 I’ve discussed my encounter with the Hat Man before, at length, when I was fourteen. In my life, I have witnessed numerous ghosts and unexplained phenomena as long as I can remember, but rarely did any but my mother witness it with me. Until my boyfriend at the time visited us. While he believed the paranormal was real, he doubted our tale about the ghost in our apartment (one of two at the time; perhaps one day I will tell the world about Katie, too). My mother’s longtime friend for over two decades received the devastating diagnosis: cancer, terminal. He was only in his forties, and the American healthcare system caused much grief when they did not believe him when he said he was ill, thinking him a drug addict. I had not met my mom’s friend since I was about four, at this time I was around fifteen, so it had been some time, but I spoke to him and saw pictures and home videos where he and his friends were at my family’s home, laughing, eating, and alive. There was a tale my mother recalled often, the day she met her friend. It was at his band’s concert; he was a brand new drummer after the old one chose to quit. Mom walked into the backstage area to see someone brushing their long, silken black hair upside down to give it volume. The man stood, flipping his hair back, and my mother swore it was in slow motion. It felt like a bad romance film, she said. However, he was just as gorgeous as a romantic hero, and infinitely kind. Ghosts do come back to visit their loved ones. My nonna did, my mother did, and mom’s friend did as well. He especially came around when we were playing VHS tapes (yeah, this was a while ago, when a VHS/DVD combo player was the norm in most households) that had his band’s music videos on them. When I mentioned it to my boyfriend, he scoffed. “You expect me to believe you summon this dude?” he asked, grinning like I told the funniest joke known to man. He believed in ghosts. He didn’t have a choice; often when we hung out, unexplained things happened around me. “You don’t have to believe me. You’ll see when you come over this weekend,” I replied. Teenage me didn’t have a whole host of confidence, but I was certain of one thing: ghosts are often predictable. Especially the newly dead. We spent a normal day in town, going to the mall, getting Slurpees, typical teen things. Mom picked us up and we went to our place, had dinner, then settled in the living room with the lights low to watch music videos. I can recall we watched a HIM concert, some Iron Maiden, and Mom then put on her friend’s band’s VHS. The way the living room was set up, it was a long rectangle and the couch was in the corner, coffee table before it, and the light from the TV across from it flooded the corner almost like a shadow puppet show would have. Our three silhouettes were clearly displayed across the beige paint job so common in middle America in 2007. Mom and I saw him then. The fourth shadow of a person who was not physically in the room. My boyfriend’s whole body went rigid next to me, no longer dancing in his seat to the music. “Annie? Lily?” he asked, his voice high and tight, much higher than normal. He didn’t turn his head fully; only his eyes moved, glancing from me to his left, to the wall towards his right. As if moving would disturb the spirit. “Yeah?” I asked. “So, um, Annie’s friend…” He finally moved, trying to mimic the shadow. “Did he, um, did he do this?” And my boyfriend proceeded to pretend he was brushing his hair upside down, then flipped his head back up. Just like the spirit did. Just like Mom’s story, which she never told my boyfriend. He could never have known that specific movement to lie and say he saw the spirit along with us. “Yep,” Mom replied. “HOLY SHIT.” You’d think my boyfriend shouted, but the words were somehow at once a yelp and a whisper. “He’s right there!” He cocked his head towards the wall, eyes wide and unblinking. “We are aware,” I replied, rolling my eyes a little. “Do you believe me now?” Mom paused the TV, and the fourth shadow vanished now that the music stopped, which my ex also noticed. “I’ve never seen anything like that except when I’m around you,” he accused. Mom gave him a tap on the shoulder. “That’s your cue to know you should be extra nice to her.” I smiled at him, brushing his shoulder with mine. “Yeah. I might get a ghost friend to make you need Viagara.”  Lily Luchesi is the USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of the Paranormal Detectives Series.
Her young adult Coven Series has successfully topped Amazon's Hot New Releases list consecutively. She is also the founder of Partners in Crime Book Services, where she offers a myriad of services, including editing. They were born in Chicago, Illinois, where many of their stories are set. Ever since she was a toddler, her mother noticed her tendency for being interested in all things "dark". At two they became infatuated with vampires and ghosts, and that infatuation turned into a lifestyle. She is also an out member of the LGBT+ community. When not writing, she's going to rock concerts, getting tattooed, watching the CW, or reading comics and manga. And drinking copious amounts of coffee. Lily also writes contemporary books for adults as Samantha Calcott, and dark/taboo romance as S.L. Sinclair. www.lilyluchesi.com
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 If you love ghosts, be sure to check out the Smoke & Shadow Anthology which is available now for FREE!
