"PARANORMAL ALLEY"
Purchase Paranormal Alley:
Exclusive to Amazon and available in Paperback, Kindle or FREE to download and read on Kindle Unlimited.
Exclusive to Amazon and available in Paperback, Kindle or FREE to download and read on Kindle Unlimited.
SYNOPSIS:
The concept of "Paranormal Alley" arose from a discussion I was having with my son Chris, who was bemoaning the fact that as a part-time writer, he just didn't physically have the time and patience to write a full length novel.
He told me he had a number of short stories, any of which could be expanded into a novel if only he had the time. I suggested he send me what he had, write a few more and I'd match them. Once we had fourteen tales of the macabre, we decided to put them together and publish them. "Paranormal Alley" was born.
So, take a stroll down "Paranormal Alley" and open any of the doors you fancy. You'll be transported to worlds of ghosts, demons, alternate universes, time-travel, murder, mayhem and twisted tales.
"Paranormal Alley" will excite you, thrill you, scare the crap out of you and hopefully amuse you.
Come on in, out of the rain, and indulge yourself - you deserve it; don't you?
As you wander your way down this long-forgotten thoroughfare, you will be scared, shocked, surprised or maybe all three at the same time. One thing you can be guaranteed is that Paranormal Alley will satisfy your need for thrills.
There are 14 stories in this book (7 by Chris and 7 by me), which explore different aspects of the genre. A perfect opportunity to compare and contrast different approaches to this genre, between authors of two generations.
Each story stands alone and is exciting and fun in its own right.
The concept of "Paranormal Alley" arose from a discussion I was having with my son Chris, who was bemoaning the fact that as a part-time writer, he just didn't physically have the time and patience to write a full length novel.
He told me he had a number of short stories, any of which could be expanded into a novel if only he had the time. I suggested he send me what he had, write a few more and I'd match them. Once we had fourteen tales of the macabre, we decided to put them together and publish them. "Paranormal Alley" was born.
So, take a stroll down "Paranormal Alley" and open any of the doors you fancy. You'll be transported to worlds of ghosts, demons, alternate universes, time-travel, murder, mayhem and twisted tales.
"Paranormal Alley" will excite you, thrill you, scare the crap out of you and hopefully amuse you.
Come on in, out of the rain, and indulge yourself - you deserve it; don't you?
As you wander your way down this long-forgotten thoroughfare, you will be scared, shocked, surprised or maybe all three at the same time. One thing you can be guaranteed is that Paranormal Alley will satisfy your need for thrills.
There are 14 stories in this book (7 by Chris and 7 by me), which explore different aspects of the genre. A perfect opportunity to compare and contrast different approaches to this genre, between authors of two generations.
Each story stands alone and is exciting and fun in its own right.
PUBLICATION:
Paranormal Alley was published by Dream Publications on Kindle Direct and Createspace on December 15th 2015. It is available in the Kindle version as well as paperback. It is also available on Kindle Unlimited.
Paranormal Alley was published by Dream Publications on Kindle Direct and Createspace on December 15th 2015. It is available in the Kindle version as well as paperback. It is also available on Kindle Unlimited.
EXTRACT FROM PARANORMAL ALLEY:
This particular extract comes from one of Chris' tales, titled: Between the Realms of Sleep and Madness:
Her skin had been seared at her upper forearm; a mass of bubbled flesh that would remind her not to venture too close to the radiator, again. She had earned that scar when she was five. Life was full of these warnings; lessons from mistakes past. She had learnt to live with that scar her whole life, barely noticing it. She only noticed it now because it was lying, split-open, before her.
When digging into her flesh she hadn’t taken into account she would be slashing the bubbled mass of skin. Still, the blood flowed freely, just like her other arm. It didn’t matter, truly; it was done. She had done what she’d set out to do. She could lay back and rest now.
Her father had been banging at the door for so long, but it had slowly faded into the background; a dulling thrum, she was numb too. Her breath laboured as she collapsed back into the full bathtub, which once filled with hot water had now turned lukewarm, after her venture with the blade.
The coldness embraced her tightly and she let herself fall away...fade away. The last image in her mind being the sigils of blood she had inscribed on the bathroom mirror. . . .
