Tag Archives: Horror/Paranormal

Eternally Beautiful Summer Nights Blitz

Eternally Beautiful Summer Nights banner
Eternally Beautiful Summer Nights cover

Horror / Paranormal

Date Published: 09-08-2025

good reads button

 

 Experience the eternal, beautiful dread of summer nights, where every shadow
holds a story and the past refuses to stay buried.

 
Welcome back to the
world of *Summer Scares*, where the warmth of the season does nothing to
banish the chill of the supernatural. In this pulse-pounding fourth volume,
Martha Wickham weaves five tales of dolls, deadly secrets, and the ghosts that
glitter in the darkness.
Inside, you will encounter the terror of:
Cursed
Heirlooms: A vintage collector doll named Reiny uses an old, randomly chiming
grandfather clock as her only way to communicate, and you’ll find out just how
protective (and creepy) she can be in “Girl Protected,” “Reiny’s Clock
Terror,” and “Reiny’s Last Guardian.”
*Glittering Ghosts: When Felicity
moves into an apartment, she finds glitter that won’t go away and hears
tinkling bells—a terrifying trail left behind by the ghost of Lisa and
an important clue for a murderer on the run in “The Glitter Veil.”
*The
Dollhouse Trap: Curious teens fix up an old dollhouse found in an abandoned
Victorian, only to start a haunting that communicates its terrible ending.
When Terri blames the trapped spirits for an accident, he must compromise with
the ghosts to escape their approaching wrath.
These are stories for your
eternal summer—a chilling journey where the dolls are more than just
toys, the hauntings are inescapable, and every beautiful summer night ends
with a scream.

 

Eternally Beautiful Summer Nights tablet
Excerpt

 

Reiny’s Clock Terror

 

The grandfather clock chimed loudly and could be heard from Sara’s
bedroom. It was closed and she ran to it. It said nine o’clock, but it was the
middle of the afternoon. Sara Greyston wondered why it rang when it
hadn’t in over a year. Her parents heard it too. The clock was very old
and was built by her great-grandfather, George. She moved the arms to three
o’clock. There wasn’t much hope that it was going to work right. She
wasn’t sure what time it was.
She ran into her mother’s
bedroom. “Can we take it and get it fixed?”
“I
don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s only for show,” her
father said.
When she got to her room she checked the time on her cell
phone. It said ten am. Her watch was right, but she never wore it. The time on
her computer also said ten am.
“Did the power go out?” she
asked her mother.
“No,” her mother responded. “I
don’t think so.”
Maybe that was it, and she shrugged. It was an old
clock and an old house, and it had been in the family for at least a century.
She had just graduated from high school and had time to do what she wanted.
All she really wanted to know was when her friends were going to the beach and
which school she should go to in the fall.
Just as she feared, the
grandfather clock randomly chimed. She sat up in bed and checked her watch. It
said one in the morning. It was so cold she got up to get hot tea and turn on
the heat. Afterwards, she lay down and checked her watch. It still said one in
the morning. In the morning, she would have to reset it. Lying there, she
suddenly heard small footsteps in the attic. Reiny hadn’t seen that doll
since Mary died, and the doll was locked with a bolt so that it couldn’t
get out. The protector doll had become a threat in high school a couple of
years ago.
Come early morning, she grabbed the keys and unlocked the
attic door. There near the door was Reiny. Her lifelike eyes were staring at
Sara. She picked her up, and the clock chimed. It was annoying, but somebody
in the family had made it. She took the doll downstairs and shut the door
behind her. She had planned to lock it up somewhere still.
She sat in the
kitchen eating her eggs. From the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she
saw the doll turn its head toward her. Her mom entered the kitchen.
“Mom,
what’s the name of the relative that built the big broken clock?”
Sara asked.
“George Greyson. He was a clock-maker and the original
owner of this house. He was great at it. I’m sure there are pictures and
tools he used to use up in the attic,” she answered sipping her
coffee.
“I’ll definitely go up there,” Sara
said. Her mom noticed how the doll sat in her green and white dress near
Sara.
“That’s Reiny,” Sara said. “I believe she
may be controlling the clock.”

 

 

About the Author

 Martha Wickham

 Martha Wickham has a knack for finding the ghosts hidden in the dust. A
lifelong student of the arcane and the artistic, Martha has an Associate’s
Degree and professional writing credentials, but she honed her skills in the
thrilling shadows of screenwriting and horror. Martha lives for the secrets
that only come out “By Dawn”. You can discover more of her work, including her
newest audiobooks, at your favorite retailer.

