Cover Reveal ~ His Cemetery Doll by Brantwijn Serrah

Coming October 24th!

A new novel from Brantwijn Serrah and Breathless Press

 

There's a woman in the

graveyard.

Conall Mackay never put stock in ghost stories. Not even

after thirteen years serving as the cemetery keeper in the village of Whitetail

Knoll. But things change. Now, his daughter is dreaming of a figure among the

tombstones. The grounds are overrun by dark thorns almost faster than Con can

clear them. White fog and gray ribbons creep up on him in the night, and a

voiceless beauty beckons him from the darkest corners of the graves.

 

 

When the world he knows starts to unravel, Conall might

finally be forced to believe. 

 

Excerpt:

 

He hadn't slept long before he heard

sounds from down in the kitchen below.

"Shyla!" he called gruffly.

"Weren't you heading into town?"

No answer came from below, but the

sounds of pots clanging told him his daughter toyed about down there. Perhaps

she'd decided not to leave him after all and taken it into her head to now

re-organize the house, since he'd so clearly wanted her to stay out of the

cemetery. With a low groan, Conall rolled out of bed and stepped out into the

hall.

"Shyla!" he called again,

coming to the head of the stairs. If she had stayed home, she could at least do

it without making a lot of noise.

"Shyla, I—"

He staggered then, as the hallway

dimmed. Afternoon light flickered strangely, lightning cracking a dismal sky

outside, and in the space of time afterward everything else darkened. Conall

darted a glance around him as the house fell into shadow.

From the top of the stairwell, he saw

the first whispering tendrils of white fog.

The heat of adrenaline shot through his

limbs. Conall stumbled back into his bedroom, even as the fog pursued. His gaze

shot to the window as the last gray light of day faded away and eerie darkness

replaced it, like an eclipse sliding over the sun.

More cold mists veiled the glass, dancing

and floating. Trembling overtook him as he spun to find another escape.

He froze, finding himself face-to-face

with the broken mask of the cemetery doll.

"You—" he gasped. His breath

came out white as the fog enveloped them both, leaving a space of mere inches

between them, so he could still see her expressionless face. Gray ribbons wound

and curled through the air around him.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The doll stared up at him. He sensed her

searching, looking into his eyes even though hers remained covered. She held

him there with her unseen gaze, until her cool, cold hand came up to touch his

bare chest.

Conall let out a low breath. He closed

his eyes, and a shudder of strange ease rippled through his body. The cool pads

of her fingers ran down his sternum, to his navel. The silky ribbons brushed

along his side.

Then he noticed her other hand. She

lifted it up, to her own chest, and she held something tightly in her fingers:

Shyla's stuffed dog.

"I made that...for my daughter,"

he whispered. The woman with the broken mask tilted her head down toward the

small toy, studying it. For a fraction of a second, her fingers appeared to

tighten around it. She returned her gaze to him, then, and the toy fell from

her grip into the fog, forgotten.

"Wait—" he said, but she

brought her other hand up to his chest to join the first, and he recognized

eagerness in the way she pressed her icy skin against his. Her face tilted to

him, and then came her lips again, ivory and flawless.

"I—" Conall breathed.

"I...don't understand..."

Her fingers slid up, around his neck,

but he pulled away.

"No, this...this can't real. I'm

asleep. I must be."

Gray ribbons danced, pulling him back to

her, and she stroked his face. He sucked in a breath at her touch and found his

own hand coming up to brush hers.

"You're so cold," he said.

"Like stone...but..."

Her cool touch thrilled him; it made his

skin tingle and the heat of his own body sing. Her perfect flesh did, in fact,

prove soft under his hands, as if the contact with his worn calluses infused

cold ivory with yearning. She caressed his cheek, and Conall leaned into it.

Before he could stop himself, he bowed his head to her and kissed her frozen

lips.