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A Devil of a Time A Devil of a Time

Captain Niall McLane survives brutal captivity and a bloody revolution only to face a darker threat to his future with the woman he loves. When Niall becomes a suspect in a grotesque murder, his reputation as a merciless Indian fighter and scalphunter turns public opinion against him. Worse, the real killer has only begun to rampage, his sights set on those close to Niall.

Now the hunt for evil is on. Niall's only allies are Andrew Wade, a hopeless drunkard tormented by his own cowardice, and Andrew's young wife, Clarice, whom Niall secretly adores. After another murder occurs, Niall manages to stay out of jail, but can he protect Clarice from the formidable creature prowling in their midst?​​

From the mysterious forests of Kentucky to a graceful Virginia plantation, from the fevered heat of battle to the hope and struggle for renewal, A Devil of a Time weaves a tale of courage, betrayal and forbidden love, of three men grappling with the demons of their past, and the remarkable woman destined to change all their lives forever.​​
 

A Fitting Revenge A Fitting Revenge

Later, after the day’s discussions had given the other part of my brain a chance to think more rationally about events, I drove home in a calmer manner than in the morning. Cloud cover had begun to creep across the sky at about midday, gradually reducing the sun from a bright ghost behind a translucent screen to an unobtrusive and dimmer source of light. The ceiling dropped lower and lower as I drove and it was obvious that a stormy night was in store. By the time I was home, dark rolls of cloud were tumbling over and over in the rising wind, and the slab sided Defender rocked to every gust.
I put my key to the lock, but stopped short. My heart accelerated, thumping. My mouth went dry. I had locked the front door when I left, now it was almost closed. Almost, just half an inch of the jamb was showing. It open slowly and quietly to a gentle push. No sound could be heard over the storm and the odd creak from the old house. Precious little light entered through the small windows from that darkening sky; it was impossible to make out any detail in the room. I stood motionless until my eyes adjusted, the door pulled to behind me, listening for the slightest odd sound amidst the patter of the rain on the tiles and the rumble of the weather rolling in.
Every drawer and cupboard door was open, the contents strewn over the floor. Chair cushions had been ripped open and tossed to the side, one chair was on its back, the TV was on the floor, but intact. The kitchen did not look as if it had been touched. All this I took in at a glance. Was he still here? That was vital. Anger tried to surface. I forced it down; emotion could wait. I quietly crossed the room to my office. It was trashed. Files were ripped open and paper lay everywhere. Sellotape, scissors, paper clips and pens were strewn across the floor. The bookshelf had been tipped over, and my laptop had been given a stomping.
Lighting flashed, illuminating the room for a second, the devastation stark. An immediate crack of thunder showed how close the strike had been. The shock was distracting, but a little noise behind me wasn’t right. A rustle of clothes, a breath close by, I don’t know, but it shouldn’t have been there. I ducked and turned. Something clipped my ear and glanced off my left shoulder dropping me to the floor. A broad, dark, hooded figure stood over me, a jemmy high above his head, the curved end silhouetted by the window. It swept down again, seemingly in slow motion. I rolled away just in time. It thudded into the floor. It went up above his head for the next blow. He wasn’t going to miss again. Hooking my left foot behind his to jam it, I stabbed at the front of his knee with my right one. He grunted in pain and fell over backwards. I tried to get up, but my shoulder wouldn’t support the move. I rolled over to use the other side, but he had already clambered to his feet and run out, limping heavily.
He half ran and half hopped down the drive, disappearing in the rain before he reached the gate. He was in no state to continue the fight, thank goodness; I certainly wasn’t. The whole episode had probably lasted no more than ten seconds, less, but it felt an age. Talking of age, I poured an twelve year old malt down my throat and then added a touch of water to the next one.

A Human Veneer A Human Veneer

End of the Road


The sickly yellows suns that line the motorway are long behind us
busy white eyes of oncoming traffic a faded glow on retinas
replaced with a twisted country lane and hanging stars


dark corners
blind rises
tree covered falls


traversed without a word being spoken
now the rhythm of a radio is cut silent to static for the


tick
tick
tick


of a tired engine cooling itself to sleep
no more path
no more smoothed surface
no more looking forward
for us there is only what has gone before
and a black uninviting void

unknown
fear filled
unwanted


lying across the Irish sea
so still as if it was not there in the darkness at all
so still
still we don’t speak
and dare not turn the key
because we know this is end of the road

