The Restless Dead in the Middle Ages - ghosts who return. A blog for the Halloween month

The restless dead in the Middle Ages

Did people in the Middle Ages believe in ghosts? They certainly believed in restless spirits, which they called revenants, from the Latin meaning ‘to return’. It was believed that the unquiet dead, particularly those who had died by violence or by reason of a grudge, or those who would not give up strong passions and carnal pleasures, would return to haunt the living. These revenants might appear within a graveyard or in a particular area, known to them in life, and terrorize the living.

In 'Dark Maiden' I have a woman who is tormented by a lusty revenant who comes to her bed and tries to lie with her. Yolande, my heroine, learns that in this case the restless dead is the woman's husband. As an exorcist, Yolande takes certain steps to ensure that his widow is no longer plagued. You can find out what she does in the novel.

In my "Dark Maiden" we learn what revenants are, plus the dangers of being a black, female exorcist in a time of suspicion and plague.

Excerpt.

“Revenants are spirits who will not rest,” Geraint said before the reeve’s wife had another objection. “They are departed souls who will not leave, because they wish to have revenge, or justice.”

“Or they cling to a place they loved in life, or to their beloved,” added Yolande quietly.

In an echo of the large-breasted goodwife, the reeve’s wife folded her arms across her middle. “Is this not a matter for our priest?”

“But Godith, Father William is so old, and consider what he says concerning the rest,” Michael pleaded.

“That all trouble is the girls’ own sins.” Godith crossed herself, while Yolande sighed and stared into the fire.

“One of those priests,” she remarked softly in Welsh.

“Now we know why he did not summon you, or come out of his house or church to welcome you,” Geraint answered in the same tongue. “A black female exorcist will be a great evil to him.”

“And Father William has often taken to his bed this past ten days.” Michael shrugged his drooping shoulders in a gesture of hopelessness.

“No priest here, and at the darkest time of the year, when spirits and the dead gather,” Yolande said in Welsh. Geraint wished he could tip the priest out of this village and drag in another. The Archbishop of York should be able to help her and would do very well.

“What are you saying? Are you talking about me?” demanded Godith’s youngest daughter.

“No, my lovely.” Geraint snapped his fingers. The girl drew a new blue ribbon from her hair and exclaimed with delight.

Yolande cast him a look. “Still up to your old tricks?”

“You will not wear the ribbons I bought for you, so why should I not give them to these girls?” The three lasses, chattering like magpies, tugged more new ribbons from their hair.

“How do you do it?” Yolande inquired as the tension in the hut vanished like a burst soap bubble.

“You have the secrets of your trade and I have mine.” He wanted to give her more, of course—bright ribbons, bright tunics to suit her sultry looks—but so far she had smiled at him very prettily for his ribbons but not worn them. And as for tunics…she had told him, quietly, that an envious spirit or demon would be tempted to tear such clothes off her and he could not argue with that. She was the exorcist.

Their eyes met, she still in drab sage-and-mud-colored  clothes, he in his tattered motley. What would it be like to kiss her again, really kiss her? He need only lean forward to find out…

His fragile dream was shattered by the reeve, who pushed himself up from the family’s low sleeping platform and said to Yolande, “I have something to show you in the lean-to.”

Geraint gave the rest of his bowl of porry to the twins and leapt to his feet. “I will come too.”

If Michael Steward was about to confess anything, he wanted to hear it. And he was not about to let Yolande out of his protection, whatever her skills.

She may be the exorcist but by the pricking at the base of my neck I would say there is danger here, a practical, knife blade kind of risk. My kind of danger.

* * * * *

She knew she and Geraint had been betrayed, even before Michael Steward broke into a ragtag run outside the lean-to, galloping and gasping into the night. She knew even before the torches bloomed into fire and a stink of anxious, stale bodies crowded into her nostrils. She knew by instinct as Geraint knew. She could feel the tension in his body as he stepped straight behind her, shielding her as so often in these past few months.

Yolande had her bow, her sacred bow of Saint Sebastian, but no room to draw it. And she could do better by far than make these fearful people her unrelenting enemies.

The instant before the torches were lit in the dying garden plot of the reeve’s house, she had made her plan and acted on it.

She raised her fist and called out, “I have a mandrake here and the seven herbs of Christ. If you do me or mine harm, the herbs will change into spears. The mandrake will turn into a man and you will die.”

She paused, allowing her pity for the villagers’ fear to drain away. “You will die badly, believe me.”

“Believe her,” hissed Geraint out of the gloom, keeping out of range of the flickering torchlight. “I have seen the mandrake-man and it is terrible.”

“That proves you are a witch!” shouted a woman, and one of the torches swayed as she lost her footing on the damp ground.

“No witch may touch the seven herbs of Christ and live,” said Yolande calmly. Glimpsing a flash of white as another villager moved an arm, she stooped, plucked a pebble from the earth and threw it all in a single movement. The woman howled and dropped her dagger, where it lay gleaming.

