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AN ILL WIND BLOWS (EXCERPT)

Novel By: Lori Lopez
Horror



The witty novel AN ILL WIND BLOWS will whisk you inside the belly of a storm who would be king. There an oddball bunch of nutty characters encounter some of the wildest imaginings of author Lori R. Lopez (DANCE OF THE CHUPACABRAS, CHOCOLATE-COVERED EYES, OUT-OF-MIND EXPERIENCES). Step through the cuckoo clock for a nonstop marathon of the bizarre where anything goes including zombie piranhas, ghosts, an alien, a witch, an axe-wielding elf, mad stalkers, a root monster, and a magic stone. The unique adventure depicts one night when an ordinary person lacking confidence must battle a wicked wind. The stakes are high as she, along with friends and foes, travels through a magical storm world that culminates in a ghost town populated by more than just spirits. This is a story that keeps delivering action and fun throughout. It is more than a single tale in a single genre.The book blends humor with elements of Horror, Paranormal and Fantasy. View table of contents...


Chapters:

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Submitted:Jun 12, 2012    Reads: 4    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


Stepping on a mushy path, I was a bundle of nerves. My eyes darted side to side as I tremblingly trod toward a stone structure. All the usual fears crowded my cranium: the walking dead, the undead, the dead dead. I didn't want to meet any of them!

Rain ceased abruptly.

I could then divine the scrape and shuff-thud of digging. It meant that somebody in this godforsaken place was alive! Nearing the rhythmic activity, I observed a man in black stooped to the task.

"Hi there!" I greeted. A bit too jolly for the occasion. The guy jolted as if he'd been caught at something illicit. I didn't care what he was up to - digging a grave, exhuming a body, interring someone . . . I just wanted to use a phone! I was one of the few individuals in the world who didn't carry the device with me at all times. I hear they're even waterproof now so you can speed-dial in the shower. Believe it or not, since the accident, I didn't like talking on telephones.

Back to the gravedigger. Or grave robber, whatever the case might be. The portly man, vested in a funereal cape over his drab suit, was not elated to see me. Tossing his shovel, he flailed from the pit and scurried off shrieking. I guess he wasn't expecting company.

In retrospect, I can't blame him. The living do not generally frequent cemeteries at night. Then, however, I was highly offended. I was also sodden, exhausted, and almost as cold as a cadaver. "Hey!" I squawked. "You don't have to be rude!"

I approached the entrance of the building, fingers crossed for a pay-phone or reception desk inside. These things never go well. You can't just waltz into a crypt without a hammer and some stakes, cloves of garlic, and an axe or chainsaw! That's just basic in these situations. I was inexperienced at surviving horror scenes, what can I say?

The door, of course, creaked. My steps echoed on a marble floor. "Hello? Is anyone here?" I inquired. No response. That was a good thing. The mausoleum seemed empty except for wall plaques and doors to the coffin chambers. My soles tapped as I strode a distance within. There could be a phone around the corner, I rationalized.

Yeah, right. The mind tempts us with what-ifs when we are at our most desperate and cannot refuse. Don't listen!





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