Six witches, six destinies that could affect the fate of the world... Isadora is a seer who is hired by a vampire to get a vision of his future. What she sees terrifies her and sets in motion a chain reaction of events that could lead to war. ∞ As a voodoo practitioner, Vivienne works with spirits all the time. But when she finds several spirits who don't seem to know that they are dead, she must figure out what happened to them. ∞ Calliope is a necromancer, trapped working for her father at the funeral home. But another side of Calliope longs to be free and she'll do anything to make that happen. ∞ Gwendoline is an expert spellcaster with a troubled past. When an angel asks for help, she finds herself in danger... ∞ Aurora has a talent for potion making, but when she is accused of murder, she has no choice but to trust the Fae for help. ∞ Rosalind is gifted with pyrokinesis. When she is offered a job by a prestigious firm, she jumps at the chance. But where will it lead? In a world filled with werewolves, vampires, monsters and more, witches are the bottom of the pile. But these witches are destined for great things. As their stories unfold, these witches must tap into their powers to save the ones they love and prevent the supernatural factions from killing each other. Will they succeed? Featuring stories from six authors - S. K. Gregory, Sarina Langer, Addison Sinclair, Tavita Knight, Kat Gracey and C.A. King. The Call of Six Anthology is a prequel collection. The Call of Six Novels will be available from October 2025.  Lakegrave School for Young Women Lauren Carter Genre: Horror, Dark Academia, Historical Fiction Date of Publication: 9th September 2025 ISBN: 9781739376444 ASIN: B0F74BRMC3 Number of pages: 237 Word Count: 54k words Cover Artist: Grim Poppy Designs Tagline: Lakegrave is unlike any other school Book Description: Here, we do not care where you are from or who you are. We care that you are women. And we care about your minds. Lakegrave is unlike any other school. Hidden in the mountains of Scotland, it only accepts one bright woman per specialist subject. With no teachers and no curriculum, the self-taught establishment offers its students the tools to expand their skillsets to then go onto being masters in their fields. When Raven and her cousin Rowan are accepted, they are excited to refine their crafts and converse with fellow classmates. That is until students go missing. Some come back but they are not as they once were. Something is off about them. Something is misplaced. So when fellow student Esme wants to investigate and invites Raven to join, they uncover that there’s much more to the school than they thought with chilling secrets kept tucked away in its history. But with ghosts stirring and the cohort decreasing, will any of them make it to graduation? Amazon Book Trailer: https://www.instagram.com/p/DJHXckqI6ge/ Excerpt: There isn’t much known about Lakegrave School for Young Women due to its remote location and it being a new school, but it is the only school in the world known for its unique education style—it’s completely self-taught. There are no teachers, just one headmistress. The school only invites the best and brightest women from across the globe to study there for one year before being scouted to go on to their dream careers. This didn’t mean smart in absolutely everything but a genius in our own field. That is the other unique thing—it also only invites one person per specialist subject. That’s why Rowan and I were lucky enough to be accepted. Rowan is only just old enough to attend at one and twenty years of age; I, on the other hand, have two years on her. Luck was also on our side when we were encouraged to pursue different hobbies instead of the same, otherwise we wouldn’t have been accepted concurrently. Leading up to the school, I can only make out the tops of the building as the hedge has overgrown so much. It’s as if the place has been neglected over the summer, if not over the years. Such an odd notion for a new educational establishment but, then again, it was something else before. I reach the main gate and see a crest at the top. In the middle, there is a sprig of lavender and on each side of the shield are bees facing inward. This looks like it’s been cleaned recently. Couldn’t say the same for the rest of the gate. It looks like it once was black, but it is brown now due to the rust. I don’t want to touch it, so I nudge it open with my elbow and shut it again once I’m in. It’s called a school, but it would be better off compared to a castle, just like every other boarding school that exists. The windows stretch tall and look like they are modelled after a church. Although it is a fairly new build, its appearance is like it has been designed as old-fashioned on purpose, fitting in with something from the 1600s rather than the 1800s. And it almost looks like it’s falling apart, the brickwork cracked and turning the walls into a darker colour rather than its usual sand. It is preposterously big for a school that doesn’t admit too many students. There is definitely some sort of beauty to the building but for some reason, even in the daytime, it appears a little ominous—as if the place is lifeless. It seems as though the garden has overtaken everything as greenery and moss is growing alongside the building. To the west of the school there are some greenhouses and to the east of the school is a church. The ground crunches as I walk up to the building. There is a huge fountain which is bordered by the driveway on either side but appears not to work, and a huge statue coming out from the middle of it. I’m not that knowledgeable about Greek gods but I know it’s Aphrodite. It seems fitting to have her standing guard over us. I pause by the front door, already hearing voices coming from within, so I grip my violin case tighter and push the double doors inwards—letting them shut me away for the next year.   About the Author:
Lauren (she/they) is a library assistant by day and writer by night. She is the author of WHEN THE DEMONS TAKE HOLD and YOUR DARLING DEATH. She has published several short stories including: ALIVE, JUST with The Horror Tree, THE CHILDREN OF OWL WILDS with Haunted Words Press, and THE SACRIFICES WE MAKE with Rooster Republic Press. https://x.com/writerlcarter https://sleekbio.com/writerlcarter https://www.instagram.com/writerlcarter/ https://bsky.app/profile/writerlcarter.bsky.social  CHAPTER ONE
The fog curled around him as he walked, attempting to envelope him. On any other day, it wouldn’t bother him, but now… Picking up the pace, he headed for the house, hoping to get inside before it got worse. It was eerily quiet out here, not even birdsong broke the silence. While he welcomed the escape, he did not like the lack of noise. With nothing to distract him, it left him alone with my own racing thoughts. Thoughts he wished to avoid. The house loomed up out of the fog and he paused to take it in. He was lucky to get it on such short notice, but when they saw his offer, they were only too happy to allow him to rent it out for the month. I just need some time to rest and come to terms with what happened. Clutching the handle of his suitcase tighter, he glanced around, almost expecting something to lurch out of the fog at him. A ridiculous notion, but after what happened back at home, it had made him jumpy. All he needed was to rest, kick back with a good brandy and collect his thoughts. This would pass. Walking up to the house, he searched his pockets for the key. Setting the suitcase down, he patted my coat down. What had he done with it? Somewhere in the distance, a fox screamed and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Taking a breath, he scanned the fog. What was it doing out at this time? It had to have been a fox, he had heard many of them at home, but this one sounded slightly different. Almost like a woman screaming, but different. Enough foolishness, get inside the house. He finally located the key and unlocked the door. Hurrying inside, he closed it and made sure to lock it. Nothing was getting in through there. Feeling somewhat better, he turned and took in the house. A large foyer stretched out before him. To the right lay the sitting room, the left the parlor. The house was dimly lit as the shutters had been kept drawn to prevent thieves from looking inside. Before all of this, the dark had never bothered him, but now he had taken to keeping a candle lit by his bed at night. A childish act, but he needed something to soothe his frayed nerves. Leaving his suitcase by the stairs, he stepped into the sitting room and opened the drapes to let some light in. Due to the fog, it didn’t do much to break through the gloom, but it gave him enough light to start a fire. Once it was crackling away, he went in search of a drink. He discovered a bottle of brandy in a sideboard and poured a generous measure. Removing his coat, he settled down in a chair by the fire. A few sips into the brandy and he finally started to relax. Everything he saw must have been the product of a fertile imagination, nothing more. Ghosts did not exist. They only existed in stories designed to scare children. And he was not a child. A scream came from outside, closer than before. He jerked up, looking toward the window. Had the fox come up to the house? Perhaps it was sick or injured. That might explain why it was out. Curious, he got up and moved to the window. The fog was practically at the glass now. There was no hope of seeing the fox unless it was right under the window. Still, he leaned forward, trying to make out anything that might be out there. A dark figure passed through the fog and he leaped back. That was no fox. It looked like a person. A woman to be exact. Spooked, he shut the drapes and moved back to the fire. It was just his imagination. And yet, he worried what would happen when night fell once more. Out Now - Available At All Major Book Retailers  CORKTOWN CHAPTER 2 The orientation interview happened in the first week of August. The school had two classes in every grade beyond kindergarten. One was a uniform grade the other was a split grade with half the class of that grade the other students being the grade below. The more experienced teachers handled the split grades where the students often had complicated issues that needed experience handling. Sometimes the students were behind, sometimes they were far ahead of expected grade level, in both cases they needed extra attention. As for the newcomers, they would be handling classes with the single grade students. Lorain was to take on grade five, Diane grade three, Mary was being handed grade one. After the meeting with the principal they went down the street to the nearest coffee shop all three could agree on budget wise and had a celebratory treat. Mary picked a small