Ask the Author: John H. Adams
Answered Questions (4)
John H. Adams
Honestly, my reading list keeps changing, and as a new debut author, I’ve decided to dedicate my reading time to supporting other indie authors. We all know how important it is to build an audience and lift each other up, so I’m diving headfirst into the incredible world of indie-published books.
If you’re an indie author, drop your book title in the comments—I’d love to add it to my list! Let’s make 2025 the year of discovering fresh voices and unforgettable stories from indie authors. Together, we can grow, connect, and celebrate the amazing stories waiting to be told.
Let’s fill my 2025 reading list to the brim. Indie authors, this is your call to action—let me know about your book!
If you’re an indie author, drop your book title in the comments—I’d love to add it to my list! Let’s make 2025 the year of discovering fresh voices and unforgettable stories from indie authors. Together, we can grow, connect, and celebrate the amazing stories waiting to be told.
Let’s fill my 2025 reading list to the brim. Indie authors, this is your call to action—let me know about your book!
John H. Adams
Ok, this is a little bit of cheating. Not Quite only two sentences, but I hope you like it. It's a twist on an old one that brings it into today's world.
Tucking her son into bed, she smiled and said, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight, Mommy,” he whispered back, then paused. “But…who’s the lady under my bed?”
Rolling her eyes, she muttered, “Great, you’ve been on TikTok again. I’m not falling for the old ‘under the bed’ scare,” and bent down, prepared to call his bluff.
But instead of an empty space or some TikTok-inspired prank, she saw herself staring back—same face, same pajamas—only the version under the bed grinned wide and said, “You’re right. This is overdone, but I’ve got a new twist.”
Then the lights went out.
Tucking her son into bed, she smiled and said, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight, Mommy,” he whispered back, then paused. “But…who’s the lady under my bed?”
Rolling her eyes, she muttered, “Great, you’ve been on TikTok again. I’m not falling for the old ‘under the bed’ scare,” and bent down, prepared to call his bluff.
But instead of an empty space or some TikTok-inspired prank, she saw herself staring back—same face, same pajamas—only the version under the bed grinned wide and said, “You’re right. This is overdone, but I’ve got a new twist.”
Then the lights went out.
John H. Adams
If I could travel to any fictional book world, it would undoubtedly be Hogwarts from Harry Potter. But I wouldn’t just stop at the castle or the Quidditch pitch—I’d venture into the Forbidden Forest.
Something about the forest’s dark, mysterious allure calls to me. Imagine the thrill of wandering under its thick canopy, where the air feels alive with magic and danger. I’d keep my wand at the ready, curious but cautious as I explore its secrets. Would I stumble upon a herd of majestic unicorns grazing in the moonlight? Or perhaps find myself face-to-face with Aragog’s enormous descendants (hopefully from a safe distance)?
I’d want to test my courage and see what lies in the shadows that even Hogwarts students fear. Who knows, maybe I’d find the centaurs and earn their respect—or get hopelessly lost in the maze of ancient trees. Either way, the Forbidden Forest promises an adventure unlike any other, blending mystery, danger, and a touch of magic.
Something about the forest’s dark, mysterious allure calls to me. Imagine the thrill of wandering under its thick canopy, where the air feels alive with magic and danger. I’d keep my wand at the ready, curious but cautious as I explore its secrets. Would I stumble upon a herd of majestic unicorns grazing in the moonlight? Or perhaps find myself face-to-face with Aragog’s enormous descendants (hopefully from a safe distance)?
I’d want to test my courage and see what lies in the shadows that even Hogwarts students fear. Who knows, maybe I’d find the centaurs and earn their respect—or get hopelessly lost in the maze of ancient trees. Either way, the Forbidden Forest promises an adventure unlike any other, blending mystery, danger, and a touch of magic.
John H. Adams
The night before my nephew’s wedding, I had an encounter that still sends chills down my spine. While helping him grab a few things from his house, I stepped out of the bathroom and saw a tall, shadowy figure standing in the bedroom doorway to my right. At first, I thought it was my nephew and, startled, I blurted out, “Oh my god, you scared the sh** out of me!” But as I looked closer, I realized it wasn’t him.
The figure was completely still, blocking the light coming from the bedroom window that I had seen just moments before. Unease washed over me. Slowly, I began walking backward toward the living room, each step more cautious than the last. I called out my nephew’s name, hoping for a response, but the figure didn’t move. My heart was pounding as I reached the kitchen doorway, and finally, I heard my nephew’s voice—he was downstairs in the basement the entire time.
I glanced back toward the bedroom doorway. The shadow was gone. The window light was visible again, as if nothing had ever been there.
That eerie moment alone was unsettling, but what happened later truly cemented the experience as a mystery. My nephew turned to his soon-to-be wife at the wedding hall and said, “Tell Uncle John what you saw the other day.” Her face went pale. She hesitated before asking, “Why?” He insisted, “Just tell him.”
What she described next made the hair on my arms stand up: the same tall, shadowy figure, standing still in their house—seen not just once, but multiple times.
The figure was completely still, blocking the light coming from the bedroom window that I had seen just moments before. Unease washed over me. Slowly, I began walking backward toward the living room, each step more cautious than the last. I called out my nephew’s name, hoping for a response, but the figure didn’t move. My heart was pounding as I reached the kitchen doorway, and finally, I heard my nephew’s voice—he was downstairs in the basement the entire time.
I glanced back toward the bedroom doorway. The shadow was gone. The window light was visible again, as if nothing had ever been there.
That eerie moment alone was unsettling, but what happened later truly cemented the experience as a mystery. My nephew turned to his soon-to-be wife at the wedding hall and said, “Tell Uncle John what you saw the other day.” Her face went pale. She hesitated before asking, “Why?” He insisted, “Just tell him.”
What she described next made the hair on my arms stand up: the same tall, shadowy figure, standing still in their house—seen not just once, but multiple times.
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