By Ralph E. Horner
Paranormal Gothic Time-Travel, 282 pages
Cover art by Pat Evans
Joe Hillery meets Diehla Thorne,
the ghost of a witch who’s curse has haunted his family for three-hundred
years. On a life and death wager, she sends Joe
back to her time of 1680 New
Hampshire. There he has only two days to find a
person brave enough to touch the ring on the living witch’s finger.
Excerpt:
The
young woman’s black, flowing hair contrasted with her ivory complexion. Joe thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd
ever seen. She reminded him of a Siamese cat, as her most alluring feature was
her black, piercing, almond shaped eyes. Her nose gradually sloped down from
her narrow face then turned up at the tip. This was not Diehla.
Her
large bewitching eyes held him as she spoke. “Who are ye, and what d’ye want
here?”
Joe had his story set. He didn’t want to admit he was
traveling with a Puritan, but the way Abigail
was dressed he had no choice. “I'm Joseph
Hill and this is Abigail Jennings,
the blacksmith's daughter. We're here to see Diehla.”
The
tall woman glared at them as if they were both crazy. “Why d’ye seek Diehla?”
What
could he say that would be believable? The trees that surrounded them were
silent—no breeze stirred their leaves, as if the trees themselves were holding
their breath waiting for his answer.
“I
met her last year at a fair. She told me to visit her when I was in her area.”
“I
ask thee again, why d’ye seek her?” The woman seemed angry.
Joe cast a sideways glance at his companion. “Abigail and I want to learn magic from her.”
Abigail forced a smile. “I have never met her, but I
would be honored to join her coven.”
The
dark woman glanced at Abigail and then
Joe. “Thou say thou have met Diehla?”
“Yes.”
Joe nodded and gulped, shoving his
hands into his pockets.
The
raven-haired woman stepped aside to let them pass into the house. She followed
them in, then closed the heavy wooden door behind them. “Come this way.”
Abigail grasped Joe's
arm as they followed the robed woman down the dark, gloomy hallway. She turned
right into a candle-lit room with a wooden table near the wall to the left.
Four large chairs stood in a half circle in front of the fire place. In
between, a black cat lay on a throw rug.
The
young woman paused with her hand on the back of one the chairs. She turned to
face them. “What d'ye want with Diehla?”
Joe trembled. “We told you, we both want to join this
coven. Is Diehla home?” Joe raised his
palms in frustration. “Is she here?”
“Thou
art witch hunters?”
Joe knew Abigail’s
Puritan garb wasn’t helping his story. “We are not witch hunters!”
The
young woman slowly reached into a robe pocket and pulled out a long knife. “If
thou art witch hunters, ye shall succumb.”
Joe felt cold as Abigail
gasped. They both took a step back. “What do you mean?” Joe’s
heart hammered.
“Art
thou daft?” She glared at him. “Thou shan't leave this house alive.”
