Life of Death and the world of reincarnation Life of Death Nicholas A. McGirr Chapter 12 The man awoke to find he was n#Paranormal #MysterySuspense

Life of Death

by Nicholas A. McGirr


The man awoke to find he was no longer in his straitjacket. Instead he was strapped to some kind of bed with metal side posts. The wrists had strapped his arms down, his legs by the ankles and his head strapped by the neck. He then noticed that he was no longer in pain, that the straps were rather comfortable in their imprisonment, right down to the neck strap. He didn’t struggle to get out of them, he just yelled for one of the nurses, standing in a nearby glass office.
The nurse came immediately, and asked how he was feeling.
“What happened? Why am I strapped to this bed?” the man asked.
“You had some sort of seizure. The doctors in the lab are still trying to figure out what happened. Now you just lie there until we figure out what exactly happened, okay?”
The man nodded his head with the little slack the neck strap gave him.
“Alright, now let me go and get you some water,” the nurse said, and left the room.
The count was one hundred and one thousand, three hundred and forty-nine.

The dangers for a teenage werewolf include more than the phases of the moon #YA #Paranormal

Silver (The Silver Series Book 1)


by Cheree Alsop


I turned away, distracted, and a shoulder caught mine and shoved me into the lockers along the wall.
“Watch where you’re going,” a voice growled.
I looked up to see a student my age with jet black hair and dark eyes flanked by two stocky, younger students. The scent of werewolf wafted from all three of them. The student who shoved me took a step closer, then stopped; his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed.
“You better have a good reason to be here.”
I bristled at his tone. “My reasons are none of your business.”
His jaw clenched and he swung at me.
The years of practice with my father paid off; my body flowed through the motions without thought. I ducked under his fist and punched as I came up, catching him in the stomach. He doubled over with a gasp, and I slammed an elbow into his back. He fell to the floor with a grunt of pain.
Arms wrapped around me from behind and squeezed tight to pin my arms to my sides. The other student punched me in the stomach with a left, then a right. I broke the student’s hold and ducked, pulling his right arm over my head and behind his back. I wrapped my left arm around his throat and pulled up on his wrist. He yelped and squirmed. I pulled harder.
“Stop moving if you don’t want a dislocated shoulder,” I said quietly in his ear. He froze and his breath rattled in his constricted throat.
The black-haired boy struggled to his feet, his arms around his stomach. The other student hurried to his side with a hand out to help, but the boy hit it away.

The battle against pure evil begins. Friendships are betrayed. Rivals bond…and powers collide. #YA #Paranormal

Blood Oath

by T.L. Clarke


Rosalinda’s face turned sickly green as she gagged. “Dios, they’re drinking their blood like vampires. Who are they?”

We looked at each other anxiously because we instinctively knew who they were, the Banished, the enemies of the Eternals and Elementi. Grossly deformed, they stood waiting with clawlike hands and reptilian tongues darting out, tasting the air as if searching for more victims to drain.

“We can’t just stand here. We have to do something.” Jessica’s voice was husky with emotion as she nervously rubbed her now-glowing scarlet pendant. Zora quickly pushed up her eyeglasses that fell familiarly to the tip of her narrow nose.

“Like what? Our scarlet pendants are not strong enough to conjure up ample magic to cast a strong spell to hurt them,” she said with frustration, “so logically, there is nothing that we can do, and fighting is not an option. We’re just not ready.” Rosalinda’s face looked green, like she was one step away from puking on the floor.

“In other words, you mean that we would end up dead like the rest of the Normals out there,” she responded coldly.

Rabbit in the Road... #Thriller #Paranormal

Rabbit in the Road

by Danika D. Potts and Oliver Campbell


He gave me a name one day, walking back from the shack. "Rabbit In The Road," he said, pinching my cheek. "You ever see a rabbit run away from headlights in the road? They don't care where they go, they’re just runnin', fast as they can." He passed me the full blackberry basket to carry. "Rabbits are real damn stupid," He said softly. "Better to know what you're runnin' into, not just what you're runnin' away from. So you're Rabbit In The Road, until you know better."
I thought maybe I was starting to.

Welcome to Cherry... #Paranormal #YA

Ink

by Holly Hood


I felt him following me as I made it passed the rocks now. I really wasn’t sure if I wanted this guy knowing where I lived. After all he was wielding a baseball bat. And I had just seen him strike several people with that bat. What if he struck me?

