The Reminisce by H. L. Cherryholmes is currently on tour with Bewitching Book Tours. The tour stops here today for a guest post by the author, an excerpt, and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.
Description
A detour down memory lane wakes up the ghosts.
Curtis Aisling has literally dodged a bullet. At least he thinks he has. But he wonders whether that bullet still has it out for him when he leaves his ex-fiancé and Los Angeles behind for Coronado, New Mexico to borrow some much-needed money from his sister.
The small dilapidated desert town of Coronado has exactly one mansion, belonging to 92-year-old Veronica Meeks. Curtis’s sister, Dia, and her partner, Araceli, are Veronica’s live-in caretakers and while they are delighted to have a visitor, Veronica doesn’t even know he’s there.
In the final stages of what the locals call "the reminisce", she is no longer aware of her surroundings. But when Curtis starts seeing things that no one else does, he’s not convinced that the old, unresponsive woman is as disconnected as everyone thinks. At times what should be empty rooms within the huge house appear filled with furniture, and music emanates from a dusty radio that has been packed away for ages. Tales of Veronica’s associations and connections with the occult lead Curtis to believe she is causing the ghostly occurrences.
But when people begin to appear in those phantom rooms - people from her past including Veronica herself - he’s no longer certain it is her doing. Each vision pulls Curtis further and further back, each one detailing a consequential moment in Veronica’s long life, until he begins to fear he could become lost in her past. And then there’s that bullet ...
Excerpt
Dia returned her attention to the old woman and took her bony, veiny hand. “Veronica, honey, this is my brother Curtis. You’ve seen his picture in our bedroom, remember? He came for a visit.” She looked up at Curtis. “Veronica was quite smitten with you the first time she saw your picture. Couldn’t take her eyes off it and she would just smile and smile.”
Curtis knelt next to his sister. Greeting the old woman seemed pointless, since it was obvious by her vacant stare that she wasn’t aware of her surroundings. But his sister was right; introducing himself was the proper way to behave regardless of her condition. “Hello, Miss Meeks. I’m Curtis Aisling.”
The old woman’s wispy gray hair was short and pulled back by small butterfly barrettes. Her thin face was pinkish-white, wrinkled, and haloed with brown age spots. The eyes that seemed to be looking at something no one else could see were a cloudy gray-blue. Her small frame was covered in a clean pink nightgown and she wore blue slippers.
“How old is she?” Curtis asked.
Dia stood up to help Araceli gather the tray with Veronica’s barely touched lunch on it. “Ninety-two.”
Remaining crouched before her, Curtis continued to look at the old woman. He found it difficult to imagine that the slack face in front of him had once been young, but he searched for signs of it anyhow. If there was life in her dull gaze, Curtis was sure he would find it there. A strong hot breeze rattling the palm fronds behind the gazebo hit him in the back. That’s when Veronica blinked and looked right at him.
“Finally,” she whispered.
[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]
Praise for the Book
"What I enjoyed most about this book was the mystery. [...] Besides that, I enjoyed the people portrayed in its pages. They feel real, their interactions are natural [...] I really enjoyed the book. I’d recommend it to folks who enjoy historical fiction with a bit of the occult." ~ Trish (I read too much!)
Guest Post by the Author
Sense Memories
Sense memories. Those moments when someone walks by and a waft of their cologne reminds you of the time your dad took your mom out for their anniversary and he said you were finally old enough not to need a babysitter; or your hand glides over a piece of fine silk and you recall that special night at a fancy hotel. The most common sense memory, though, is aural. Everyone has heard a song that instantly takes them back to a specific time in a specific place: your first dance, your graduation, a baby shower, a baseball game when your team finally won! When I sat down to write The Reminisce, I knew that sensory memory - or cued recall, something that triggers a memory - would play a very important part.
When the protagonist, Curtis Aisling, comes in contact with the elderly Veronica Meeks, who has, what the locals call, the reminisce, she is no longer aware of her surroundings. Even so, Curtis seems to have a strange connection with her because he begins seeing very specific episodes from her past. These "visions" as he comes to think of them, are always accompanied by a certain song. And it is the songs that Curtis hears first, before he sees what the music ushers in.
The first song is "Green Onions" an instrumental by Book T. & the McG’s, written in 1962. The second is "Somebody Else is Taking My Place" made famous by Benny Goodman in 1942. And the third is from 1922, "Toot Toot Tootsie" by Kahn, Erdman, and Russo. Only Curtis can hear each of these and when he does, it is all that he hears. His senses seem to have been overtaken by Veronica’s sense memories.
