Kaelin C. Murphy's Blog

Sky City: The Rise of an Orphan by R.D. Hale
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

R. D. Hale is a master of words and uses them to their fullest potential, crafting each and every line of Sky City into a work of literary art. His descriptions of this futuristic world breathe life into its characters and take you into a world that becomes as real as your own existence. You find yourself as an observer in the midst of Arturo and his misfit friends as they get drawn into the rebellious battle against the “religious” extremists as they fight for humanity and their right to exist among the elite.

This is a book that encompasses many genres, sure to appeal to a wide variety of readers, and a must-read for all die hard, sci-fi fans. I wasn't one of those lucky ones that got this as a free download, but it was worth every penny I paid for it and more. A feast for the imagination!

View all my reviews

  Countdown Deal for the UK
2/8/2015 - 2/14/2014
£ 0.99 for the whole week!
Horror and paranormal  fans, you don't want to miss this one. Get your copy now!

Not in the UK, no problem, you can still get a great deal on Evil Reign here. The print version at amazon has been lowered to only $9.91, but hurry, no telling when that will change. The kindle version is set at a great price of only $2.99!

You can read more about the book and author at the author's website.

So what are you waiting for? Here's your chance to get a good book at great price. A steal of a deal!

     There was a huge ten room house that sat on the outskirts of the small town of Richmond, Maine. It stood high on the edge of a hill overlooking apple orchards and a hay field that stretched across the valley. It had been vacant for quite some time. A few families had lived there over the years, but no one seemed to live there for very long. The last owner was there for only one month before he placed a “For Sale” sign on it. Rumors began to circulate about the house being haunted and the owner kept dropping the sale price, lower and lower, with no takers. None, that is, until my Uncle Roy happened upon it.      Uncle Roy and Aunt Maxine hadn't been married for all that long, and the thought of owning a place like this was something of a dream. There was lots of land for hay fields and woods for selling lumber. The two apple orchards were just icing on the cake. The cherry on top of it all was the selling price which was rock bottom cheap. Hardly a deal they could walk away from, so they bought it.       They moved in and went on with their daily lives of running the homestead. My Uncle Ken and Uncle Jr moved in to help out, and things were coming along nicely. It meant a little more work for Aunt Maxine, though, as she had more mouths to feed and spent quite a lot of time in the kitchen preparing meals. Back then biscuits were made fresh every day, usually morning and night, to go with whatever else could be scrounged up for a meal. Dishwashers at that time stood on two legs, had aching backs, and dishpan hands.           On one particular day, the dishwasher, Aunt Maxine, was standing at the sink soaking her hands in dish-washing liquid, when suddenly she heard the sound of something heavy rolling on the roof. As she lifted her eyes and looked out the kitchen window she saw what looked like a burning log rolling off the roof and tumbling down over the steep banking behind the house. She started yelling for Uncle Roy and screaming, “The house is on fire! The house is on fire! Come quick!” They all dashed out the kitchen door and ran around the house to find—nothing. No log. No fire.       Everyone just looked at each other, then at Aunt Maxine, who promptly defended herself and what she had just seen. No one dared to call her crazy, but all could see even she was thinking maybe she was. She shook her head and walked back around the house and they all could hear her voice trail off as she said muttering to herself, “I don’t have time for this bullsh…” The door slammed behind her, cutting off her words. No one questioned her anymore about it that day. It was later discovered that it wasn't only because they feared her wrath, but because they, too, had experienced a touch of the unexplained. All three of them were certain they had smelled smoke where there was no fire. No one dared to mention it at the time, for fear of being ridiculed or called, might as well say it, crazy.       Time went by and the daily chores went on as usual. During their off time they spent hours at the kitchen table playing cards. They weren't fortunate enough yet to afford a television set. Truth be known, even if they had one they’d still be playing cards. This one night, Duke, Uncle Roy’s number one hunting dog, lay sleeping in the dining room in front of a built-in china cabinet with glass doors. Aunt Maxine kept all her finest china and prized possessions in that little nook. She didn't much like having the dog in the house, she was cat person, but since the doors of the cabinet were closed she didn't mind old Duke taking a nap beside it. Besides, she was in an extraordinary good mood, having won the last three hands of Gin Rummy. Each time she’d win she’d slap her cards down on the table and her cackle of laughter would fill the kitchen.          Just as the others were getting hopeful of winning a hand, Aunt Maxine called out, “Gin!”      “Not again,” Uncle Roy said shaking his head, “I think we should play Go Fish or Old Maids.”    That struck everyone funny and they all started laughing. In the midst of their uproar, a loud crashing sound could be heard coming from the dining room. It sounded like every dish in the china cupboard had come crashing out onto the hardwood floor. Their laughter stopped as if all the air had been sucked out of their lungs, leaving them startled as to what had just happened. They sat there for what seemed like minutes with their mouths agape, even though they knew it was only seconds, then Aunt Maxine yelled, “Roy, that dog has broken all of my dishes!”       Everyone jumped up from the table and ran into the dining room. They all came to a skidding halt, for there on the floor laid Duke; still sound asleep and not one dish was broken. The doors of the china cabinet remained closed, and they all just stood and stared at it and then at each other, not saying a word. They all knew what they heard; the breaking of glass, and plates and saucers rattling as they warbled and spun around on the floor before crashing into other dishes and breaking into pieces. No, they weren't saying a word. They all just turned and went back out into the kitchen, sat at the table, and Aunt Maxine poured them a cup of coffee. There was no more laughter that night. 


