Sunday, October 25, 2015

Soul Cakes for All Hallows’ Eve by Christy Effinger



Everyone welcome our guest, Christy Effinger. Take it away, Christy.

I adore Halloween and autumn in general. I relish the wildness in the wind, the shifting light, the trees aflame with color. Mellow days soft as s’mores. Nights clear and sharp as cut glass. I watch flocks of migrating geese and remember what’s like to be pulled instinctively in a new direction. I see combines gobbling fields of corn and rediscover my own hunger for harvest food: baked squash, sweet potato soup, and anything flavored pumpkin (I am one of those people, yes I am). Most of all, I love that once a year on October 31 people unlock their front doors, come out of their houses, and speak to each other. As if we need a reason.

One of my Halloween traditions is to make soul cakes for my family. Traditionally, soul cakes were baked on All Hallows’ Eve in England and Ireland during the Middle Ages. These little cakes were distributed to children and beggars who wandered from door to door in an early version of our modern trick-or-treating. Soul cakes are delicious with autumn ale or apple cider. Here’s a link to the recipe I use:
http://catholiccuisine.blogspot.com/2011/10/soul-cakes-original-halloween-treat.html (I press raisins on top before baking and omit the powdered sugar.)

In honor of Halloween, the digital version of my paranormal novel Say Nothing of What You See is on sale for $0.99. This sale ends October 30, 2015, so pop over to Amazon and download a spooky e-book to read while you eat all that leftover Halloween candy.


Blurb:
When her aunt steps off a grain elevator into the emptiness of a prairie evening, Mira Piper loses her one protector. Chloe, her flighty mother, impulsively drags her daughter to Bramblewood, an isolated spiritualist retreat in northern Michigan, run by the enigmatic Dr. Virgil Simon.

Chloe plans to train as a medium but it's Mira who discovers she can communicate with the dead. When her mother abandons her, Mira discovers a darker aspect to Bramblewood: the seemingly kind doctor has a sinister side and a strange control over his students.

Then one winter's day Troy Farrington arrives, to fulfill his mother's dying wish and deliver her letter to the doctor. But calamity strikes and he finds himself a captive, tended by a sympathetic Mira. Haunted by her dead aunt and desperate to escape Bramblewood, Mira makes a devil's deal with Dr. Simon. But fulfillment comes with a steep cost...betrayal.

Excerpt:

“You are absolutely stunning, Mira.”

I stole another glance in the mirror. The material was a rich, shimmery gold that fell from my shoulders in folds of liquid light. It looked like something a Greek goddess might wear. Oh, how I wished the girls from Amberville High School could see me in this dress!

“When you came here,” said Dr. Simon, “I had a vision of you like this. I looked at the girl before me, but I saw the woman you are now.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, gesturing toward the piles of clothes on my bed. “You’ve been so generous. I know you’ve spent a good deal of money on me—”

“Money means nothing,” he interrupted abruptly. “I have more than I could ever spend, more than I know what to do with. Don’t consider the cost.”

His tone was brusque, and I wondered if I had offended him.

But the next moment Dr. Simon smiled. “I think of you as my charity case. You were like a doll thrown out in the garbage. I simply rescued you from the trash, cleaned you up, and dressed you in something decent. But the beauty was present all along.” He touched my cheek. “Here.” Then he touched my forehead. “Here.” Then he touched my chest. “And here.”

I knew he was referring to my heart, but even so, his hand on my chest made my face warm with discomfort.

“You blush so easily,” he laughed. “You’ll never be able hide anything, Mira, with such a transparent face.”

“That’s all right,” I said, taking a small step back. “I don’t have anything to hide.”




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Saturday, October 24, 2015

WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL ABOUT COVERS? by Brenda Whiteside

When I first published six years ago, I cared about my cover, but didn't see the need for a typical romance cover. What's typical? Most often a cover involving intriguing people or an attractive couple. Gorgeous or dramatic scenery is also coveted. Romance readers like a setting they can get lost in. But I had never purchased a book based on a cover. So if I had never done that, why would anyone else?

My publisher asked for some guidance on the cover like what elements did I think were important. The book's title is Sleeping with the Lights On. I named a lamp, a black cowboy hat and a spilled bottle of wine. When I got the cover, I nearly cried. It wasn't the exciting cover I pictured and suddenly the cover was important to me.

