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Mr. Penny-Farthing Virtual Book Tour

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Martyr’s Vow Series, Book 2

 

Horror/Supernatural/Romance

Date Published: 12-15-2023

Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing

 

 

All Armand wants is to share his life with his girlfriend Vonnie. But money
is tight, their relationship is fizzling, and not even a monster-hunting
side gig is paying off.

When a mysterious drifter named Mr. Penny-Farthing blows into town on his
antique high-wheeler, Armand thinks his troubles are over. Penny-Farthing
offers Armand and Vonnie enough money to cover their expenses with one
condition: they must find and return the soul of a serial killer who escaped
Hell.

Completing Penny-Farthing’s contract won’t be easy when demons
appear all over the city and bodies start piling up. Overwhelmed and pushed
to the brink, Armand realizes his greatest fear isn’t demons or
shadowy murderers: it’s losing Vonnie forever. Can Armand stop a
killer and keep the woman he loves, or will Hell take everything from
him?

 

Nail-biting and visceral, Mr. Penny-Farthing is a high-octane horror story
about escaping your comfort zone while fighting for love.

 

Mr. Penny-Farthing tablet

EXCERPT

I reach into my bag slowly and pull out the Legion of the Lamb handbook, given to all card-carrying members of my monster-hunting biker club. The Legion bestows this handy manual to all initiates, like Vonnie and me. It’s a treasure trove of information about ghosts and spirits, creatures that go bump in the night, and (thankfully) there’s a little bit about demonic possessions. I flip the pages quickly, searching for what I need.

“What the hell are you doing?” Vonnie hisses as she walks back in.

“You always say I should read more.” 

“Not what I meant, Tark!” Vonnie’s eyes are glued on the boy.

“Maybe there’s something in here that’ll help.” 

Fortunately, the Legion of the Lamb is pretty straightforward in naming things, so Demonic Possession Categorization and Banishment Techniques (Exorcizing Entities from Human Hosts) is probably what I’m looking for.

Salt, some holy water, incantations—all pretty straightforward stuff. I need the demon’s name, though.

“I’ll ask again.” I lean closer to the boy. “To whom am I speaking?”

“I’ve seen that before,” Kevin grunts. 

“What have you seen before?” I demand. 

Kevin stops grinning and his head snaps back with an audible pop, like his bones crack. The boy floats above the bed, his tiny arms outstretched, his legs limp. Hovering in the air, Kevin makes a weird gurgling sound. His body lowers again until the tips of his toes are touching the bed. His eyes turn pitch black, like a shark about to eat—and he speaks again. 

“I’ve seen that before.” Kevin’s body starts to spin like a human top. The thing inside the boy is making a high-pitched whining noise. The sound grows louder the faster the boy rotates. 

“What is it?” Vonnie asks, wincing from the sound. 

“Some evil entity has decided to set up shop inside this kid, but we’ll get it out,” I tell her. 

“Why Kevin? He didn’t do anything wrong. He seems to be a good kid.”

“Book says that they don’t the resistances that adults have. A demon might see an opportunity and slip in to cause havoc.” I toss her the book so that she can read. I don’t want to take my eyes off Kevin if at all possible.

Vonnie opens her backpack and pulls out the necessary tools: crushed salt, a Mason jar of holy water from a local Catholic church, a golden crucifix that she tosses to me and that I slip into my pocket, a small bell, and a white candle. 

Fortified with renewed resolve, we’re going to kick this demon’s ass.  

“I’ve seen that before.” It would be far handier for the demon to say something useful.

“I’ll bet you have,” I say slowly. “You’ve seen a lot of things in the Pit, haven’t you? But now, let’s play a new game. It’s called ring the room with salt.”

I uncork the bottle and start pouring salt on the floor, the white crystals spreading across the hardwood in a neat trail. Kevin writhes and growls. 

“Don’t like it? Well, that’s tough.” I continue pouring salt in a line around the room’s perimeter, gingerly stepping over Legos and action figures and doing my best to keep an eye on Kevin. Vonnie is doing the same. “Almost there and the fun can begin. How’s about telling me who you really are?”

