Your Mid-Week Update for 12/30/20

What a fucking year it’s been. I honestly couldn’t tell you everything that’s happened – that’s why I write all of this down, so I don’t have to remember – but I know things are different from when this year started. I have a new career, I have one less friend, I’m slowly overcoming my paranoid anxiety, I’m learning to let go of the people and things I can’t control. Of course, I miss Jason and Heather (in very different ways) but I can’t bring them back by wishing. If Jason wants us in his life again, he’ll let us know.

James and I are…okay. You know when you get so used to saying something that it becomes habit even if you don’t entirely believe it? That’s sometimes how I feel about James. It feels like he’s always been a part of my life and I have always loved him. I say that even though I think…

I don’t really know who he is as a person. I know who he is to me, I know who he is to Casey and the kids, I know his role in the world. But I couldn’t tell you what his favourite tv show is – I don’t know that it even matters but it occurred to me as I was reflecting on the year. There’s a very specific reason we don’t talk to his parents that I will never share on this blog (I will tell you that if I could: their bodies would be found hanging from six separate trees in the middle of downtown. They don’t get to hide).

He’s always been his own person and I love him for that. There’s a lot of reason’s I love him but there’s all these little things about him that I don’t think I could name. Things that maybe don’t matter because we’re connected by the big things.

Things have become stagnant between us, that’s for sure. We’ve been coasting for a little while now and I understand why. Raising a psychopath, murdering another, restarting our lives in the middle of a global pandemic. We’ve been busy.

Maybe this year, I set some resolutions around rekindling our relationship. Strengthening our relationship wouldn’t be a complete waste of time. I’d really like it, actually. I want to get back the couple who had sex on the kitchen floor, who’s idea of foreplay was picking out a victim to murder in the garage before going out to a fancy dinner. Not a lift before kids (because we definitely did all of that with Sandra and Jason in the next room) but a life separate from the kids. A life separate from work and stress and obligation and fear.

Just the two of us.

I want my husband back even though I’m the one who lost him.

This wasn’t a very fun update so how about a gruesome fun fact?

A human can survive in a 250-degree heat (Fahrenheit) for about five minutes before their lungs would shrivel up and the liquid in their body would boil. They would literally burn from the inside out.  

Something I was thinking about while cooking my Christmas turkey.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 12/23/20

Remember how I was complaining about the lack of snow in my area? Well, I don’t regret it at all. The snow is up to my fucking waist and I am so happy. James and Casey are complaining about having to shovel just to get to the end of the driveway, but I am just so excited to make up for lost time.

All those bodies I can hide. All the death by exposure excuses for the coroner. All the white out conditions that can blindside a victim at three in the afternoon.

I’m like a kid at Christmas.

Speaking of Christmas.

I think this will be the first year in a long time that I haven’t spent it with my parents. Though, I honestly can’t remember what I did last Christmas since this entire god damn year has taken three decades off of everyone’s lives. I can barely tell you what I did a few months ago.

Oh no wait, I can: I was running with Heather all over the country trying to catch a woman that I don’t entirely believe existed in the first place.

Never quite going to be over how badly I let myself believe there were still monsters out in the world. That paranoia and obsession took hold of me so easily but the truth is: I’m still the scariest thing out there. I let Heather get to me because I trusted her and I wanted to believe that there was still more adventure to be had.

James pointed out that maybe I like being in danger. I like having people after me. I asked me if I like being scared. I was going to tell him that he was crazy for even thinking it but honestly… it was just nice to have something to do. You know, I was going stir crazy all year, trying to piece my family back together after Jason left. Having this other thing to focus on – this villain outside the home – helped me refocus.

But I still can’t remember what I did last Christmas. As it is: my parents can’t come over so it’ll just be the three of us. I want to reach out to Jason (even just a phone call to wish him a Merry Christmas would be better than not seeing him at all) but I don’t know where he is.

I could find him, if I wanted. I could track him down and confront him or make him come home. It’d be very easy.

But he left for a reason. And I will not lose another child if I don’t have to.

So this year, it’ll just be the three of us. And it’s enough.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 12/09/20

Where the fuck is all the fucking snow? The only thing I was looking forward to doing this winter was dismembering bodies and hiding them in the snow to be discovered in the spring. Imagine people waking up one morning in March to discover the city has blossomed overnight with limbs and heads and intestines. Like a garden of gore.

Fuck, I’m really disappointed about this.

I don’t know what it’s like for y’all, but usually this time of year, I can’t leave the house with less than three layers on. I am used to complaining about living in the cold but enjoying the snow because it means I can freeze a body and leave it to be found later. I’ve talked about this many times. If you’ve been following my journey for a few years you know that I love going on rants about how great snow is for murdering people.

Precipitation is a killer’s best friend.

But this year, for whatever reason (please note the sarcasm in my typing), I haven’t had to wear my winter boots once this season. I haven’t had to break out any of the heavy gear, the temperature hasn’t dropped low enough to warrant pouring the road salt.

Now, I’m not complaining about the weather.

Well, I am.

But I’m not mad about how warm it is. I’m mad that there’s no snow.

I understand the juxtaposition. Let me be mad about this. This is something petty I can complain about that has no actual bearing on my life or the lives of my family. It’s new. I like it. I like getting to be a petty bitch sometimes and complain about shit completely outside of my control so I can go back to my life and deal with the horrible things that are in my control but suck so much.

And lately, that feels like a lot. It feels like there are a lot of things that are big. And maybe I can make a difference but everything is hard and everything is huge and there’s no end in sight to any of it. The one thing I was looking forward to was some familiarity in the winter. Having some hope that things can be normal again (if that’s even a thing). If this is the new normal, I just need to know so I can move on and actually figure some things about. Because right now, it feels like I’m just making do. I’m getting tired.

And on top of it all: there’s no fucking snow.

This wasn’t a really funny entry.

Sorry.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 12/02/20

Is it horrible that I miss Heather?

She deserved to die for betraying my family but now I have no one to talk to. Is it better to be right or to be lonely? That’s the question we’re contemplating this week, I suppose. Not for long, mind you (I’m tired) but it is worth pursuing.

I claim that I make no exceptions. No one is beyond scrutiny and if they hurt me, I remove them from my life. Some might say that’s a healthy way of living: cultivating your experience and refusing to tolerate those who would take advantage of you. But I have made exceptions.

I didn’t kill my husband. If he were anyone else, he wouldn’t be turning 45 today. But back then, he didn’t matter. He was a no one who knew my secret and yet I let him live. Of course, I made some excuse about needing someone on the inside but the truth is, I was doing just fine without him. I made an exception because I was lonely and I liked him.

