like this?

What happened if she was a moment off, a word wrong and the demons came through? If she unleashed them? A disaster.

Amanda steeled herself, wiped the fresh tears from her face with the back of her hand. “Damn it, I want you back, Jake. I’ll have you back,” she swore.

She took up where she’d left off, knowing if she stopped at this point of the spell, it could ruin everything. Everything.

The door groaned behind her under its assault (damn but that cat was strong), the wind screamed outside the windows. The candles placed around the pentagram fluttered in a strange breeze in the shadowy room.

Amanda’s heart froze. She stopped in the middle of the spell, her eyes going wide with fear, her hands half-raised before her, and her head thrown back as the flames from the fire glowed more brightly across her tense face.

What was that word? Suureerustus? Summertus? Or…

She stared at the blurry figure trying to form in the circle. It was yelling at her now…something…something…she couldn’t make out the words.

It was no longer alone.

Things writhed around its melting feet, flew about its head. Terrible things. Things from the dead world. Unholy things. Gaping mouths with sharp bloodied teeth, glittering fiendish eyes in deformed, hideous bodies. Some almost human, some insect like. Others indescribable. Some growing before her eyes to be taller than she was.

Monsters. Coming through the barrier, crossing the lines of the pentagram, into her world.

Amanda grabbed the nearest thing with which to fight them off, a broom, and started swinging at them.

She was so busy hitting and spewing out new spells to keep the shade demons from coming through that she never heard the door burst open; never felt the cool storm wind enter the cabin until something determined and furry flew by her face toward the pentagram, hissing all the way.

Then Amadeus was helping her herd the malignant spirits back from where they’d come. All claws, teeth, and unearthly glowing eyes. He snarled the word Sutterus at her in passing and Amanda quickly supplied it in the spell where it belonged.

The demons began to slowly dissolve in shrieks of rage.

Don’t send us away! Don’t send us back there! Let us out. Out!

Jake’s figure returned. A shadow with hanging head. Just one or two sentences and the incantation would be complete. Jake would be there, solid, before her.

Amanda hesitated. The thing in the circle looked so pitiful. So unnatural.

Before she could finish, soft, but strong paws clamped tightly around her neck and wouldn’t let go. Something howled like a banshee in her ear, as sharp teeth angrily nipped it. She couldn’t breathe.

“Amadeus! Get off!” She screamed, tumbling to the floor with the huge cat on top of her, still holding on like a leech, its yowling and screeching enough to wake the dead—instead, it woke her.

By the time she’d yanked the cat off, throwing him roughly against the opposite wall so that he yelped in pain, and she’d crawled back to the pentagram, Jake was gone. The enchantment broken.

Amanda gazed at the empty pentagram for a long time, suddenly horrified, disgusted at what she had almost done.

She’d almost crossed the line. Almost. Thank God for Amadeus.

She curled up on the floor next to the fire and sobbed, the last of her anguish finally releasing itself. The cat limped over to her and licked the tears from her face. He didn’t seem to be angry with her any longer. Just worried.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you, Amadeus, so sorry.” She pulled him into her arms, and hugged him like a baby until he began to purr. “Forgive me?”

Of course.

“Thank you for that, Amadeus. You saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life.”

He was smart enough not to answer that one. She snuggled him, rocking on the floor.

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Excerpt From “The Banshee and the Witch,” A Spooky Short Story by Kathryn Meyer Griffith

“What would you do to live forever, stay young forever? To find true love again?

And if you were a white witch with the magical powers to make it happen…and the secret of how to do it, would you?

So when the banshee comes calling for you one rainy dark night you’ll do what you have to do to get what you desire the most. More time.

EXCERPT:

It was a misty spring morning with a chilly breeze whose affects the rising sun would partially warm away. The birdsong beckoned Cleona O’Grady from sleep and, after struggling into her robe, she found her way to the kitchen. Her old bones ached and the years sat heavy on her shoulders and the new day, the spring and rebirth, only served to remind her that her time on earth was short.

Her lips frowned. It’d been the third night in a row she’d had the dreams. Vague, plotless vignettes of frightening emotions and premonitions. The worse thing was she didn’t know what they meant and she usually did, yet these melted into her subconscious as soon as she awoke. They scared her and she opened her eyes each morning with a sense of impending doom. Her heart racing, her body quivering with the echoes of her forgotten terror.