A Life No Less Than Perfect A Life No Less Than Perfect

I was in an accident right after high school. The Saturday after graduation, my best friend Clarissa was driving us to an end of school year party at a classmate’s house. We never made it. I don’t know what caused the accident. I was in a coma for over a month. When I woke up my parents were the first faces I saw. I was so out of it. At first I was disoriented and confused. I didn’t know where I was or how I ended up there. No one would tell me anything. I wasn’t allowed to watch television or listen to the radio. I guess they didn’t want to overexert me and send me into panic mode. I remained in the hospital for a week after I woke. The doctors put me through a series of extensive tests during the week. Physically I was fine with the exception of a few scars from cuts and bruises caused by the accident. Mentally...I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. When I was released and my parents took me home. That’s when they decided it was time I learned what happened; or at least what they knew from the accident reports. I sat quietly and stunned listening to them recount the events that happened after the accident. The reports said our car was found off a curve down in a ravine. There was no indication of foul play and our blood alcohol levels were clean. They couldn’t conclusively say what exactly could have caused it. I was found unconscious and immediately taken to the hospital. Clarissa was pronounced dead at the scene.

A Light Beyond The Darkness A Light Beyond The Darkness

A young Amazon who has been at war with the vampires since as long as she can remember, is wounded in battle. Little does she know that she is being watched by something that is lurking in the shadows. Will she find death because of her wounds? Or will she transform into the thing which she has been at war with? Find out if she will fade to black or if she will become the Light Beyond The Darkness.

A Light in the Dark A Light in the Dark

Hearing the Voices of the dead is something Gracie Charles has endured her entire life. When the power grid suddenly fails across the globe, she finds herself alone and facing a dark and dangerous journey through an unforgiving landscape, in hopes of finding sanctuary with friends who share her gift.
 

A Measure Of Faith A Measure Of Faith

Two weeks before her 40th birthday, Lynette receives distressing news from her doctor. Already feeling despondent over turning 40, this sends her into a whirlwind of all sorts of negative emotions. Her loving, supportive husband Robert, knowing she needs his love, support, and understanding now more than ever, is determined to give it all to her. However, in the midst of worrying that she may lose a vital part of what makes her a woman, Lynette discovers something she has been longing for all of her life. As the friction between her and Robert continues to increase and the pain of the past closes in on her, she wonders if her faith is enough to help her endure.

A Mother's Heart A Mother's Heart

It can be lonely parenting a special needs child, but you are not alone.
A Memoir / Self-Help book by Eichin Chang-Lim.

Parenting is a challenging journey, especially when raising a child who requires extra attention. There are days when it feels as if you're trapped in a dark cave with no way out. The lonesomeness and helplessness exhaust you. You may be looking for some words of inspiration to know that you are not alone.

A Mother's Heart is a book for any parent in a similar circumstance. This book is written by a mother raising a special needs son with a genetic disorder. It encapsulates both the elements of a memoir and a self-help book. The author candidly shares her need to make heart-wrenching decisions throughout the journey, including family life and working with the school systems.

This is a book not only helpful for parents with a special needs child, it will also give insights to individuals who may encounter or be involved with parents of special needs children.
 

A Quivering Mass of Aches and Pains A Quivering Mass of Aches and Pains

You think I want to wander around in hell with you?

You quivering mass of aches and pains

Think again

I tried and tried to treat you as a human being

I wanted to love you

To cherish you

To be a couple

Imperfect at best, of course

But you would not even look at me when

You spoke to me

I had to remind you over and over

And over

Please look at me when you are talking to me

To no avail

I was there for you when you had your hip surgeries

And took you to all your follow up appointments

Went grocery shopping, gave you sponge baths

Massaged your good foot, and tried to touch your

Other foot, mangled from diabetes which you make

No attempt to control through diet or exercise

Just proclaim how its’ not your fault, it’s hereditary

As you stuff yourself with nothing but cheap pizzas

And then make a production of shooting up with insulin

And sleep 14 hours a day

And you yelled at me when I made the slightest mistake

And then expected me to do even more for you

No, I will not wander through the wasteland of your

Exalted self-perception, your entitlement fantasies and

Your exhausting political diatribes about the

Glories of socialism and the evils of anything that

Doesn’t agree with your fanatical views

And your only acceptable change of topic?

Your latest medical intervention

Which never changes anything

Just gives you another boring thing to broadcast

To the silently exasperated company

You’ve managed to gather around yourself

While you wander through

A hell of self-pity with only yourself to blame

Think again.

A Riffians Tune A Riffian's Tune

A Riffian's Tune is an autobiographical novel about forging your own path, the power of hope, and daring to step into the labyrinth of life - no matter what.

Deep in the heart of the rural Rif Mountains, one boy's life is dictated by tribal tradition, superstition and religion. But Jusef dreams of more; it's a dream that will send him far from his shepherding hills to the bustle of the big city in search of education, meaning and, above all, a different way of life.