I should have killed Sandra back when she just thought she might know my secret. The day I told her the truth should have been her last day on earth but it wasn’t. Instead, she was stolen from me and I lost so much more than a daughter.

Hell, Jason is out there roaming the streets god knows where, knowing everything and wanting nothing to do with this family. They should never find his body for all the shit he knows. But I made an exception.

Does that make me more or less human to have people I care about enough to protect despite their ability to hurt me? Because every day, I wake up and make the choice to keep killing – to keep putting them in danger – because it’s something I want to do.

And then I meet someone and trust them enough to share my secret and at the first sign of betrayal, I kill them.

While, I don’t kill them, a fifteen-year-old psychopath kills them.

I suppose the big difference here is that James never betrayed me. Not like this. Would I forgive him if he was the one who’d done this? Would I let him live because I selfishly need him in my life? Is it better to be safe or be lonely?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 11/25/20

Do you ever dream of a specific murder, knowing you will never be able to see it come to fruition? Sometimes, time, distance, or the laws of physics intervene but one day, I’m going to be the first woman to commit murder on the moon and then nothing can stop me.

In reality, it’s more likely that Casey will be the one to earn that title but it will be a leap forward for womankind regardless.

So anyways, I had a dream where I basically skinned a man alive. I cut a piece on the inside of his elbow and dragged it towards his fingers like I was pulling a sleeve off (because it was a dream, of course, it came off in one piece. So I did that to both his arms and naturally he was screaming bloody murder the whole time.

Am I allowed to use that phrase? Can you actually say “screaming bloody murder” in the context of a bloody murder in which the victim screamed?

Who would I ask about that?

So I tore the skin off his forearms like a glove, he was screaming, it was all going fine. Then I cut just below his clavicle and around his back as a reference point because obviously, you have to save the head for last. The head is the best part because if you do it right, they’ll still be alive even after they’ve lost most of the blood in their body. So long as the brain as not registered that the heart has stopped pumping blood, you’ve got a bit of time on your hands.

Have you ever watched a person realize that they are dead? Not “going to die”. Actually dead. It’s fascinating. It’s not the same as someone accepting that they will die. Those reactions are pretty standard. Some accept it, some are terrified, some are confused. Nothing overly exciting (though if you get a chance to watch the light leave a person’s eyes, it is truly magical).

But watching someone realize that they have already died. It’s something else.

See, if their body has died before their brain has full registered it, there are a few seconds or even minutes where you can see on their face – especially their eyes – that they’re existing in a way that they shouldn’t. It’s like for that short time, they are an alien or a monster on this planet, completely unwelcome even by themselves. They shouldn’t be here and they don’t want to be here, but they’re trapped.

It’s quite a fascinating expression.

So I always try to leave the head for last.

In my dream, I outlined the head so I knew where to stop carving, and then started doodling. It’s really fun to cut pictures into flush, like tattoos. It’s a little easier than shaping leather and if your knife is sharp enough, it’s like cutting construction paper, but you are leaving a lasting impression in a way that’s only for the two of you. It’s an intimate art show – though not like the one I convinced James to go to with me on a dare and we ended up getting kicked out for laughing too loudly. This is about the psychological aspect as much as it is the physical torture.

I remember I wasn’t as concerned about that, though. I suppose, it’s really weird to be thinking inside a dream without somewhat realizing that it’s a dream. I was more focused on making a map. For the life of me, I wish I could remember what was on the map but I distinctly remember that I drew a map on this man’s torso (with valleys and mountains and stretches of road and rivers carved in). It was very detailed.

By the time I had finished with my mysterious map, there wasn’t much of his torso left, so I dug to the deepest point and sliced the whole thing off so I could preserve the map. Then I moved down to his legs and peeled them off the same way I had his arms. Somewhere near the end of the mapmaking was when he stopped screaming and I remember stabbing him in the thigh to see if he was alive (he was) so I kept on going. After I had used his skin like leg warmers, I went to his feet and at each toe, I pulled as hard as I could until I’d dislocated it, and then put it off where the bone separated.

Dream physics. We’ve discussed this already.

I also know it was a dream because everything was covered in blood. Me, him, the floor, the walls, the ceiling. But nothing was drying. I have a love/hate relationship with dried blood. On one hand, I love the reminders of all the lives I’ve taken and being able to peel or scrub them before bedtime as a way of commemorating the day’s work. On the other hand, dried blood doesn’t come out of ANYTHING. True, I have perfected my techniques for keeping clothes clean, and all the chemicals that actually do their job, but I wouldn’t have had to if blood wasn’t so damn hard to get out.

The best part of my dream was definitely the thick, dark red liquid that shone on the surface of the walls like it was fresh despite knowing it would take hours to get the body to the state it was in.

After I’d removed parts of his toes, I stabbed him in both thighs (right where I’d made the first stab – reduce, reuse, recycle), and pulled downwards, tearing at the muscles and tissue underneath until it all fell open to the bone. I left that open, however, I don’t know why I didn’t tear it off as well.

Regardless, I then moved up to the head, where his face was stained with tears and arterial spray. I don’t think he even had the strength to beg for his life at this point. I cut off both of his eyelids and his lips (but left his mouth there, I just took the pillow-y bit). I stuffed all four on top of his tongue and made him swallow. I could see the bits moving down his throat and on track to his stomach because it was all open but still functioning (DREAM). It was fascinating.

You know, if my life had taken another path, I might have become a nurse or doctor. My fascination for human anatomy takes on a more practical nature instead.

More practical than being a doctor, you say?

Shut up.

Once his eyeballs dried out, I just plucked them right out of their sockets and left them hanging there. But I did dig through to his brain through the eye socket and poke around there for a bit. I left a few knicks and cuts where I could reach but otherwise, I was just trying to mess with him.

I played with his brain for a little while and then I carved a straight line across where his eyes had been, circled his skull and peeled off the top. There was still the skull in the way but the top half of his head was gone.

That was when the man opened his mouth and I think he was going to try and speak.

And then I woke up.

Now I really want to try some of the stuff I dreamed about but how the fuck am I going to do all of that? In the middle of a pandemic? With my budget? Are you kidding me?

Not to mention all that blood would dry so fast in this weather and then I’d be left with this huge mess to clean up.

I was so excited but I just don’t think it can ever happen.

Which is such a shame because it looked really cool.

Oh well.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 11/18/20

I hate the fucking people who don’t understand that their decision to be a douchebag affects everyone around them.

I am a serial killer. I murder people in horrible, gruesome ways, and I derive a small amount of sexual pleasure from getting away with it for over twenty years. And even I have the decency to wear a fucking mask and keep my distance.

To be fair, I enjoy the mask wearing because it adds a layer of anonymity which makes my job a little bit easier. But also I’m not a monster.