All she remembered was there was a woman in them, one she’d never seen or met, who was young, hauntingly beautiful and who stalked her as she ran through her dream world. Fleeting glimpses of the lady, what she’d wanted and what she’d done, behind or around her, faded as the minutes and the dream did. By breakfast the memories would be practically gone, leaving but a faint impression of a white faced woman, with long tresses, blood red lips and eyes so full of sorrow they made Cleona want to weep–and the awareness that the woman would return. That she wanted something from her she couldn’t give.

But what?

She made a tray with her tea and toast smeared with homemade strawberry jam, and hobbled out to the back porch. She had a round table and two chairs under the shade of the overhang. Plunking down with a weary sigh, her eyes gazed over the still waters of the pond. It wasn’t much of one, no bigger than a baseball diamond, but it was deep and populated by forest birds, frogs, flying insects and all manner of wildlife that came in from the woods and the sky. There were water fowl floating in the center, calling softly to each other. The birds and the tranquil scene calmed her. They always did.

She took another bite and peered up into the dawn.

The sun was ascending over the trees, the rays sparkling on the leaves as they danced in the air above her; light gleamed on the water nearby, turning it golden, and the aroma of the lush foliage was a gift.

She sat there admiring the beauty of the morning and ate her meal. The tea was hot, honeyed, and revived her. Her teeth crunched into the toast and the sweetness of strawberries filled her mouth. She made sure she caught every crumb and sipped every drop of tea. She wasted nothing.

The older she got the more these mundane rituals reassured and comforted her.

Even in the winter when it snowed she’d bundle up in two of her sweaters topped off by a coat, linger on that porch and try to see the individual snowflakes. Never two alike, they said, though she wasn’t sure of that. A lot of them looked the same to her. Well, perhaps because her eyesight wasn’t what it used to be.

Truth was, many things weren’t what they used to be and her youth spells no longer seemed to be working.

Ah, yes, she was a witch, a white witch, which meant she rarely, if ever, knocked people off without a good reason or cast throw-up-pins-and-slug curses on them unless they’d really pissed her off. Though why people had to stereotype witches like that, good or bad, she’d never understood. A witch is a witch is a witch. Well, some did use their powers for good and some for not so good. But beneath it they were only people as she was only a woman. Hey, no matter what, she was as entitled to a good life as any other human on the planet whether she was a witch or not, right? Right.

According to her calculations, which couldn’t be absolutely counted on because her memory wasn’t what it had been either, October thirty-first she’d be over four hundred years old. So many springs, summers, falls and winters. A long, long life in anyone’s book.

Yesterday morning in town she’d overheard someone say the oldest man in the world had passed away at one hundred and fourteen. Ha, a baby. What would the mortals say if they knew how old she was? It made her smile.

Oh, the events and people she’d seen and known. The adventures, sorrowful and joyful, she’d had. She didn’t want to go. To die. Not yet. There were years of life left in her heart and mind. And, oh how, she wanted to live them.

She wasn’t ready to go. Nothing could make her, either. Death was a formidable adversary but she’d beaten her so far and was sure she’d continue to. All she had to do was be more cunning than the reaper and she’d prevail.

Oh, she could do that.

***

Amazon Kindle Direct: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0099781WE

***

Since childhood Kathryn Meyer Griffith has been an artist and worked as a graphic designer in the corporate world and for newspapers for twenty-three years before quitting to write full time. She began writing novels at 21, over forty years ago now, and have had sixteen (nine romantic horror, two romantic SF horror, one romantic suspense, one romantic time travel and two murder mysteries) previous novels and eight short stories published from Zebra Books, Leisure Books, Avalon Books, The Wild Rose Press, Damnation Books and Eternal Press.

Kathryn has been married to Russell for thirty-four years; has a son, James, and two grandchildren, Joshua and Caitlyn, and lives in a small quaint town in Illinois called Columbia, which is right across the JB Bridge from St. Louis, Mo.

All Kathryn Meyer Griffith’s Books available at Amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Kathryn+Meyer+Griffith

Buy Link at Damnation Books: http://damnationbooks.com/people.php?author=79

Buy Link at Damnation Books: http://damnationbooks.com/people.php?author=79

Excerpt From “Ghost Brother,” Spooky Short Story by Kathryn Meyer Griffith

So what happens after you die? Do you go to heaven…or hell? Or do you go to a special place fashioned just for you and based on the life you’d lived in the real world? Based on how you treated people? What you did to them?