The cold metal frame touched the exposed portions of her body, jolting her back to life. Her feet and face were stung by the cold unwelcome air that surrounded her. She was greeted by a wall of black, pushing down on her and ensuring she was paralyzed, before adjusting to the surroundings. In a bright flash, the room was suddenly illuminated.
The loud clap of the thunder reverberated through the dark and foreboding room; the four walls surrounding her, encasing her and suffocating her. She had been in a daze; barely remembering anything since she fell in the bathtub. The last sensation she had felt was the uncanny feeling of falling; tumbling and spiralling down into a darkened abyss of cold water and blood. Little did Alice realise that the descent would lead her to where she was at that point in time.
The concept of consciousness was barely one she was able to form; eyes crusted over from what must have accumulated, in what felt like years. Instinctively, Alice tried to rub her eyes clean. But any attempt to move her arms was met with a tremendous amount of resistance, accompanied by an unwelcome pang of pain. The pain was deep and resonated all the way up her forearm.
She managed to sit up in her groggy state; still unable to form thoughts close to coherency. She did know one thing, though; she needed water.
“Wa – Wat – er,” she managed to squeak out.
Water did not magically manifest itself before her. She almost attempted to speak the words again, in a vain attempt at manifestation, when the pain hit her two-fold. She writhed in agony and tried to wrestle her arms up to her face. The return to full consciousness had the profound side-effect of returning her sensation of pain back into the conscious state. The nerves of her forearm wailed in the sharp pitch of agony; mirroring her external wails.
She began to struggle harder and faster against the restraints that had arbitrarily been thrust upon her. A distinct pop in her shoulder added a deep and guttural pain to the sensations she was already enduring. Tears began to sting her barely opened and crusted eyes.
Any sense of euphoria or masking of pain she had felt was gone at this moment. In her vain struggles, she rolled and fell onto the floor, bouncing on its cushioned softness. She still continued to struggle, but as she struggled she heard another pop; but, this time, it was a lighter one and there were three of them in succession. She felt the warm life force begin flowing from her arm; obviously tearing something there.
As her screams continued, one of the walls opened. The light blinded Alice and she squinted, momentarily forgetting the pain. A number of shadows rushed in and grabbed her. They held her down on the bed. They were talking, but none of it was decipherable to Alice. She could only focus on the pain.
Soon the rush began to slow and the world around her began to cease; even the pain began to fall into a deep abyss. Alice was tumbling, soon after. Darkness quickly arrived and consumed her whole. She gave into its warm embrace and fell into the sea of sleep and euphoria once more.
. . .
“Perhaps we need to get to the heart of the issue, eh?”
Alice shrugged, not wanting to give any more than a passing interest in what this stranger was saying. She had been grateful, though. With his suggestion, they had finally removed the jacket that had kept her arms confined for so long. She had been stuck in that jacket for ten days; it had only taken her the first three to actually comprehend where she was. At first, she had been terrified, scared, thinking she may have descended into hell. But as the months went on she had learned to create an impenetrable shell; to not be affected by the horror of her new home.
He had paused; reading over his notes he had written-up from sessions before. As she waited for his inevitable question, she looked down at her arms. They had healed; well, as much as they could, anyway. She would forever carry the two scars; scabby, ugly, vile, things.
“So, Alice,” he began, “I would like you to tell me your earliest memories.”
Alice looked down at her arm once more. She saw the misshapen and disgusting bubble of flesh that was once her burn scar. For her whole life, she considered the radiator incident to be her first memory; but no, upon doing these sessions she had come to realise the earliest memory she had, was much, much, earlier. Something she had repressed long ago; something she didn’t want to face.
“I remember 1287 Baker Avenue.”..............................
This particular extract comes from one of Chris' tales, titled: Between the Realms of Sleep and Madness:
Her skin had been seared at her upper forearm; a mass of bubbled flesh that would remind her not to venture too close to the radiator, again. She had earned that scar when she was five. Life was full of these warnings; lessons from mistakes past. She had learnt to live with that scar her whole life, barely noticing it. She only noticed it now because it was lying, split-open, before her.