I've vended at numerous book events over the years, and I can see the importance of a cover. That cover isn't awful, but it certainly does not attract the attention that some of my other covers do. After my experience last weekend, I asked my publisher if I could have a new cover. Here's why:

New cover and new title
I published another book several years ago with another publisher. The cover was "okay" and I sold a few books but mostly to friends and relatives. I've always loved the story, and decided to ask for my rights back which the publisher was gracious enough to give me. The book was edited again, but no major changes to the story. The new title is Post-War Dreams. The cover is totally different, and I was ecstatic with it. I took the first copies to a book event last weekend. We were rained out and had a poor turnout. BUT after not selling a copy of the prior edition in two years, I sold three copies with the new cover.

That convinced me!

Old cover waiting for an update
Now, I am awaiting a new cover for Sleeping with the Lights On. I can't wait to see if a new cover breathes life into what I consider a very entertaining read.

Sleeping With the Lights On 
After two failed marriages and countless relationships, Sandra Holiday thinks she’s met the man to end her years of less than perfect choices; choices that not only derailed her travel-related career plans but also left her single and broke. 

Carson Holiday, a Las Vegas country crooner with swoon-inducing good looks, spent his adult life pursuing a recording contract and love, never holding on to either. After eighteen years, he drops back into Sandra’s life, reigniting an attraction he can’t deny.

When Carson reappears, Sandra must choose again.  Only this time, nothing’s as it seems.  A secret admirer, a redheaded stalker, and an eccentric millionaire throw her on a dangerous path, with Carson her only truth.

As life confronts her with yet another turning point, will her decisions find her eternally sleeping with the lights on – or will she finally discover a way to turn them off?

Friday, October 23, 2015

Kids And Their Comments: You Can't Make This Stuff Up by Margo Hoornstra


Ah kids. No matter where you are with them, they always manage to steal the show or, in my case as an author, the book. Being a mother and grandmother, I have a lot of experience with this phenomenon. Yet still marvel at how the little ones always seem to get the last word.

As a child, my daughter was enamored with dolls – super heroine dolls – thank you very much. One day she prepared to transform into a powerful warrior princess. “Where I will right all the wrongs in the universe.” That was when she glanced over at me to proclaim, “And you can be my horse.”

Similarly, my granddaughter loved to play dress-up. There was one time in particular, shortly after her grandfather—horror of horrors—had told her no about one thing or another.

With the skirt of her princess dress fluttering around her, she swooped down the stairs with a pink plastic wand in hand, ready to make her imperial proclamations. “Today we are going to play royalty. Grandma, you are the Queen, I will be the princess and…Grandpa is a frog.” She wielded the wand his way once, then again. “He’s a big frog.”

Another time, granddaughter and I waited in the car one afternoon when a man came by with a well-groomed poodle on a leash. The perfect opportunity for a learning experience. One that turned out to be mine and left me speechless.

Me: “Oh look at the beautiful dog. It’s a poodle.”
She: “How do you know that?”
Me: “Because I know dogs.”
She: “What’s his name?”
Me: “I have no idea.”
She – With a brief sniff: “Seems if you know dogs, you’d know his name.”

In Night Stars and Mourning Doves, my Dearly Beloved novel from The Wild Rose Press, widower Eric Matthews gets the same treatment from young son, Jay and some of his new friends when they attend an ice cream social at nursery school.

As some other children scampered into chairs along both sides of the table Jay and Allie chose, her student’s father sat down at one end. Elyse took her seat opposite then bit her lower lip to stifle a laugh. The chair he battled to get into must have been five times smaller than he was. Pushed back from the table edge with his legs sprawled to one side he managed to settle into position.

“You could trade for a regular sized folding chair.” She couldn’t help it when the corners of her mouth curved upward. “We have a few of those along the wall.”

“I’m good.” He grunted as he scrunched down on the tiny piece of molded plastic with one hand placed on the ground for balance. “That is as long as this one will hold my weight.”

Elyse smiled again then, despite her best efforts, a small chuckle escaped. “I’m sorry.” She brought two fingers to her lips and cleared her throat. “Are you sure you’re comfortable?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. But I’ll be okay.”

Those blue eyes sparkled back at her and she laughed out loud. “You’re a real trooper, Mr. Matthews. I like that in a ma—parent.” Parent, her student’s father. She needed to remember that fact when she referred to this man. She shook her head and shrugged. And not even man. This person, her sister’s soon to be brother-in-law whose child attended her school.