From the richness of a story overflowing with tales of tragedies, courage and triumphs, Jusef's journey reveals the complexities of Moroccan culture and the overwhelming restraints facing those on the fringes.

As the country questions its identity in the fading period of colonial rule, one Berber boy must also challenge who he is and who he is meant to be - as he discovers in the fight against adversity, dreams might not be enough...

A Sense of Discovery A Sense of Discovery

When Garry’s mother dies, he’s devastated. It’s not only her death, but her last words to him. He embarks on a search to uncover the truth. What follows is a dangerous journey. A journey full of unforeseen pitfalls, which could ultimately put both his life, and the lives of his whole family in jeopardy.

A Shadow of Time A Shadow of Time

If you like the paranormal, and creepy haunted houses with a dark romantic twist, venture into the estate called, Shadow Ley.

“Shit,” Kellyn O’Brien complained as she negotiated another turn. The foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains had more than their share of winding roads. At the five-mile marker, she found the turn off to Reservation Road. A quick left, then a right, brought her to a wrought iron gate that barred her entrance. Shutting off the engine, she glanced back at Scott. Her two year-old son slept with a sippy cup clutched in his hand as if his life depended on it.

Getting out of the car, she approached a gate that stood at least six feet high and was topped with heavy spikes. Grabbing the rigid metal, she gave it a good shake. The lock held while rust-colored needles fell on top of her like rain. She glanced around, unnerved by thick pine trees and underbrush. It looked as if the gate hadn’t been opened in ages. All was dark gray and green, spider webs dancing in spiky boughs.

A razor-sharp wind picked up, blowing her scarf across her face. She whipped it away as she stumbled over a rock. Without notice, her stomach gave way to morning sickness that only occurred in the afternoon, and she retched painfully. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she approached the Prelude where her newly awakened son babbled at an invisible presence in the back seat. Her heart sank as she realized he was up to his tricks with his imaginary friend, Man. She opened the driver’s side door and sat down.

Scott giggled. “Man!”

Covering her weariness, she glanced back at the empty seat next to him. “Man?”

“Yes. Nice man.”

“Very nice man.”

Kellyn’s hands shook as much from the cold as from exhaustion. Closing the car door, she peered out the window. The solicitors had promised her the gate would be unlocked for her arrival. She sighed. Trouble was something she had come to expect. Life had been challenging, first as an orphan, then as a foster child. She considered herself toughened, relished challenges, and met head-on whatever circumstances came her way. She thought herself emotionally strong, but the death of her husband and the strain of her pregnancy had stretched her resilience almost to the breaking point.

“Cain I hep ya?” a tobacco-thickened voice asked from outside the car.

Startled, she glanced up, instinctively clutching her purse as she rolled down the window. An elderly man stood before her dressed in filthy corduroy pants with a small, stained, gray T-shirt that read See the Grand Canyon Today! His coat was at least two sizes too large and hung on a skeletal frame. The old man scratched his beard then sucked on his teeth.

“You Kellyn?” he asked, sticking his head toward the opened car window.

She stared back at large canine-like yellow teeth, chipped and stained. “I’m Kellyn O’Brien. Are you Henry?”

He nodded and his glasses slipped down his nose. He pushed them up with a gnarled, blue-veined finger. “Sorry ’bout keeping ya out here. I was busy up at the house ’en just made it to the gate.”

“Can you let me in?” She wondered at his voice. For a moment, it had sounded odd—bereft of emotion and tinny. She laughed at herself. Fanciful thoughts for a pregnant woman, she mused.

Needles crunching underfoot, the air perfumed with pine, Henry muttered to himself as he fumbled in his pocket. He withdrew a thick iron key and unlocked the gate. It swung outward before coming into contact with a large pinecone.

“Widdamaker,” Henry said, puffing. Visibly distressed, he pulled the pinecone from between the gate and the dirt. His legs shook with the effort.

“What?” With her head poked out the window, she shivered in the cold, almost missing his last remark. Thick heavy clouds roiled overhead, threatening rain or snow.

“Widdamaker cone,” he yelled. His large fingers curled around the heavy seedpod as he walked toward the car. “No good for nothing, ’cept to hit ya on the head ’en knock ya out.”

Concerned, she clicked the shoulder harness into place and relocked the car door. Scotty opened his pudgy hands as she glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

“I see, Mommy?”

She shook her head, catching his eye. “No, Scott. It’s dirty.”

The old man continued, “You watch out for these things, missus. They can kill a grown man. Or woman.”