When digging into her flesh she hadn’t taken into account she would be slashing the bubbled mass of skin. Still, the blood flowed freely, just like her other arm. It didn’t matter, truly; it was done. She had done what she’d set out to do. She could lay back and rest now.
Her father had been banging at the door for so long, but it had slowly faded into the background; a dulling thrum, she was numb too. Her breath laboured as she collapsed back into the full bathtub, which once filled with hot water had now turned lukewarm, after her venture with the blade.
The coldness embraced her tightly and she let herself fall away...fade away. The last image in her mind being the sigils of blood she had inscribed on the bathroom mirror. . . .
The cold metal frame touched the exposed portions of her body, jolting her back to life. Her feet and face were stung by the cold unwelcome air that surrounded her. She was greeted by a wall of black, pushing down on her and ensuring she was paralyzed, before adjusting to the surroundings. In a bright flash, the room was suddenly illuminated.
The loud clap of the thunder reverberated through the dark and foreboding room; the four walls surrounding her, encasing her and suffocating her. She had been in a daze; barely remembering anything since she fell in the bathtub. The last sensation she had felt was the uncanny feeling of falling; tumbling and spiralling down into a darkened abyss of cold water and blood. Little did Alice realise that the descent would lead her to where she was at that point in time.
The concept of consciousness was barely one she was able to form; eyes crusted over from what must have accumulated, in what felt like years. Instinctively, Alice tried to rub her eyes clean. But any attempt to move her arms was met with a tremendous amount of resistance, accompanied by an unwelcome pang of pain. The pain was deep and resonated all the way up her forearm.
She managed to sit up in her groggy state; still unable to form thoughts close to coherency. She did know one thing, though; she needed water.
“Wa – Wat – er,” she managed to squeak out.
Water did not magically manifest itself before her. She almost attempted to speak the words again, in a vain attempt at manifestation, when the pain hit her two-fold. She writhed in agony and tried to wrestle her arms up to her face. The return to full consciousness had the profound side-effect of returning her sensation of pain back into the conscious state. The nerves of her forearm wailed in the sharp pitch of agony; mirroring her external wails.
She began to struggle harder and faster against the restraints that had arbitrarily been thrust upon her. A distinct pop in her shoulder added a deep and guttural pain to the sensations she was already enduring. Tears began to sting her barely opened and crusted eyes.
Any sense of euphoria or masking of pain she had felt was gone at this moment. In her vain struggles, she rolled and fell onto the floor, bouncing on its cushioned softness. She still continued to struggle, but as she struggled she heard another pop; but, this time, it was a lighter one and there were three of them in succession. She felt the warm life force begin flowing from her arm; obviously tearing something there.
As her screams continued, one of the walls opened. The light blinded Alice and she squinted, momentarily forgetting the pain. A number of shadows rushed in and grabbed her. They held her down on the bed. They were talking, but none of it was decipherable to Alice. She could only focus on the pain.
Soon the rush began to slow and the world around her began to cease; even the pain began to fall into a deep abyss. Alice was tumbling, soon after. Darkness quickly arrived and consumed her whole. She gave into its warm embrace and fell into the sea of sleep and euphoria once more.
. . .
“Perhaps we need to get to the heart of the issue, eh?”
Alice shrugged, not wanting to give any more than a passing interest in what this stranger was saying. She had been grateful, though. With his suggestion, they had finally removed the jacket that had kept her arms confined for so long. She had been stuck in that jacket for ten days; it had only taken her the first three to actually comprehend where she was. At first, she had been terrified, scared, thinking she may have descended into hell. But as the months went on she had learned to create an impenetrable shell; to not be affected by the horror of her new home.
He had paused; reading over his notes he had written-up from sessions before. As she waited for his inevitable question, she looked down at her arms. They had healed; well, as much as they could, anyway. She would forever carry the two scars; scabby, ugly, vile, things.
“So, Alice,” he began, “I would like you to tell me your earliest memories.”
Alice looked down at her arm once more. She saw the misshapen and disgusting bubble of flesh that was once her burn scar. For her whole life, she considered the radiator incident to be her first memory; but no, upon doing these sessions she had come to realise the earliest memory she had, was much, much, earlier. Something she had repressed long ago; something she didn’t want to face.
“I remember 1287 Baker Avenue.”..............................