Contact Link
Purchase Links

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

Leave a Comment

Filed under BOOKS

By Dawn: The 13th House Blitz

By Dawn: The 13th House banner
By Dawn: The 13th House cover

Horror/paranormal

Date Published: 11-22-2025

Nine Tales. Nine Secrets. All Before Dawn.

In the shadow of Bloomstone
Manor, a dilapidated estate hauntingly known as “Lily Lane”, the veil between
the living and the dead is impossibly thin. This collection of nine paranormal
mystery stories explores inheritances, dark family legacies, and spectral
demands, all bound by the Manor’s enduring, dark influence.
This
Halloween, meet the three students who dare to knock on the door of “The 13th
House”—a black, unnumbered prison that holds the sinister secrets of the
past. Their trick-or-treating leads them to a terrifying collection of
artifacts: a bent spoon, a rusted key, and a doll’s eye. Every artifact is a
clue left by a child who vanished, whispering pleas for help from beyond the
grave. The teens must solve the mystery and free the spirits before the
night’s magic fades, or they might become the next secret the old house
keeps.
Every house has a debt. Every ghost has a tether. Uncover the
restless spirits and broken promises that demand attention and resolution.
When the clock strikes dawn, the secrets settle back into the dust and the
lilies—and it may be too late.
By Dawn: The 13th House tablet
 
Excerpt

 

Night of the Spirits 

 

 

Anthony pushed through the thick brush that had swallowed the old path. His
friends told him the house was hidden somewhere ahead, rumored to be haunted.
When he finally saw it, the place looked half-demolished, with climbing walls
that had paint curling and peeling. Yet every window was perfectly intact.

He
opened the front door. Stale, cold air rushed out, thick with dust. His
footsteps echoed through the empty living room.As he moved down the hallway,
the front door suddenly slammed. He spun around and ran back, and in that
moment, he was sure he heard a whisper: Sam.The door wouldn’t budge. He
was trapped. He tried the windows too none of them opened.

Again, the
whisper came, louder this time. Sam.

“Who’s Sam? I’m not
Sam!” he shouted.

A hiss answered him, followed by footsteps
upstairs. Heart pounding, he raced up the stairs. At the top, he stopped and
listened. The footsteps were clear, moving steadily into an empty room. He
followed them.

Moonlight spilt across the floor through a bare window.
The invisible footsteps crossed the room and came to a stop at the closet.
Inside, there was only a small box containing a single book. The spirits
wanted him to find it; maybe it would explain everything.

He lifted the
book. It was an old, battered ledger. Inside, a name was written: Samuel. He
began to read.I made a promise to the spirits trapped here. One of them is
buried downstairs. I swore I would help free them with my rituals. I study the
occult, and they own a golden statue worth a fortune. It must be used in the
ritual. If I hide it now, I can return for it later. No one alive will see me
take it.

Anthony reached deeper into the box and pulled out a loose page,
a torn sheet from another book. It carried a chant and the instructions for a
ritual to free spirits.A freezing gust swept through the room. Then a booming
voice declared:“Complete the ritual by dawn, or be trapped here
forever!”

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked the
spirit.

Once again, he heard footsteps descending the stairs and followed
them. Near the kitchen, the basement door creaked open. He cautiously stepped
down the dark basement steps and saw the cloud-like spirit hovering over a
crypt in the floor, where it looked like a ritual had been started over
someone’s grave. Candles and matches were scattered nearby.

 

About the Author

 

Martha Wickham

 

Martha Wickham has a knack for finding the
ghosts hidden in the dust. A lifelong student of the arcane and the artistic,
Martha has an Associate’s Degree and professional writing credentials, but she
honed her skills in the thrilling shadows of screenwriting and horror. Martha
lives for the secrets that only come out “By Dawn”. You can discover more of
her work, including her newest audiobooks, at your favorite retailer.
Contact Link
Purchase Links

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

Leave a Comment

Filed under BOOKS

Blood Family Virtual Book Tour

Blood Family banner

 

Blood Family cover

Book 3 of The Martyr’s Vow series

 

Horror/Paranormal

Date Published: 12-15-2024

Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing

 

A bloodline curse haunts monster hunter Armand Tarkanian, granting him the
ability to summon the dead. But the more spirits he channels, the more
supernatural energy threatens to tear him apart.

An unexpected invitation from distant relatives gives him a chance to learn
more about his curse. What Armand finds in their moldering mansion is an odd
assortment of Armenian traditions, dark secrets, and personal grudges.