“I’ve,” the thing snarls. 

“Yeah?”

“Seen.”

“Okay.”

“That.”

“Go on.”

“Before!” Kevin’s arms fling outward and he flies across the room and collides with me with immense force. The momentum violently propels me against a wall and I collapse onto a small bookshelf that splinters under my weight. The wind is knocked out of me. 

Face down and muscles burning, I blink the world into focus. Blood drips down my face and I spit out what might be drywall. I manage to get to my knees and Vonnie helps me the rest of the way to my feet. 

“You okay, baby?” Vonnie touches my cheeks. 

“Me? Just peachy,” I say, wiping blood from my lips. I quickly check my teeth with my tongue to make sure they’re all still there. “This demon though, he’s in a world of pain. He really doesn’t like the salt.”

“Remember, Tark, he’s just a kid,” Vonnie reminds me. 

“I know. Let’s extract that hellspawn from Kevin,” I say. “Get my knife.”

“Knife? Why would you need a knife?” Vonnie frowns watching Kevin float above his bed.

“I’m going to kill me a demon,” I tell her.

Infernal creatures use cunning and manipulation after they’ve embedded themselves in a host. At least that’s what the book said. After all, if somebody told you to vacate your new home, would you leave or resist? 

Vonnie runs out of the house and grabs my hunting knife from Velma’s saddlebags. The gleaming polished silver catches light and shines with an almost otherworldly effect. When she hands it to me, the arcane symbols engraved in the blade shine in the darkened room. I grip the carved hilt and advance towards Kevin. My head still throbs from my tumble, but I shake it off and focus. 

Kevin drops down to the bed, panting like a thirsty dog. His head lolls to one side and drool gathers on his bottom lip. 

“Let’s try this again,” I say to the demon. “Whatever foul creature is squatting in this boy’s brain, you’re getting evicted.”

Kevin stops panting. An oily black tongue rolls out of Kevin’s mouth like a wriggling tentacle. 

“I am Aguzath, Remover of All Locks and Barriers. This vessel is mine,” it says in a deep, inhuman voice. 

“Aguzath. You’re out of your league, son.” I brandish the knife and the blade catches the light. “I’ll draw you out and bind you.” 

The thing heaves foreword. Kevin’s mouth curves downwards, with elongated jowls that a small boy could never have. 

With the demon focused on my knife, I start reciting the incantations from the Legion of the Lamb book. Vonnie pulls out the Mason jar filled with holy water and douses Kevin’s face. The kid howls, shaking the house. 

“I exorcise you away from this child and bind you under my power!” I shout. 

Kevin claws at his face.

“I’ve seen that before,” Kevin wheezes.

His jaw unhinges and stretches like it’s elastic. A terrible creature slides out of Kevin’s mouth, its shape amorphous for a moment before it takes on a humanoid form, pushing the boy off the bed. The thing’s skin is flayed and red. Kevin collapses on the floor, his arms and legs limp. I can’t tell if he’s still alive.

The demon pulls itself up to its full height. The two massive curved horns atop its head nearly graze the ceiling. The demon’s arms hang down, almost to the floor, and end in sharp talons. Its face looks like a crimson human skull covered by emaciated and taught flesh. Its fang-lined mouth opens and the long tentacle-like tongue flops out. Its black eyes stare at me. 

It stinks. A foul, nauseous stench, like decaying, sour meat. 

I charge forward and slash the sanctified knife downward. The sharp blade penetrates the demon’s leathery hide, splitting a huge gash in its chest. Thick ochre oozes from the fresh wound. 

Aguzath bellows in agony and swipes at me. Its claws graze my shoulder and send me tumbling to the floor. I get up quickly and drive the blade towards the demon again, slipping the blade between the demon’s ribs. I try withdrawing the knife, but the blade won’t budge. 