 *** This is the first of many stories to come about Uncle Roy’s House.  Please check back later for more strange, but true, tales of the unknown. ***
 Copyright © by Kaelin C. Murphy 2014 Written for www.kaelincmurphy.com blog

     There was a huge ten room house that sat on the outskirts of the small town of Richmond, Maine. It stood high on the edge of a hill overlooking apple orchards and a hay field that stretched across the valley. It had been vacant for quite some time. A few families had lived there over the years, but no one seemed to live there for very long. The last owner was there for only one month before he placed a “For Sale” sign on it. Rumors began to circulate about the house being haunted and the owner kept dropping the sale price, lower and lower, with no takers. None, that is, until my Uncle Roy happened upon it.      Uncle Roy and Aunt Maxine hadn't been married for all that long, and the thought of owning a place like this was something of a dream. There was lots of land for hay fields and woods for selling lumber. The two apple orchards were just icing on the cake. The cherry on top of it all was the selling price which was rock bottom cheap. Hardly a deal they could walk away from, so they bought it.       They moved in and went on with their daily lives of running the homestead. My Uncle Ken and Uncle Jr moved in to help out, and things were coming along nicely. It meant a little more work for Aunt Maxine, though, as she had more mouths to feed and spent quite a lot of time in the kitchen preparing meals. Back then biscuits were made fresh every day, usually morning and night, to go with whatever else could be scrounged up for a meal. Dishwashers at that time stood on two legs, had aching backs, and dishpan hands.           On one particular day, the dishwasher, Aunt Maxine, was standing at the sink soaking her hands in dish-washing liquid, when suddenly she heard the sound of something heavy rolling on the roof. As she lifted her eyes and looked out the kitchen window she saw what looked like a burning log rolling off the roof and tumbling down over the steep banking behind the house. She started yelling for Uncle Roy and screaming, “The house is on fire! The house is on fire! Come quick!” They all dashed out the kitchen door and ran around the house to find—nothing. No log. No fire.       Everyone just looked at each other, then at Aunt Maxine, who promptly defended herself and what she had just seen. No one dared to call her crazy, but all could see even she was thinking maybe she was. She shook her head and walked back around the house and they all could hear her voice trail off as she said muttering to herself, “I don’t have time for this bullsh…” The door slammed behind her, cutting off her words. No one questioned her anymore about it that day. It was later discovered that it wasn't only because they feared her wrath, but because they, too, had experienced a touch of the unexplained. All three of them were certain they had smelled smoke where there was no fire. No one dared to mention it at the time, for fear of being ridiculed or called, might as well say it, crazy.       Time went by and the daily chores went on as usual. During their off time they spent hours at the kitchen table playing cards. They weren't fortunate enough yet to afford a television set. Truth be known, even if they had one they’d still be playing cards. This one night, Duke, Uncle Roy’s number one hunting dog, lay sleeping in the dining room in front of a built-in china cabinet with glass doors. Aunt Maxine kept all her finest china and prized possessions in that little nook. She didn't much like having the dog in the house, she was cat person, but since the doors of the cabinet were closed she didn't mind old Duke taking a nap beside it. Besides, she was in an extraordinary good mood, having won the last three hands of Gin Rummy. Each time she’d win she’d slap her cards down on the table and her cackle of laughter would fill the kitchen.          Just as the others were getting hopeful of winning a hand, Aunt Maxine called out, “Gin!”      “Not again,” Uncle Roy said shaking his head, “I think we should play Go Fish or Old Maids.”    That struck everyone funny and they all started laughing. In the midst of their uproar, a loud crashing sound could be heard coming from the dining room. It sounded like every dish in the china cupboard had come crashing out onto the hardwood floor. Their laughter stopped as if all the air had been sucked out of their lungs, leaving them startled as to what had just happened. They sat there for what seemed like minutes with their mouths agape, even though they knew it was only seconds, then Aunt Maxine yelled, “Roy, that dog has broken all of my dishes!”       Everyone jumped up from the table and ran into the dining room. They all came to a skidding halt, for there on the floor laid Duke; still sound asleep and not one dish was broken. The doors of the china cabinet remained closed, and they all just stood and stared at it and then at each other, not saying a word. They all knew what they heard; the breaking of glass, and plates and saucers rattling as they warbled and spun around on the floor before crashing into other dishes and breaking into pieces. No, they weren't saying a word. They all just turned and went back out into the kitchen, sat at the table, and Aunt Maxine poured them a cup of coffee. There was no more laughter that night. 