iced chocolate, heavy on the chocolate sprinkles please, the others had lattés. “Am I the only one wondering why they are taking on three rookies at once in the same school?” Diane asked. “I’d be willing to bet they use this place as a testing ground. Survive here and you get to upgrade to a neighborhood where the parents of the kids actually have jobs,” Lorain said. As the only one of the three who was born and grew up in Toronto, Mary found herself wanting to defend her home turf. She’d never done anything more than ride through this spot on a street car but she knew its history reasonably well. “Actually, at this point you’re probably only half right. Yes, there’s still a lot of public housing and subsidised housing within walking distance. There’re also entire streets full of houses that’ve been renovated to the point where you couldn’t rent an apartment in one without a really nice income. Then there’s the condos, they may have been built with well to do singles and couple in mind but developers in general forget the fact that the one thing you can count on with most couples is, they won’t stay just a couple forever. After this small victory party, they went their separate ways. Each one of them with the painful realization that they had very little time to prepare for the coming ordeal. September arrived and the first week of school was both better and worse than Mary pictured. The second week went smoother, the third smoother still. She was Miss Allan the new grade one teacher. As a label it made her head spin just a little but Mary found she liked it a lot. It was October first before Mary noticed anyone from The Mission breaking the rules. She was on playground duty, standing with her back to the six-foot tall chain link fence marking the boundary between the sidewalk and the yard. A figure standing on the sidewalk stepped into her line of sight causing the nerves on the back of her neck to tingle. A little over dressed for the still comfortably temperate fall weather he stood on the other side of the fence looking into the playground, not moving simply standing arms limp. Eyes on the kids Mary casually strolled over to within his hearing range and spoke. “I mean no disrespect but there is a rule.” When she looked in his direction to see if he was listening, he wasn’t there. Before Mary could spot which way the man went the recess bell sounded and it was time to get the kids back inside. This was a process she secretly thought of as similar to herding cats. He was back two days later. This was before the nine o’clock bell. Mary was only half way through her first tea of the morning and not feeling nearly as charitable as she might have been later in the day. As before, she strolled up to him on her side of the fence primary attention on the yard in front of her in an attempt to talk to him in as non-confrontational a way as possible. “Listen, I’m trying to be polite here. I realize you might be new and not know it yet but there is a rule. You need to stay on your side of the street during school hours and as early as it is this qualifies,” she said quietly. Conveniently or inconveniently, Mary wasn’t sure which word applied to the situation, this time he didn’t vanish. He was listless, seemingly unconcerned about losing any meal or shelter privileges. That thought alone was a little bit worrying. It suggested possible interests beyond food or shelter that had the outside potential to be dangerous. “Who are they?” he asked. “This is a school yard. On any given day you can spot kids, teachers and the occasional parent volunteer. Can you narrow down which –they- you mean?” Mary asked. “The one’s in fancy dress,” he said. Caught completely off guard by this incongruous statement Mary looked from the strangely listless man to face the yard. There was one parent, a Mrs. Mason, who was a constant volunteer and a bit of a hovering annoyance. Beyond that she could see Diane Murphy and a growing selection of children. In a little while, once breakfast club got out, the number of kids would more than double. At this point however while some of the kids were dressed better than the others, no one was in anything close to fancy dress. “What do you mean fancy dress?” she asked him. When he didn’t explain Mary turned back to the fence but again, he was gone. This time she had a chance to look for him. He couldn’t be seen walking off into the distance in any direction, he was simply gone. Mary refocused her attention on the kids and took a deep drink of her tea. There was one explanation for this odd ability to simply be gone. Confirming this notion wouldn’t solve the whole puzzle but it would be a start. Telling herself to keep her eyes on the yard for the duration of her preschool hour Mary grumbled, “That’s all I need, ancient history coming back to haunt me; as if I wasn’t stressed enough.” That night Mary went on line and did a little research. It didn’t take long to find pictures of deceased homeless. One of the agencies organizing outreach in the city had set up a memorial page. Slowly she scrolled through pictures and brief, sometimes painfully brief, life histories. With each death she went farther and farther back in time, wondering vaguely how far back the list went. He was there on the tenth page. There was nothing about his life in general and it was entirely possible they knew nothing. What was there was all about his death and it told Mary