The demon opens its mouth and hits me with an acrid stench I’ll probably smell in my nightmares. Overpowered, I try to roll away but its infernal talons latch onto my torso. I desperately try breaking free, but Aguzath has me.

 

About the Author

Eric Avedissian

Eric Avedissian is an adjunct professor and speculative fiction author. His
work includes the novels Accursed Son, Midnight at Bat Hollow, and the
role-playing game Ravaged Earth. His short stories appear in various
anthologies, including Across the Universe, Great Wars, and Three Time
Travelers Walk Into…. He lives in New Jersey with his wife and a
ridiculous number of books. When not chained to his writing desk, he hikes
the Pinelands and wastes too much time on social media. Visit him online at
www.ericavedissian.com.

 

Contact Links

Website

Twitter @angryreporter

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Instagram

 

Purchase Link

Amazon

 

 

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Midnight at Bat Hollow Virtual Book Tour

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Horror

Date Published: 06-10-2023

Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing

 

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Reece Rokowski never wanted to be a hero. A dedicated cop and stickler for
law and order, Reece’s life is anything but orderly. His wife split,
his gambling debts spiraled, and his past trauma haunts him.

Drowning his sorrows at a local watering hole, Reece meets Queenie, a woman
too good to be true. He could tell Queenie anything, perhaps too much. On
his way home, Reece stumbles upon a John Doe nearly sucked dry of blood and
becomes the prime suspect.

As Reece defies his superiors and investigates, he encounters the Legion of
the Lamb, a monster-hunting biker gang looking into the same case. Teaming
up with the Legion, Reece discovers gaps of missed time, a hulking stranger
pursuing him from the shadows, and a secret vampire coven. When the
bloodsuckers capture Queenie, it’s up to Reece and the Legion to save her
before the Regens Noctis – the true ruler of the night – plunges
the city into an orgy of blood.

 

Midnight at Bat Hollow tablet

EXCERPT

Footfalls grew close. 

Through cracks in the bunkhouse’s warped wooden walls, Reece made out a faint figure. The thing paused, sniffed the air, and made a beeline for the bunkhouse.

“Nice going with the screaming, Po-po.” Big Earl nudged Reece. “Now they found us.”

At least three vampires convened on the bunkhouse. They sniffed around the porch, then moved cautiously toward the door. 

“Get ready,” Hank gripped the shovel. 

The doorknob turned. The sound of heavy footfalls clomped over the roof, the movement of something large and angry. 

Reece’s gaze shot from the door to the roof. 

All three men looked upward. The vampire’s ruse worked. Distracted by the pattering of feet on the roof, they foolishly ignored the obvious. 

The door.

With a swoosh of displaced air, something kicked open the door and breezed past them. An unseen force slammed Reece to the ground. The scythe tumbled away.

The roar of Big Earl’s chainsaw split the quiet. A wet squelch and crunch of bone mixed with the chainsaw’s roar erupted through the dark. The vampire’s head fell to the ground, bouncing over the floorboards. The headless corpse smacked the floor with a thud.  

Hank growled and swung his shovel. The metal shovelhead caught a vampire in its face. A third vampire grappled with Reece. The two wrestled, forming a tangled mass of limbs, their bodies rolling on the floor. Reece stared into the vampire’s open maw; two sharp and deadly fangs filled his vision. The vampire’s red eyes gazed at Reece with feverish rapture. Pinned to the ground by a creature with overwhelming strength, Reece flailed helplessly. 

A rotting charnel stench from the monster’s mouth made Reece’s eyes water. The vampire’s fangs extended. The creature leaned closer, but Reece pushed back. Exhaustion filled Reece. His grasp slipped. The vampire’s fangs are so close to Reece’s exposed neck felt the creature’s hot breath graze his nape. 

A mechanized roar and crimson splatter erupted as the chainsaw’s blade split the vampire’s head in two. A foul ichor showered Reece from all directions. He screamed again, this time ramping it up a few octaves.  

Vampire blood drenched Reece’s chest and face.