“You are black as Satan!” called another woman, and others in the circle echoed her cry.

“Or  Saint Maurice or the Magi,” Yolande replied.

Godith came to the door. “How do we know you came in answer to the reeve’s call?”

“I came, Godith, because that is my Christian duty. You need my help here.”

“But you are black,” mumbled Godith. Encouraged by shouts of agreement, she joined the crowd.

Mother of God, I grow weary of this complaint. For so many, I am either a luck-charm or an evil. And Geraint is blacker-hued than me, at least in the summer. “I have touched relics of the saints that are darker.” She grinned, knowing her teeth and eyes would show very white and bright against the torches. “Come, shall we say the creed together?”

“But Godith  is right. How do we know you are not sent by them?” protested a third voice, high as a shrilling bat.

“By Christ, they are all women here,” muttered Geraint, and Yolande caught the strain in his voice. He would fight any man but females he revered.

“Fear not, honeyman,” she whispered. “Not one is possessed, and I can deal with the rest.”

To Godith and her cohorts she made the sign of the cross and recited the first line of the Lord’s Prayer in Latin. In English she said, “No demon can do that, believe me.”

“And believe me, my heart, when I say you should convert these women quickly,” said Geraint beside her. “Before we are burned to a cinder or torn limb from limb would be best.” He switched to Welsh. “You have never used mandrake in your life.”

“You are not the only one who can make a feint,” she replied in the same tongue.

“Take care you do not do so with me, cariad, is all I ask.”

She chuckled, keeping her laugh fat and easy while she scanned the big eyes and fluttering fingers that hovered round the crackling torches. 

#DiverseRomance #Romance DARK MAIDEN http://amzn.to/2qEuKcL

UK http://amzn.to/2q33Auf

ChapterOne http://bit.ly/2sEydfW

Ghosts, revenants, incubi , vampires and demons haunt medieval England, as Yolande and Geraint must use their love to survive.

Lindsay Townsend

New Release — NIGHT OF MAGIC by Stephanie Burkhart

Night of Magic…Samhain—Dark…Dangerous…Powerful…The year is 800 A.D. on the Emerald Isle, and Prince Jasper is determined to regain that which has been lost to him.

Five years past, Princess Aithne was taken from her father, Prince Jasper, by the forces of the Other World. On Samhain, the veil between the worlds is thin, and can be breeched more readily—especially if one walks amid the ceremonial bonfires.

When Princess Aithne disappears, her father vows every year to bring her back. He tempts many champions with a chest of gold, but only one man can succeed.

 This year, Finn is determined to lay claim to that treasure, but to do so, he must tempt Fate. Will he survive his journey to the Other World to bring the princess back? Will he dare follow his heart? Or will greed determine what lies in store for him on this NIGHT OF MAGIC?

EXCERPT

     "Darkness is coming."
     Finn Breifne sat on the bed polishing his sword. Glancing up at his friend, Kellis, he winked. "I know it is."
     Kellis walked to the window and drew back the drapes, gazing onto the open field. The sun dipped below the horizon casting deep orange, rust, and grey shadows over the land.
     Finn continued with his task. He was the finest fighter this side of the isle, and he wasn't prepared to shy away from the prince's challenge.
     Samhain marked the start of the darker half of the year. The people in this part of the country celebrated with a festival of the dead. Every night for a week there was drinking, whoring, and bonfires. Cows walked between roaring pyres of fire as part of a crazy cleansing ritual. The boundaries between this world and the dark, mystical world of spirits were considerably weaker on this eve, the high night of Samhain.
     Finn didn't believe in magic or gods. He was here for one thing – to collect the nobleman's daughter. Upon her safe return, the prince would give him a chest full of gold and silver. He'd grown up poor, and was sick of living from town to town scraping by as a sellsword. Now, he was going to do something for himself. Was he greedy? Some might think so, but Finn was tired of wandering and he wanted a better life. He wanted to find a wife, raise a family, and not worry about finding work to support them.
     Kellis turned away from the window. "The prince just arrived. They're goin’ to light the bonfire."
Finn stood. "Good." He sheathed his sword, forged out of the finest steel by one of the best blacksmiths in Dublin. He tightened the laces on his sheepskin boots and walked to the table before the mirror. Picking up his dagger, he tucked it into the holder on his belt.

For Love of a Brystile Witch by Kaye Spencer – October #blogabookscene #westernromance #PrairieRosePubs #paranormalromance

Blog-a-Book-Scene is a monthly themed blogging endeavor from a group of authors who love to share excerpts from their stories. Find us on Twitter with the hashtag #blogabookscene and #PrairieRosePubs.

Since October’s blog-a-book-scene theme is Autumn/Halloween, I’ll share a witchy excerpt from my novelette For Love of a Brystile Witch.

