Would you believe it if I told you I was on the debate team in high school? That’s right. I was a dork. Who would have guessed?
There was also this program called Toastmasters—an extra-curricular activity that supposedly taught students to have confidence and stage presence when addressing crowds. (I’m still bitter that they made me redo a speech. Apparently, it’s impossible to tell if I mastered the skills they were teaching while I delivered a well-researched and respectful speech on Jack the Ripper. They could only do that if I talked about my puppy for five-minutes.)
I bring this up because both programs ran after hours. And, since I took the bus to school, I was left to walk going home, alone across the empty campus. There’s something inherently off about seeing an area that should be teeming with life suddenly abandoned.
It didn’t matter that I had just spent the entire day running around these buildings. The little paranoid side of me would always whisper that something was wrong.
It wasn’t the only time I’ve had that feeling. Just pass by a playground late at night and you’ll get the same sensation. I think it was the repeated exposure that left it so fixed within my memories.
So, when the time came to write Spring Slaughter, I decided it was high time to switch that feeling around. To have a place that you know is dangerous, suddenly looking safe and inviting.
It’s book four of The Bell Witch series, and Black River had reopened for business.
Bring the kids.
For the best reading experience, read The Bell Witch series in the following order:
See you in the shadows,