The Wild Hunt
Book One
I see ghosts.......Except my ghosts aren’t just floating see-through apparitions. They aren’t drifting clouds of mist, or glowing balls of light. My ghosts are the soundless, walking zombies of the dearly departed. They are the rotting corpses of the dead.
I am crazy........
I have never pretended to be anything else. I know that seeing the dead isn't something sane people do. No. I am fully aware of my own psychosis. Too bad knowing and accepting isn't a cure.
But.......
Something else seems to be happening around me. People are dying, people I know. And whats worse the Sheriff in town thinks I'm doing it. Even my silent rotting friends can't help me, not without a voice.
I am not a murderer.
The Night Hunt
There's a place, where no one knows,
where time stands still, and what isn't is so,
where the beasts and the darkness run hand in hand,
over the hills, through the forests, and through out the land,
they feast on the souls of those who have fled,
and their job isn't done until the last one is dead,
if you hear the low howling or the hounds at your feet,
run hard and run fast or you'll surely end up their meat,
beware of the lady who runs but doesn't growl,
she'll find you in dreams, and so starts the deadly prowl.
where time stands still, and what isn't is so,
where the beasts and the darkness run hand in hand,
over the hills, through the forests, and through out the land,
they feast on the souls of those who have fled,
and their job isn't done until the last one is dead,
if you hear the low howling or the hounds at your feet,
run hard and run fast or you'll surely end up their meat,
beware of the lady who runs but doesn't growl,
she'll find you in dreams, and so starts the deadly prowl.
By Gideon Monroe
(An original character from The Wild Hunt)
SCENT HOUND
The Wild Hunt
Book 1.5 Series Novella
Few things in this world turn my stomach the way a large city does. The undertones of fried food and urine are the perfect pairing to the overwhelming scent of garbage and body odor. My fragile nose hates cities, but my job requires my presence in them. No one in the sticks hires private investigators. There are not enough paranoid rich wives, or jealous rich husbands, not to mention the absolute absence of corporate espionage. I’m what you call a scent hound. My ability makes it possible for me to smell not only the garbage in the dumpsters, but the place that serves fried chicken a mile away. My biggest advantage in this business is that I can actually smell your secrets. Every emotion gives off a certain smell. Only gifted people, or creatures I should say, are capable of distinguishing the subtle differences. Just like perfume can smell differently on people so too can a particular feeling.
Envy for instance, is a pungent odor so sour it’s almost dripping with lemon. It is almost identical to hate. I am one of a few people that can tell the difference. I’m sort of a connoisseur of scent. I can smell your lies, your fears, and your deepest and darkest desires. If you have something to hide, I’m your worst nightmare. I’m a living, breathing, and walking lie detector. I can smell you down to the type of soap you use, your morning ritual, and the last time you took a hand and stroked your favorite body part. Everything leaves behind a scent…Everything.
The Otherside
Book Two
The Wild Hunt Series
Have you ever had a dream you thought for sure was real? I have, accept when I woke up the monsters didn't
disappear. My monsters waved hello and went about their normal lives...they are
real...and I'm one of them.
I can see the souls of the dead, and I assure
you they aren't pretty. The dead are terrifying, wandering between the mortal
world and the Otherside until I can release them. I need to travel to the land of
the dead...to find a killer, and save a friend. But ghosts aren't the only
things that can hurt me, other beings, reside within the realm. The distance
between my friends and I grows larger as my trip draws near.
I am trying to keep a foot in both
worlds but realize too late, that I don’t really belong in either. I am alone,
and the only way to keep them all safe is to stay that way, but love sometimes
has other plans for us. And as the saying goes...the path to hell is paved with
good intentions, and hell itself...is full of none.
But it sure is beautiful.
Dead Silence
The dead don't speak, but they want to be found,
they wait in the the shadows of this life till I release their earthly bounds,
they'll roam in silent agony waiting just for me,
one touch is all it takes to finally set their spirits free,
a flash of their last moments, a pull of rotting flesh,
is all I have to guide me on this true and noble quest,
the forest is my playground, the hounds my faithful friends,
they are my only companions in the silence of the dead.
By Lorelei Preston
(An Original character from The Wild Hunt)
Soul Eater
Expected Publication: 2015
Something is devouring the souls of the dead, and instead of sending them to the Otherside, the souls are disappearing altogether.I've had a pretty tough year.
Not only did I discover that the creepy stalking zombies I've been seeing since birth are real and not delusions, but I found out they were the ghosts of the dead.
I can release them.
Unfortunately with a new ward under my care and a supernatural government agency hunting for him, my hands are already pretty damn full. Life of course could give two shits about my problems. I've got to fix the black-hole sucking souls or lose my best friends child forever.
How do you fight an ageless Fairy King?
You don't. Not if you like living. But I decided a long time ago that I wasn't going to die. I hate bindings and no one is going to make me a slave in death. Now I just have to make sure I don't die trying.
How Do you weigh a Soul?
“How do you weigh a soul?
Is it heavy with love or hate?
Does it deny the things it's done?
Does it even remember its own name?
Does it miss those it has loved?
Does it long for the life it's lost?
How do you weigh a soul?
After it has paid the highest cost,
Does it lose the will to live?
Without a physical shell
Does it sense without hands
That can touch and truly feel
Does it need sustenance to last?
A cold drink or warm meal
How do you weigh a soul?
Are souls even real?”
Is it heavy with love or hate?
Does it deny the things it's done?
Does it even remember its own name?
Does it miss those it has loved?
Does it long for the life it's lost?
How do you weigh a soul?
After it has paid the highest cost,
Does it lose the will to live?
Without a physical shell
Does it sense without hands
That can touch and truly feel
Does it need sustenance to last?
A cold drink or warm meal
How do you weigh a soul?
Are souls even real?”
By Ashley Jeffery