Blurb

Mercy Pontiere is the last ‘daughter’ in a long line of heredity witches. Two hundred years ago, Reid Corvane’s ancestor condemned the “Brystile witch” to hang. On the gallows, she placed a curse of short life and great suffering on the men of the Corvane line.

As the years passed, unintended consequences developed that impacted both families.
If Mercy overcomes two centuries of generational hatred to find love and forgiveness for Reid, and if he returns her love, the curse will be broken. Mercy thinks time is her ally; Reid’s time is running out.

Love must find them by midnight All Hallows’ Eve, or the Brystile witch will claim the life of another Corvane man. Reid has thirty-one days and counting…

Excerpt

A throng of onlookers filled the area around the hanging site. Even when standing on tiptoes behind the crowd, all Mercy could see was the gallows platform and upper steps, which wasn’t at all interesting to her. She wanted to see Reid Leighton, not watch him die.

The local citizens knew Mercy well enough to overlook the eccentricities of the Harmony Spring women, so when she hiked her calico skirts above her knees, shinnied up a tree near the scaffold, and perched herself at the juncture of trunk and horizontal branch, few even noticed.
“Here he comes!”

The crowd hushed. As if the on-lookers were a many-headed, gigantic bird, they craned their necks to see over the people in front of them. Mercy had a close up, clear view from her perch. With arms tied behind his back, and flanked on either side by the valley’s two deputies, Reid Leighton approached the scaffold stairs with dignity and bearing. For a man whose solace had come from a whiskey bottle, his strides were remarkably steady. When he paused at the base of the plank stairs and gazed up at the gallows platform, she wished she knew his thoughts. What drove him to commit suicide by legal hanging? Was he sorry? Did he have dark secrets in his past? Had he known love and happiness? Did he leave a family behind? Would a woman mourn his passing?

Reid needed no urging to mount the steps and, in spite of herself, Mercy kept watching. He ascended with an easy gait, the ball of each polished boot touching lightly upon the next plank. Once on the platform, he turned toward the crowd, head bowed and hat brim throwing a shadow over his features. Sheriff Samuel Dunne and Axel Moser, the valley’s minister of twenty some years stood on either side of the condemned man, and the deputies took watchful positions behind them and off the trap door.

When Orlie Eidler drove up with the hearse, Mercy’s gaze wandered to the glass windows and the coffin that awaited the man’s body. A shiver crawled up her back, and her hand flew to the ribbon necklace tied to the small tatted bag that held her agate stone charm as she whispered hasty words of protection against the sudden chill. “By earth and stone, by flesh and bone, by moon and sun, ill luck undone.”

The sheriff’s voice rose above the crowd’s murmurings. “If you have any last words, speak them now.”

For the longest time, Reid didn’t move. The quiet in the street became quieter. A baby cried; a woman shushed it. The autumn breeze ceased blowing. Mercy held her breath, entranced by the scene playing out before her. When he lifted his chin, she sucked in a little gasp of pity. His eyes—such sadness—maybe it was regret. Whatever his pain, it was deeper than the prospect of leaving this life in a few minutes. Did he deserve to die like this? Alone? With no one here to mourn his passing? Certainly, she didn’t know, but she blinked away tears for him nonetheless.

His deep voice resonated through the silent streets. “I hold the world, but as the world…a stage where every man must play a part. And mine is a sad one.”

A gasp of sorrow at his utter hopelessness left Mercy’s lips and, as if he’d heard, he caught her gaze with his, holding it in a way that made her feel he was memorizing her face as the last tender sight he’d take with him to the grave.

Sheriff Dunne waited a few seconds for the man to say more. When nothing came, he addressed the crowd. “As the duly appointed legal authority in Dulcet Valley, I hereby declare this hanging to proceed this first day of October 1892. The condemned will hang by the neck until dead, and his body will be interred in the local cemetery with a gravestone bearing his name, birth, and death dates. As per his signed and witnessed last requests, his epitaph will read, Teach me to feel another’s woe. Reverend Moser will settle his debts and notify next of kin.”

Those words—

She knew the poem and went on in her head with the next lines…to hide the fault I see / that mercy I to others show / that mercy show to me. It was strange that the word mercy, her given name, would show up in duplicate at this moment. Two of any one thing meant balance, partnership or opposites, either way it meant a pairing of something. Since coincidences didn’t exist in her world, Fate was at work here. She swept a hurried glance around the area, searching for other signs she’d overlooked.

“Let it be known the Honorable Judge J. A. Swanson has authorized me to accept a plea of innocent and commute the death sentence.” He leveled a hard gaze on the condemned man. “Reid Leighton Corvane, this is your last chance to save your own life.”

“What? A Corvane? Here?”

The words burst forth, loud and unbidden. Jolted, stunned to her bones, Mercy grabbed a better hold on the branch to keep her seat. So her months of conjuring had proven fruitful after all.