And do ghosts exist? Do they roam the earth and plague the living, persuade them to do things they shouldn’t do?

Two brothers and their tale follow…their journey through life and death. Their reward for the lives they’d lived.

Do you believe in ghosts? Some do.

EXCERPT:

Oh, I’d already figured out I was dead. There was no other sensible conclusion to arrive at. When I awoke–if awaking was the right term because suddenly after a time of blackness there I was–I was sitting on top of a fresh grave in this quaint but uncared for cemetery I recognized as the one down the road from our house. There was no headstone on it yet so I couldn’t read the name of the current inhabitant. Perhaps it wasn’t my grave, wasn’t my headstone to come. Or that’s what I hoped.

At first.

Sooty clouds raced above, dried leaves danced in a chill wind around the tombstones. It was raining, a steady forlorn drizzle that had soaked everything. Drab splotches of brown spotted the earth and bundles of witchy dead branches bounced round me like tumbleweeds. There were no birds. No creepy crawly insects. Not a living thing. The colors were off, too. Everything had a veneer of gray covering it and the air around me hummed with eerie echoes, as if a crowd of people were whispering just beyond the threshold of my hearing. It hurt my head, made me irritable. Angry.

I looked down at myself and was surprised to see I was dressed in my old brown suit. The one I only wore to weddings or funerals. It was too tight and the legs too short. I’d always meant to buy a new one but somehow had never gotten around to it. After all, I hadn’t attended a funeral or a wedding in years.

I could see through myself. Damn, I was a pane of glass. I wiggled my fingers in front of my face. They were transparent, too.

My head was really killing me now, making me realize I could feel pain. Again, I thought that odd. Where was I and what the heck was I doing here? Sheesh. Must have really laid one on last night. Maybe I should stay off the booze for a couple of days. What a trip. I racked my brain but couldn’t recall what had gotten me here. Hmmm.

No, I was alive, wasn’t I? Wasn’t I? This was just some sort of drink induced hallucination. Right?

Rising to my feet, the mud on the grave remained clinging to the ground and wet blades of grass, yet my suit was clean. Gazing around at the gravesites, I thought I was alone but then, out of the corner of an eye, caught another see-through person scampering away. It’d been hiding behind a tree, spying on me. As it vanished into the rain curtain amidst the fringe of trees surrounding the cemetery I heard it laugh. A you-poor-sucker-you-don’t-have-a-clue-yet-do-you laugh. Let me tell you, that didn’t reassure me much. It didn’t sound human.

I blinked and everything turned black and shadowy for a moment and slowly came back into focus. My left hand disappeared and reappeared. My outline blurred.

Oh, oh.

Something huge skittered around in the branches of the trees above me and made a heart-stopping screech. Again, nothing human.

Oh, I was dead all right. Dead as a doornail. Dead as someone without a pulse, or a heartbeat, and whose blood has stopped moving in their veins, could be. It was the why, how and when that eluded me. I fought to remember what had happened before I’d found myself sprawled on the grave, but once more there was nothing. A frustrating blank.

Was this my paradisiacal reward, some in-between limbo or was it, heaven help me, hell? If it was heaven, it was one weird one. There were no angels and harp music. No fluffy clouds of cotton-candy white. No departed dear ones to welcome and comfort me.

“Well, what am I supposed to do now, for Pete’s sake?” I grilled the silent graves around me. I had the overwhelming feeling I was supposed to be somewhere else. That I had somewhere very important to go, something very important to do…but couldn’t remember where or what it was.

“Hey, anyone around. Anyone here?” I yelled into the waning afternoon. Of course, no answer. Nothing. The silence was beginning to freak me out. My laugh startled me. Who did I expect to be in a cemetery anyway? The dead don’t make small talk or noise. The dead are…dead.

I wove through and around the burial plots and when approaching the street I checked for cars before I crossed. There were none. I hadn’t seen even one, nor a truck, a motor scooter or a bicycle, since I’d woken up. No airplanes in the ashen sky.

I had to go home. Tessa must be worried sick. Tessa. My wife of twenty-five years. Long blond hair that softly framed her sweet understanding face. Those large amber eyes that’d laugh at me, so full of love and tenderness. My beautiful Tessa. The mother of my son. The love of my life. My angel. A flood of memories washed over me and I sighed in relief. Grateful I remembered something. I had a family, a home and a wife.