Besides a history of genocide and tragedy plaguing his kindred, things
aren’t what they seem: paintings shift and change, bones hang from
trees, and the family’s elusive patriarch is a dakhanavar – a
vampire from Armenian folklore.

When his undead host hungers for vengeance, Armand finds himself trapped
between worlds.

He must choose: either take the Martyr’s Vow and pledge to sacrifice
himself, or succumb to the dark impulses that claimed his ancestors.

 

Blood Family is a harrowing tale of generational trauma, folk magic, and
ripping free from the past.

Blood Family tablet

EXCERPT

The biker in the corner has murder in his eyes, and he’s staring right at me.

He’s a Neanderthal—a brute with a wild mane of unkempt hair and a

beard down to his nipples, like some kind of hog-riding Gandalf. He

occasionally glances at Vonnie, his mouth curled downward.

Breath reeking and leather jacket caked in what I hope isn’t blood, the

beast grunts loudly to himself. At one point, he pauses and scratches his

sideburns, like a dog with fleas.

Honky-tonk music from the jukebox fills the air and twanging guitars

assault my ears.

Yeehaw.

Not that Vonnie and I aren’t strangers to places like this. We’re both

wearing our denim vests—biker club patches prominently displayed.

Legion of the Lamb. Fresno Chapter.

The clientele in that dive bar on a lonely stretch of Highway 99 outside

Fowler is the kind of “grizzled” that would punch you in the mouth for

looking at them the wrong way.

And now I’m staring at the barbarian who is still glaring at me.

He’s thrown down beer after beer, and, after number four, homeboy gets

really nosey and encroaches on my personal space.

“What’s his problem?” Vonnie mutters to me.

“Maybe they’ve never seen a beautiful woman in here,” I say.

Vonnie cracks a smile. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s it.”

I sip my beer, a cold pilsner we paid way too much for. “My, Miss

Hudgens, what could it be then?”

“I think it’s that they don’t want a beautiful Black woman in here,”

Vonnie says, gesturing at the nearby wall with her head. Her hands slip into

her pockets, where I know she’s got her brass knuckles.

My eyes wander over the bar’s decor; shadowboxes filled with medals,

a framed proclamation from the Daughters of the Confederacy, more biker

paraphernalia than you can shake a stick at, and a framed photo of Adolf

Hitler hanging near a Nazi SS flag.

“Oh, great. It’s a racist bar,” I mumble.

Vonnie also scans the room.

How had we missed it? I guess once you’ve been on the road for hours

and you’re tired and thirsty, you don’t immediately notice the decor.

The creep in the corner pushes himself away from his table and starts to

stagger over. He has an awkward and stilted gait—like he’s shit his pants.

He smells like that’s possible.

“Let’s see what the caveman wants,” I mutter to Vonnie.

The biker stares at Vonnie like he’s going to spit on her.

“We don’t get many darkies in here,” he says.

My eyes stray from the hairy beast to do a head count of all of the other

bikers who are also staring at me and Vonnie. I realize that, while the music

is playing, no one is talking. If shit’s going down, it’s going down soon.

Instead of getting angry, Vonnie leans back against the bar, her hands

still in her pockets, and replies, “What? You say something?”

Now, the biker can do one of two things: Pretend that he didn’t hear her

and repeat what he said or throw down.

Since I don’t really want the latter, I clear my throat and intervene.

“Excuse me, my dude…” I immediately pause when the Confederate

flag hanging on the wall catches my attention. “I see you’re no stranger to

lost causes.”

“What?” He’s in my face now. His hot breath smells like ass and he

looms over me like a mountain.

“What I meant was, we don’t want trouble.” I get to my feet and stare

him down. Me and Vonnie kill things that go bump in the night, so I’ll be

damned if I let some knuckle-dragger intimidate her.

“Too late for that, you race-mixing piece of shit. Go on, before I kick

your ass.” It feels like he’s a foot and a half taller than me, and massive.

The name “Gary” is embroidered on his dirty denim vest.

When you’ve had as many near-death brushes as I have, you always

wonder the same thing. So, is this how it ends? Beaten to death by a biker

named Gary in a white supremacist bar?

I glance away from Gary and notice that everyone else in the bar is

wearing the same denim jacket. Large patches identify them as “Fenrir’s

Minions,” a one-percenter biker gang with a less-than-stellar reputation. I

imagine these guys participate in drug running, armed robbery, and the odd

murder.

And me and Vonnie are right in the middle of their turf.

“Look, Gary. I don’t want any trouble…” I begin, but Gary interrupts

me.