Available on Amazon.com
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Until next time,

Kaye Spencer

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A Medieval Female Exorcist - Dark Maiden. Historical Romance by Lindsay Townsend

Yolande, the heroine of my latest medieval historical romance novel, 'Dark Maiden' is an exorcist. Her father, who was born in Ethiopia (a country with very ancient Christian roots) was an exorcist. Her mother was born in York.

As is now being discovered, there were people of African descent living and working in Britain, especially in cities and ports like York. Archaeology discovered a Romano-British grave in York where a woman of black African and mixed race heritage had been buried in a rich tomb with grave goods. Archaeology also uncovered a tomb of a man of north African descent buried at a medieval friary in Suffolk, England, close to the port of Ipswich. According to bone specialists he had a bad back! The thirteenth century statue of Saint Maurice in Magdeburg cathedral in Germany clearly shows him as African.

Half-African, half-English, Yolande is the dark maiden of the title, a spiritual wanderer and warrior, helping those tormented by the restless dead and assisting the restless dead themselves to find final peace. She lives and works in England during the time of the Black Death.

Statue of St. Maurice at Magdeburg

I chose this time period quite carefully. Women during the Middle Ages could not be priests but during the period of the Black Death, when thousands died, including hundreds of priests, the church allowed women to take confessions from dying people. In early 1349 the bishop of Bath and Wells wrote to his priests to encourage all men to confess, before they were taken by the pestilence. He added that if they had no priest they should follow the teaching of the Apostles and confess to each other 'or, if no man is present, even to a woman'.  (From translation in Philip Zeigler, The Black Death, page 125).

Medieval people also believed that in a crisis anyone, priest or lay person, could perform an exorcism because every Christian has the power to command demons and drive them away in the name of Christ.  I took these ideas and developed them, allowing my Yolande to become an exorcist.

In 'Dark Maiden' I have Yolande and Geraint  (a travelling player who becomes her friend, help-mate, lover and finally husband) face several encounters with both restless spirits and also demons. My ideas have always been shaped by the real beliefs of the time. So in 'Dark Maiden' there are evil spirits, restless ghosts called revenants, an incubus and vampires - all paranormal creatures with a medieval slant.

I'll talk about these in other blog articles.

Read Chapter One

Lindsay Townsend

Ghostriders in the Sky and The Gunfighter's Woman by Kaye Spencer

My new release, The Gunfighter's Woman, is a paranormal western romance inspired by the old cowboy song, Ghostriders in the Sky, (Stan Jones 1948).

There are a plethora of recordings of this song including those by Vaughn Monroe, Bing Crosby, Frankie Laine, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Christopher Lee (the actor), Eddie Arnold, Peggy Lee, Gene Autry, Burl Ives, Sons of the Pioneers, Judy Collins, Roy Clark, Lawrence Welk, Baja Marimba Band, Slim Whitman,Tom Jones, Boston Pops Orchestra, Elvis Presley, Chris LeDoux. Blues Brothers,  Dean Martin, and my favorite, Marty Robbins.


The legend of the ghost rider has its roots in Europe, particularly Britanny, Ireland, Wales, Scandinavia, Spain, France, and Germany. Jacob Grimm of the fairy tales Brothers Grimm, developed the idea of the 'wild hunt' through comparative mythology that he published as Deutsche Mythologie (1835) "...as a folkloristic survival of Germanic pagan tradition, but comparable folk myths are found throughout Northern, Western and Central Europe...The Wild Hunt is an ancient myth of a spectral or otherworldly hunting party that sometimes appears at night."*

The Wild Hunt: Asgårdsreien (1872) by Peter Nicolai Arbo**

 The warrior-leaders most associated with some form and version of the Wild Hunt are Wodin, Wodan, Odin, Herne the Hunter, King Arthur, and Old Nick. A few modern works of literature that use the Wild Hunt myth as part of the story are Sir Artur Conan Doyle's The Hound of the Baskervilles, William Butler Yeats' 1893 poem The Hosting of the Sidhe, and Susan Cooper's 1973 book series The Dark is Rising. There are also comic books, movies, and operas with the wild hunt/ghost rider theme woven throughout or as the predominate story line. I've read that Ghostriders in the Sky was the inspiration for the song Riders on the Storm by the Doors.

I incorporate the wild hunt in the form of the cowboy ghost riders in The Gunfighter's Woman as a motivating force in the hero's life to change his ways. This story was originally published in 2006 as a novella, and now, nine years later and with a significant amount of plot added to the story, it is novel length with a deeper romance and a nastier villain. The ghost riders still want to claim the hero's soul, but he's not going down without a fight now that he's found the love of a good woman.


Blurb:

When beautiful widow Brenna Gérard comes upon semi-conscious gunfighter Matt Caddock, all hell is about to break loose. An unholy storm’s a-brewin’, and Brenna makes a split-second decision to save Matt from the spectral fire-eyed cowboys who forever chase the devil’s herd—and pick up lost souls along the way.

