Archive for December 1, 2015

The Skull Collector

by Paris Singer

Skull Collector Front Cover

Genre: Dark Fantasy

Publisher: Booktrope/ Foresaken

Date of Publication: November 17th

ISBN: 978-1-51370-450-0

Number of pages: 134 / Word Count: 43029

Cover Artist: Yosbe Design

Book Description:

In a world in which children are exploited, monsters are saviors, and dark magic is constantly at play, a little girl will go to any lengths to be reunited with her lost ones.

After the disappearance of her parents, a heartbroken child is sold to the Doll-Maker who promises to revive them. In return, she is to travel from cemetery to cemetery, unearthing graves and collecting skulls.

While doing so, she must avoid the Violinist and his crows, who are determined to steal the skulls she has painstakingly gathered.

As she travels across the province, with her life in constant peril from vengeful policemen to furious villagers to strange creatures, the little girl must use her wits to succeed in her macabre mission.

~~~~~

Chapter One

 

Our story begins in the cradle of a little girl’s anguish and despair, without which there would be no tale to recount.

On a dark, stormy night, like on many others, we find her wailing inconsolably under the warming caress of a street light by the side of a nameless, muddy road. She cries, for her parents mysteriously vanished not a week ago, leaving her utterly, miserably alone.

As was the way of things in the quiet province she inhabited, should one disappear without first declaring it to the town hall, by way of application, one’s entire estate and contents would legally pass to the proper authorities. This instance being no different, the little girl’s home had been seized immediately and locked three times by its new owners. Alone in the world, the little girl had looked to the police sergeant for help.

“What is it?” he had barked.

Fighting to hold back her tears, the little girl had mustered nothing more than, “…Please, sir,” as she’d clutched dearly to the only possession she had left: a stuffed bear once given to her by her mother on her birthday.

The police sergeant had watched her briefly then, with softening eyes and a wry smile peering through his bushy moustache, he’d said, “I have a girl about your age.”

He’d knelt down beside her and patted the damp hair on her shivering head a little too hard.

Times being harsh for most and kindness deemed an ugly myth, there was no room for noble gestures or acts of compassion. This instance being no different, the police sergeant had suddenly snatched the little girl’s teddy bear from her freezing fingers.

“My daughter will love this, she will,” he’d said, as he stood and walked away from her to the police cart. “Let’s go, boys!”

The sound of whipping cracked the air and the horses at once began to gallop, sending a thick spray of mud from the wheels flying all over the little girl.

As tears flowed down her muddy, sodden cheeks, two glowing eyes emerged from the dark stillness of the night. Unblinking, they watched her a while, hanging like tiny, yellow orbs.

A moment later, the eyes began to etch closer and closer, until the shadowy figure of a thin man was revealed. His shabby attire was matched by an old cloth cap he wore on his head, which shrouded all facial features except his somewhat bulbous nose.

“What ‘ave we ‘ere, then?” he enquired. “Why are you crying, lil’ girl? Why all alone?” As he spoke, he seemed unaware that he was rubbing his hands together.

Her parents having taught her not to speak to strangers, the little girl felt hesitant about replying to him. As if reading her mind, the scrawny man said, “Oh, you can talk to me, lil’ girl, I won’t ‘arm ya. I’m just a concerned ci’izen looking to ‘elp ano’ver.”

Wanting to believe in the inherent good in people, the little girl replied, “My…My parents are gone, and I have nowhere to go, sir.” At her final word, the little girl burst into tears once again, as if her statement had somehow made events as cold and real as stone.

Ooh, there, there,” said the man, drawing slowly closer to her. “Don’t you worry your lil’ ‘ead.

Squidge is ‘ere to ‘elp. I just so ‘appen to know someone who can ‘elp ya, if you’ll follow me.”

The little girl hesitantly considered his words and came to the conclusion she had no other choice but to follow him.

“That’s my girl!” exclaimed the wiry man contently, as he offered her his hand to hold.

As much as the little girl wanted to trust the wiry man, she felt uncomfortable with the idea of holding his hand, especially as the last one she had held had belonged to her mother, and she wanted to keep it that way.

“Suit you’self, Love. Come this way,” he grinned.

He led her into the cold darkness of empty streets to the tenebrous hollow of Midnight Forest,

known throughout the province to contain terrible things beyond the mere imaginings of mortal beings. As such, a certain understanding was said to have been devised in times when magic and myths were created, that, should people refrain from crossing the boundary that led into the forest, no evil within would flow into the land of the living. That was what they believed and seemed to be content with.

“…Isn’t this the forest we are not supposed to go into?” asked the little girl, tentatively. “Oh, this? Nah, they’s just superstitions, they is. Load of cod’s wallop, if you ask me!”

The little girl walked as fast as she could to keep up with the man’s long, bandy legs, each stride of which like four of her own.

“Come on! ‘Is place isn’t far—if you know where you’re goin’, that is. ‘E doesn’t like bein’ disturbed, see?”

Endlessly into the forest they seemed to walk, as wooden pillars, like ever-reaching fingers, twisted in around them at every step and enormous toadstools shielded them from the moon’s gaze. As the little girl struggled to keep up, she tried not to focus on the strange crunching and squelching sounds underfoot, as she sliced her way through a dense sea of lightly blue fog.

The further they walked, the denser the forest appeared to be. Just as the little girl felt as though she would collapse from exhaustion, the man she followed came to a stop and announced,

“’Ere we are!”

Nearly walking straight into the back of his stringy legs, she felt a combination of relief and anxiety at the sight of what stood before her. An old, ramshackle structure appeared to barely stand, as the trees and brush coiled and climbed and covered most of its rusted corrugated walls; its roof was utterly smothered by a blanket of dead and dying leaves. Though the structure appeared dilapidated, it’s windows were whole and clean, a detail the little girl found quite odd. Beyond the windows, a flickering light somewhere within made shadows dance upon the walls and ceiling inside.

The thin, shabby man suddenly turned with a wide grin and gleefully spoke. “This, lil’ girl, is the Doll-Maker’s workshop.”