I don’t want to give any more away. It’s my hope for the readers that these moments - these songs and sensations - will become sensory memories for them as well, triggering the feelings they had as they joined Curtis and Veronica on their journey.
About the Author
H. L. Cherryholmes, author of The Lizard Queen series, The Reminisce, Come Back for Me, and A Slight Touch, was born and raised in Albuquerque, New Mexico, but has spent most of his adult life in California. He has a BFA from University of New Mexico and a Master's degree in Playwriting from the University of California, Los Angeles. Currently, he lives in Southern California with his husband, Ron Cogan.
Giveaway
Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to one of five ebook copies of The Reminisce by H. L. Cherryholmes.
The author stops by today to share an excerpt from book. You can also enter our exclusive giveaway for a chance to win an ebook copy.
Description
Seducing the Rational Skeptic ...
Abby Reed believes in folk songs, faery tales, and ghosts, but she doesn’t believe in love. She lost her soulmate when her fiancé died while deployed in Afghanistan, but she still has her music, her crazy spectre-filled town, and her pen-pal-slash-best-friend, Mike Stone. It's a good life and she's happy, but when Mike arrives in Banshee Creek after his last tour of duty in Afghanistan, Abby starts to have doubts, about music, ghosts and, most importantly ... love.
Like a good soldier, Mike Stone follows the rules, and Rule #1 is: Don't Fall For Your Buddy's Fiancée. His relationship with Abby has been strictly platonic, and will remain that way, if he has anything to say about it. But when he arrives in Banshee Creek, a town where the impossible is an everyday occurrence, he'll find out that sometimes rules are meant to be broken.
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Excerpt
Chapter 1
“Well, I want you in my zombie apocalypse survival team.”
Mike Stone turned towards the throaty female voice. A tall girl with long magenta hair glanced at his military fatigues appreciatively. Her eyes were yellow, with slit pupils, like a cat’s.
He was standing on a cobblestone street surrounded by colonial buildings with brick façades and old-fashioned moldings. Baskets with chrysanthemum blooms hung from wrought iron lampposts and vintage signs adorned the quaint, if slightly run-down, shops. Banshee Creek, Virginia was the kind of town where the shop signs announced “Ye Olde Bake-Shoppe,” and “Merrie Colonial Pubbe.”
The magenta-haired girl in the black catsuit and sky-high heels looked decidedly incongruous. She blinked as the afternoon sun hit her on the face, and realization dawned. Contacts. She must be wearing contacts.
“That’s a very realistic costume,” she purred, her smile displaying plastic fangs. “Warm, too. I didn’t realize it got so cold here in October. Next year, I’ll put on a nice thick fur and come as a Siberian were-cat.”
“Um, thanks,” he replied. He didn’t know how to tell her that it wasn’t a costume. That he wasn’t an aspiring zombie survivalist, just an ordinary soldier on leave.
“Here.” She handed him an orange flyer. “You’re officially invited to the Banshee Creek Costume Party.”
He grabbed the flyer. It screeched “Party Tonight!” in an exaggerated Gothic font.
“The Guinness Book of World Records people will be there,” the cat girl explained, her feline eyes sparkling with excitement. “We’re trying to make it the biggest Halloween costume party in history so make sure you register.”
She winked at him, and turned to a spindly young man on stilts. He was wearing large grey wings and red-tinged goggles.
“Hey, Mothman,” she shouted. “Great costume. We’re really excited about the latest sighting.” She waved an orange flyer. “Do you know where to register for the party?”
They walked off, leaving Mike behind. He looked at the throngs of people lining Main Street. He counted three Elves, eleven princesses, and a platoon of naughty nurses.
He’d forgotten it was Halloween.
More to the point, he’d forgotten it was Halloween in Banshee Creek, Virginia. The Fall Equinox was no laughing matter in the Most Haunted Town in the U.S.A.
Well, that accolade wasn’t official yet. But his Army buddy, Cole Hunt, had been certain that his hometown would win the coveted title. Cole and his friends had been diligently documenting the local hauntings so as to convince the powers-that-be that their town could be the premier paranormal destination in the United States.
And Mike had heard all about their plans, ad nauseum infinitum, in fact. Cole had stayed in touch with his Banshee Creek buddies all through their two-year deployment to Afghanistan. He’d supervised the investigations from afar and edited the documentaries in his free time. As a result, Mike had sat through endless hours of night-vision footage and had spent many days listening to static trying to discern what Cole described as “electronic voice phenomena.”