“I appreciate the compliment, Miss Elyse.”

She pulled out of her thoughts in time to catch the impish wink sent her way.

“The guest of honor is here.”

As someone made the announcement, Elyse quickly tore her eyes away from his and stood. “Everyone.  We’re here today to celebrate Miss Diane’s very special accomplishment.” She went on to explain, in language the children would understand too, what that accomplishment was. “So let’s give her a round of applause,” she said and was pleased when the audience immediately complied.

Jay took the lead when the clapping stopped. “Daddy, Allie and I will have chocolate sauce and sprinkles on our ice cream.”

Eric reached for the syrup bottle. “Use your manners.”

The boy rolled his eyes then smiled at the little girl beside him. “Please.”

Elyse picked up the bowl of multi-colored candy dots then turned to the other two children who sat with them. “Would you like chocolate sauce too? We also have strawberry.”

“Chocolate, please,” they replied with paper bowls lifted.

While Eric squirted on the requested topping, she added sprinkles then passed out plastic spoons.

Stretching forward, she placed one in Eric’s opened palm then allowed her fingers to linger. Warm flesh closed briefly over hers as if in answer to a question she hadn’t asked.

It took her a moment to let go. “As soon as we finish here,” she straightened and coughed. “Miss Carrie is going to read everyone a special story.”

“On the cozy red reading rug,” Eric added and set his hand back on the table.

“Allie got more sprinkles than me.”

At the complaint from her right, Elyse picked up the container. “I don’t think so. But here are a few more.”

“I could use another shot on mine.” The comment came from the other side of the table.

With a leg now extended on each side of his chair, the man faced her straight on, pulling her in. Even with a solid table and four children between them, out of the blue remnants of her usual panic began to surface. With strict and sudden concentration, she forced her breathing to slow, her hands to steady but bobbled the container before she could get it under control. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” When she looked up, his focus had been diverted by Allie.

“Where does Jay come from?” she was asking.

Elyse forced her attention off him only to have it snap back again when he spoke. “We come from a small town north of here. About five hours away.”

No child that age would understand those concepts.

Elyse decided to help him out. “You’d have to get in the car and ride for a very long time, even stop for lunch before you get there.”

“I already told her that,” Jay piped in, his voice reflecting a four year-old’s tolerance for the efforts of his elders. “At the very first. Allie just got a new baby brother—”

Eric shot Elyse a look of sheer terror. “Well, I—”

Ready to leap to his aid, she purposely closed her mouth.

“Yeah, where? Where do we come from? Where do we come from?” one of their young table mates joined in and started the rest in the chant.

This father in charge stared at the tabletop first then slid his gaze to the floor as he proceeded to flush eight shades of crimson. From the opened collar of his sport shirt to the edge of his hair line and back again.

“Babies are born out of love,” he blurted after a moment and the chanting ceased.

“But how?” one youngster persisted.

Folding her arms on the table, Elyse would have commiserated with his plight, if she hadn’t been so charmed by his boyish discomfort. And she certainly had no intention of coming to his rescue again. She was having way too much fun as an observer.

He coughed into the crease of his elbow, then rested his hands in front of him as he shot her a wary glance.

His gaze swept along one side of the table then the other. “You all came about, we all came about because two people, our mommies and daddies decided they wanted us to be here. Very much.”

At the emotion in his voice, her heart squeezed so hard it took a moment before she could breathe, let alone find enough voice to respond. The gaze she lifted was met with a surprising ration of warmth from his. With enough heat left over to wrap around her like a sweet and tender blanket.

Oh, Eric. What a beautiful thing to say.

Hands clasped together, she blinked away intrusive tears. “That’s a very nice way to see things, Mr. Matthews.”

Luckily, her mind intervened before she spoke from her heart.

 

 

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Elyse Monroe may be her sister's maid of honor, but that doesn't mean she has to follow the bride's example and fall in love. Battle-scarred and weary from previous relationships, she has no desire to take a chance on another--no matter how many hints her little sister drops about the best man. Devastating life events have taken a toll on Eric Matthews. After losing his wife and unborn daughter, he's come home to heal. Serving as best man at his kid brother's wedding is the only relationship he cares to contemplate--no matter how attractive the maid of honor. Thrown together again and again by wedding duties, Elyse and Eric reluctantly agree to explore a possible relationship--only to have their casual date turn into a glorious night of passion. Can two hearts, convinced a happily ever after will never happen, recognize love when it finds them?

