Murder by Kate Leth

• The St. Valentine's Day Massacre 
• Lizzie Borden 
• The Blood Countess 
• Jack The Ripper 
• The Sawney Beane Clan 
• The Story of Cain
• 
  

Comic strips by: Kate Leth

@ Kate or Die

Comic - Edge of Doom

FREE COMIC by Steve Niles

To download click the PDF logo or link. It will open in another tab.

   http://www.steveniles.net/_assets/EdgeofDoomTPB.pdf

Stephen King's 'Doctor Sleep'

Danny Torrance Returns in Stephen King's 'Doctor Sleep'. His journey is a dangerous one when a little girl named Abra, enlists his help to deal with a band of soul sucking robbers as we delve into the difficulties he faces with the shining and his struggles with alcohol addiction. He has some amazing characters who help him along the way. Billy Freeman, Casey and John.

I had seen the Shining on TV but never read the book and I'm ashamed to say this is my first Stephen King novel. Now I want to read more of his great work.

On highways across America, a tribe of people called The True Knot travel in search of sustenance. They look harmless—mostly old, lots of polyester, and married to their RVs. But as Dan Torrance knows, and spunky twelve-year-old Abra Stone learns, The True Knot are quasi-immortal, living off the “steam” that children with the “shining” produce when they are slowly tortured to death.

Haunted by the inhabitants of the Overlook Hotel where he spent one horrific childhood year, Dan has been drifting for decades, desperate to shed his father’s legacy of despair, alcoholism, and violence. Finally, he settles in a New Hampshire town, an AA community that sustains him, and a job at a nursing home where his remnant “shining” power provides the crucial final comfort to the dying. Aided by a prescient cat, he becomes “Doctor Sleep.”

Then Dan meets the evanescent Abra Stone, and it is her spectacular gift, the brightest shining ever seen, that reignites Dan’s own demons and summons him to a battle for Abra’s soul and survival. This is an epic war between good and evil, a gory, glorious story that will thrill the millions of devoted readers of The Shining and satisfy anyone new to the territory of this icon in the King canon.

Hell Is Real

Heaven is Real But So is Hell contains a first-hand account of the supernatural world of God and His Angels and of Satan and his demons. It brings a timely and critical message for our world and will be one of the most thought provoking books you'll ever read. Vassula's spiritual journeys have revealed profoundly important messages for humanity, largely hidden until now. Here the reader will find answers to many of the questions that people have been asking for thousands of years.

• Is there a Heaven... and a Hell, and anything in between? 
• If God is good, why does He allow such suffering? 
• Will there be, in the end, any divine justice? 

Vassula has seen the supernatural world and has experienced the hidden forces that affect every moment of our lives. This book is the story of her amazing encounters, and what they mean for all of us. Sometimes harrowing, yet always hopeful, it gives us a glimpse of God's love and justice, and of what is to come.

PDF Heaven is real but so is hell

About Vassula 

Vassula Ryden is a Greek Orthodox Christian mystic with a worldwide following. In 1985, while she was living in Bangladesh, she had a spiritual encounter that changed her life. While working on a grocery list, she felt the presence of an angel. “My hand was taken as if by an invisible hand, and I let it go because I felt he wanted me to write something,” she says. Since then, she has had thousands of similar experiences, transcribing “messages” from God in a different style than her normal handwriting. The “True Life in God” messages have been compiled in books, videos and other materials.



WEBSITE www.Heaven-Is-Real.com
www.tlig.org 
FACEBOOK www.facebook.com/jesusisreturning www.Facebook.com/TrueLifeInGod 
TWITTER www.Twitter.com/VassulaRyden

Salem's Lot

I have a question to ask. Why have I never read this book? The honest answer would be "I never liked horror because I don't like to get scared". Now that might seem strange but I don't like getting angry and that is what it does to me. I tend to react in this way to horror movies that are abominably evil. So for instance 'IT' by Stephen King. I HATE that movie! AND IT was not funny at all. Is it such a crime to believe some things are real?  I find no humor in the horror of evil. I'm serious. Yet I love paranormals and this book is about vampires. I also loved Dracula.

Short Synopsis

Author Ben Mears returns to ‘Salem's Lot to write a book about a house that has haunted him since childhood only to find his isolated hometown infested with vampires. While the vampires claim more victims, Mears convinces a small group of believers to combat the undead.

Charlie Manx in NOS4A2

Fans of horror literature will be well aware that Joe Hill is the progeny of Stephen King but may not know that he is a prodigy as well and his third novel is already being lauded by critics as one of the best books of the year. 

"NOS4A2 is a spine-tingling novel of supernatural suspense from master of horror Joe Hill, the New York Times bestselling author of Heart-Shaped Box and Horns."

Victoria McQueen has a secret gift for finding things: a misplaced bracelet, a missing photograph, answers to unanswerable questions. On her Raleigh Tuff Burner bike, she makes her way to a rickety covered bridge that, within moments, takes her wherever she needs to go, whether it’s across Massachusetts or across the country. 