a great deal. “Timothy Durham, sometimes called tiny Tim because of his stature, left this life October tenth nineteen fifty-nine at the age of thirty. A lifelong heavy drinker with possible mental health problems; he’d been seen earlier that night sitting on the church steps talking to no one. The discussion was an energetic one so witnesses left him alone to argue with his demons. The next morning, he was dead. Hypothermia was suggested as a cause of death but rejected due to the relatively warm October temperatures. At the inquest it was pointed out that the nearby shelter was operating at under capacity due to the temperate night so Tim could have slept indoors. Eventually heart failure due to long term alcoholism was declared.” The picture that sat above this short blurb was clearly a mug shot, probably taken one of the times he’d been arrested for vagrancy. Her rule breaker was defiantly dead. That solved one puzzle but left a couple more. Who were the people in fancy dress he mentioned and why did it bother him? In bed that night waiting for sleep to come she thought through the situation. Her talent had come back for the first time in years. It was a waste of effort to wonder if she was glad or not. This was a fact of life for her. Unfortunately, it was a fact most people didn’t want to believe even existed. As much as she wanted to ignore this Tim, there was no getting away from the fact that he wasn’t a recently dead lost soul who hadn’t figured out what was happening. He was clearly tied to this location for some reason. On top of that, something was bothering him. There was only one thing to do, face the elephant standing at the edge of her playground and ask Tim what was wrong. When on yard duty Mary generally kept her phone in her jacket pocket. Now she picked up a small cheap Bluetooth earpiece. She used it two days later as she took her position for early morning post. This time she didn’t bother to walk close to where the shade stood. She simply took the earpiece out of her pocket and slipped it into her right ear to mask the fact that she was about to appear to be talking to herself. “Do you know you’re dead Tim?” she said softly, knowing he would hear her. When he answered she heard and almost felt his deep sadness. “Yeah. I been looking around. I can’t believe how long ago it happened. Everything’s so different. It’s like I’ve been asleep. I forgot about everything. I forgot about them.” “It did happen a while ago. Why are you still here?” she asked. There was a long, embarrassed silence. Mary tried to be patient but eventually the school day would start. If the bell rang, she’d have to leave this shadow behind for the classroom. There was no telling if he’d ever be in the mood to talk again. “I don’t want to go to hell,” he said quietly. Mary gave a deep sigh. Religion in general had good parts and bad parts. This was a symptom of the bad. “Tim, I’m not sure any faith has that part completely right. What I am sure of is you probably never hurt anyone in life but yourself. If you did hurt anyone, I think you were the one you hurt the most. I don’t think that gets you an elevator ride to the cosmic basement,” Mary said. “What about talking to the dead? My Nan, good Catholic woman my Nan, she raised me. She said it was a sin,” he asked. This was another thing religion did that bothered Mary on a personal level. Supernatural talents were all well and good for prophets and people in the bible that lived a long time ago. That was fine. Tell your priest you can see his recently dead grandmother sitting in her usual place in the front pew, looking completely at peace and you can get yourself in trouble. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I? Do I seem bad enough to go to hell? I won’t call it a gift Tim. It’s too damned annoying to be a gift. I will call it a not very well understood natural talent,” Mary said reasonably. She glanced in his direction and saw a pronounced change. Instead of looking as solid as any living man suddenly he now looked vaguely translucent. He was accepting his life, all of it the good and the bad. This was one of the few moments that let her believe having this ability was a good thing. He was comfortable with things now, almost happy. “I think I’m ready to go now but I need to tell you something. There’s one here that’s dangerous. Don’t talk to him. The bad ones can get inside you if you talk to them. That’s what happened to me,” he said. Realizing there was one thing left she needed to ask, Mary sputtered knowing for a fact she had left the subject to far to late. “Tim, wait what?” He vanished. “What did you mean by fancy dress?” Resisting the urge to give a loud exasperated groan Mary took a deep drink from her tea and dropped her earpiece into a handy pocket. Pacing her side of the school yard she thought about the situation she found herself in. She might have accepted her talent from an early age but that didn’t eliminate the fact that there were long periods of time when she hated it. During one of those periods in her early teens she went on a years’ long reading binge; absorbing everything she could on the subject. That convenient bit of academic ranting against fate put her more than a few steps up on the poor long dead Tim. Mary knew that negative forces were like bratty demanding children. As Tim said it really was best to leave them alone. If you wanted to be a bit more proactive