“Well, you got trouble, motherfucker.” He growls, like a feral dog.

“Let’s start over. I’m Tark. Me and my girlfriend have been riding for

hours and…”

“That… thing is your girlfriend, huh?” Gary smiles. A bunch of his teeth

are missing. I wouldn’t mind making sure he loses a few more.

Excuse me? I’m not a thing. I’m a person,” Vonnie says.

You could hear a pin drop. Not even the bartender, a bald man with

sleeve tattoos up to his shoulders, makes a peep.

All is silent except for Gary’s low rasping growl.

“You fucking race mixer!” Gary gets up in my face. Ignorant pissants

like him are always overconfident when they shouldn’t be. “You don’t even

look white. I’ll bet you’re some kind of foreign piece of shit. What are you?

Arab? You a terrorist, boy?”

“I’m Armenian.”

“What the fuck is that?” Gary grunts.

Second by second, I realize that this is not going to end well.

“Come on, Tark. Let’s get out of here,” Vonnie nudges my elbow.

Vonnie has always had better instincts than me. We’ve spent years

hunting monsters—from vampires to demons to ghostly serial killers—so a

brutish racist in a dive bar isn’t worrying me. But protecting humanity sort

of meant all humanity, including ignorant turds like Gary.

“You letting your bitch do the talking for you?” Gary chuckles. Some

skinheads nearby laugh.

So far in my life, I’ve been abused by a domineering uncle, pushed

around by my bigoted father, tortured by a cult leader, marked by the

Armenian goddess of death, and attacked by everything from a possessed

serial killer, ghosts, and zombies. If it’s from this world or beyond, it’s

made my life a living hell. The last thing I’m going to do is take shit from a

nonentity like Gary the Racist Biker.

“Listen, you worthless motherfu –”

I don’t get the rest out.

Gary pulls his fist back to punch me. Vonnie moves a few steps to the

side and I grab the biker’s arm, throwing him off balance. With a quick

lunge forward, I put my other hand on the back of Gary’s head and drive

him face first against the notched wood of the bar. I catch a glint of metal in

Vonnie’s hand as she brings her fist down against Gary the Racist Biker’s

jaw. He slumps over, out like a light.

 

 

About the Author

ERIC AVEDISSIAN

ERIC AVEDISSIAN is an adjunct professor and speculative fiction author. His
published work includes the novels Accursed Son, Mr. Penny-Farthing,
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 Rituals & Grimoires. Avedissian received a 2024 Fellowship in
Prose from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts. He lives in New Jersey
with his wife and a ridiculous number of books. Find him online at
www.ericavedissian.com if you dare.

 

Contact Links

Website

Twitter: @angryreporter

Goodreads

Instagram

Purchase Link

Amazon

 

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on Blood Family Virtual Book Tour

Filed under Book Tour

Blood Family Blitz

Blood Family banner

Blood Family cover

Book 3 of The Martyr’s Vow series

 

Horror/Paranormal

Date Published: 12-15-2024

Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing

 

A bloodline curse haunts monster hunter Armand Tarkanian, granting him the
ability to summon the dead. But the more spirits he channels, the more
supernatural energy threatens to tear him apart.

An unexpected invitation from distant relatives gives him a chance to learn
more about his curse. What Armand finds in their moldering mansion is an odd
assortment of Armenian traditions, dark secrets, and personal grudges.

Besides a history of genocide and tragedy plaguing his kindred, things
aren’t what they seem: paintings shift and change, bones hang from
trees, and the family’s elusive patriarch is a dakhanavar – a
vampire from Armenian folklore.

When his undead host hungers for vengeance, Armand finds himself trapped
between worlds.

He must choose: either take the Martyr’s Vow and pledge to sacrifice
himself, or succumb to the dark impulses that claimed his ancestors.

 

Blood Family is a harrowing tale of generational trauma, folk magic, and
ripping free from the past.

 

About the Author

ERIC AVEDISSIAN

ERIC AVEDISSIAN is an adjunct professor and speculative fiction author. His
published work includes the novels Accursed Son, Mr. Penny-Farthing,
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 Rituals & Grimoires. Avedissian received a 2024 Fellowship in
Prose from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts. He lives in New Jersey
with his wife and a ridiculous number of books. Find him online at
www.ericavedissian.com if you dare.

 

Contact Links

Website

Twitter: @angryreporter

Goodreads

Instagram

Purchase Link

Amazon

 

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on Blood Family Blitz

Filed under BOOK BLITZ