~~~~~

Play List

Playlist/ Soundtrack for The Skull Collector

  1. Erik Satie—Gnossienne No. 1
  2. BrunuhVille—The Eternal Forest
  3. Adrian Von Ziegler—Night Mist
  4. Hans Zimmer & Joshua Bell—503
  5. Danny Elfman: Castle on the Hill

                                     The Final Confrontation

                                       Farewell…

  1. Danny Elfman: Little Alice

                                       The Cheshire Cat

  1. Sibelius: Violin Concerto
  2. Camille Saint Saëns—Danse Macabre
  3. The Little Girl: Danny Elfman—Ice Dance
  4. The Doll-Maker: Danny Elfman—The Cookie Factory
  5. Sooty: Prokofiev—Peter and the Wolf: The Bird
  6. The Violinist: John Corigliano—Anna’s Theme

About Author Paris Singer:

Paris Singer Photo

Paris Singer was born in Brussels, Belgium. He has lived in the U.K. and in various places in Spain, where he currently resides. At university, he studied English law and Spanish law. He didn’t like it. He then studied translation and didn’t like it, either. Currently, he is an English teacher in the south of Spain. He has far too many interests, he’s told, a few of which being sports, playing his old guitar, learning Japanese, painting, reading and cooking. Not a day goes by, however, where he doesn’t write something, be it under a palm tree or on a bench at a bus stop somewhere.

Website / Twitter / Facebook / Goodreads

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CITY OF GOLD

by Carolyn Arnold

CITY OF GOLD

City of Gold

(Matthew Connor Adventure Series Book 1)

Hardcover: 314 pages

Publisher: Hibbert & Stiles Publishing Inc (November 27, 2015)

ISBN-13: 978-1988064666

ASIN: B016LLDQIY

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Synopsis

Action-adventure books for the mystery lover. In this series, modern-day archaeologist and adventurer Matthew Connor travels the globe with his two closest friends to unearth treasure and discover legends the world has all but forgotten. Indiana Jones meets the twenty-first century.

Finding the Inca’s lost City of Gold would be the discovery of a lifetime. But failing could mean her death…

Archaeologist Matthew Connor and his friends Cal and Robyn are finally home after a dangerous retrieval expedition in India. While they succeeded in obtaining the priceless Pandu artifact they sought, it almost cost them their lives. Still, Matthew is ready for the next adventure. Yet when new intel surfaces indicating the possible location of the legendary City of Gold, Matthew is hesitant to embark on the quest.

Not only is the evidence questionable but it means looking for the lost city of Paititi far away from where other explorers have concentrated their efforts. As appealing as making the discovery would be, it’s just too risky. But when Cal’s girlfriend, Sophie, is abducted by Matthew’s old nemesis who is dead-set on acquiring the Pandu statue, Matthew may be forced into action. Saving Sophie’s life means either breaking into the Royal Ontario Museum to steal the relic or offering up something no one in his or her right mind can refuse–the City of Gold.