Once they reach the safety of the ranch, Brenna cares for Matt’s wounds and makes him welcome—no questions asked. But Matt must learn to accept the fact that Brenna is being guarded for a while longer by her deceased husband’s spirit—and he’s not leaving her just yet.

Though Matt and Brenna are fast falling in love, there’s the matter of a fortune in gold that stands between them—gold that Matt never wanted, but now must find and use to keep Brenna’s ranch from failing. Archer, an outlaw who Matt once partnered with, wants that gold just as badly—and he’s prepared to kill for it.

Can Matt settle the score with Archer and keep Brenna safe? And when the ghost riders return on the next lightning-laced storm, will they be taking Matt with them? Or will the love of THE GUNFIGHTER’S WOMAN be enough to ensure the future they hope for together?

Excerpt:

“Brenna!” Matt left the bed in one frantic heart-pounding leap, sending the bedside table crashing. “Brenna!” With a Colt clamped in his fist, he stood with his back to the far wall. Raking his gaze over every inch of the moonlit room, he searched the shadows and corners.

The door flew open. “Matt! What—” Whirling out of modesty, she put her back to him.

Matt made a catapulting leap onto the bed, snatched up his trousers, and grabbed Brenna’s arm on his way out of the room. Hustling her along through the kitchen, he hit the porch door with such force it wedged open and ripped the cheesecloth from the upper half.

Words came fast as he pulled on his trousers while clutching his revolver. “Someone… A man. There was a man standing at the foot of my bed. One second he was there and the next he was gone. Just gone. What in hell fire was that? Who was that?”

Brenna’s smile turned to giggles. “Gregory.”

Comprehension arrived on frowning silence. “But…he’s… Hell, you said he was dead. How could he be in that bedroom?” He shook his gun toward the door.

“That was our bedroom, and he died there. I changed bedrooms after he started visiting me in the night. I didn’t think he would return to that bedroom once he began rocking in his chair by the fireplace. Obviously, I was wrong.”

Matt stepped back, his gun arm lowering. “He rocks in a chair?” He blew out a slow, hard breath. “That’s plumb crazy.” Wagging a finger at her, he accused, “I think you’ve been alone out here too long. You’ve got a case of prairie madness.”

Brenna crossed her arms. “Then we’re both crazy. You saw him, too.”

Matt opened his mouth then clamped it shut. “Damn.” Shoving his Colt into the waistband of his trousers, he went to the edge of the porch and stood in the doorway...

Available on Amazon - KindleUnlimited and Purchase - The Gunfighter's Woman

I'll give away two digital copies of The Gunfighter's Woman from comments left on this post. Please leave your contact information with your comment, so I'll have a way to contact you in case I draw your name. I’ll keep this comment-to-win opportunity open until 6:00 p.m. MDT October 15th, 2016.

Until next time,

Kaye
www.kayespencer.com
Writing the West one romance upon a time

*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wild_Hunt
**http://www.athenasweb.com/MegalithicMyths.html

#NewRelease – Hunter, Double Feature -- #Giveaway

 By C. Marie Bowen

Hunter - Double Feature - by C. Marie Bowen

Amazon * Barnes & Noble * Smashwords *  iTunes

The persona of Hunter originated in Prophecy, Book 2 of The Soul of the Witch series. During the first draft, I thought the release of a demonic evil into the world would draw the interest of the Church, and they would hire a bounty hunter to find and destroy the witches. As usual, my characters had other ideas.

From the first, Hunter was a dynamic, romantic individual—more concerned for the welfare of others than for himself. He is a driven, haunted man, who decided to find the witches and warn them of the evil headed their way. So much for plotting the story, once he stepped onto the page, Hunter changed the entire second book on his own.

Not long after I finished the first draft of Prophecy, I discovered an open submission post on Facebook for western Halloween short stories. Hunter immediately came to mind. He had already whispered several haunting stories into my ear in his low, Cajun-French accented voice.

My submission to Prairie Rose Publication for their 2014 Cowboys, Creatures, and Calico Halloween Anthology was titled Hunter and Lily Graham. To my amazement and delight, Cheryl Pierson, the Acquiring Editor, accepted my submission.

A younger Hunter spun the tale for PRP’s Valentine Anthology, Cowboy Kisses. 

In Hunter’s Gamble, Hunter discovers his desire to help others, and uses his inherited magic to solve a mystery.

I’m very excited to have my two first Hunter’s stories under one cover in Hunter, Double Feature.

Hunter’s Gamble excerpt:

Iris Piler wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand, then slid the wooden clothespin over the corner of the bed-sheet to fasten it to the line. The ache in her arms shot down her back and into her hips from lifting the wet laundry. She wound her dark braid on top of her head and pressed the other hand into her lower back. She sighed as the cool breeze caressed the moisture on the back of her neck.