Well, I am, but not in a general sense. I understand the concept of protecting yourself and others from a deadly, horrible virus and not potentially killing just anyone.

Again, I see the irony but I am claiming the moral high ground over people who don’t wear masks and you can’t stop me.

I haven’t really talked about the pandemic beyond complaining about everything – and worrying about my father (who is okay, his care home is no longer in lock down and they’ve had no more cases in several weeks). I simply feel powerless in this situation. We’re going on eight months and some people have already decided that they’re over it and it’s only making things worse. I just got a new job, if we have to go into lockdown again and I’m trapped at home, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.

Either that, or start writing a novel or something. I tried picking up hobbies when this whole thing began but nothing really panned out. I have been wondering, lately, if I shouldn’t try my hand at writing fiction. Like “Basic Instinct” but better because I understand the difference between coincidence and an alibi. Just because she wrote the book, does not mean she couldn’t have committed the crime. That’s nonsense.

So anyways, I’m better than Sharon Stone, is my point.

I don’t actually remember what my point was. I just remember waking up and seeing the reports of cases spiking all over the place and I got really angry at the world for a second.

As I should, because the world is a shitty place that allows people like me to make claims like: a serial killer is better than an irresponsible douchebag, and is also better than Sharon Stone. And none of you can dispute my claims because there is so much anonymity that you will never know how much of what I’m writing is real, or pure fiction in preparation for my novel.

Every lady needs a hobby, after all.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 11/11/20

 I love what I do.

I don’t know if that’s ever been made clear by…the very existence of this blog…but I have found something that brings me genuine joy in life. Not many people can say that. I know I’m lucky and I also know that in order to maintain the lifestyle that allows me to do what I love, I must make certain concessions.

That was one of the things I always knew. The day I shoved that cleat into the back of the Homecoming King’s skull, I knew that there would be sacrifices. After all: one cannot live on murder alone. I would need a life to lay over my passions to could cover any trace of wrong doing.

And for over 20 years, I have more of less been able to do that. Sure, the police have come close or some crazed maniac has decided to take the law into his own hands. Last summer seems like a lifetime ago but even then, I kept my secret and my family safe and I was able to start over. I have slaughtered and buried and conned every single person who came after me – who threatened my way of life.

I’m not about to let some stupid job ruin me.

I need this job. I was a temp before the pandemic because starting over meant completely restarting my career (and then the world imploded). I am more than qualified but this year has been a shit show in so many ways that I couldn’t get anything to stick.

But I finally got a job that was a strong as my old one at covering my lies. No one will look at me twice, no one will think of me once they walk out the door, I am more than qualified and I have a husband who works miracles with a police background check.

The problem is: I want to murder every single one of my colleagues. Every single one of them. That’s a lie: the janitor was very kind and patient and has been working extremely hard through this whole ordeal.

It’s all the people I have to see in the daylight and convince myself not to bludgeon with their little desk placard. It’d be a personalized murder, how fun!

I need this. I can work at a bank, I can work with the customers, I can refrain from killing the people I work with – more than I already have in the past…because I have killed quite a few of my colleagues over the years. Maybe that’s why people were always getting close. Huh.

I will refrain from killing them for now but if Kim tells me one more story about her sister’s dog, I am going to staple her lungs together, inflate them into a balloon and send her body parts flying into the air like their own little dirigible.

I am over this shit.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 11/04/20

 Well…

And that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.

I have, however, come to the conclusion that I am going to continue committing murder regardless of whether some random woman who cannot be found in watching me. I wondered the other day if maybe Heather had been the mystery woman and that was why she was so quick to kill the PI before he revealed her identity. Perhaps she had some vendetta against me (even though she’s the one who killed her husband and I only helped clean up the body and it wasn’t until later that she learned why I didn’t freak out upon seeing a corpse in her living room) and decided to track me down and hurt me. So she stole my journals, had people figure out where I went, and then called me to fully infiltrate my life.

And then I remembered that while my life does have it’s outlandish and dramatic moments, I do exist in some form of reality where supervillains and soap opera plots are not commonplace, and thus, my theory was likely incorrect.

So there is still some woman out there who knows more than she should about me and my family but the decision I made this weekend (after discussing it with James and Casey, of course, as they were significantly involved) that we’re going to continue with business as usual and deal with the consequences as they present themselves. Knowing my stalker isn’t with an official organization does bring me some ease. It’s a lot easier to kill a civilian with a grudge than it is to murder a federal agent and pray no one notices them missing.

To celebrate our decision, the three of us went out on Halloween night to find a few corpses to create.

Is it considered “creation” is you’re taking away in order to turn it into something else? Grammar is not my friend (is that even a Grammar question? Good lord!).

The point I’m trying to make is that we went out to kill a few people because it’s Halloween and we’re all about celebrating the holidays in my house. We went looking for adults who were either partying or causing mischief as they should have known better. Children trick or treating is a little different as they are young and impressionable and if I could get their parents away from them, I might consider it but it was easier to go after drunk adults who went outside a house party to pee in a bush.

The bush wasn’t even in the right backyard. This man went two houses over, walked into a stranger’s front yard, and peed in their bush. He had to get his throat slashed and his penis removed. It was a public service.

Casey picked out a young woman we found stumbling out of a club that was filled with people. How, I have no idea because I thought there were regulations in place. We followed her for several blocks until she was well into the poorly lit downtown underbelly and I let Casey hop out and do her thing. She came back completely clean except for a drop of blood on her chin so I was very proud of her clean up skills. I also made a joke about her being a vampire and she looked me dead in the eyes and told me “it would make sense, wouldn’t it.” She fits into our family dynamic so well.

Beyond that, we’re all adjusting to life as we know it, trying to find a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos of the year. I have a job interview at a bank later this week so I’m hopeful that we truly can find our balance. I think we’ve earned it, don’t you?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 10/28/20

I have decided that I am not going to let Heather’s death or my possible impending doom deter me from celebrating my favourite holiday. I want to be able to hang bodies in some stranger’s front yard and record their screams as my lullaby.

I’m just kidding. I’m dark, just not that kind of dark. I generally fall asleep to the sound of my husband snoring, and occasionally some white noise. The swinging dead bodies is real though – and they definitely scream.

When I was young, I always assumed that horror movies just had bare-breasted women screaming for the sake of the drama but I can tell you from years of experience: people do actually scream when they see a dead body. Full body, trembling shrieks. I will admit, hearing it and knowing I’m the cause of such an intense emotion, does fill me with no short amount of pleasure. It’s the closest I’m going to get screaming fans of my work; I might as well enjoy it.

Which brings me to my latest hobby: ancient serial killers.

I’ve always knows that so long as there were people in the world to murder, there were murderers to act out those deeds, but I have never taken the time to actually look into who those people were. It’s actually quite fascinating.

