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A time bending story with specters and a lighthouse!


cover art

This is almost a time travel post since it is the first excerpt from Specters in the Storm, dating back to when it was in the Edge of Never boxed set.  

A (time-bending feminist) detective newly arrived in 1905 must embrace a (fact-loving stuffy) professor to defeat a deadly evil threatening the fabric of the world.


The sensation of being watched crept over him. He needed to look up. He feared to do so. Off to his left, the setting sun sent rays of light under the storm, though this light did not reach them. It acted more as a distant beacon. And indicated that the storm had limits, an end if only he could reach it. The sight of the distant light eased the growing panic, gave him hope, though the sense of being watched did not ease. If anything, it became worse. The sensation was one of animus, but more than that. He felt fear in there. Anger, malice, nothing positive. His hands gripped the gunwale until his knuckles turned white. He tried to speak, but his throat turned dry and tight as if something gripped it to hold in the call for assistance from his automatons.

He wanted to claw at that hold, but he couldn’t let go of the gunwale. Couldn’t move. His chin started to lift as if impelled. When he could fight no longer, when he thought he must look and die, he was distracted by movement along the surface of the water. He blinked, sure it must be an illusion. But the sight of it, for whatever reason, eased the sense that he could not move or speak.

“Winston! ‘Ware!” He called out the alert command. This was not his imagination, he realized. It was very real. The wake made a perfect “V,” like an arrow pointing straight at him, with waves falling away from the edges of something just under the surface. It came on, swift and straight as an arrow.

A sort of howl, like the wind, but not like it either, sounded above him, then the surface of the water came to a boil. Out of the maelstrom, he saw—


A different kind of panic rose inside him. Giant tentacles.

He started to back from the edge as two of the monstrous things reached up, sliding along the bow, then gripping the gunwale close to where he’d stood.

“Ware!” he called again, the sound more a croak than a call.

A huge red dome rose from the water and giant eyes regarded him for a long moment.

There was another howl, like a wind he couldn’t feel. A jerk. Then a jolt as The Weatherman slammed into the surface of the water, yanked downward by the tentacled grip.


As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, Specters in the Storm has everything INCLUDING a kitchen sink. Seriously, there is a sink in there. I’m just twisted like that. 🙂

Perilously yours,

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