You Mess With Me, I Mess With You ... #YA #Paranormal

Entangled

by Nikki Jefford


It didn’t take a locator spell to find Raj’s junk heap. The idiot hadn’t even locked the doors, not that that would have hindered Graylee. Unbolting spells were practically Magic 101. Even with all the trouble she’d been having, Graylee could manage unlocking a door. Still, it was nice not relying on mystical aid to climb into the backseat of McKenna’s car.
Graylee didn’t need magic to protect herself. She wasn’t above getting her hands dirty the good old-fashioned way.
Well, okay. At the moment she was invisible—as was the shoelace wound tight in each fist.
She sat poised and ready on the edge of the backseat. She didn’t have to wait long. Raj was out moments after the final bell rang. For once, his lighter was tucked away as he swung his ring of keys around his left finger.
Graylee’s heart rate quickened.
Raj opened the car door and landed with a thud in the driver’s seat. “Another day in paradise,” he mumbled under his breath.
He reached forward with his key, but before he could stick it in the ignition he dropped the ring with a clink. Graylee had the string around his neck.
“Don’t move. Don’t speak,” Graylee hissed.

"Ariel" by Gabriel Madison

Angel Santos has just asked the two Archangels in her room, why they are in her room…
 

Gabriel motioned for me to sit back down. I sat as he moved his long dark hair behind his ears. “We all watched as the
a
ngel Lailah entered the Holy Palace. All of the spirit realms were filled with songs of joy and love. I don’t remember a time before that Heaven itself had been filled with so many angels. They came from all over, Nirvana, Shangri-La, Valhalla and many of the other free spirit realms. Everyone stood in awe as Lailah walked into the Holy Palace. And then…the Palace crumbled into a pile of dust.”

My stomach dropped, my mouth became dry and I balled my hands into fist to keep them from trembling. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything I’d been through, everything I’d done, everything I wanted to forget. It took all the strength I had, but I took in a deep breath of air while slowly calming myself. “What do you mean crumbled to a pile of dust?”

“He means the Holy Palace is no more.” Michael chimed in. “We searched through the rubble and found the dead body of Lailah. We found no signs of God. It seems he no longer resides in the spirit realms.”

"Rabbit in the Road" by Danika D. Potts and Oliver Campbell

 By the time the cab pulled up alongside me, I had already started to sniffle.

 "Get in," Ray said, as he opened the door.

 I slid in next to him and cried. It was warm in the cab, but even warmer wrapped up in Ray's arms. I hated him. I needed him. He needed me. The link was stronger this time. I could feel my heartbeat change its rhythm to meet his.

 "Don't cry," he said quietly, his chin resting on the top of my head.

 "But I hate you," I said. I bathed in the glow of our link.

 "Oh, I know."

"Mrs. and Mr. Hill" by Elaine Jones

This is an account about something I observed in my neighborhood during the1950s when I was a teenager; I have not been able to get the memory out of my mind for over sixty years. I have always been convinced that I witnessed a crime, a murder committed, although no-one was ever accused or convicted of one; in fact, it may have been more than one. 

      After years of analyzing the events, I believe there were two reasons for the lack of a police investigation even though I, a child, knew something was not right. I’ll share my theory. I think the time and place were contributing factors… See what you think…

      First, the incident occurred in the middle of an African-American neighborhood in a large inner-city community during a time, the 1950s, when investigating Black on Black crime was not on the top of the police blotter – especially if it wasn’t obvious that a crime had been committed.

"Wildflowers Come Back" by Sarah Spann

As she forced open her eyes she saw the man pulling on a white t-shirt before he grabbed a set of keys off the nightstand and walked out. The sound and vibration from the door slamming reverberated through the room causing her head to ache even deeper. A knot formed instantly in her stomach when the deadbolt clicked loudly into place. He was locking her in; he was leaving her here. She needed to get out.

Her head felt too heavy to lift, and an unbearable pain shot down her neck when she tried. Closing her eyes she wheezed, trying to grasp the breath the pain had stolen from her. Another attempt to swallow felt like fire dripping down her tongue, and the tears that began to stream down her cheeks brought with them a biting kiss.

Lyss’ body convulsed under the pain as she turned her head to the right and once again forced open her eyes. Double mirrored closet doors stretched across the length of the opposite wall. Through her cloudy vision she could see the reflection of her body as it lay limply on the bare, firm mattress. Everything seemed so red.

"Ariel" by Gabriel Madison

One line intro: Angel Santos has just asked the two Archangels in her room, why they are in her room…

Gabriel motioned for me to sit back down. I sat as he moved his long dark hair behind his ears. “We all watched as the
a
ngel Lailah entered the Holy Palace. All of the spirit realms were filled with songs of joy and love. I don’t remember a time before that Heaven itself had been filled with so many angels. They came from all over, Nirvana, Shangri-La, Valhalla and many of the other free spirit realms. Everyone stood in awe as Lailah walked into the Holy Palace. And then…the Palace crumbled into a pile of dust.”