A favourite of mine is this guy from Greek mythology (I think his name was Sinestro – no, that’s a Green Lantern villain…whatever). He would meet a man on the road and then when they branched off, he’d circle around and catch the man by surprise, leading him deep into the woods. There, he had pulled two trees to the ground so their trunks were bent inwards, and he tied the man’s arms to one tree and his legs to the other. Then, he released the bent trees so they flung apart, the man was cleaved in half.

How. Cool. Is that?

I have no idea how I would work the mechanics in modern times but isn’t that so cool? I want to try it but I don’t know where I’d find bendy tress this time of year.

The other thing you discover in these ancient and medieval tales, is how sexist everyone was. All the time. And I’m well aware that a lot of ancient mythology is tainted by the western overrun of Christianity and Christian views of women were less than stellar. Are less than stellar. But the amount of stories I found about women who poisoned their husbands for money and power…it’s hardly news. Or the women who jump from husband to husband because they can’t make up their minds. I read about a woman tried for witchcraft who escaped persecution, so they arrested her son and her best friend instead. The friend was burnt at the stake in her place while her son was given a list of good deeds to perform and when he couldn’t, he was flogged and sent home.

There is a part of me that is so grateful for all the women who burnt at the stake or were painted as floozies throughout history because they paved the way for me and other women to live our lives a little better.

It’s still really shitty, all the things they went through just to get here. And here isn’t particularly great either.

I guess all I can hope is that when it’s Casey’s turn to take up the long-held tradition, the world will be a little better for her.

Maybe by then, there’ll be more bendy trees so I can eviscerate a man with the help of mother nature.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 10/21/20

Did you know that there are types of serial killers? Of course you did; you haven’t been following me for this long, and not picked up some general knowledge about murderous statistics. I find those numbers fascinating because I demand to defy the odds.

Also my dress is squeaking as I lean against the desk. It’s very distracting.

Quick rant: I never learned how to type properly. It drives me nuts. I learned cursive, and I learned to type on my mother’s typewriter like a fucking nerd, and then when computers became mainstream (oh my god), there were typing classes but the curriculum at my school didn’t implement it until it was too late.

Obviously, I can type, but that way that you’re supposed to type (with you hands and wrists at a certain angle and your feet flat on the ground, and the asdf;lkj bullshit) has never made it into my brain. Things would be so much easier if I could type with all my fingers in a proper manner.

Anyways.

Types of serial killers.

For those who don’t know, there are four classifications of serial killers (serial killers being defined as three or more murders committed by the same person or persons over a significant period of time):

Thrill-seekers, mission oriented, visionary, and control.

There’s also Black Widow, Spree, and Lust (and a few others I can’t remember right now and I’m too lazy to look up) but those can fit into the four main categories if you try hard enough.

Basically, thrill-seekers do it for the attention, mission oriented have an end goal, visionaries have lost their marbles, and controllers do it for fun.

Guess which category I fit into.

That’s right, none of them. Did you not read my earlier statement about defying the odds?

The reason I’ve survived as long as I have is because I don’t fit any statistic. You can’t track me on a map. Anyone who knows of my life is either dead or an accomplice. Or both.

Except for her. The unnamed woman. The bane of my existence. What the fuck am I supposed to do about her? I can’t find her; I have no idea where to even start looking. As long as she’s out there, I have no way of knowing how much she knows or what she plans to do with that information. It just sits in the back of my mind, this terrifying reminder that my family and I are not safe.

Do you remember what happened the last time I went crazy?

Things suck right now. The world is awful. I need this consistency – this security – and that woman (whoever she is) is threatening my way of life.

There aren’t a lot of things I can control right now.

But I can sure as hell find a way to get her out of my head. It’s the same way I get rid of all my problems: Daniel, Charlotte, Andrew, all the others.

I hunt them down and destroy them. I remove them from existence slowly and painfully. I take pleasure in watching the light leave their eyes whenever possible (even if I didn’t kill Andrew myself, he’s dead because of me).

I protect the family I built through blood and tears no matter what.

I have to find her. And add her to the collection.

I won’t give in to the madness.

I can’t.

Not again.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 10/14/20

I have been reluctant to confront Heather all week. Obviously. That shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. This woman was my secretary, and then my accomplice, and then my friend, and then my traitor. I had no idea what to say to her. If I’m being perfectly honest, part of me didn’t want to know if I was right about her.

I thought I’d finally found someone who could be my friend. Not my lover, not a victim, not a charge; just a friend. And she was that to me, except I can’t trust her anymore. She became a liability the minute she answered the door for that woman.

A woman I can’t find because Heather killed my only lead. I can’t trust that she did it to protect me. Because what if she didn’t? What if she did it for herself – to keep me from finding out worse things about her. Was her husband’s death an accident or did she luck out and make friends with a serial killer?

I can’t ask her anymore.

Heather’s dead.

I didn’t even do it.

Casey – my terrifying angel – she got up from the table at Sunday breakfast, grabbed the still sizzling frying pan and beat Heather to death with it. Right at the kitchen table. Stabbed her neck into the table for good measure.

I thought I would feel differently when I saw the life leave her eyes. She stared at me as she died, her face so calm but twisted in pain. I think, at the end, she understood why it was happening. I thought I’d feel worse about chopping her body into pieces, cutting off her ears and burning her fingertips and lips. We turned her burial into a family outing, visiting all the major parks in the area and scattering bits of her body around.

One final goodbye.

I expected to feel bad.

I’m just numb.

With a bit of relief, I suppose. Towards the end she just became trouble for us. I wanted to keep her safe because she was my friend. Now I’ll never know if I was hers.

Do you know why Casey killed her?

She had offered to make an apology breakfast for the family, and she burnt the eggs.

That was all.

I guess that was the final straw for her. After everything Heather did to us, she also ruined breakfast. It was a petty reason to kill her but I don’t blame Casey. I blame myself for letting Heather get so close. I’m not meant to have friends or a proper family. I get to fall in love once and hold it close. I get to raise children that aren’t mine and watch them leave me. But I don’t get to have relationships that keep me sane. I don’t get to trust.

Eventually, even the ones you love will betray you.

They’ll expose you to danger to protect their own self-interest and leave you vulnerable, then take away your one chance to stop it.

And then they’ll died and leave you alone with no fucking idea what to do next.  

I thought I wouldn’t cry over her death.

I was wrong about a lot of things.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Weel Update for 10/07/20

Guess who’s home?

Fuck.

After Heather killed our lead, we didn’t have a lot of options so we had to turn back for the time being. We’re so close to finding this woman, I just know it, and then Heather had to get over excited. I have no other explanation for it. She just lost control. Clearly, she was paying attention when she was sexily commanding me to break bones and remove toenails with vinegar pliers because she knew exactly where to hit him.