She looked over as William Lowe led one of the breeding mares around the house and down the turn from the corral. Their gazes met, and his slow smile sent butterflies coursing through her stomach and curled her toes in her shoes. He tipped his head toward the barn and winked, then brushed the honey-colored hair from his eyes.

Her breath caught as she grinned back at him. His denim trousers were tucked inside his boots, and his shirt was unbuttoned far enough she could see moisture glisten on his chest.

His seductive smile changed to alarm as his head came up, and he halted in place.

Iris turned and followed his line of sight. A dust cloud rose on the east road. The porch screen slammed behind her.

“Iris, leave that and go inside.” Mrs. Lowe crossed the yard to the clothes line. “Give me those.” She took the pins from Iris's hands, untied the laundry apron and pulled it from Iris, and then fastened it to herself. “Hurry, child—hide under the pantry with Mattie.”

Iris cast a quick glance at William, but his gaze remained fixed on the approaching dust. She picked up her skirt and ran to the porch, through the door, and into the front parlor.

Mattie, William's sister, stood on the steps to the refuge beneath the pantry. “Iris…hurry.”

Iris paused near the front window and looked out. Gray uniformed cavalrymen had ridden into the yard. William and Mrs. Lowe stepped close to speak with their leader. The Captain waved commands to his men and two horsemen headed toward the barn; two more riders rounded the side of the house.

The discussion between the Captain and William grew heated. When two of the men dismounted and grasped William, Iris felt her stomach drop. “Oh, no…”

“They're coming in the back, Iris—hurry!” Mattie hissed.

Mattie's plea reached Iris just as the butt-end of a rifle slammed into William's forehead. Shaken to her core, Iris raced into the kitchen and down the steps in the pantry. She lowered the hinged floorboards above her head as the back door flew open with a bang.

Hunter and Lily Graham excerpt:

Hunter stood and touched the door. It moved. He drew his revolver and glanced toward Lily. She was pinned to his side. He tipped his head to her, she nodded, and then he pushed open the door with the barrel of his Colt.

They moved into dark interior and Hunter stepped sideways, away from the door. From the back of the house, a chair scraped across the floor. Dim light spilled from the doorway ahead. He stood still and allowed his eyes to become accustomed to the dark front room. Senses extended, he could feel the room ahead, one man seated at a table. To the left, through the opening was another room. Susan would be there. He slid his gun into his holster.

Hunter stepped around a chair and put his back to the wall beside the opening. Wind blew the front door ajar and leaves skittered across the floor.

“Hummel?” the man in the next room called. “You back?”

The scrape of the chair again. Hunter watched the light from the doorway dim as the man stepped into the opening.

Hunter slammed his fist into the man's nose, and felt it dissolve beneath the blow. He followed the man as he stumbled into the kitchen, reaching for his gun. A quick slice across the man's windpipe, and he fell onto the table, and then slid to the floor. Hunter knelt and cleaned his blade on the man's pant-leg. He caught a glimpse of Lily's skirt as she disappeared into the adjoining room.

“Hunter …”

He rose, slid his knife into the sheath at his back and followed Lily into the room. The light from the kitchen lantern illuminated an empty cot.

“… she's gone.”

I will give an E-BOOK of Hunter Double Feature to one of today’s commenters.

Be sure to leave your contact information at the end of your comment so I can contact you.  Here's the question - what is your favorite accent?

#NewRelease – Prophecy – Soul of the Witch, Book 2 by C. Marie Bowen -- #Giveaway

 By C. Marie Bowen

Soul of the Witch, Book 2 - PROPHECY by C. Marie Bowen

Amazon * Barnes & Noble * Kobo * Smashwords *  iTunes

     When I completed the first manuscript of Passage, I realized Courtney and Nichole’s story had only just begun. In fact, the second book, Prophecy, took shape in my imagination fully formed. I couldn’t get it down on paper fast enough. New characters emerged into the story with so much life and personality, they spawned their own series of short stories.

     Hunter whispered romantic French phrases in the back of my mind, while Marshal Sam Kline struggled to take care of his younger sister. They are all drawn to Denver, unaware of how quickly their lives would change.

     Although my imaginary world now brimmed with love and new opportunity, a twisted snake of evil had been released, desperate to obtain the elemental magic that had awakened him, and fulfill The Prophecy of the Twins.

     I love the pace and excitement of Prophecy along with the new characters who have stepped in to aid Nichole and Merril on The Shilo-Harris Ranch. I think you will too.

Prophecy blurb:

     As Courtney Veau manages to escape through time's PASSAGE, she returns to her life as Nichole Harris, awakening in the arms of her husband, Merril Shilo. Through the healing powers of Amy Harris, Nichole's cousin-in-law, their reunion has unleashed an evil none of them ever dreamed existed. Though Amy brings Nichole back from death through her healing magic, she receives some terrifying “help” she could never have foreseen—from another witch who looks just like her.