“What did you….Did you…do?” Reece rasped. 

“Saved your ass,” Big Earl said. “You good?”

Reece wiped the blood from his face. “Yeah. I’m good. Considering.” 

Big Earl helped Reece to his feet and handed him the scythe. 

“Not far now. The big house is the next building over,” Hank reminded them. 

They left the bunkhouse and sprinted exposed across open ground. Things moved in the darkness on the far end of the property; shadowy blurs zigzagged, stopped, then resumed their pursuit. 

“They’ve spotted us,” Reece cried. “Move!”

Reece’s legs burned as he darted past Hank and Big Earl. He reached the ranch house’s wraparound porch. They scrambled inside, locking the door behind them. 

About the Author

Eric Avedissian

Eric Avedissian is an adjunct professor and speculative fiction author. His
published work includes the novel Accursed Son and the role-playing game
Ravaged Earth. His short stories appear in various anthologies, including
Across the Universe, Great Wars, and Rituals & Grimoires. He lives in
New Jersey with his wife and a ridiculous number of books. When not chained
to his writing desk, he hikes the Pinelands and wastes too much time on
social media. Visit him online at www.ericavedissian.com.

 

Contact Links

Website

Twitter

Instagram

 

Purchase Link

Amazon

 

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Accursed Son Virtual Book Tour

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   The Martyr’s Vow Series, Book 1

Urban Fantasy / Horror

To Be Published: 12-12-2022

Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing

 

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Armand Tarkanian is trapped in the ultimate dead-end job: embalming
decedents under his abusive uncle’s watchful eye. Every day he goes
through the motions, making death look beautiful while his life is anything
but.

A car accident leaves him indebted to Berj, a mysterious man with
rune-carved gold teeth and a penchant for worshipping old gods. Blackmailed
and desperate, Armand feels more trapped than he was under his uncle’s
thumb. But the embalmer harbors his own dark secret, a bloodline curse that
allows him to communicate with the dead.

When the spirits show him how they were murdered, Armand must choose
between fealty to the sadistic and manipulative Berj, or joining the Legion
of the Lamb, a monster-hunting biker gang with their own agenda. What began
as a dangerous game between secret societies has led Armand on a frightening
quest to save the only family he’s ever known and a chance to get
closer to the rebellious misfits who saved him.

Heartfelt and provocative, Accursed Son is a story featuring generational
clashes, found families, and the rewards of tempting fate.

 Accursed Son tablet

EXCERPT

CHAPTER 1 

THE DAMNED FAMILY

 

 If most people knew the particulars of my career, they’d crawl back into their stuffy cubicles or retail hells and thank their lucky stars they don’t have to do what I do for a living. 

For me, every day is the same. Only the bodies change. 

Today it’s Mr. Haroutunian’s turn. 

When I’m done with him, the former grandfather and insurance salesman sprawled on my porcelain table will look fabulous. That’s my unwritten guarantee. 

My name is Armand Tarkanian, and I embalm corpses. 

Not the greatest gig, but it’s the only one I know. 

Of course, Mr. Haroutunian won’t look fabulous if I don’t focus on the work, so I manipulate the hose and soak him thoroughly, wetting his face, ears, and mouth. I clip the hose to the table with a suction cup and wash the rest of the body, giving Mr. Haroutunian one last shower. My gloved hands then massage his hairy arms and legs, easing the rigor mortis until those gray, lifeless limbs are pliable.

 Feature-setting comes next. Plastic eye caps resembling pointy contact lenses slide over Mr. Haroutunian’s eyes, pinning them closed. I inject needles into the gums and wire his jaw shut so his mouth doesn’t flop open. He almost looks serene, like the old gent is napping. 

I make a small incision above his collarbone with a scalpel and dissect the fascia with surgical instruments called aneurysm hooks, until I locate the jugular vein and carotid artery. I cut into both, then slip one end of a flexible tube into the carotid artery and attach the other to an embalming machine. A second tube runs from the jugular vein into a nearby sink. The machine clicks softly as it pumps a solution of formaldehyde, humectants, plasticizers, and dyes through Mr. Haroutunian. His blood cascades into the sink like a gurgling cranberry juice river. 