Oh, yes. His friend had a plan. Cole intended to come back to Banshee Creek, marry his fiancée and turn the town into the ghost capital of the United States.
But Cole didn’t get to come back.
He died in Afghanistan, and Mike, who had no plans, no family, and no home, survived.
The irony was inescapable. The guy with no future made it out alive, but the one with the plan, the one with the loving family, the one with the devoted girlfriend.
That guy didn’t make it back home.
Mike hoisted his duffle bag, avoided a laughing foursome dressed in Star Trek uniforms, and walked up the cobblestone street. He didn’t have a life plan like Cole, but right now he was a man on a mission, a mission to find 12 Hooded Owl Road, Banshee Creek, Virginia.
He looked down Main Street, assessing the town he’d heard so much about. Banshee Creek was laid out like a typical small Virginia village, with one main road lined with shops and Colonial row houses. An auto repair shop with a neon 1950’s sign that read “Virginia Vintage Motors” sat on a corner. The shop’s small parking lot was full of restored cars and a couple of kids in ghost costumes were taking pictures around a black 1967 Impala. The car was nice, but Mike’s eyes kept drifting towards a late-model Jeep Wrangler with an elegant black paint job. Sure, it didn’t qualify as “antique” or even “vintage,” but it looked cool and the price was very affordable.
Which was probably due to the stagnant local economy. Most of the stores had “for sale” or “for rent” signs. Sheets of plywood covered the windows of the local bookstore. A small movie theater held pride of place in the center of town, but its marquee was broken and the last movie featured seemed to be Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
Yet there were a few signs of life. A real estate sign in front of a dilapidated mansion with the sloping roof of a stereotypical haunted house had a sold sticker. The row houses had small gardens in front, many of them covered with weeds, but an enterprising soul had put out planters with purple and orange flowers in an attempt to spruce up the sidewalk.
And the town still attracted visitors, in spite of its ramshackle state. The streets were full of costumed partygoers and a couple of businesses, including a pizzeria and a bakery, were busy with customers. The crisp fall air carried the scent of apples and cinnamon and he experienced a sudden craving for cider. The hardware store had a table in front filled with Halloween paraphernalia and the glowing red goggles worn by the—what was the name, again?—Mothman, that’s it. The Mothman goggles seemed to be quite popular. A bunch of kids in black capes were trying them on and taking pictures.
Back in Afghanistan, Cole’s plan to paranormalize his hometown sounded silly and far-fetched. But here in Banshee Creek it was starting to make sense.
“Looking for a house?”
He turned and a teenage boy in jeans and a yellow t-shirt with a large letter X handed him a piece of paper. Curiosity piqued, Mike took it, carefully avoiding the kid’s metal claws.
It was a homemade map, made by someone with a talent for drawing and an excessive fondness for horror movie fonts. The title was “Banshee Creek’s Haunted Houses” and there was something very familiar about the style of the illustrations.
He identified Main Street and the Second Empire house, but what was that strange dark line that crisscrossed the town? A river? Railroad tracks? He squinted at the complicated script, making out the words “geomagnetic fault.” Upon closer inspection he realized that several of the buildings were marked with cartoon ghost symbols. He turned the paper to read the map legend, which described the various ghosts and other critters that supposedly infested the town. One of them identified as a brownie, but wasn’t that a dessert? Or a uniformed child that sold cookies? At the bottom of the page there was a hand drawn copyright symbol and the author’s name.
Cole Hunt.
He quickly looked away from the name, and focused on the map, tracing the streets with a finger. There it was, right off Main Street, Hooded Owl Road. According to the map, number 12 was two blocks down, turn left, and keep going.
He hiked up his duffle and walked down the street. The sooner he got this done, the sooner he could get back to his life.
Except he didn’t have much of a life right now. He had no family, his closest contacts were now scattered across the country, and his best friend was dead. But he had a fancy new title and, thanks to his commanding officers, a new assignment at the Pentagon. He was going to find an apartment in Arlington, get settled, and…
Things got hazy after that. Maybe he’d get a motorcycle…and a girlfriend, definitely a girlfriend, a smart girl, with a nice smile, maybe a blonde or a redhead.
An image popped into his head and he shoved it away. Not a brunette. And absolutely not a brunette with warm brown eyes, freckles on her nose, and the voice of an angel.
So, the plan was simple——job, apartment, motorcycle, girlfriend. It wasn’t as interesting as Cole’s plan, that’s for sure, but it gave Mike direction, a sense of purpose. He liked that.
Job, apartment, motorcycle, girlfriend, but first, there was 12 Hooded Owl Road.
