Author Kelly Moran           

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The Drake House

 (Kelly Moran is still writing this book. Look for it to come out soon.)

~Synopsis~

    Trisha Eaton has been plagued by mysterious nightmares since her parents adopted her at the tender age of three. Now thirty, she chalked them up to childish nuisances, until they return- with a vengeance. What is it about the Drake house, planted next door to her family’s apple orchard and secluded from view, that haunts her nights and terrorizes her memories? At a dead end, frustrated and petrified, Trisha turns to Nick Mackey. The new deputy in town has a past he was attempting to put behind him, but finds himself attracted to the brown-eyed owner of Eaton’s Apple Orchard. A woman determined to loath him and fight the inevitable. Her superstitious town in Small Rapids, Wisconsin was not offering them any assistance. In fact, an incident almost thirty years ago, the one everyone deemed to keep hidden and buried, is threatening to surface again. With it comes secrets that someone was willing to kill to keep veiled, and it would appear that everyone has something to gain by doing so.

~Excerpt~

       The dream was always the same.  The wind, no matter the season, was bitter.  So chilling it froze the body in motion, paralyzing and undaunted.  It never crept, but was rather swift and brutal.  It stole the air from her lungs and left her gasping.  The mixture of gravel, frozen earth, and dried leaves crunched in an empty sound beneath her feet. There was an endless kind of shade.  No moon, no light at all.  It was as if the orchard behind her wasn’t there in this world.  Just the dark, the tree line ahead, calling her without words.

         She didn’t want to go.  Like a child she feared what lay beyond the woods, terrorized beyond comprehension.  Once on the path it would lead her there.  To the place children told tales about and parents dare not speak of.  The Drake house.

         The wind whipped her nightgown into a frenzy, then clung itself to her body, offering no comfort or protection.  She stepped in, first with her right foot, then the left. Surrounded in a sinister cloak of hundred year old trees, the immediate alarm deepened, wrenching with underlining sadness and haunting the mind.

         It was at the same time the wind halted she heard the voice.  The air dead, no movement in any way.  Just a shrill whisper without a soul to speak it, sounding irritated and grateful all at once. 

        “Thank you for coming.”

                                                                                                Kelly Moran