At least she helped me hide the body.

I don’t know that that’s a bonus because we wouldn’t have had a body to dismember and bury in the first place. Maybe. I was planning on killing him but I had the patience to wait until after we got what we needed. Now because of her, the trail is cold and the woman is in the wind.

This mystery woman is a threat to my family, to my entire way of life and Heather

I had a nightmare about her. In my dream Heather was this succubus creature with fangs and pointy ears, and we were in this cave/dungeon-type place with a big stone altar in the middle. James was lying on the altar and he was covered in blood but I couldn’t tell where he was bleeding from. And when I tried to move – to get to him, to save him – my feet wouldn’t move. There was something pulling on my wrists, keeping me in place, but there wasn’t actually anything there. I kept calling out to Heather to let me free or save him or do something. And then she looked at him, and then she walked right up to me. I could smell her breath (it was, like, sewer water and burnt flesh) and she whispered in my ear “nothing lasts.” And then she dug her fangs into my shoulder and I woke up.

I don’t have a lot of nightmares.

I AM the nightmare.

But even after all this time, after travelling with her, after coming home and hugging Casey and kissing James, I’m afraid of her. But I don’t know why.

If I don’t trust someone – especially if someone knows my secret – I kill them. I slice their throat and pull out their teeth and burn their fingerprints and ears and throw their remains in the ocean. I’ve done it before to people less deserving than her.

Except technically, her only crime was betraying me, and she confessed. She helped me track down the people who were blackmailing her. It’s just that…ever since I watched her bludgeon the investigator – our one lead to finding the woman who went to some much trouble to get to me – I’ve had this voice in the back of my head shouting “she’s not who she pretends to be”. Maybe she wasn’t helping me. Maybe I went on this entire fucking trip to help her. Did I let myself get taken by this woman? Someone I actually called my friend? Am I being paranoid and she simply made a mistake?

In the end, does it really matter why?

I think I have to kill Heather.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 09/30/20

 As we head into Halloween season (because in Western society, commercial holidays tend to last for about a month each), I want to remind you, dear readers, to be safe and environmentally conscious.

We’re not going to be discussing the current disaster that is my life and instead, I’ll pass on some advice about my favourite holiday. That sounds fun for both of us.

I feel like I’ve talked about the freaks that like to use Halloween as an excuse to be assholes and mutilate people and blame it on society. The creepy clowns and the serial killers who murder for the attention and the fuckboys (fuck boys? Is that one word or two?) who think that terrifying young women is considered a prank. They’re freaks because they don’t understand the holiday and they’re looking for a scapegoat for their shitty behavior.

Now, there is a difference between Halloween, All Hallow’s Eve, Saimhain, all that shit. I don’t know a ton about the origins or the rituals involved, but I do know how to exploit the commercialization of a religious holiday – second, of course, to Corporate America. Maybe equal.

How is that different from the clowns and the attention-seekers and the fuck-boys?

Cause I’m a woman.

But also because I’m not a holiday serial killer. As much as I love My Bloody Valentine and Black Christmas, murder is not seasonal for me. I have to adapt to the different environments throughout the year. Thus, I am better.

The problem with me, though, is that you are never safe. There are no rules to surviving an interaction with me. There are, however, rules to surviving a Halloween massacre/serial killer. Unfortunately, they are sexistly aimed towards women so I’m going to rant about that shit another time. All I’ll say is: don’t walk alone, don’t trust strangers, always check your drink, always keep your chainsaws in the hall closet (if you get that reference, please let me know).

The other part we’re going to talk about is reducing your carbon footprint when it comes to decorating and celebrating the spooky season. This may sound obvious but I’m going to say it anyways.

Go. Natural.

Use real pumpkin and candles. Is it messy? Hell yes. So is life. It’s a metaphor.

Make your costume that you wear to fool the demons. Will you look like shit? Absolutely. But the demons will appreciate the effort.

Decorate your yard with real skeletons. Go to your graveyard – always shop local – or just make your own.

The urge to skin a body and hang it from a tree with the inhuman skill of the killers in Scream, is so strong right now.

But we’re not talking about my real like right now. We are talking about things that are within my control and thus, I’m telling you to hang bodies from your front yard.

Because everybody loves arts and crafts.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 09/23/20

The probably with being on the road is having shitty access to wifi. And being stuck in a car with Heather for so long. The woman snores.

Oh yes, we’re still travelling. I’ve left my husband and…Casey behind to live their normal lives and hold down the fort while I traverse the country trying to find the people who want my family dead. Because it’s become very clear that whoever approached Heather (and made her betray me – I still haven’t forgotten about that) was definitely not FBI. The private investigation service led us to a woman with very cute nails. I couldn’t bring myself to ply them off. Until I remembered that they were only this nice because she made money by blackmailing people I care about. So I had no problem breaking her fingers. And her toes. And burning flower patters with cigarettes onto the open wounds.

What? I’m an artist after all.

She confessed that she was hired by another firm which was why she used an outdated card, hoping it wouldn’t get back to her boss that she was moonlighting. That firm had a head office in Italy for some reason, but we found a local branch a few days’ drive. We figured an international investigation service was sketchy as fuck, so we paid a stranger on Craig’s List to pretend to be a potential client so we could scope them out ahead of time.

Seriously, the invention of Craig’s List revolutionized the murder game. If I wanted, I could pay my victims to come to me (and then keep the money because…obviously). Like Door Dash but for Bodies.

It is very much like prostitution, I realize, except my way is better off illegal.

Anyways. Now Heather and I are sitting in a pay-by-the-hour motel room, draining a body because we got all the information we needed from our Craig’s List guy and we can’t exactly have witnesses.

Oh right.

That wasn’t the murder that didn’t go the right way. The one I was going to tell you about last week but my internet crapped out before I could finish writing.

We got a hold of one of the investigators that hired our woman who threatened Heather. He was very nice and told us that they were being paid very well by a woman who wanted to find me. They couldn’t, so they outsourced to the woman who found Heather, who found me. We are so close to the end of this thread. All we needed to do, was find out who that woman was.

And then Heather – fucking Heather – killed him before he could give us a name.

What. The actual. Fuck.

I always wanted a partner in this. That’s part of the reason I love James. I want someone to be in it with me. But not Heather. Not like this. She. She got off on telling me how to kill someone (we know this, and we were dealing with those emotions) but watching her take a burning iron to a man’s eye and then bludgeon him to death without batting an eye.

I should have loved it.

Instead, it scared me. How long has she been able to do that? Was she faking the whole time? When she killed her husband, I believed he deserved it and it was an accident. Was it really?