He crossed Main Street, walking towards a battered white bungalow with a large Argentinean flag and a dilapidated neon sign that read, strangely, “F anco Pizza.” He squinted at the sign. No, the letter r was defective, and, when it flickered on, the sign actually said “Franco Pizza.” The pizza smelled pretty good though. Maybe he’d have a slice after completing his mission.
The house at 12 Hooded Owl Road was an attractive Victorian house, with a small porch, white gingerbread trim and green fish scale shingles. It was old, but well kept, looking a bit like a dignified elderly mermaid. A small pot of yellow flowers sat on the steps.
Mike smiled. The house was bright and colorful.
Just like its owner.
He shook the thought out of his head. He didn’t want to think about the owner of the house. He was going to knock on the door, make his delivery and leave Banshee Creek.
He walked toward the house, but, as he reached the porch, he noticed a group of people walking down the street. The leader of the group was a tall, redheaded man dressed in jeans and a biker’s vest. His companions were all similarly attired in stereotypical biker gear.
Mike tensed. Two guys from his last unit belonged to motorcycles clubs, and he was very familiar with the subculture. These guys weren’t wearing costumes, although the biker wear featured a couple of unusual decorative touches, like tentacles, UFOs, and several “trust no one” tattoos in typewriter font.
The bikers were teasing a young man with an arm in a cast who was dressed in plain jeans and a t-shirt and did not seem to be part of the gang. At least, Mike had yet to meet a biker who’d wear a Berklee School of Music t-shirt.
One of the bikers slapped the musician in the back, and the young man stumbled.
Mike’s eyes narrowed, his body tensed and he felt a sudden adrenaline rush. He automatically noted the number of bikers, assessed their strategic positions and evaluated the situation’s potential for violence.
But the young man just laughed and made a rude hand gesture. The bikers returned the gesture with a couple of catcalls, and then kept walking towards Main Street chatting and laughing.
Mike relaxed, relieved to find he’d misjudged the situation, and gave himself a good scolding. This was ridiculous. He had to leave his war-zone reflexes behind, this was small town Virginia not Afghanistan. But he turned back to the house and immediately tensed.
A willowy girl was locking the door. She was tall and slender with medium-length brown hair, styled to curl at the ends in an old-fashioned way.
Mike wasn’t looking at her hair though. He was looking at her costume, a skin-tight black leather cat suit that outlined every single curve. His fists clenched and he swallowed hard. He tried to walk towards the house, but his feet wouldn’t move.
He couldn’t bring himself to approach her.
He’d faced enemy fire, ambushes, and IEDs. He’d trained himself to overcome his fears. He’d walked through nightmares and survived.
But he couldn’t bring himself to face this girl.
Time to retreat and regroup. He’d continue on his way to Arlington and figure out a different way to make his delivery. Maybe he could hire a courier, or a parcel delivery service.
A group of costumed partygoers blocked his way as he turned to walk away. He tried to push his way through what appeared to be a werewolf punk rock band, but had to swerve to avoid the fur-bedecked subwoofers.
“Mike?” The throaty, sexy voice was unmistakable. “Is that you?”
There was no fighting the siren appeal of that voice. He sighed in resignation and turned.
The girl ran down the steps of her house and her smile was as enthralling as her voice. Mike forced himself to smile back as he greeted the girl he’d loved for the past five years.
Abby Reed. Singer, songwriter, enchantress.
And his dead friend’s fiancée.
[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]
Praise for the Book
"A hauntingly realistic romance … Halfway through the book and I cannot stop laughing." ~ Blogging With M. Brennan
"I was three percent into this book when I knew I was going to really like it … I want to read more about this sleepy little Virginia town trying to get recognized for being the most haunted town. Recommended." ~ Night Owl Book Reviews
"Overall, great read for anyone who likes romance mixed with science fiction and the paranormal." ~ Beautyful World Blog
"I love the story that is being told here and I love the writing. It had the right amount of laughs and panty-melting sexy time that I just can't even deal. Highly recommend this book to anyone looking for a refreshing take on paranormal and romance." ~ Books and Warpaint Blog
About the Author
I write sexy paranormal romantic comedy (whew, that's a mouthful!) set in Banshee Creek, Virginia, The Most Haunted Town in the USA. My books feature feisty, irrepressible heroines and strong, controlling alpha males along with a host of paranormal critters (ghosts, cryptids, pagan gods ... the sky's the limit). My characters fall in love (with a little supernatural help) and they fall hard. Writing their stories is a lot of fun.