My stomach dropped, my mouth became dry and I balled my hands into fist to keep them from trembling. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything I’d been through, everything I’d done, everything I wanted to forget. It took all the strength I had, but I took in a deep breath of air while slowly calming myself. “What do you mean crumbled to a pile of dust?”

“He means the Holy Palace is no more.” Michael chimed in. “We searched through the rubble and found the dead body of Lailah. We found no signs of God. It seems he no longer resides in the spirit realms.”

"Devil's Creek" by Paul Maitrejean

Erika, staying at the Devil's Creek Cafe, has seen a hooded figure approach the building -- just before the power went out and Marlys, the cafe owner, screamed.

Lightning cut the blackness, white knives stabbing through the windows. At the end of the hallway, the stairway gaped like a black mouth. Erika felt her way toward it, one hand on the wall. At the head of the stairs, she shone her light down. The steps descended to a landing, then turned right to the first floor.

“Marlys?”

Thunder covered her voice, crashing overhead.

Erika started down. The creaking of the steps blended with the rain and wind beating against the building. With each step, Erika’s pulse beat harder. While the storm’s noise covered her own approach, it also camouflaged any sounds an intruder might create below. Did someone wait for her at the stairs’ foot? She didn’t dare imagine it. Right now, Marlys needed her.

At the landing, Erika bent down to see into the café. In the nearly constant flicker and blaze of lightning, the room appeared deserted.

“Marlys?”

A tall hooded figure stepped before the foot of the stairs, not ten feet away, a black silhouette against the lightning.

From "Survivors' Dreams" by Kaylan Doyle

A small metal cylinder suddenly extrudes between sixteen year-old Rak’khiel’s toes. As she works it free, another searing pain tears at the base of her skull:

Rak’khiel clapped the hand holding the bristling object over the wounded spot. She heard a snick, felt a gooey, slick sensation slipping against her fingertips.

The lozenge moved.

“Holy Forge!” Her fingertips scrabbled frantically to catch, to grip the slimy capsule. Found the tiny spikes retracted. 

The thing slid into the base of her skull, then into her brain. And settled.

Tendrils, like strands of ivy, or root systems of noxious weeds, branched through her mind. They explored the recesses of Kel’s skull, created connections and networks, became one with her.  

Nausea surged.

Rak’khiel retched. The bile held back for so long came up in a churning rush. She lifted her head and scrambled away from her hiding place. Lurched to one side just far enough to deposit the sparse remains of her supper in a nearby bush.

As with her foot, all pain disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

“Shalit,” she whispered. “Goddess forbid. What just happened to me?”

From "What Lies Unseen" by Bonnie Taylor

Throughout history man has transcribed accounts of things that defy scientific explanation.  For ancient civilizations, interactions with magical beings were described as Earthly visitations by the Gods. Later, with the spread of Christianity, there was a shift in beliefs causing these once godly manifestations to be considered evil. Attempts to make contact with departed spirits through the employ of psychics and mediums may pre-date written history but books on the subject were written as early as 1706 and it is said that the Lincoln family held seances in the White House during Abraham’s presidency. The desire to make contact with spirits continues to show itself today in the recent popularity of ghost hunting and the acceptance of psychics as reality television.

Though verifiable proof of the existence of paranormal activity escapes us, one thing is clear; those who have experiences with the paranormal tend to become believers and while fear overcomes some, many crave more and I am one of them. I come from a family with a notable sensitivity to things other worldly. I grew up with a father who could foresee significant life events for those around him and more specifically, was profoundly aware of the passing of relatives at the exact moment of their death.

From "Mom’s on the Roof and I Can’t Get Her Down" by Cynthia Meyers-Hanson

While mom was terminal, my aunt and I talked.  I revealed that my mother had a telephone call from her nurse, Inez.  Later, I discovered that phantom was her deceased mother.  In response to my disclosure, my aunt told me that her sister told my living grandfather that Fred Astaire was there, too!  My parents were once good dancers; my mother used to say that one of her criteria for choosing a mate was that he knew how to dance....  Now, unable to walk for over three months, a great but deceased dancer was visiting her bedside.  Did Inez call?  Did Fred Astaire visit?  These things were not as important as what they meant.  Mom would soon be dancing in the clouds with her mother and a great entertainer.

 

Then, I told my aunt about my weird dream!  Mom came through the kitchen passage.  I wanted to get Dad so he could see her walking- again. She shook her head, hugged me, and left; she was wearing her red nightgown.  .... On the day mom lost her battle with cancer, she was wearing that red gown.