Charles Talent Manx has a way with children. He likes to take them for rides in his 1938 Rolls-Royce Wraith with the NOS4A2 vanity plate. With his old car, he can slip right out of the everyday world, and onto the hidden roads that transport them to an astonishing – and terrifying – playground of amusements he calls “Christmasland.”

Then, one day, Vic goes looking for trouble—and finds Manx. That was a lifetime ago. Now Vic, the only kid to ever escape Manx’s unmitigated evil, is all grown up and desperate to forget. But Charlie Manx never stopped thinking about Victoria McQueen. He’s on the road again and he’s picked up a new passenger: Vic’s own son.

Read an exclusive excerpt from Joe Hill's scary new novel NOS4A2

Vic leaned her bicycle against the wall, to one side of the big garage door, and pressed her face up to the glass. The garage contained an old black car with a small rear window. It was a Rolls-Royce, the kind of car Winston Churchill was always getting out of in photographs and black-and-white newsreels. She could see the license plate: NOS4A2.

That's it. That's all you need. The police can track him down with that, Vic thought. You have to go now. You have to run.

But as she was about to step away from the garage, she saw movement through the rear window of the old car. Someone sitting in the backseat shifted slightly, wiggling to find a more comfortable spot. Vic could dimly see the outline of a small head through the foggy glass.

A child. There was a child in the car-a boy, she thought. The kid had a boy's haircut.

Vic's heart was by now beating so hard her shoulders shook. He had a child in his car, and if Vic got on her bike and rode away, maybe the law would catch up to the man who owned this old ride, but they would not find the kid with him, because by then he would already be under a foot of dirt somewhere.

Vic didn't know why the child didn't scream or let himself out of the car and run. Maybe he was drugged or tied up, Vic couldn't tell. Whatever the reason, he wasn't getting out of there unless Vic went in and got him out.

She left her Raleigh where it was and went around the corner of the garage. She expected the side door to be locked, but when she turned the handle it popped open. Quavering, high-pitched, helium-stoked voices spilled out: Alvin and the Chipmunks singing their infernal Christmas song.

Her heart quailed at the thought of going in there. She put one foot over the threshold, tentatively, as if stepping onto the ice of a pond that might not be safely frozen over. The old car, obsidian and sleek, filled almost all the available space in the garage. What little room was left was jammed with clutter: paint cans, rakes, ladders, boxes.

Dust jacket and interior illustrations by Gabriel Rodriguez.

The Rolls had a roomy rear compartment, the back couch done in flesh-toned kidskin. A boy slept upon it. He wore a hooded rawhide jacket with buttons of bone. He had dark hair and a round, fleshy face, his cheeks touched with a rose bloom of health. He looked as if he were dreaming sweet dreams; visions of sugarplums, perhaps. He wasn't tied up in any way and didn't look unhappy, and Vic had a thought that made no sense: He's fine. You should go. He's probably here with his father and he fell asleep and his father is letting him rest and you should just go away.

Vic flinched from the thought, the way she might've flinched from a horsefly. There was something wrong with that thought. It had no business in her head, and she didn't know how it had gotten there.

She tapped on the glass. The child did not stir. He was younger than her, twelve or thereabouts. There was a faint, dusky wisp of hair on his upper lip.

"Hey," she called to him in a low voice. "Hey, kid."

He shifted, but only to roll onto his side so his face was turned away from her.

Vic tried the door. It was locked from the inside.

The steering wheel was on the right side of the car, the side she was already on. The driver's-side window was rolled most of the way down. Vic shuffled toward it. There wasn't much space between the car and the clutter piled against the wall.

The keys were in it, the car running off the battery. The face of the radio was lit a radioactive shade of green. Vic didn't know who was singing now, some old Vegas dude, but it was another one about Christmas. Christmas was almost four months in the rearview mirror, and there was something awful about Christmas music when it was nearly summer. It was like a clown in the rain, with his makeup running.

"Hey, kid," she hissed. "Hey, kid, wake up."

The boy moved slightly, and then he sat up and turned around to face her. Vic saw his face and had to bite back a cry.

It wasn't anything like the face she had seen through the rear window. The boy in the car looked close to death-or beyond death. His face was lunar in its paleness, except for the hollows of his eyes, which were bruise-colored. Black, poisonous veins crawled beneath his skin, as if his arteries were filled with ink, not blood, and erupted in sick branches at the corners of his mouth and eyes and in his temples. His hair was the color of the frost on a windowpane.

He blinked. His eyes were shiny and curious, the one part of him that seemed fully alive.

He exhaled: white smoke. As if he stood in a freezer.

"Who are you?" he asked. Each word was a new puff of white vapor. "You shouldn't be here."

"Why are you so cold?"

"I'm not," he said. "You should go. It isn't safe here."

His breath, steaming.

"Oh, God, kid," she said. "Let's get you out of here. Come on. Come with me."

"I can't unlock my door."

"So climb into the front seat," she said.

"I can't," he said again. He spoke like one sedated, and it came to Vic that he had to be drugged. Could a drug lower your body temperature enough to make your breath steam? She didn't think so. "I can't leave the backseat. You really shouldn't be here. He'll come back soon." White, frozen air trickled from his nostrils.