I love quirky towns with spooky stories, and, thanks to my books, I get to "live" in one year-around. In real life I live in a Minneapolis suburb (which is sadly lacking in ghosts) with my husband and three children and I'm still trying to adjust to the cold.
Giveaway
Enter our exclusive giveaway for a chance to win an ebook copy of Must Love Ghosts by Ani Gonzalez.
On the road to solving his mother’s murder, sixteen-year-old Thomas Patrick Henry discovers a secret his father has kept from him for years. Tom thought Dad’s secret put him in danger, Mom’s secret is far worse. Magic. Witches. Ancient Book of Spells. Magical Amulet. Ghosts. Demons. Tom never thought these things existed until he is face to face with them. There is nothing else to do but destroy the demons before someone else Tom love dies. He already lost his mom and a close friend because this secret was kept from him. No one else will die. No one else will be possessed. Tom faces his demons. A mother’s love gives Tom the strength to slay his demons.
Excerpt
“Ow.” Tom yanked the chain and dragged the burning amulet from under his shirt. Even the chain was warm, but there was no way he was going to take the stupid thing off. He let it drop to his chest and rest warmly on the top of his shirt as he stared at the demon.
“It’s not your grandfather,” Tom whispered. Anger rolled around inside him because of what this thing did to Sarah.
The dark figure stepped out of the shadows causing the boys to take two steps back. The demon looked like a man dressed in thunderous storm-like clouds from head to toe. Even his face was black and the eyes a dimly puke-yellow that churned Tom’s stomach. He felt Rob’s heavy breathing just inches behind him, but it didn’t stop a chill from shimmering up his spine like fingernails on a chalkboard.
“I know who you are.” Tom tried to sound confident even though his voice shook with fear. He swallowed hard. “What do you want?”
The demon raised a shadowy arm and then his stormy cloud-like body started to swirl like a mini tornado. In a gust of black smoke, the demon shot up into the air and zipped right over Tom and Rob’s heads. The boys ducked and laid flat on the wet grass, afraid the demon would consume them.
Tom turned his head to see the black smoke head toward Mr. Watson’s house. Tom got to his feet while Rob remained on the ground. The black smoke swarmed over the house and then drifted back down. It slithered around the house like a snake looking for a place to sneak in, circling several times before seeping through the crack in the window and disappearing inside.
Rob scrambled to his feet. “That thing is inside my grandfather’s house.” His voice was high-pitched in fear. “My…” He glanced toward the empty driveway. Then he sighed. “Mom must still be at the hospital.”
Tom touched Rob’s arm to prevent him from doing something crazy. He didn’t want another one of his friends to get hurt by this thing.
“We need to do something, but I don’t know what.” Tom glanced over to the tents in Granddad’s backyard, hoping Matt or Granddad would come running to save the day. But there was no movement over there.
Inside the house, Jake growled and then started to bark wildly. Before Tom could stop him, Rob dashed upon the back porch and flung the backdoor open. Jake continued his wild barking as if protecting Rob and the house. If only the dog could save the day, but Tom feared nothing would save them.
A cracking noise caught Tom’s attention, and he turned his head toward what he assumed was Mr. Watson’s bedroom window. The glass appeared pitch black at first, and then a face appeared. The same puke-yellow eyes stared at Tom and gave him an evil grin.
Praise for the Book
"Once I opened this book, I couldn’t put it down until I came to the very satisfying ending. Family Secret is definitely a book I’ll read again and again. I highly recommend Family Secret for teens who love the paranormal, especially boys looking for a good adventure." ~ Kathleen S., Amazon
"The world building was really well done and very immersive. The plot kept me guessing and was wrapped up very well." ~ Melissa, Goodreads
About the Author
I’m Kay LaLone, author of Ghostly Clues, my first MG novel. Family Secret is my first YA novel. Both published by MuseIt Up. I live in Michigan with my husband and teenage son (two older sons and a daughter-in-law and my first grandbaby live nearby) and two dogs. I love to get up every morning and write about ghosts, the paranormal, and things that go bump in the night. I write PB, MG and YA novels. No matter the books I write, I want my readers to feel like they have met a new friend. I’m an avid reader of just about any type of book (mystery, paranormal, and ghost stories are my favorites). I do reviews and post them on my website and blog. I love to collect old books, antiques, and collectibles. You can find many of my antiques and collectibles selling on ebay and at fleamarkets.
Giveaway
Enter the blast-wide giveaway for a chance to a $25 Amazon gift card or PayPal cash.