 *** This is the first of many stories to come about Uncle Roy’s House.  Please check back later for more strange, but true, tales of the unknown. ***
 Copyright © by Kaelin C. Murphy 2014 Written for www.kaelincmurphy.com blog

There is a book giveaway being held at goodreads.com . Enter now to win a copy of "Evil Reign"
Sign up at goodreads is very quick and easy and there are many giveaways offered daily. This giveaway is limited to only the United States and Canada at this time. Please check back for a possible worldwide giveaway in the future.
Click  here  to go to the entry page. Thanks and good luck!

Kaelin C. Murphy. See this and more books, apps and Themes on iAuthor

Interrogating Ideology With a Chainsaw: Chainsaw Exorcism With Kaelin C. Murphy Author of ...: Tell me about yourself and your writing? I’m from the state of Maine. As you have probably heard, Maine is riddled with superstition, gh...

While house hunting in Massachusetts I came across an empty house for sale. I walked around it and peaked in the windows to see if it would be worth my time to call the Realtor for an inside look. It didn't look too bad, but what really intrigued me was what I saw when I looked into the basement window.  It had a finished basement, complete with a large mirrored wall and a country and western style bar.  It looked straight out of "Gunsmoke." Not that I am the bar type, but it was so unusual I just had to get an up-close look. So I called the Realtor and got an appointment to see inside of the house the very next day. My daughter, husband, and brother came with me. We got there a little early and I showed them the view through the basement window. We joked about how much fun it would be to have it as a music room. My brother and I liked to sing county and western songs and we thought this would really set the stage.On my prior visit I hadn't bothered to walk up to the front door to look inside. The door had very small windows that were a little high up to be looking into, but on this day after everyone else had taken a peak, I decided to as well. I walked up the steps and got on my tippy toes and looked in. I heard my brother say, “Not bad, huh, Sis? The living room is small, but it looks like they replaced the carpet.”Without a second thought I answered matter-of-fact, “They had to. They couldn't get the blood out.”What! What did I just say and where did that come from? I didn't think my brother even heard me. The revelation surprised me so much that I shut my mouth after that and just waited for the Realtor. She came not too long after that and opened the door for us to go in. I lagged back from everyone else, taking it all in, and tried to get my mind off the living room floor and all that blood. I finally was able to pull myself away from the living room and catch up to the others who were now getting the tour of the kitchen. I was trying to pay attention and be patient while awaiting the trip down to the basement. After she gave her sales pitch about the kitchen and its newly installed track lighting, she led us to the basement door. We followed her down the stairs and around to the left. She started talking about the mirrored wall on our right, the bar straight ahead, and how the owner had really gone all out creating a fun recreation room. She walked us to the left past the bar and into a small storage room that housed the furnace and hot water heater—and something else.I walked straight into the room and stood in the center. I said nothing to the others, but my mind was in turmoil with what I was feeling in that room. I felt there had been a struggle in there. It seemed the conflict started at the end of the bar, with a couple of guys, one each side of a young man. The argument escalated and they dragged him into the small room. They beat him up and threatened him.  