Posts Tagged ‘haunted house’

No matter who dares you, no matter what lures you, do not go in the spooky old house…

Monday, June 17th, 2019
Ann has been a writer since junior high, but to
pay the bills she has waited tables, delivered newspapers, cleaned other
people’s houses, taught school, and had a stint as a secretary in a rock-n-roll
radio station. She also worked as a 911 operator and a police dispatcher. 


Her fiction began to win awards during her college days. Since then she’s
published several short stories, novels, and novellas. She’s always reading and
always writing, but even if she never sold another story, Ann would not stop
writing. For her it’s a necessity, like breathing. Most of the time, it even
keeps her sane.

 

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No matter who dares you, no matter what lures
you, do not go in the spooky old house…
 


When a small planes crashes behind Jase’s rural home, the ghost of the pilot
begins to haunt him. Jase can’t figure out what to do until the day he sees his
classmate, Stevie-girl, enter the legendary haunted house. That’s when he
decides if anyone can help him solve the mystery, she’s the one. 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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Snippet:
It was the late 60s. The Beatles had washed across America like a
British tsunami, Vietnam was a grainy, green and black dose of unreality on the
evening news, a bunch of hippies had taken over San Francisco, and there was a
heck of a rainstorm pouring down on Woodstock. But I didn’t know all that then.
I was a little bit lost, looking for something. I swear I didn’t go looking for
a ghost…well, okay, maybe I did. But I didn’t expect to find one. Heck, I was
just a kid. I didn’t expect much of anything.
 

 

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A tale of young love lost, and a life of regrettable what-ifs

Tuesday, October 23rd, 2018
Ann Swann was born in the small West Texas town of Lamesa. She grew up much like Stevie-girl in The Phantoms series, though she never got up the nerve to enter the haunted house. 
 
Ann has done everything from answering 911 Emergency calls to teaching elementary school. She lives in Texas with her husband, Dude, a rescue cat named Oscar, and a part-time box turtle named Piggy. 
 
When she’s not writing, Ann is reading. Her to-be-read list has grown so large it has taken on a life of its own. She calls it Herman.

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Stutter Creek (book one) is a romance, brilliantly hidden within a suspense-filled tale
of a psychotic serial killer with a chip on his shoulder. It is also a classic
tale of young love lost, and a life of regrettable what-ifs.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

Snippet:
SNIPPET 1:
Slowly, she raised her face. The top
of her head barely grazed his shoulder. She had to stand on her tip-toes even
though he was leaning down—then their lips met, and the brilliant rays of
sunlight falling through the pines illuminated his face like that of a saint in
a stained-glass window. “Saint John,” she laughed.
    He laughed
with her.
SNIPPET 2:
He looked up from unloading his truck
just as Turk came crashing through the underbrush. The huge Shepherd was so
excited to see his master that he stood straight up and placed his giant paws
on John’s chest. On anyone else, the paws would have landed on shoulders, but
John Stockton stood six feet four inches tall in his stocking feet. With his
lug-soled boots on, he was easily six and a half feet.

 

 

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A romance, brilliantly hidden within a suspense-filled tale of a psychotic serial killer with a chip on his shoulder

Tuesday, October 23rd, 2018
Ann Swann was born in the small West Texas town of Lamesa. She grew up much like Stevie-girl in The Phantoms series, though she never got up the nerve to enter the haunted house. 
 
Ann has done everything from answering 911 Emergency calls to teaching elementary school. She lives in Texas with her husband, Dude, a rescue cat named Oscar, and a part-time box turtle named Piggy. 
 
When she’s not writing, Ann is reading. Her to-be-read list has grown so large it has taken on a life of its own. She calls it Herman.

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Stutter
Creek (book one) is a romance, brilliantly hidden within a suspense-filled tale
of a psychotic serial killer with a chip on his shoulder. It is also a classic
tale of young love lost, and a life of regrettable what-ifs.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

Snippet:
SNIPPET 1:
Slowly, she raised her face. The top
of her head barely grazed his shoulder. She had to stand on her tip-toes even
though he was leaning down—then their lips met, and the brilliant rays of
sunlight falling through the pines illuminated his face like that of a saint in
a stained-glass window. “Saint John,” she laughed.
    He laughed with her.
SNIPPET 2:
He looked up from unloading his truck
just as Turk came crashing through the underbrush. The huge Shepherd was so
excited to see his master that he stood straight up and placed his giant paws
on John’s chest. On anyone else, the paws would have landed on shoulders, but
John Stockton stood six feet four inches tall in his stocking feet. With his
lug-soled boots on, he was easily six and a half feet.

 

 

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The class was in tatters, some giggled, others gasped in shock, and some of us simply sat in stunned and silent disbelief

Friday, October 19th, 2018
Ann Swann was born in the small West Texas town of Lamesa. She grew up much like Stevie-girl in The Phantoms series, though she never got up the nerve to enter the haunted house. 
 
Ann has done everything from answering 911 Emergency calls to teaching elementary school. She lives in Texas with her husband, Dude, a rescue cat named Oscar, and a part-time box turtle named Piggy. 
 
When she’s not writing, Ann is reading. Her to-be-read list has grown so large it has taken on a life of its own. She calls it Herman.

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Stevie asks Jase to help her find out why the ghost of a girl keeps appearing in her mirror. They think it has something to do with the new student at their school, a boy who has Tourette syndrome. Both the boy and the phantom seem to need some kind of help. All is revealed when the new kid falls prey to the school bullies. 
 
Will Stevie and Jase be too late, or will a tragic moment in their school’s history be repeated on Halloween night?
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

Snippet:
            Mrs. Flint took a deep breath.  She’d tried to prepare us, but maybe that was part of the problem.  We could sense her uncertainty and it transferred to us as if by electrical current.  “Class,” she said.  “This is Derol Pavey.  He is the new student I told you about from The Philippines.” 
            Ahhh, so that explained it.   Not only did the kid suffer from something called Tourette syndrome, he also suffered the dreaded curse of being from “somewhere else.”  His skin was a dusky bronze color and his night-black hair was shiny and razor-straight.
            He peered at us from eyes almost as black as his hair and then the oddest thing happened.  His left arm flew up and he barked like a hoarse dog.  Rarf.  Rarf.
            Mrs. Flint grabbed his arm as if to hold it in place, but that only made his other arm fly up.  His notebook hit the floor and popped open scattering loose-leaf paper everywhere.
            Susan Jansen and Juanita Silva were in their customary front row seats.  They immediately jumped up and began to gather the paper.  They attempted to stuff it back into the sprung clasps of the blue canvas-covered notebook, but Derol, still barking, suddenly began to pirouette like a stout canine ballerina.  Mrs. Flint was dragged around in a circle a time or two before she got wise and turned loose of his arm, but it was too late.  The class was in tatters, some giggled, others gasped in shock, and some of us simply sat in stunned and silent disbelief.
           

 

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