I needed to get back to them.

The insight came to me that things hadn’t been very good between us lately; hadn’t been for a long time. In fact, I recalled Tessa had asked for a separation or something like it. That wasn’t good. I loved her and would never be able to live without her.

Hmmm. What else was I not remembering?

My house, our house, Tessa’s and mine, was a few streets over and I carefully made my way there. At first I was afraid I couldn’t leave the cemetery grounds. As I stepped into the street something pulled at me, trying to yank me back. I tore free and kept trekking. Everything I did and everything I saw seemed to be moving in slow motion, like a bad dream. My feet were heavy at the ends of my legs and I was shuffling through air as thick as honey.

If this was what being dead was like, I didn’t like it one bit. I felt…lost. Unsettled. As if this was punishment for something.

My Grandmother Celie, my mom’s mother, a hag of a woman who never liked me but hated my poor brother, Gerald, even more, used to describe what she thought the afterlife would be like.

It’s nothing, sonny. An inky, bottomless, sideless, nothing where you’d never feel anything…ever…again. In time, it’d drive you plum insane, she’d cackle like some old witch. That’s what a person gets when they aren’t good people. Heck, she should talk. She was the most miserly woman I’d ever known. Never helped no one. Never really cared about no one but herself. She died alone after falling down her basement steps and breaking her neck. Her body laid there for four days before anyone, a neighbor, upon seeing her starving dog running around in endless circles outside in the back yard days later, thought to check on her. When he couldn’t get an answer from ringing the doorbell for ten minutes he called 911.

Of course, she was very dead.

Poor old lady, they said. But I never felt any pity for the selfish woman. She should have had that First Alert thingie for around her neck or at least carried a cell phone. Some people just aren’t real smart, I guess.

I kept walking.

***

Since childhood Kathryn Meyer Griffith has been an artist and worked as a graphic designer in the corporate world and for newspapers for twenty-three years before quitting to write full time. She began writing novels at 21, over forty years ago now, and have had sixteen (nine romantic horror, two romantic SF horror, one romantic suspense, one romantic time travel and two murder mysteries) previous novels and eight short stories published from Zebra Books, Leisure Books, Avalon Books, The Wild Rose Press, Damnation Books and Eternal Press.

Kathryn has been married to Russell for thirty-four years; has a son, James, and two grandchildren, Joshua and Caitlyn, and lives in a small quaint town in Illinois called Columbia, which is right across the JB Bridge from St. Louis, Mo.

All Kathryn Meyer Griffith’s Books available at Amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Kathryn+Meyer+Griffith

Buy Link at Damnation Books: http://damnationbooks.com/people.php?author=79

Buy Link at Damnation Books: http://damnationbooks.com/people.php?author=79

Excerpt From “Evil Stalks the Night — Revised Author’s Edition” by Kathryn Meyer Griffith

Twenty years ago psychic Sarah Summers fled from the evil that lurked in the woods behind her childhood home after it killed most of her family, but a nasty divorce and financial hardships forced her back when nothing else could have.

With her son, Jeremy, she returns to her grandmother’s dilapidated house and tries to begin a new life. She meets a police detective, Ben, who falls for her, and she prays her fresh visions of bloodshed and death deep among the dark trees are not true.

Then the murders begin again and Sarah is hurtled back into the familiar nightmare that has haunted her her whole life. The evil in the woods is awake again…and this time it wants her last remaining brother, Jim; her son…and her.

With Ben and Jim’s help can she defeat it this time…and live?

EXCERPT:

Desperate, Jim got up and, grabbing the wheel, slammed his foot over the driver’s on the brake. They fought for a few wild, dizzying seconds then the bus zigzagged with a sickening crash into an embankment on the other side of the road. People were tossed against the windows and thrown to the floor in heaps. The silence was deafening. Smoke engulfed the bus. Jim had been dumped on the floor again and knocked out cold.

When he came to, he had no idea how long he’d been out. It could have been minutes or hours. The only hint was it was still dark. He woke to an eerie silence and propped himself up on an elbow to survey the damage. So far he was the only one moving. “Damn,” he moaned, staring around at the indistinct forms littering the bus like corpses. The driver was slumped over the wheel, unconscious.

What had happened to the car?