Vic heard him clearly enough but didn't understand much of it, except for the last bit. He'll come back soon made perfect sense. Of course he was coming back-whoever he was (the Wraith). He wouldn't have left the car running off the battery if he weren't going to be back soon, and she had to be gone by the time he returned. They both did.

She wanted more than anything to take off, to bolt for the door, tell the kid she would come back with police. But she could not go. If she ran, she would not just be leaving a sick and abducted child behind. She would be abandoning her own best self, too.

She reached through the window and unlocked the front door and swung it open.

"Come on," she said. "Take my hand."

She reached over the back of the driver's seat, into the rear compartment.

He looked into her palm for a moment, his gaze thoughtful, as if he were attempting to read her future, or as if she had offered him a chocolate and he was trying to decide whether he wanted it. That was the wrong way for a kidnapped child to react, and she knew it, but she still didn't pull her hand back in time.

He gripped her wrist, and she screamed at his touch. His hand, blazing against her skin, was as bad as pressing her wrist to a hot frying pan. It took her an instant to register the sensation not as heat but as cold.

The horn sounded with a great blast. In the confined space of the garage, the noise was almost too much to bear. Vic didn't know why it went off. She hadn't touched the steering wheel.

"Let go! You're hurting me," she said.

"I know," he said.

When smiled, she saw that his mouth was full of little hooks, rows of them, each as small and delicate as a sewing needle. The rows of them seemed to go all the way down his throat. The horn sounded again.

The boy raised his voice and shouted, "Mr. Manx! Mr. Manx, I caught a girl! Mr. Manx, come see!"

Vic braced a foot against the driver's seat and threw herself backward, thrusting hard with her leg. The boy was yanked forward. She didn't think he was going to let go-his hand felt as if it were fused to her wrist, his skin frozen to hers. But when she drew her hand back across the rear divider, into the front seat, he released her. She fell back into the steering wheel, and the horn went off again. Her fault this time.

The boy hopped up and down on the rear seat in excitement. "Mr. Manx! Mr. Manx, come see the pretty girl!" Vapor extruded from his nostrils and mouth.

Vic dropped out of the driver's-side door and onto the concrete. Her shoulder hit a mess of stacked rakes and snow shovels, and they fell over on top of her with a crash.

The horn went off again and again, in a series of deafening blasts.

Vic shoved the lawn tools off her. When she was on her knees, she looked at her wrist. It was hideous, a black burn in the rough shape of a child's hand.

She slammed the driver's-side door, took one last glance at the boy in the backseat. His face was eager, glistening with excitement. A black tongue lolled out of his mouth and rolled around his lips.

"Mr. Manx, she's running away!" he screamed. His breath frosted over the window glass. "Come see, come see!"

She picked herself up and took one clumsy, off-balance step back toward the side door to the yard.

The motor that ran the electric garage door roared to life, the chain overhead pulling it up with a grinding clatter. Vic caught herself, then began going back, fast as she could. The big garage door rose and rose, revealing black boots, silver-gray trousers, and she thought, The Wraith, it's the Wraith!

Vic lurched around the front of the car. Two steps led up to a door that she knew would open into the house itself.

The knob turned. The door eased back onto darkness.

Kick The Candle

Kick the Candle (Knight Games #2) by Genevieve Jack

My rating: 4 of 5 skulls

In this installment the Candle signifies Rick not wanting to be a burden to Grateful anymore so he goes away in search of another Witch who gives him a purple candle that will undo the bond he shares with Grateful. When it burns down to nothing he will be human again and their ties will break and Grateful will be free to take another caretaker. He still loves her but time is running out. Unless she stops the candle from burning out and claims her love for Rick, he will die.

I loved this story. Grateful's dad is still unaware of the danger surrounding his daughter and is intent on selling her house to a Mr. Nokumata(sp?) and his niece. If they succeed in buying it, Grateful could end up dead because they are evil Shapeshifters and Anna is a powerful vampire who wants to get her hands on The book of flesh and bones that is buried underneath Grateful's house.

My Review for Ghost and The Graveyard (Knight Games #1)

Goodreads:

Commitment phobic, Grateful Knight has her hands full. While she struggles to understand her new role as Monk's Hill Witch, evil isn't waiting for her to come up to speed. Not only is there an increase in supernatural activity in her ward, she’s being evicted from her home, breaking in a snarky new familiar, and trying to sort out her feelings for her metaphysically connected and immortal boyfriend, Rick.
When Grateful foils a murder at a fae bordello, she uncovers a plot by a local vampire coven to obtain a secret weapon with the power to control both the living and the dead. History is threatening to repeat itself. And if Grateful doesn't give herself over to her role completely, it could cost her everything.

About Genevieve

Genevieve Jack grew up in a suburb of Chicago and attended a high school rumored to be haunted. She loves old cemeteries and enjoys a good ghost tour. Genevieve specializes in original, cross-genre stories with surprising twists and writes a best-selling young adult series under a different name. She lives in central Illinois with her husband, two children, and a brittany named Riptide who holds down her feet while she writes.