High school is hard enough as it is–without adding in the demonic paranormal tendencies latched to Karmin Black–and now, it’s even harder considering her mother has moved them from their home town of Burlington Junction, Missouri to to the big city of Manhattan, Kansas.
Documents are uncovered in the move, revealing a secret Karmin never saw coming. She has no friends. She has no one to trust, not even herself. At least, she doesn’t until Connor comes along. Conrad Moore, the priest’s son, the so sweet and gentle boy with a demon of his own.
Here and there, Karmin slips into a false reality. She can’t stop it from happening, and in these visions–daydreams, as Karmin calls them–she receives a glimpse of a soon to happen, awful catastrophe. She’ll stop at nothing to save the very people who probably wouldn’t do the same for her.
Targeted Age Group:: Teens
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
My book was inspired by other works I’d read and by a story I once heard as a young child; it’s stuck with me ever since.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
Karmin came to me in a dream, a blonde haired, average girl, with every day looks. Her personality has bits and pieces of both me and my best friend.
Book Sample
Prologue
The reoccurring dream happened every eighth of every month, ‘twas a nightmare of sorts. It’s occurred since I was 10, every single eighth of every single month. It’s the worst. I wished sleeping wasn’t a must.
I used to tell my mother about it when it happened, but I stopped after she made me go to therapy. After she told me to grow up and get over it. My father, Anthony, hated how harsh my mother was over what I couldn’t control. Over what I was afraid of.
She used to kiss my forehead and say a special prayer with me every night, but she stopped after the first time I had the nightmare. She barely came into my room after that. It was too hard for mommy, she said. I don’t think she ever considered how hard it was for me.
Nightmares really freaked her out.
I never understood its meaning or origin, though. My father said nightmares were common among young chil-dren. It was nothing to fret, he’d tell me over and over again. But my mother didn’t think so, in fact, she thought the exact opposite. To her, it was a curse, a bur-den. It was my burden.
Nightmares really freaked her out.
Lightning struck outside the window and thunder boomed loudly. My hands moved to cover my ears. A man was standing not too far away. He turned around, pulled the hood over his head, and shushed me, reached out to calm me. I couldn’t see his face as his hand grazed my cheek, wiped a tear from the surface of my skin—salty and sweet.
The house was dark, not a light or candle igniting the room. My own fingers were hard to see in front of my face, nothing much more was visible. But he was clear as day. It almost seemed like he was glowing.
I didn’t like his touch. It was ice cold and terrified every cell in my body. Everything in me—my skin, my brain, my heart—screamed no, stop, don’t come near me. But I said nothing. My mouth was sewn shut, stitched together with an imaginary thread.
He picked me up and sat me inside a circle drawn on the floor with red paint, without much effort. My fingers traced the line, tiny little instruments working their way around the loop. There had never been a more perfect circle, a more perfect star inside it.
The man said something, something foreign. Strange. I watched, confused and afraid. But I didn’t know why. I never knew why.
Why didn’t I run away?
Why couldn’t I run away?
What was he saying, and doing?
It was just a dream. He couldn’t hurt me.
It wasn’t real.
Lightning struck again, lighting up the room. Thun-der cracked in my ear drums. It shook the house and eve-rything inside. The floor, the walls, him, me. My bones vibrated, teeth chattered inside my mouth, as my blood curdled and goosebumps grew all over my skin. A surreal feeling. One I hoped to never feel again.
“You’re quiet,” he spoke, sending chills down my spine. His voice was rough, loud, violent. The most crooked sound I’d ever heard.
It wasn’t real.
I turned away from him, hiding my face with my knees. Once again, the room ignited in a burst of energy; the rained struck the roof, clicking at the sound of every drop. He walked to the edge of the circle, stopped just outside, smiled.
“It’s a good trait to have,” he said. “I suggest you stay that way.” He said something again in a different language. A phrase impossible for an English speaking six year old to understand.
I crumpled into a ball, rolled back and forth. My chest hurt as the wind around me stirred, howled to the full moon outside. I cried silently. His voice kept going, on and on. It wouldn’t stop for anything or anyone. The same phrase over and over again, but I couldn’t under-stand it—just sounds in the air. There was more thunder and more lightning and more seconds of closed eyes.
It wasn’t real.
The room lit up and a dozen people emerged from the shadows around me, pointing at my body with their ac-cusing fingers. Their figures dark, yet glowing, like him. I screamed and writhed. My body flipped and flopped. Arms flailing as someone lifted me up and threw me back down to the ground, hard. I hit my head, felt blood ooze out. I hurt everywhere. My chest. My arms. My legs. It was unbearably, excruciatingly painful.
I looked out the window, through the rain, and watched as the stars scratched the sky. Screeching in the night air, crying out for help along with me. They were alone, all alone, separated by millions and millions of miles of empty space with no guarantee of ever receiving the help they required.
I felt like a star—shining bright and alone on the liv-ing room floor. I felt like I was floating midair, and then my head hit the floor again, shattering every thought in my mind. Breaking me. I felt like I was dying.
One peek out of my eyelids and I was sent into shock. A little girl was standing beside the man, her arms wrapped tight around his legs, clutching his jeans. She looked a lot like me. Small, blonde, afraid. Except her hair was a few shades too dark, blotches of her skin were dark, really dark, a greyish black. And her eyes, they were something completely unearthly, inhuman. Like some-thing from a ghost story.
They were cold. Dark. Empty. Soul sucking depths with no whites. And she was staring right at me, taunt-ing me with her smile as the others bellowed a course of deep laughter. The man stood firm, staring at me, his eyes on me, his hood up, and his words still flying out at me.
It wasn’t real.
I woke up shaking, sweating. It was hard to breathe. Four a.m. the time I always awoke from the dream. It was never 4:01 or 3:59. No, it was always four. It’s the only time of the day I loathed.
With my knees pulled in, I rocked back and forth. I sat on my bed and closed my eyes. I tried to forget that voice—his voice. The crooked clarity of it echoed in my head.
It wasn’t real.
Links to Purchase eBooks – Click links for book samples and reviews
Is this book in Kindle Unlimited? Yes
Buy Karmin On Amazon
Buy Karmin on iBooks
Buy Karmin on Google Play
Buy Karmin on Kobo
Have you read this book? Tell us what you thought! All information was provided by the author and not edited by us. This is so you get to know the author better.