Jim didn’t know what drew him, but he crawled over to the open door and fell outside into the wet grass. He took a deep breath of fresh air and tried to stop his head from spinning. How many were dead in there? It was his fault.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he whispered, looking up into the bus’s blank windows. There was blood all over him and burying his face in his hands, he cried, “I give up!” He yelled into the woods. “Anything you want!” He released a long sigh of defeat. “You win!” There was a great hush as he spoke. Something stirred in the wind. The darkness was silent. Jim didn’t move.

“Jimmy?” The voice, a child’s voice, startled him and he looked up.

“Jimmy, what’s the matter?” A gentle, caring voice.

It took Jim a minute to understand. “Charlie?” His eyes grew wide. It was Charlie, as he’d looked so many years ago as a small child, standing patiently above him in the dawn’s twilight. He was smiling at him and clutching his mangy old cat, the one he’d slammed the door on by accident, and lopped off part of its tail. The one he used to torment to no end.

Jim’s mouth went dry. But Charlie was dead! Charlie was…

“Oh, it’s me,” the ghost child chuckled, petting his cat and looking amused.

“Charlie! My God! Where did you come from?” You’re dead, he thought but didn’t say. Instead he groaned, “What do you want?”

He was quivering. Did this mean he was dead, too? Jim jerked his head around and saw the smoking hulk of the bus behind him.

Was he dead, and didn’t know it yet?

“Oh, Jimmy, are you hurt?” The small ghost reached out its pale hand towards him as if to comfort, but Jim recoiled in fright.

“Don’t touch me,” Jim cried. He stood up unsteadily and propped himself against the trunk of a nearby tree. His eyes never left Charlie. “Am I dead, too?” There was cold sweat beaded on his face. “I don’t feel dead.” He ran his hands over his arms and down his body. The blood had dried on his face and hands, he wasn’t bleeding anymore, so it must mean something. He felt shaken, bruised and sore, but not dead.

Charlie was laughing at him and Jim gaped in amazement at the remnant.

He’d seen a lot of terrible things in his life, had been aware of existences most people would never experience in their lifetimes, but this took the cake.

He’d never thought he’d see Charlie again. Not in this lifetime…not in any.

“You want me to tell you if you’re dead or not?” Charlie chortled again.

Jim put up his hand as if to ward off evil. “No, I don’t want to know.”

“What do you think?” Charlie was floating a few feet above the wet earth stroking his stiff cat in long, gentle strokes and it made Jim’s teeth itch to watch him.

“I don’t really know.” He eyed him suspiciously sideways. “I don’t feel dead.” He mulled over the notion he might be in the Twilight Zone this time for real. No, it wasn’t likely, he felt too normal. “You’re not real.” He glared down at Charlie. “I’m hallucinating this whole thing.”

Charlie shook his head and slowly floated away.

Jim closed his eyes and prayed when he opened them again, Charlie would be gone. It didn’t work. “This isn’t happening.”

“Stubborn.” Charlie giggled. “You’re a silly goose, Jimmy. Like always.” The child had stopped at a distance and was grinning at Jim from behind a tree.

“Go away,” Jim moaned, as he slid down to the ground at the base of the tree and hid his head in his hands.

“I can’t go away. I came here to help you, Jimmy. I wasn’t very nice to you when I was alive, so I owe you something. You and Sarah were my favorites and now she needs us. I can help.” The eerie voice was sincere but Jim sensed fear, too. What could a ghost be afraid of?

***

Since childhood Kathryn Meyer Griffith has been an artist and worked as a graphic designer in the corporate world and for newspapers for twenty-three years before quitting to write full time. She began writing novels at 21, over forty years ago now, and have had sixteen (nine romantic horror, two romantic SF horror, one romantic suspense, one romantic time travel and two murder mysteries) previous novels and eight short stories published from Zebra Books, Leisure Books, Avalon Books, The Wild Rose Press, Damnation Books and Eternal Press.

Kathryn has been married to Russell for thirty-four years; has a son, James, and two grandchildren, Joshua and Caitlyn, and lives in a small quaint town in Illinois called Columbia, which is right across the JB Bridge from St. Louis, Mo.

All Kathryn Meyer Griffith’s Books available at Amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Kathryn+Meyer+Griffith

Buy Link at Damnation Books: http://damnationbooks.com/people.php?author=79

Buy Link at Damnation Books: http://damnationbooks.com/people.php?author=79