Mr. Haroutunian’s pale skin blooms into a pinkish, life-like hue—though he remains quite dead. 

It’s a beautiful and slightly disturbing transformation. I’m like a magician resurrecting the dead, except my magic is a cheap illusion. Smoke and mirrors. I preserve inanimate flesh for burial or cremation, nothing more. 

Death isn’t pretty until I make it so. 

Uncle George stands behind me, supervising my work like a teacher peering over a mischievous student’s shoulder. Drawn-faced, with hollow eyes and a wiry mustache, he resembles an old-timey silent movie villain. 

“I knew Haroutunian from church,” Uncle George says in the driest way possible, a dull monotone he’s perfected. “We went way back. His viewing and funeral are tomorrow. The family spared no expense. Flowers have been coming in all day.” 

I wipe the front and back of my hands on my polyethylene gown. “Since they spared no expense, maybe a bit of a pay raise is in the cards?” I nudge. 

“You know money is tight, Armand,” Uncle George tells me. “We all have to make sacrifices.” 

I pull the nitrile gloves from my sweaty hands and drop them in the trashcan. 

“Sacrifices are all I make.” I sound exhausted, defeated. “Day in and day out, I’m burning my candle at both ends while you handle things upstairs. I could work in the office with you.” 

“The office?” Uncle George stares at me like I sprouted another head. “Upstairs is not for you. What I do is delicate. Administration and bereavement counseling. It’s a skill—not a thing you learn in your,” – he makes a series of dismissive hand gestures — “school classes. You’re either good with people or you’re not. And Armand, you’re not good with people. No. You belong here, in the embalming room.” 

“If I can’t grow here, then what’s the point?” I tell him. “Thirtysix years I’ve been cooped up in this town. Doing the same job isn’t healthy. I want to leave Fresno and discover what else is out there.” 

Uncle George’s face wrinkles like he’s sucking a lemon. “Leave your family? This is where you belong.” He levels a stare my way. “I pay for your student loans, and I put you up in my house. Your life is pretty good here. A little gratitude won’t kill you.” 

“I’ve given you nothing but gratitude,” I reply. “I’ve given you respect. All I want is for someone to listen to me.” 

“You’re just having a bad day,” Uncle George tells me. 

“Bad day? I’m broke! Between you charging me rent and paying my student loans from my salary, I’m practically an indentured servant,” I reply. 

“I pay you just fine.” 

“Not enough to save. How can I buy a car or leave Fresno?” 

He dismisses my concerns with another hand wave. “You know what your problem is, Armand? You want to work in the office, you want to leave Fresno, and you want to get paid more. You can’t commit to one thing.” 

“I’ve been committed to this,” I say. “I’ve been committing the hell out of this for years.” 

“And you’ll continue to commit,” Uncle George’s voice is sharper than the scalpel I used to cut open Mr. Haroutunian. “As long as you’re a Tarkanian, you’re a team player.” 

“Yes, sir,” I reply, then attend to the best and deadest insurance salesman in Fresno. 

If only I had picked the garden trowel during Agra Hadig, my life would’ve been different. 

When an Armenian baby gets its first tooth, the family drapes a veil over the teething baby’s head and showers it with pelted wheat. After much fanfare, the bewildered infant is placed in front of a series of objects and is made to choose one. The first thing baby picks determines their future profession. 

Choose money, and you’ll be a banker. Pick the hammer, and you’re a builder. Scissors predict a tailor or seamstress, while a knife foretells a surgeon or doctor. Grab a book, and you’re a teacher, or a pencil for an exciting writer’s life. 

That’s the Agra Hadig ceremony. Fatalism at its finest. 

My mother once told me that my father wanted me to follow in his footsteps and become a farmer, so he carefully positioned a garden trowel in front of me. But someone casually discarded a toy motorcycle on the floor, and that’s what I picked instead. 