My days to blog here are the 11th and 23rd. For more about me and my stories, please visit my WEBSITE or find me at FACEBOOK  TWITTER or GOODREADS

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday, October 22, 2015

The lure of the Halloween costume...or maybe not ~ by Leah St. James


Halloween is just around the corner, and I’m mired in my usual dress-up-or-not-dress-up dilemma.

As a kid, it was a no-brainer. You dressed for Halloween, period. First was the march around the school grounds with your class, then the big event itself – Halloween night where we’d roam the neighborhood hoping to fill our pillow cases with Mom-approved goodies. And of course our UNICEF boxes with cash.

I was never an overly creative costumer. I might have gotten it from Mom who dressed me as a ghost for the first several years...before I spied the Cinderella costumes hanging in Woolworth’s window. After that, I was Cinderella for about a three- or four-year span. (Hey, why mess with success?!)

Eventually I outgrew Cinderella (probably more physically than mentally) and advanced to home-made costumes. My favorite was the Geisha-girl(ish) costume, designed with a set of silk pajamas my father had brought back from Korea. (I’m not sure how my sister and I talked Mom into letting us wear those, but she did, and probably regretted it.) I twirled my hair into a bun on the back of my head and stuck knitting needles through it. Yes, I really did.

After that, a long costume drought followed, until I had my own kids. Remembering how important costumes were to me, I was determined to give my kids the best. No store-bought costumes for them.
My best effort was Superman when Son No. 1 was five. I sewed it from a pattern, all by myself. And it was magnificent. I can still picture him standing in that Superman pose, hands on hips, legs braced for action. (Wish I could find a photo to share!) 

One year he went as “Construction Guy.” That was relatively easy. He’s a warrior in this shot, taken with my sister who was dressed as Mother Goose. She graciously took him trick-or-treating because Son No. 2 had been born just four days earlier...which might account for the fuzziness of the shot. Sorry about that.  (By the way, I made that dress too, although at the time it wasn’t SUPPOSED to be a costume! Whatever.)

Eventually the lure of HeMan won out, and I succumbed to the store-bought costume. (This is with my sister also.)


 When Son No. 2 came along, I started out fine. I remember culling together a pretty credible Dark Wing Duck for him, but eventually the store-bought HeMan was pulled from the depths of the closet. (And my sister again! I don't think I have one photo of me with my kids in costume...but these are better anyway.)




At some point along the way, it became popular for adults to start dressing up at the office. I joined in when I was feeling particularly creative—like the year I dressed in my husband’s black karate gei and posed as a ninja. (I had the weapons strapped to my waist lest anyone make too much fun of me.)
Another year I went as a ranch hand. That was easy—jeans, bandanna and a cowboy hat.

This  year we’re having a costume contest at work. I’m so NOT a competitive person (except with myself), so my inclination is to forget it. But that thrill of dressing up is still in the back of my mind and I can’t quite let it go.  Unfortunately I still have no idea what to wear...again.

I won’t buy anything other than maybe a few accent pieces, which leaves me at the mercy of my wardrobe.  Here are a few ideas I’ve been playing with:

Romance novelist on deadline
Granny glasses (because I’m blind from staring at the computer for a break-free, 96-hour stretch); hair that hasn’t been combed in that time (because I’m on deadline), ratty/saggy knit top dribbled with coffee/tea/spaghetti stains down its front (from eating at the computer); sweatpants and slipper socks. (The good news...I have all that in my closet already!)

Erotic novelist at reader event
I’d start with a big length of rope…uh, yeah, better avoid that one.

Working mother
Business suit with spit-up stains on jacket (yeah, I still have it); one brown shoe, one black shoe; mismatched earrings; mascara on one eye but not the other, maybe smeared on the side; hair falling from attempted up-do; crumpled and syrup-smeared permission slip for your child’s trip to the zoo stuck to the back of your skirt/pants.

In my latest story, Blood Moon (from “Mysteries of the Macabre | A Halloween Anthology”), my heroine and her husband dress up as a ‘60s couple. They’re inspired by the discovery of an old letterman’s sweater that belonged to his grandfather.  I had so much fun researching the styles of that day. 

Hey...there’s an idea! I can go as a heroine in one of my stories! Let’s see, there was the FBI agent who posed as a sex slave to solve a murder...well, whatever. I’ll come up with something.

