Celebrate Autumn with “The Woman Who Hated Halloween”

Yes, folks, the equinox was today, which means that autumn has officially begun.  What better way to celebrate than with a tale of ghosts, demons, and jack-o’-lanterns?

(Groovy cover art by Matt Truiano)


Check out "The Woman Who Hated Halloween," available as an eBook from the good folks at Damnation Books.

The story is available in a variety of formats, including PDF, .lit, .epub, and .mobi.  A Kindle version is available here.

Copies are still cheap, but the price goes up with each subsequent download.  So act now!

Once again, here’s the jacket copy:

   Tough-as-nails attorney Janine D’Angelo has never enjoyed Halloween, but this year, it’s become a waking nightmare. Someone is playing nasty tricks on her—supernatural tricks that hound her wherever she goes…with the promise of much worse to come.

Janine has never backed down from a fight in her life. Though she’s always regarded séances, jack-o’-lanterns, and the occult as childish wastes of time, she might just need them to survive Halloween night.    

 

And here’s a taste:
 
October 19th: The first night

Janine D’Angelo had just finished showering when the screaming started.

She opened the frosted shower door and stepped out, releasing a swirl of steam into her master bathroom. The exhaust fan, softly purring, cleared it away in short order. White tile and golden faucet fixtures glistened. Behind her, the showerhead dripped its last. She pulled a thick green towel from the rack and dried herself, thinking of the sentencing she had to attend in the morning. The D.A. pushed for the death penalty, and would probably get it. She had done what she could, but held out little hope of prevailing. She’d told her client to expect as much at their appointment earlier that day. He responded with his preferred mode of expression—an emotionless stare.

Sighing, she glanced at the digital clock near the sink: 11:50 p.m. Maybe she’d be able to allow herself six hours of sleep.

A chorus of shrieks filled the bathroom, ear-splittingly loud, undeniably present—not in the next room, not coming from a television or stereo inadvertently left on, but unmistakably here, in the bathroom with her, echoing off the tiles. Screams. As of people in agony, in the deepest throes of terror, screaming their throats bloody. Men, women, children. Inarticulate, ghastly. Screams.

Go ahead and download.  You know you want to.

Happy autumn!

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