     Separated at birth to prevent twyning, Alyse, Amy’s twin sister, must now join with Amy in the otherworldly fight to save their very souls—and those of the people they love most.

     Near New Orleans, a deranged minister learns of a PROPHECY of twin witches who, when brought together, will unleash a powerful demon by their very existence. He hires a bounty hunter to find and kill the twins. Hunter takes the job, with plans to warn the unsuspecting targets about the insane man of the cloth and his deadly designs—but where does he begin the search?

     The Prophecy of the Twins comes into fulfillment the moment Alyse and Amy find each other, and the demon, Morago, slithers into the world of man, prepared for the hunt. Will Hunter be able to warn them in time? Will the magic Alyse and Amy possess be enough to fight such evil—or will the demon see that the wicked PROPHECY is complete?

Prophecy excerpt:

     “Who is Amy?” Her voice tight with controlled anger. Her grandmother and her uncles exchanged uneasy glances, but Alyse kept her gaze locked on Chantal. Mémé had the answers.

     “Where did you hear that name, dear-heart?” Chantal asked with a cautious smile.

All the lamps and fireplace flared for several seconds, and then returned to their former state.

     “I have a twin. Never mind where I heard her name, I should have heard it from you.” Alyse's words were darts, aimed at her grandmother. “I should have known her all my life.” Sabine and Anaïs yowled and ran from the room. Once again, flames flared, far too high for safety, and fire flickered between the fingers of Alyse's clenched fists.

     “Calm yourself, young lady!” Her grandmother gestured with her arm and doused every flame in the room with a thought.

     The room went dark, except the for the fire Alyse held in her fist. Even her powerful grandmother could not extinguish Alyse's flame. She raised her fist, opened her fingers, and bid the tiny flame on her palm to grow. It illuminated her face and reflected in her eyes.

     “I didn't know you were lying because I never looked for lies from you—from any of you.” Her gaze passed over her uncles, then returned to Chantal and her voice lowered. “I trusted you. But make no mistake, I will truth read everything any of you tells me from now on. You know I can.” Alyse tossed her flame at the fireplace, and it flared back to life, along with all the lamps in the room.

     Chantal turned away from Alyse and walked into the dining room. “Bernard, make us some tea. This is going to be a long night.” With unruffled elegance, she took a seat at the head of the table.

Start at the beginning with 

Passage – Soul of the Witch, Book 1

Amazon * Barnes & Noble * Kobo * Smashwords *  iTunes

Soul of the Witch, Book 1 - PASSAGE by C. Marie Bowen

Passage blurb:

     Courtney Veau has a “near death” experience and lives for one week in her past life. When she returns to her own time, she knows how much she has lost. The memories and emotions from her time as Nichole Harris consume her mind and heart. When she discovers Nichole's house still stands and has a room for rent, she doesn't hesitate to take it. Courtney soon finds her desire for Merril Shilo threatens her sanity, as he beckons from a past she can no longer reach.

     If Courtney could find a passage back, she would never leave Merril’s side.

I will give an E-BOOK of Prophecy to one of today’s commenters. 

     Be sure to leave your contact information, along with the answer to today’s question: Do you like your Heroes dark and mysterious, or brave and honest? What is your perfect mixture for a book-boyfriend?

The Near-Death Experience by C. Marie Bowen

The Near-Death Experience

By C. Marie Bowen

The near-death experience—an occurrence that takes place after an individual’s heart stops beating, and before resuscitation—happens all the time. Not only are NDEs a frequent phenomena, they have been experienced by humans for, well...practically forever. NDEs have been documented in all parts of the world, and have been experienced by people of all religions.

There is even a research foundation, NDERF, that allows on-line readers to document their own experience. NDERF weblink. There is no shortage of information and opinions about this phenomenon.

I once spoke with a man who had been electrocuted and was without a heartbeat for several minutes before resuscitation. He told me he did not experience anything during the time his heart stopped beating. That non-experience is also not unusual.

Since my research for Passage began well before the advent of the internet, I have a number of book references in my notes cited by Dewey Decimal numbers. I have to laugh, because now, I have more information than ever regarding NDE’s. Despite easy access to a wealth of information, the experiences and opinions haven’t changed much in 30+ years.

Dr. Bill Lansing provides some general information regarding NDEs in an NDERF article link. NDE General Information. He states that (according to P.M.H. Atwater, in Beyond the light) there are four different types of Near-Death Experiences. Atwater’s research corresponds with my own.

1) A non-experience or Initial experience. This type of experience is either cut short by resuscitation, or precedes one of the other types. Atwater suggests that this type of experience is common with individuals who require the least amount of evidence, or proof of survival after death.

2) Unpleasant or Hell-type experience. This has been described as an encounter with a threatening void or a hellish purgatory. Atwater suggests that individuals with repressed guilt, fears or anger may experience this type of NDE – expecting punishment after death.

