2015 was a busy year for me, which saw the publication of both Memories of a […]
I love my readers! They’re who I write for and, without them, my stories would just […]
A dead man with a full head of gray hair, still dressed in his pajamas, stumbled out the open door of the funeral home. His chest had been cleaved nearly in half, and blood still sloshed from the wound as he shambled toward them. It was Mr. Busbee, Farris imagined, the owner of the funeral home, murdered in his sleep by the woman or one of her revenants.
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