When I was helping her dump the body, I asked her what happened and she just told me that something took over. That she lost control. But it wasn’t like before, when I could see the fear and shock in her eyes, the fear and remorse ever as she watched with amusement. She didn’t like how much she enjoyed watching me kill. Or at least that’s what I thought that look meant.

Maybe I’ve been wrong about Heather.

I’m almost scared to find out what happens when we finally do figure out who’s behind this whole thing. Who wants me so badly, they’ll jump through all these hoops?

And why am I more afraid of the woman I’m travelling with?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 09/16/20

 Sometimes, murders just don’t turn out the way you want them to.

Your Mid-Week Update for 09/09/20

 I hate autumn. It’s cold like winter, without the snow. It’s gross like spring without the rain. It’s nothing like summer, they just sleep together. It’s an absolutely useless season.

Sure, it’s pretty. And Halloween is my favourite holiday for obvious reasons.

But I’d be perfectly happy with Halloween being a trudge through the snow or a backyard barbeque affair. It’s not the weather that makes it spooky, it’s the fact that I get to hang bodies from trees and people think they’re decorations for a whole month.

Thank god for capitalism.

Halloween is a month away, though, so right now autumn is a useless season. I can’t even pretend to bundle up in a sweater and a mug of apple cider and stare wistfully out the window as the leaves fall, because I’m still on the road trying to track down the people who are threatening my family.

It’s like last summer. Except it’s cold. And I have to share a rental van with Heather.

Why is it that I can never catch a break? It seems like every year, there’s some new crisis or tragedy that affects me and my family. This is nothing compared to…everything we’ve been through. But I’m just tired of it all. I want to find these people. I want to find these people, kill them, and get on with my life.

Why can’t I just murder in peace?

I’ve been thinking about what to do with Heather. On one hand, she betrayed my trust in the worst way. On the other hand, she had, what she thought, were good intentions and she is still my best friend.

Strong relationships are based on trust and forgiveness. What happens when you only have one of the two?

Now I have to share a car with her as we try to track down these people.

We found the address to the private investigation firm and got there easily enough. Except it was an address to an abandoned warehouse. No PIs have ever worked there for five years. It was easy enough to track down their new location but it was a few days’ drive. We got to their new location and from the lobby, Heather was able to identify a photo of the woman who threatened her but she’s currently “out on assignment”. A few missing fingernails got me the information of what her assignment was, which has led us even further from home.

I do not want to be chasing this woman around the country. I want to be with my family. I want to get back to the life we had before.

Before what? I don’t know. So much has happened.

I miss the days when it was me, and James, and Sandra and Jason (ignorant as ever). We were happy that way. And now it’s gone and it’s never coming back. Missing it doesn’t mean I can’t move forward.

Because I have to.

There’s no way back.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 09/02/20

The only good thing about the past few weeks is that I finally have my journals back. I burned every single one of them because this was so much easier when I didn’t have a family to think about. Everything was easier when I didn’t have a family. Not that I regret having these two in my life.

Heather, I could do without at the moment.

She’s not dead yet, for those who were wondering. I kept her in the basement for a few days until I decided I would rather have her alive to fix the mess she made, instead of making her a new mess.

The two of us are going to find the people who tried to blackmail her into betraying my family and very nicely ask them why. Before I behead them with a butter knife.

I haven’t tried it yet, so I’m very excited to see how many cuts it takes to get to the center.

So while I’m dulling my knives, Casey is going back to school on Monday, and James will be back at work tomorrow. There was only so long I could hide everyone where I knew they’d be safe. Soon or later, someone would come looking for those two. Me? No one will miss me.

So, Heather and I are off this afternoon.

I called the number she’d been reporting to (anonymously, of course, come on!) and got the answering machine for a private investigation company about a day’s drive from here. Now, it could be a very strange coincidence, but I’ve only ever had one encounter with a private investigator and I’m pretty sure I slaughtered him and his wife. Whoever these people are, it may have nothing to do with them, but it’s certainly stirring up old, unwanted memories.

If the Westburns are somehow trying to screw me over from the grave, I will be both impressed and thoroughly pissed off.

But right now, I need to shower and pack so we can grab some ridiculously unhealthy gas station food before my 28-hour road trip with my former best friend.

Kill me now.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 08/26/20

I tried to write an update last week but it was just a series of incoherent swearing. Even now, I don’t know what good telling you will do for me. I feel lost and scared and hurt and angry and I don’t know what to do next.

Heather lied to me – to us – about the reason she called me that day. You remember when she called me at five o’clock in the morning, drunk off her ass, and I drove five hours each way to pick her up? And she told me she was lonely and scared and the police had found her husband’s body but she was ultimately exonerated? And then I welcomed her into my home for months and let her be a part of my family because she was my best friend and I missed her and I cared about her?

It was all bullshit.

Nope, that’s a lie: the day I came to pick her up, she was drunk.

We drove out to pick up some of her things last week – seeing as I was sure that she’d be with us for a while. As I was helping her pack, I found a box under her bed that she tried very hard to keep me from looking in (which, of course, meant that I had to look in it). I thought it would be dildos or a gun or some embarrassing school photos.

It was my journals.

My fucking journals that someone stole while I was on the run with my family. The journals that contain all the evidence anyone would need to destroy my life.

Heather had them this entire time and she never told me. I asked her about it, because I was not about to let her back with my family unless I knew I could trust her. I don’t know what I expected her excuse to be, but I was not expecting her to tell me that she had been approached by the police last year, saying they had proof that she’d murdered her husband and used it as leverage to get information on me.

Apparently, she refused to help and when she wasn’t arrested, she realized that it was a trap. So, she went to the house and searched for evidence of my crimes and took them. She’s been keeping my secret ever since.

Except earlier this year, she was contacted by a woman who said she was with the FBI and knew all about our relationship and actually convinced Heather to spy on me.

That was her big reveal. She’s been recording my family’s activities for months, gathering information. The only reason she hasn’t turned us in yet is because apparently, she loves us more.

That’s what she said.

“I love you all too much to betray you.”

Like a fucking soap opera.

I don’t know what to believe anymore. I’ve seen the call logs and read her notes and it seems she’s been telling the truth – after a few weeks living with us, she cut off all communication. We didn’t do anything of note in that time and we don’t know if they actually were FBI.

Considering I’m not writing to you from the electric chair, it’s safe to say that something else is going on. But I don’t know what to do. I’ve taken Heather with me and we got James and Casey to stay home for the next few weeks. The four of us are holed up in the house claiming a need to quarantine, while I think of a plan to confirm whether or not my family is in danger again.

I’m starting to wonder if this murder business is more trouble than it’s worth.

As for Heather, she’s locked in the basement, well fed and clothed with plenty of things to do. But she’s not going anywhere until I decide what to do with her.