3) Pleasant or Heaven-type experience. These include loving scenarios with family and/or religious figures, and sometimes even “beings of light.” Atwater believes these are experienced by those who require reassurance and self-validation—individuals who need to know they were loved.

4) Transcendent Experience. This type of experience is often difficult to explain. Individuals are exposed to otherworldly dimensions and visions beyond their own frame of reference. Usually, there is no personal content relating to the individual. Atwater suggests this experience is for those ready to embrace the next challenge.

The near-death experience changes people, in both positive and negative ways, regardless of which type of experience they have. You might expect the Hell-type experience to lead to guilt, anger and depression, but that isn’t always the case. This type of experience is sometimes viewed as a “wake up call” to change the type of life you lead. Likewise, the after effects of a pleasant experience can lead to broken relationships and difficulty relating to the world “as it is”, just as often as it brings ecstatic joy and fills the individual with the wonder of life.

People who disbelieve in the NDE phenomenon have sited drug use, psychological trauma, and physiological injury such as high endorphins or hypoxia (oxygen deprivation) as the root cause of this experience.

I found one article through NPR that dealt with both the individual’s experience and the scientific study of the phenomena. NPR - Decoding the Mystery of NDEs

Information on this phenomenon hasn’t changed much in 30 years. What has changed is the ability to connect with others who have had an NDE, and for people to share their experience on-line.

In Passage, Courtney Veau experiences an NDE after a car accident. When her heart stops beating, she encounters an other-worldly hallway with darkened doorways and a compelling light at the end of the hall. As she moves toward the light and familiar voices, one doorway brightens and begins to pulse with the beat of a human heart. She is drawn through that doorway and falls into her previous life. When she reawakens in a present-day hospital, she is heartbroken. Courtney Veau would give anything to return to her soul-mate, Merril Shilo, and the life she lived as Nichole Harris, if she could only find the passage back to her previous life

Excerpt from Passage:

The long shadows faded into twilight. She'd found what she came for—proof this house existed. There was no longer a reason to stay; and yet, just the possibility she might hear his voice again kept her waiting one more day.

Outside the window, night took final possession of the day. A few porch lights came on down the block. Headlights swung around the corner as a car turned onto the street and illuminated the pavement. The headlights winked off and a car door slammed.

Behind her, the room took on a familiar chill. She turned from the window and pressed her back against the heavy drapes as the echo of boots pounded up the back stairs. She gasped when he raced into the room, vaguely luminescent in the darkness. He was dressed in denim trousers and cotton shirt, with a silk scarf tied loosely around his neck. Where's his hat? Had he lost it in the dash up the stairs? That wide-brimmed cowboy hat was such a part of him he seemed naked without it. His hair had come loose from its binding, and he shoved it out of his face with a familiar motion. She stood close enough to read the emotion play across his face, a mixture of fear and bewilderment. His breath was labored, and his anxiety tangible as he stopped and looked right at her. Her mouth fell open in surprise and her heart tightened in her chest. Does he see me?

He took a hesitant step toward her. “Nichole?” His voice filled with horror, he whispered her name from another life.

“Yes! Merril, it's me.” Courtney stepped toward the specter.

His head turned. His attention called away from her open arms. “Oh, sweet Jesus.” Merril fell to his knees and reached for something no longer there. “Nicki, please don't go. Stay with me.”

“Merril, I'm here.” Her heart ached for him and for herself, but her plea went unheard.

Sobs shook his wide shoulders.

Her heart clenched to witness his despair. She longed to comfort him, to assure him she was there, but could not. In defeat, she sank to her knees beside the grieving apparition.

“Nicki, don't leave me. Look at me—” His hushed voice, choked and broken.

“I'm right here, my love,” she whispered, but the room grew warm, and Merril Shilo faded back into the past. Courtney hung her head in the darkness and fought back tears. One question was answered, at least for now.

WIN A FREE BOOK!

 Comment on the blog and leave your email address. If you like, tell me about an NDE you know of, or an “out of body” experience you have had. If you have never had an NDE, (and I never have), tell me what you believe you might find beyond the veil. Who would you speak with? The winner will receive a free e-book of Passage, Soul of the Witch – Book 1.

 Connie (C. Marie) Bowen is an award winning writer of paranormal adventures laced with suspense and romance. She grew up in Denver, Colorado and has a love of western history, science fiction, and fantasy. Her life travels have taken her from Denver to Wichita, KS and eventually settling in North Texas to raise her two boys. A LEED accredited professional, she worked as an Architectural Project Manager for retail construction prior to deciding an empty nest gave her the opportunity to follow her writing muse.

 She is a PRO member of Romance Writers of America, Fantasy, Futuristic & Paranormal Sub-chapter of RWA, North Texas RWA, and Savvy Authors.

Learn more about her books and works in progress at her website: http://www.cmariebowen.com/