From "His Story" Compiled by Cynthia Meyers Hanson

This book is a collection of inspirational stories:

 

Unexpectedly- a young mother died in a car accident.  Her best friend, a cancer survivor that relied heavily on the deceased soul bravely volunteered to do the eulogy.  Another young friend decided to gift those present with her angelic voice.  The singer worried about her strength to make it through her songs.  I drove her early to practice so her husband could await their babysitter.  She feared crying instead of singing during a song’s words: “and I will lift you up on eagles’ wings…” So, I joked about other creatures and lyrics. 

 

Lines from “Mickey Mouse” poured out of my mouth breaking her tension.  As we laughed, I parked my car and told her to watch my lips because they will be harmonizing with that other animal song.  During the actual funeral, my neighbor didn’t have to find my face because the face of the church’s clock hit our funny bone.  This Orlando church made its timely purchase at Disney World; there the mouse stood greeting us with his open arms marking the hours and minutes. God has a sense of humor!

From "Not Forgotten" by Bonnie Taylor

Lilly sat alone, listening to the nothingness and staring at the flickering candle on the table. The fire cracked and snapped and she turned her attention there. She stared in to the flames, humming away like a secret machine systematically eating at the logs and crumbling them in to bright red bricks below.  Was there something else in there? Lilly could swear she saw something else in the fire. She tilted her head and looked from another angle. The apparition was getting larger and closer. Lilly slid from the couch and crawled toward the fire. There seemed to be something in there moving independently from the flame. As she reached the hearth the fire cracked and she turned away not wanting to get embers in her eyes or face. When she turned back to the fire, it was there. It was staring at her as large as life. She could see every freckle, every little laugh line. It was her mothers’ face in the fire. As quickly as Lilly made the connection in her mind, the face disappeared. Lilly shook her head and sighed, “Imagination really sucks!”

From "The Presence - The Presents" by Anne LaMonte

Anne took an incorrect medication that is killing her.

 

It was April Fool’s Day when a doctor looked Anne straight in her eyes stating that if her bleeding didn’t stop, she’d be dead by the end of the day.  That announcement was NOT a bad joke.  That would not be funny, anyway!  Unbelievable thoughts raced through Anne’s mind as she heard that her fever must break before she could receive a blood transfusion.  Without it, there was NOT much hope!  This news shook Anne to her soul. She finally heard that her bruising indicated internal bleeding that might kill her.  

About three in the afternoon, she heard Father Joe’s shuffle coming down the hallway.

Without delay, that priest started anointing his sick parishioner.  As his healing hands moved over Anne’s forehead- with God as her witness- her body felt on fire.  Her tears flowed through his prayers. Without uttering a word, she remained mystified as he finished his sacramental blessing then left her hospital room.... she stopped crying because Anne felt a comforting “presence.”  It lulled her into very sound sleep.

After midnight, as a night nurse took Anne’s vital signs...

From "My ArmOR" by Cynthia Meyers-Hanson

I was thrown- like a rag doll- crushing my left arm; a ‘man of the cloth’ delivers an explanation for my fall...

 

“What’s a deliverance minister do? Does he play a banjo riverside?” I joked.

 

“It’s similar to an exorcist,” My brother explained.  

 

I dodged thoughts as my sibling, an ex-preacher, spoke about freeing evil entities. “It’s scary work!”  Before I asked for clarification, he continued, “When you goad an evil spirit, they attack more trying to control you.  If you free them from entanglement with another’s soul, they need a place to go so they haunt and taunt you.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“They need to own a body, so they come after you.”

 

Days later, I stood with a Deliverance Minister joking about dueling banjos.  He prayed over some people asking God to relieve them of curses and sins as well as show them the path away from the power of the devil.  A mighty wind blew in as he prayed; when some of us gathered looked up a nearby car had a message license plate that read, “Get Out!” How apropos!

From "Night Market" by Hunter F. Goss

Vienna, December 1904. Andrew Kirkland prepares for a confrontation with his Undead Austro-Hungarian nemesis Josef Graf von Borbek...

 A coded phrase in Henri’s message told me he and Arkady had engaged Borbek in conversation and would try to hold him there until I arrived, so I had only limited time to act. Veronica and I swiftly made our way upstairs where she insisted on helping me dress. What she did was more like a squire helping a knight into his armor. But the armor she’d helped me choose was custom tailored and I had possibly the most attractive squire a knight could ever want. She even combed my hair as I adjusted the shoulder holster that held my Smith & Wesson, now loaded with .44 caliber silver bullets courtesy of Baron von Augsburg. It was a precaution I insisted on taking. I knew if I had to use it I was fast enough to get off one shot, but I figured that was all I’d need. I was well practiced with the pistol, subscribing diligently to Wyatt Earp’s famous dictum, ‘fast is fine, but accuracy is everything’.