Happy Halloween, everyone!

____________________

Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil and the power of love. To learn more, go to leahstjames.com. For more on "Mysteries of the Macabre" go here:






Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Dudleytown, a village killed by madness by Barbara Edwards

Dudleytown doesn’t exist anymore, but stories of madness, suicide and horrible happenings keep it from fading into history. Hikers report a dead zone minus any animal activity. Similarly birds are absent except for the day-time hooting of owls.

Dudleytown, CT
Was Dudleytown haunted by something evil? Does the haunting continue even though the houses have fallen into the ground and little remains to mark the spot? I don’t know. According to some local historians, the town’s remains have witnessed madness, suicide, fatal accidents, natural disasters, and vanishings

A curse befalling residents from the mid-1700’s to the early-1800’s makes a scary story. The curse has been traced to an English nobleman, Edmund Dudley, ancestor of the Dudley brothers who settled the town. His head was chopped off for plotting against King Henry VII. A curse on Edmund followed his family to the New World.

Dudleytown doesn’t exist anymore, but stories of madness, suicide and horrible happenings keep it from fading into history. Hikers report a dead zone minus any animal activity. Similarly birds are absent except for the day-time hooting of owls.

Was Dudleytown haunted by something evil? Does the haunting continue even though the houses have fallen into the ground and little remains to mark the spot? I don’t know. According to some local historians, the town’s remains have witnessed madness, suicide, fatal accidents, natural disasters, and vanishings

A curse befalling residents from the mid-1700’s to the early-1800’s makes a scary story. The curse has been traced to an English nobleman, Edmund Dudley, ancestor of the Dudley brothers who settled the town. His head was chopped off for plotting against King Henry VII. A curse on Edmund followed his family to the New World.

One of the Dudley brothers went insane. Other strange incidents included a barn raising where a man fell to his death. Lightning struck and killed a Dudleytown woman on her porch. The curse destroyed a sheep-herder’s family. His wife died of tuberculosis, and his children disappeared. When his house burned down, he wandered into the woods, never to return.

Rev. Gary P. Dudley, a Texas resident and the author of The Legend of Dudleytown: Solving Legends through Genealogical and Historical Research (Heritage Books, 2001), traced the genealogy of his name, found no historical basis for Dudleytown’s cursed reputation or genealogical link to Edmund Dudley.

The final resident of Dudleytown was Dr. William Clarke, a New York City physician who built a vacation home in the early 1900s. The traditional story alleges that Mrs. Clarke was left alone overnight while her husband was summoned to an emergency in the city, and she descended into madness. Rev. Dudley says Mrs. Clarke committed suicide, but in New York, not in Dudleytown.

Before leaving, Dr. Clarke helped found Dark Entry Forest, Inc., an association of property owners that designated the area a nature preserve. As Dudleytown fell to ruin, the land reverted to forest.

Cornwall Covered Bridge, Cornwall, CT

The Cornwall Covered Bridge is nearby and worth a trip.

Anyone can follow directions in a guide to nature walks in Connecticut to the preserve’s main entrance at the end of Bald Mountain Road in Cornwall. The way is blocked by a locked gate and signs announcing “No Parking” and “No Trespassing.” Instead enter Dudleytown from the Mohawk Trail, a bit farther north. Dudleytown is about 1.5 miles from the trail’s entrance.

It’s obvious why Dudleytown’s neighbors don’t cotton to strangers.

The town’s legend attracted paranormal investigators, journalists, hikers, the occasional birder, curiosity-seekers, and just plain folk inclined toward the supernatural. Until in 1999, after the release of The Blair Witch Project (the hugely popular movie about haunted woods in Maryland), trespassers got out of hand.

The internet spread the legend far and wide.

The members of Dark Entry Forest, Inc placed Dudleytown off-limits after complaining of drinking parties, campfires, littering, disorderly conduct, and vandalism. A news release they issued stated in a single year, “law enforcement officers have been summoned 79 times”.

A sign in the Mohawk Trail parking lot warns hikers to keep out from October 25 to November 4. The trail crosses a corner of Dudleytown. The Connecticut Forest and Park Association closes this trail section for several days around Halloween.

I’ve personally hiked the fabled Litchfield Hills in their autumn colors.