What would you do if your best friend betrayed you – and you had to ability to hide the body?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 08/12/20

The house has become a rather unusual place over the last few weeks. Between inviting Heather into my home out of some (deserved, I suppose) guilt for ruining her life, Casey having to go back to school, and James back to work full time, there hasn’t been a real sense of normalcy lately.

Also it’s my birthday today. 43 years old and no fucking clue what I’m doing with my life other than murdering people and taking in strays.

If only either of those things was a viable career option.

And we have been killing a fair bit, lately. 2 or 3 people per week (which was my average at the peak of my obsession). It’s not always as a family – I do still enjoy my private time – but the time we do spend together, the four of us, is really nice.

Like this most recent murder.

Actually, it was a pair this time. Two joggers at the local park, not wearing masks, flipped off Casey when she suggested that they should. A little girl. My little girl. They had to go.

I let Casey take the lead since this was obviously her kill but James and I were there every step of the way, to guide her through what technique she wanted and the best tools for the job. It was comically easy to get to them since all we had to do was follow them home and sneak in the back door while they were resetting the alarm.

Usually, we would take them back home but this seemed like the quickest method to get what he wanted – plus it gave Casey some practice on improvisation and using her surroundings. She knows what we have to kill people with, but what can she use to strangle someone or peel off their toenails.

In a show of irony that I was very proud of, she had us all don masks (including our belligerent couple, whose masks were also stuffed tight so no one could hear their muffled screams) and then she started at their toes and worked her way up. With each limb, she would alternate between a hammer, a meat tenderizer (I told you, they were excellent tools), and a pair of tweezers she kept in a bowl of boiling water when not in use, to break bones, and pull out anything that broke through the skin.

It was innovative, painful, and agonizingly long but the joy on her face filled me with such pride.

I know I’ve said this before, but having someone in the house who really understands what I do, has been a weight off my chest like I never imagined.

The family that tortures together…

Actually, I’ve been thinking about that, as well. I’m a little worried we’re becoming the torture family of our generation. Every few decades (at least), there’s a group of people who terrorize part of all of their country with their murder spree. As much fun as I’m having, I really don’t want to become that family.

It never ends well for the leader.

Still, if you’d looked at that little girl’s blood-soaked face and saw the glee and desperate need for approval, you’d give in to the cultish nature of your family dynamic just to keep her smiling.

So for now, nothing changes.

But damn, do changes need to come soon.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 08/05/20

We’re going to breeze right past the part where I might be sexually attracted to Heather and instead, I’m going to tell you about the time I stuffed a body in a tree.

Now, me and bodies and woods, are not an uncommon theme but surely, I’ve instilled in you by now that when it comes to murder: the elements are your friend. The only thing better at destroying evidence might be a politician in an election year.

…

I’m not good with the political satire. Moving on.

This was while James and I were dating so I would have just turned 30, and I was slowly introducing him to my world. A lot of our early days were about me figuring out what his limits were. So, I’d tell him about a kill and see what his reaction was. Then I’d let him see the aftermath. Then I’d show him things (evidence). Then I’d let him tag along but not participate. At any given moment, I was a minute away from slicing his throat if he proved to be untrustworthy.

I would have done it, too. I had no qualms about killing James when we first started out. He wasn’t a potential partner then, he was a tool; a pawn, to help cover my tracks within the police department. If that tool proved to be useless, I would have no need of it.

But nothing I did seemed to phase him. He loved every part of me. So, I kept pushing – kept doing the most outlandish kills to see if I could break him. He never did. Finding someone who loves you because of your quirks and not despite them is a wonderful feeling. Apparently, it’s also dangerous.

Anyways.

It was during that testing period, that I invited James out to a cabin in the woods for the weekend.

That, in itself, was a test. A known serial killer inviting you to a secluded area outside the city? All kinds of red flags. He was in the car at 7:30am, precisely when I asked him to be there, two coffee in hand, like this was just a casual road trip. Which it was meant to be. Just because the threat of death loomed over him, didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy ourselves.

That was actually a really good trip for us. We lost the radio signal about two hours away from the cabin and instead of turning someone’s music on, we just talked. On the back into the city, we didn’t even bother turning the radio on and spent the entire drive talking. If that cabin hadn’t already cemented our relationship, our drive home would have.

As it was, we had an amazing time up in the woods.

For one: there was no one around for miles, so neither of us were worried about grumpy neighbours telling us to fuck quieter (Mrs. Portias was a horrible woman who deserved to die anyways, and then she filed a noise complain with the city).

Two: I got to try out a new tenderizer which worked like a dream on those leg and calf muscles.

Three: It was the first time James made suggestions (and in that voice that told me he wasn’t asking), successfully combining the first two points.

Despite there being no one for miles, there was a hiking trail maybe a twenty-minute drive from the cabin, which is why I chose that cabin (that, and the fact that there is and never will be a record of my family staying there since it doesn’t exist on paper).

Why didn’t I go there when my family was on the run?

Fuck you, that’s why.

We made our way to the trail, stashing the car safely out of sight, and walked about a third of the way in to wait for a passing victim. Sure enough, we grabbed a woman who was just a little too far behind her group of friends and took off before anyone had even noticed. That’s not normally how I would have done it – considering that method takes a bit more brute force than I have – but James was happy to help in that department, dragging the woman out of view while I stabbed her with a syringe filled with bleach. No sense in dragging around an unconscious body only to kill her later, when you can just kill her now.

The three of us went deep into the woods just as the sun was setting; the light on the trees was gorgeous, I wish we could have taken a photo. Alas. There, we came upon a hollow tree and I just had to go with it. Initially, we were going to severely deform her body and leave it for the animals to get at before anyone found her, but when you find a hollow tree and you remember the story of Bella and the Wych Elm, you have to follow through.

Whoever did put Bella in the Wych Elm, had a lot more time and strength than we did. We knew it wouldn’t be long before her friends noticed she was missing and would find her phone in the trees leading away from us. Soon enough, someone would head in our direction looking for her; so we had to act quickly. The meat tenderizer was an amazing tool for helping to shrink her down to proper size. Because, obviously, the hole in which to stuff a woman into a tree isn’t completely human-sized so you have to get a little tetris-y.

All the while, James was standing against the tree, watching me; telling me what part to fold next or just admiring my handywork. I may have been a little overly-aggressive with my hit because I just loved the way he talked to me.

Though it took more time than I would have liked, I did eventually get her followed up into a neat little ball and James helped me toss her in. We just barely missed the search party and skirted around the outside of the flashlights on our way back to the car. We were gone before anyone saw the headlights.