Now Matthew and his two closest friends have to find a city and a treasure that have been lost for centuries. And they only have seven days to do it. As they race against the clock, they quickly discover that the streets they seek aren’t actually paved with gold, but with blood.

~~~~~

Prologue

REPUBLIC OF INDIA

THE SOUND OF HIS THUMPING heartbeat was only dulled by the screeching monkeys that were performing aerial acrobatics in the tree canopy overhead. Their rhythmic swinging from one vine to the next urged his steps forward but not with the same convincing nature as did the bullets whizzing by his head.

Matthew glanced behind at his friends and was nearly met with a bullet between the eyes. He crouched low, an arm instinctively shooting up as if he’d drop faster with it atop his head. The round of shots hit a nearby tree, and splintering bark rained down on him.

“Hurry!” he called out, as he peered at his companions.

“What do you think we’re—” Cal lost his footing, tripping over an extended root, his arms flailing as he tried to regain his balance.

Robyn, who was a few steps ahead of Cal, held out a hand, her pace slowing as she helped steady him.

“Pick it up, Garcia!” Matthew didn’t miss her glare before he turned back around. He hurdled through the rainforest, leaping over some branches while dipping under others, parting dangling vines as he went, as if they were beaded curtains.

His lungs burned, and his muscles were on fire. One quick glance up, and the monkeys spurred him on again. Not that he needed more than the cries of the men who were chasing him. The voices were getting louder, too—growing closer.

Robyn caught up to Matthew. “What happened to natives with poison darts?”

“The modern-day savage packs an AK-47 and body armor.”

Several reports sounded. Another burst of ammunition splayed around them.

“If we get out of this alive, you owe me a drink.” Her smile oddly contrasted their situation.

“I’ll buy you each two,” Matthew promised.

Cal ran, holding the GPS out in front of him, his arm swaying up and down, and Matthew wasn’t sure how he read it with the motion.

“Where do you expect to take us, Cal? We’re in the middle of a damn jungle,” Robyn said.

“Round here. Go right,” Cal shouted.

Another deafening shot rang out and came close to hitting Matthew.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Matthew ramped up his speed, self-preservation at the top of his list while the idol secured in his backpack slipped down in priority.

Most of their pursuers were yelling in Hindi, but one voice came through in English. He was clearly the one giving directions, and from his accent, Matthew guessed he was American, possibly from one of the northern states.

“I have to stop…and…breathe.” Robyn held a hand to her chest.

“We stop and we’re dead. Keep moving.” Cal reached for her arm and yanked.

Matthew slowed his pace slightly. “Robyn, you could always get on Cal’s back.”

“What?” Cal lowered the arm that was holding the GPS.

She angled her head toward Matthew. “If you think I’m going to get up there like some child, you are sorely mistaken.”

Matthew laughed but stopped abruptly, his body following suit and coming to a quick halt. He was teetering on the edge of a cliff that was several stories high, looking straight down into a violent pool of rushing water. He lifted his gaze to an upstream waterfall that fed into the basin.

Cal caught Matthew’s backpack just in time and pulled him back to solid ground.

The rush of adrenaline made Matthew dizzy. He bent over, braced his hands on his knees, and tucked his head between his legs. He’d just come way too close to never reaching his twenty-ninth birthday.

Robyn punched Cal in the shoulder. “Go right, eh? Good directions, wiseass. Maybe next time we’ll just keep going straight.”

“Sure, blame the black guy,” Cal said.

More bullets fired over the empty space of the gorge.

“What do we do now?” Cal asked.

Matthew forced himself to straighten to a stand. He hadn’t brought them all the way here to die. He’d come to retrieve a priceless artifact, and by all means, it was going to get back to Canada. He pulled off his sack, quickly assessed the condition of the zippers, and shrugged it back on. He tightened the straps, looking quickly at Cal and then at Robyn. One stood to each side of him. He had to act before he lost the courage. He put his arms out behind them.

Robyn’s eyes widened. “What are you doing, Matt? You can’t honestly be thinking of—”

Matthew wasn’t a religious man, but he was praying for them on the way down.

~~~~~

Author Carolyn Arnold

Carolyn Author Photo 2013 Color

CAROLYN ARNOLD is the international best-selling and award-winning author of the Madison Knight, Brandon Fisher, and McKinley Mystery series. She is the only author with POLICE PROCEDURALS RESPECTED BY LAW ENFORCEMENT.™

Carolyn was born in a small town, but that doesn’t keep her from dreaming big. And on par with her large dreams is her overactive imagination that conjures up killers and cases to solve. She currently lives in a city near Toronto with her husband and two beagles, Max and Chelsea. She is also a member of Crime Writers of Canada.

Connect with CAROLYN ARNOLD Online:

Websitehttp://carolynarnold.net/

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And don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter for up-to-date information on release and special offers at http://carolynarnold.net/newsletters.

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Until I see you again….

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