A brook bubbling near Dudleytown

The Mohawk Trail follows Dark Entry Road, which climbs steeply past houses and towering tree before narrowing near Bonney Brook. In the forest, a broken stone wall crosses the brook. Once it was a dam—Witches’ Dam, some now call it. Nearby, a hollow moaning comes from a thin stream of water spouting into a rocky pool.

A half-mile beyond the brook is Dudleytown. The trail guide calls it “an abandoned community.” It is so quiet around the doomed settlement’s stone ruins that belief in a dead zone is brought to mind.

Visitors have experienced vortexes and cold spots in Dudleytown; others have seen spirits. A few are recorded on film although cameras and other battery-powered equipment are unreliable here. A few claim to have been chased, even slapped, by ghosts.

I can’t claim to know if the stories are true, but it does make me shiver.

Visit me, Friend me, Follow or Tweet. I’d love to hear from you.

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One of the Dudley brothers went insane. Other strange incidents included a barn raising where a man fell to his death. Lightning struck and killed a Dudleytown woman on her porch. The curse destroyed a sheep-herder’s family. His wife died of tuberculosis, and his children disappeared. When his house burned down, he wandered into the woods, never to return.

Rev. Gary P. Dudley, a Texas resident and the author of The Legend of Dudleytown: Solving Legends through Genealogical and Historical Research (Heritage Books, 2001), traced the genealogy of his name, found no historical basis for Dudleytown’s cursed reputation or genealogical link to Edmund Dudley.

The final resident of Dudleytown was Dr. William Clarke, a New York City physician who built a vacation home in the early 1900s. The traditional story alleges that Mrs. Clarke was left alone overnight while her husband was summoned to an emergency in the city, and she descended into madness. Rev. Dudley says Mrs. Clarke committed suicide, but in New York, not in Dudleytown.

Before leaving, Dr. Clarke helped found Dark Entry Forest, Inc., an association of property owners that designated the area a nature preserve. As Dudleytown fell to ruin, the land reverted to forest.


Cornwall Covered Bridge, Cornwall, CT

The Cornwall Covered Bridge is nearby and worth a trip.

Anyone can follow directions in a guide to nature walks in Connecticut to the preserve’s main entrance at the end of Bald Mountain Road in Cornwall. The way is blocked by a locked gate and signs announcing “No Parking” and “No Trespassing.” Instead enter Dudleytown from the Mohawk Trail, a bit farther north. Dudleytown is about 1.5 miles from the trail’s entrance.

It’s obvious why Dudleytown’s neighbors don’t cotton to strangers.

The town’s legend attracted paranormal investigators, journalists, hikers, the occasional birder, curiosity-seekers, and just plain folk inclined toward the supernatural. Until in 1999, after the release of The Blair Witch Project (the hugely popular movie about haunted woods in Maryland), trespassers got out of hand.

The internet spread the legend far and wide.

The members of Dark Entry Forest, Inc placed Dudleytown off-limits after complaining of drinking parties, campfires, littering, disorderly conduct, and vandalism. A news release they issued stated in a single year, “law enforcement officers have been summoned 79 times”.

A sign in the Mohawk Trail parking lot warns hikers to keep out from October 25 to November 4. The trail crosses a corner of Dudleytown. The Connecticut Forest and Park Association closes this trail section for several days around Halloween.

I’ve personally hiked the fabled Litchfield Hills in their autumn colors.


A brook bubbling near Dudleytown

The Mohawk Trail follows Dark Entry Road, which climbs steeply past houses and towering tree before narrowing near Bonney Brook. In the forest, a broken stone wall crosses the brook. Once it was a dam—Witches’ Dam, some now call it. Nearby, a hollow moaning comes from a thin stream of water spouting into a rocky pool.

A half-mile beyond the brook is Dudleytown. The trail guide calls it “an abandoned community.” It is so quiet around the doomed settlement’s stone ruins that belief in a dead zone is brought to mind.

Visitors have experienced vortexes and cold spots in Dudleytown; others have seen spirits. A few are recorded on film although cameras and other battery-powered equipment are unreliable here. A few claim to have been chased, even slapped, by ghosts.

I can’t claim to know if the stories are true, but it does make me shiver.

Visit me, Friend me, Follow or Tweet. I’d love to hear from you.

Website: www.barbaraedwards.net for excerpts and buy links

Facebook: http://facebook.com/BarbaraEdwards

Twitter: http://twitter.com/barb_ed

Authors Den: http://authorsden.com/barbaraedwards


Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/author/barbaraedwards