That night may have been the best sex we’d had up to that point. Because there is something just so intoxicating in giving over a bit of control to someone who won’t abuse it. And finding someone who knows all the horrible parts of your but still wants you…yeah. It’s a powerful aphrodisiac.

I think that’s what’s been going on with Heather, lately. Because it wasn’t just that one incident. It’s been…lingering. Don’t know what it means but like I said, we’re not going to talk about it.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 07/29/20

Alright, so last week, I talked about turning murder into a family activity and enjoying the companionship and all that. So, I decided to turn it into a thing. On Sunday night, I went out to a bar (because those are open again even though they definitely shouldn’t be) and picked up a man who was incredibly easy to lure home.

Seriously, we’re in the middle of a pandemic and you’re spending your night at a crowded bar. You deserve to die before you get someone else killed with your stupidity.

As you know, I am always happy to oblige.

Getting him into the house was easy enough, luring him to the back was a cinch – p.s. that is not how that word sounds like it should be spelt. Then getting James and Casey to help me bind and gag him was almost boring in its simplicity.

But I have found that doing things as a family is always way more fun.

I can’t believe I never thought to do this before: bring people in to my circle.

Obviously, I have (sort of how I married my husband) and it’s not exactly a normal after-work hangout activity. But having people to share my experiences with has been really nice. I will always love a solo kill. Using the skills I’ve cultivated myself, to have total control over another person, is intoxicating.

Of course, I’ll never force anyone in the house to participate. Heather has still expressed no interest in wielding the bolt cutters herself but didn’t shy away from watching. About ten minutes in, she stopped asking questions and started prompting me. Encouraging me to cut here or prod there. I’ll admit, some of her ideas were pretty ingenious – the man in the chair gave a roaring review.

The thing is…

I liked it.

I liked having someone tell me what to do. I just became the vessel for her mind and only moved when she told me to.

I got a little turned on.

I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.

I’ve let James do that before and it gave me the same feelings. I think I like…giving control over sometimes. Knowing that I can stop at any time. I could slit her throat if I wanted to – and if she were a stranger ordering me about, I absolutely would have. But I trust her.

So, her commands made me horny.

I don’t know what to do with this information. I don’t know if I should care or play in to it or ignore it completely. I don’t know if it’s her or if it’s just the concept.

I know I didn’t hate it.

And that’s…

That’s weird, right?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Cover Reveal for Stealing Embers by Julie Hall

Today Julie Hall and Rockstar Book Tours are revealing the cover and an exclusive excerpt for STEALING EMBERS, book 1 in her brand-new YA Urban Fantasy, Fallen legacies series, which releases September 22, 2020! Check out the gorgeous cover and enter to win a $10 Amazon Gift card!

On to the reveal!

Title: STEALING EMBERS (Fallen Legacies #1)

Author: Julie Hall

Pub. Date: September 22, 2020

Publisher: Julie Hall

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: ?

Find it:  Goodreads, Amazon

A realm of monsters. A world of lies. She belongs to both.

My name is Emberly, and everything I’ve ever been told is a lie.

Monsters don’t exist. Wrong.

The nightmarish spectrum world is just my imagination. Wrong.

In a few months, I’ll finally be free. Wrong.

It takes being dragged to a secret training academy in the mountains to unravel the truth. My captors--an elite race of angel-born warriors called Nephilim.

The deadliest of them all is an arrogant shape shifter, Steel. He’s gorgeous, lethal, hot-headed . . . and convinced I’ll be the death of them all.

Maybe he’s right. As soon as I show up, the monsters that have haunted me my entire life breach the academy walls. My only hope of saving my new friends is learning how to control my powers, but when a stunning betrayal hurts someone I care about, I have an impossible choice.

Stay and fight for a place to belong . . . or decide once and for all that I’m better off alone.

Enter the spectrum world, a realm in-between worlds where shadow beasts draw blood, reality is a maze of twisted lights and sounds, and life goals are whittled down to just one: survive.

Fans of Jennifer L. Armentrout and Cassandra Clare will love this Crescent City meets Crave mash up!

Exclusive Excerpt

Steel takes a determined step toward me. His hair is ruffled, his clothes covered in dirt and wet from the ice and snow, his hands balled into fists. Even without a weapon, he’s a fierce sight to behold. With golden light kissing his features, he reminds me of a modern-day Apollo, dressed in a Henley and dark washed jeans.

“It’s you.” His whispered words full of awe and float to me on a rippling band of light.

I begin to ask what he means, but I catch a sliver of movement to my left and turn my head in time to see both Forsaken disappear around the bend of the building.

Instinct says to follow them, but when I take a step in their direction I’m thwarted by a six-foot-five, raven-haired angel-born.

“They’re going to—” My words die a quick death on my tongue when Steel’s hand brushes a tangle of hair away from my cheek. The small contact causes a tremor to work its way through his body.

He closes his eyes and steps into me.

I retreat a step.

“Finally,” he breathes, dipping his head to gently rub the tip of his nose up the column of my neck before his lips just barely brush my earlobe.

It’s my turn to shiver.

What is he doing? my mind screams. And do I care? it whispers as an afterthought.

Shaking my head out of a confused fog, I take another shaky step back.

Yes, I do care. The boy must have hit his head harder than I thought.

“Listen, Steel, we don’t have time for this. You’re not yourself right now.”

I bring my hands up to push him back. He’s invading my space—big time.

When I reach forward to give him a shove, he grabs hold of my wrists and uses my momentum to bring me closer.

The guy has moves, that’s for sure.

One look in his eyes and I can tell he’s not all there. His lids are lowered to half-mast and his gaze sweeps lazily over my features.

 Steel takes a step forward, forcing my capitulation until he’s maneuvered me against the rough bricks. A foreign sensation zips along my spine, as if something heavy is fused to each vertebrae, weighing me down. I don’t have a chance to investigate because Steel’s head is dipping again and I have nowhere to move within the cage of his body.

I freeze, wholly unprepared for the situation. That gives Steel the perfect opportunity to dive in and take what he wants.

About Julie:

Julie Hall is an award-winning, USA Today bestselling author of young adult fantasy fiction. 

Before writing her first novel Julie worked as a film publicist and rubbed elbows with the rich and famous . . . as in she would gently nudge them to let them know their meal had arrived during press interviews.

She now spends most of her "office hours" with her two furry writing buddies, Bear and Coco. Her daughter thinks that mommy's superpower is “sleeping all day,” but that’s because she’s often awake until the wee hours of the morning weaving tales of adventure in worlds of her own creation. When asked in an interview what she wanted to be when she grew up, she’s quoted to have answered, “to never have to grow up.”

She currently lives in Portland, Oregon with her four favorite people--her husband, daughter, and two fur babies (because dogs are people too).  

Connect with Julie here, or on social media.

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