This ‘feeling’ I was having, was almost like a distant memory, with flashes of movement, sounds of scuffles, and muffled voices. The echoes of days gone by muted the Realtor's voice as she finished her spiel and led us out of the little room and across the basement to a huge bedroom on the far end of the house.When we first walked through the bedroom doorway we looked to the right and saw a closet that ran the whole length of that side of the room. It was weird the way it was made. There was only one door on the end near the bedroom entrance and the closet was so narrow there seemed hardly enough room for the clothes to hang. Made you wonder how you ever got in and out of it. I peaked in. I felt sick. It was filled with depression.My daughter looked in next. She stuck her head in and backed right out, shaking her head like she had just smelled something she didn't like. I said nothing and neither did she.We all went back upstairs and the Realtor now led us to the attached garage. She said to my husband, “I know this is what you've been waiting to see.” We stepped out into the garage and it was huge. I could hear the lady again reciting her sales pitch about there being lots of room for 2 cars and a work shop, but somehow her voice seemed far away. All of my attention was being pulled toward the walls and what was written there. It looked somewhat like graffiti, yet had the feel that it was written by someone very oppressed and perhaps into Satan worship. I couldn't be sure, but that was the feeling I got.My husband started talking about the yard and how he wondered it there would be enough room to park our boat, so the Realtor led him and the others out the back door to have another look. This was my chance. I had to go back downstairs. I waited until they were all nearly outside, then I turned and hurried down the basement steps. I walked past the mirrored wall talking out loud to myself, “What is it about this place? What happened here? What?” I asked over and over, and finding no answers I went back upstairs.They were all just coming back in and my husband started talking to the Realtor. He made an unusually low offer on the house. Any other time I would have been so embarrassed that he was being insulting to bid so low, but this time I was relieved. Still, I said nothing about what I was feeling about the place. The Realtor said she’d convey our offer to the owner, but really doubted he would come down much, if any, on the price.The next day, my daughter had just come home from school and as we sat watching our opera the phone rang. It was the Realtor. I listened to what she had to tell me then thanked her and hung up the phone.“Who was that, Mom?” my daughter asked.“Oh, it was the Realtor from that house we went to look at yesterday. She said the owner didn't accept our offer.”“Oh, well that’s probably just as well, because I got a funny feeling about that place,” she said.“You did?”“Yeah, it didn't feel like a happy house. And when I looked into that closet, it felt like someone had hung themselves in there.”I was stunned. She felt the same things I did at that place! She was right. It was not a happy house. I have spent countless hours since then trying to find out what, if anything, ever happened there, but have found nothing. That doesn’t surprise me, though. Somehow I felt from the very beginning that there was something about that house that the authorities never knew and that something, someone was trying to tell me.It’s been several years and I've never forgotten that experience. Since then, I have looked at the house via Google Earth and as near as I can tell, it looks occupied. Perhaps the owner finally came down on his asking price. And if so, I have to wonder if the people still feel that they got a good deal. Do they ever feel what my daughter and I felt that day? Did our perceptions sooth that soul’s desire to be heard? Or is that desperate soul still there, waiting for someone that can hear their cry?Soon after our trip to the house on Pitman Street, we found another house for sale just a couple of blocks from the Pitman house. We went to check it out and as I was following my daughter down the stairs to the basement, I leaned ahead and whispered to her, “What do you think about this house?”She whispered back to me, “I don’t feel anything, Mom. It’s a happy house.”We bought it.

Copyright © by Kaelin C. Murphy 2014--- Written for www.kaelincmurphy.com blog