you needed to pay them just enough attention to prevent disaster, then leave them to their own devices. The kids in fancy dress might reference the difference in dress from his time to this one or it could mean something completely different. There was no way of telling at this point and frankly it didn’t really matter. She was a rookie teacher on her first posting. The last thing she planned on doing was turn ghost buster. * * * Standing in an open and empty second floor classroom, cell phone in hand, father O’Dell watched Mary drop the blue tooth ear piece into her coat pocket. She’d defiantly been talking and not on the phone. What he had here was a hint of something he’d been praying for but was almost impossible to find. He looked at his phone, tapped a number next to the name John Walker and listened to the ring. “While I am prepared to forgive you for calling at this hour your penance is likely to be energetic if the call is not for a very good reason,” said the sleepy voice at the other end. “Mea Culpa,” O’Dell said. Father John Walker, answered this in a voice that said its owner was rapidly struggling toward wakefulness. “Robert, what’s up?” “Mary Allan, we talked about her this summer. Incidentally you didn’t exaggerate nearly as much as you usually do, she’s got the makings of a very good teacher. I now want to press you on the stuff you didn’t want to say, or to be more exact only half said,” O’Dell explained. “Been drawing conclusions again I see, you were always good at that. She did talk to herself as a young child but that petered off and died eventually. If you’re wondering if she might have schizophrenic tendencies, symptoms like that should be reversed. I have to admit by the time she hit middle school she was a different person and not in a completely good way,” Father John said. “I don’t think she’s schizophrenic John. I think she really did see your predecessor’s dead mother,” O’Dell said. This clear statement bought a long silence. O’Dell waited, knowing he had painted a mental picture that required deep thought. “You really think she can see spirits? I suppose that would be an explanation. Most kids give up the invisible friend game long before they get to school. She did tone it down gradually as I remember. Dropping it completely defiantly took her much longer,” father John said eventually. “I want you to keep this between us but yes I think she could see spirits and more importantly I think she still can and that’s exactly the person I need right now,” said O’Dell The unmistakeable sound of a piece of chalk hitting the ground and braking into several bits caused O’Dell to turn around. The room was still empty but on the formerly blank chalk board across from the windows there was now a large and decidedly pornographic picture of a naked man and woman. Sighing deeply O’Dell crossed the room and began erasing the picture. “I’ve been having problems John. Things have been happening here, increasingly disturbing things. Involving the diocese could cost me my job but I need help,” he said. “Robert you are the most grounded person I know. If you say you are dealing with the supernatural, I believe you. You have my promise of confidence and you have my girl,” said Father John. “If you need anything else let me know.”  I am a novelist screenwriter and playwright. At this point in my life I am divorced with adult twins. I live in my home town of Toronto Canada which I am currently populating with aliens, monsters and fairies. Because, well, why not. I've actually learned recently that most of what I write is called Urban Fantasy. The things you learn when you aren't trying.
Be sure to check out my animations on my you tube page. Go to You Tube and search @RealityInk Look for a circle with a worried worm.  Years ago, when I was around eight or nine, my sister and I were made to accompany our mother to walk the dogs quite late at night, It was an eerily quiet night and there was no one around.
As we made our way up the street to a leisure centre, we walked around the field on the edge of it. To our left was a tall fence to block off the train tracks. As we got to the top of the hill, an old man appeared out of nowhere, scaring us. He was walking hunched over, with a sack on his back, dressed in old fashioned clothing. He wouldn't have looked out of place in the 1930s. Considering it was the 1990s, it was definitely strange. He was also very pale. When we jumped, he laughed softly and said, "Scare yous, did I?" We said he had and he smirked and walked away, disappearing down the hill. Now he could have been a regular person, but why was he out so late at night? And what was in the sack? And why was he dressed the way he was? It certainly gave us a scare and we hurried home. It was a small estate where we lived, yet we never saw him before or since. So...who was he?  Throughout September and October, we will be featuring all things ghostly every Monday on our blog. Our authors will be sharing their spooky books, real life encounters and even some excerpts to pique your interest. Perfect for the run up to Halloween.
Be sure to stop by every Monday to read more. |
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About the Author:S. K. Gregory is an author, editor and blogger. She currently resides in Northern Ireland. “Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.” 
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