Dad seized the motorcycle from my stubby little baby hands and forced me to select something else. He said no son of his would suffer the vulgar indignities that comes with riding a motorcycle. My second choice was a knife, and as far as the family was concerned, fate chose me for Uncle George’s funeral home.

About the Author

Eric Avedissian
Eric Avedissian is an adjunct professor and speculative fiction author. He
lives in New Jersey with his wife and a ridiculous number of books. When not
chained to his writing desk, he hikes the Pinelands and wastes too much time
on social media. Accursed Son is his first novel. Visit him online at
www.ericavedissian.com and on Twitter: @angryreporter.

Contact Links

Website

Instagram

Twitter

Goodreads

 

Purchase Link

Amazon

 

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Accursed Son Blitz

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Accursed Son cover

   The Martyr’s Vow Series, Book 1

Urban Fantasy / Horror

To Be Published: 12-12-2022

Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing

 

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

Armand Tarkanian is trapped in the ultimate dead-end job: embalming
decedents under his abusive uncle’s watchful eye. Every day he goes
through the motions, making death look beautiful while his life is anything
but.

A car accident leaves him indebted to Berj, a mysterious man with
rune-carved gold teeth and a penchant for worshipping old gods. Blackmailed
and desperate, Armand feels more trapped than he was under his uncle’s
thumb. But the embalmer harbors his own dark secret, a bloodline curse that
allows him to communicate with the dead.

When the spirits show him how they were murdered, Armand must choose
between fealty to the sadistic and manipulative Berj, or joining the Legion
of the Lamb, a monster-hunting biker gang with their own agenda. What began
as a dangerous game between secret societies has led Armand on a frightening
quest to save the only family he’s ever known and a chance to get
closer to the rebellious misfits who saved him.

 

Heartfelt and provocative, Accursed Son is a story featuring generational
clashes, found families, and the rewards of tempting fate.

About the Author

Eric Avedissian
Eric Avedissian is an adjunct professor and speculative fiction author. He
lives in New Jersey with his wife and a ridiculous number of books. When not
chained to his writing desk, he hikes the Pinelands and wastes too much time
on social media. Accursed Son is his first novel. Visit him online at
www.ericavedissian.com and on Twitter: @angryreporter.

Contact Links

Website

Instagram

Twitter

Goodreads 

 

Purchase Link

Amazon

 

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

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Accursed Son Reveal

 

Accursed Son cover

The Martyr’s Vow Series, Book 1

Urban Fantasy / Horror

To Be Published: 12-12-2022

Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing

 

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

Armand Tarkanian is trapped in the ultimate dead-end job: embalming
decedents under his abusive uncle’s watchful eye. Every day he goes
through the motions, making death look beautiful while his life is anything
but.

A car accident leaves him indebted to Berj, a mysterious man with
rune-carved gold teeth and a penchant for worshipping old gods. Blackmailed
and desperate, Armand feels more trapped than he was under his uncle’s
thumb. But the embalmer harbors his own dark secret, a bloodline curse that
allows him to communicate with the dead.

When the spirits show him how they were murdered, Armand must choose
between fealty to the sadistic and manipulative Berj, or joining the Legion
of the Lamb, a monster-hunting biker gang with their own agenda. What began
as a dangerous game between secret societies has led Armand on a frightening
quest to save the only family he’s ever known and a chance to get
closer to the rebellious misfits who saved him.

 

Heartfelt and provocative, Accursed Son is a story featuring generational
clashes, found families, and the rewards of tempting fate.

 

 

About the Author

Eric Avedissian is an adjunct professor and speculative fiction author. He
lives in New Jersey with his wife and a ridiculous number of books. When not
chained to his writing desk, he hikes the Pinelands and wastes too much time
on social media. Accursed Son is his first novel. Visit him online at
www.ericavedissian.com and on Twitter: @angryreporter.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Goodreads

 

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