Good evening folks, thanks for dropping by.

Tonight I wanted to share another sample from my forthcoming books, Where the Darkness Reigns. You can pre-order a copy using the following link:

http://amzn.eu/afUWD9Y

Before I unveil the preview, I just wanted to remind you I will be at Bradford Comic-Con on 18 February. This will be my third convention over the past 12 months, and each one so far have been an amazing day out. I’m there as a trader, though on the previous two occasions the organisers have been kind enough to sit me with the special guests. If your able to make it, come and say hello.[image error]

At the previous events I sold paperback copies of my books for £5.00 each. This time, as a one time offer, exclusive to Bradford Comic-Con, all paperbacks will be £2.50 each (RRP £5.99). Come along and grab yourself a bargain!

So, the preview of Where the Darkness Reigns… as before I’d like to showcase another new character, who will be pivotal to the story. I’ve had the character floating around in my head for a number of years, but I never had the opportunity to place her into a story… until now. She has had a couple of name changes over the years, and it wasn’t until the final drafts of WTDR that I final settled on the name she now goes by. She did appear in the last preview, but I wanted tell you more about her and share some of her backstory. So without further-a-do, I formally introduce to you, Layla Thorne…

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Layla Thorne had been a gifted medium since birth. She had inherited the gift from her father, who had inherited it from his mother, and so on and so on. The gift was always passed from father to daughter, mother to son. Layla was an only child, but none of her father’s siblings had had the gift – he was the firstborn son, as Layla had been the firstborn daughter. In the event she had a son, there was no doubt that he would also receive the gift.

At five years old, Layla had first heard the voices. It was likely she had heard them from birth, but as an infant she had been unable to distinguish the voices of the living from the voices of the dead. At first she thought it was just her imagination, and didn’t mention it to anyone. There were times her mother caught her talking to herself, but put it down to imaginative play. Then the voice would tell her things no five-year-old girl should ever hear, and ask things of her no child should ever be asked. By the age of seven, she would spend as much as time as possible listening to music through headphones in an attempt to block out the voices. If she wasn’t listening to music, she’d turn up the television as loud as possible.

Her mum wanted to refer her to a hearing specialist, but her dad, now beginning to see the signs of the gift, managed to talk his wife out of the idea. He had kept his abilities secret from his wife; the only person, other than Layla’s paternal grandmother, who would share the secret would be Layla. By the age of eight it became too much; Layla felt as though she was going insane. One day she crept into her mum and dad’s bedroom and took her mum’s knitting set out from under the bed. She freed a needle from the ball of wool and placed the pointed end into her ear. She closed her eyes and prepared to push the needle deeper inside.

A strong, rough grip took hold of her arm. She opened her eyes and looked up to see her dad. She dropped the knitting needle and burst into tears, burying her head in his chest.

That night, Mr Thorne told his daughter everything she needed to know about her legacy.

***

That night’s performance was an act, something for the old ladies. They probably knew it was an act, but they still loved it and they still paid to see it. It was all just an act… that was, of course, until the rude interruption. The problem Layla had with her gift was that she couldn’t control it – there was no on or off switch, and she could never predict when someone would visit her from the other side, or who they would be. When they did arrive, they would often take control of her body – hence the schizophrenic behaviour. As she grew older, she found that, with a little perseverance, she could shake them loose. And, more often than not, she would often forget the whole incident once the spirit had delivered its message and departed. Sometimes a few snippets would stay with her, but more often than not it was total amnesia. That was, of course, until last night.

All through the night she was plagued by nightmares; images of a young man trapped somewhere he shouldn’t be. He was being chased by what she could only describe as shadows. Her instinct told her that this wasn’t the same man who had come to her in the Rosie Crown. Perhaps he was the mysterious Joe.

She woke up in a cold sweat, her silk bedsheets sodden. Then there was a whisper in her ear, and the image of a man materialised at the foot of her bed. He was perhaps a little younger than she was, and his appearance told her that he had been through something traumatic.

Blood seeped through a circular wound in the centre of his chest; as droplets of blood fell, they disappeared into the ether. His face was scratched and dirty, and Layla noticed that his right hand had been severed at the wrist. His right leg was bare below the knee, where the trouser leg had been torn, and deep lacerations circled his ankle. He approached, sat on the edge of the bed and began to tell her a story. She nodded in agreement at what was being said, but her heart rate didn’t settle.

The spirit then left, and Layla jumped out of bed to dress. It was 3am when she left the house and headed to where the spirit had told her to go.