Whispers of Stacey Glen

This book has been delayed for publication. There is not a new publication date pending at this time. During the day, the woods of Stacey Glen are inviting, with the sounds of birds and creeks and insects and breezes singing songs of warmth and peace and solitude. But, as the sun moves aside for its sister moon, the mood changes . . . and so does the song. The breeze withdraws its presence from the moment the sun melts into the horizon until dawn, as if the wind is what pushes the sun from behind to warm another day. The animals and insects leave the Glen’s boundaries, and even the normally chatty crickets can’t be heard from the direction of the thick canopy of trees. It has been said, though no one in recent times claims to have first-hand knowledge — who would dare to enter it at night — that even the creeks cease to move. I've heard some people in Gerrod, the town that borders the Glen, say it’s haunted or cursed. I say it is both, and I should know — I live there. Not near it . . . in it. I am the reason nothing wants to be near the Glen at night. I am who haunts it. I am its curse. I am to be feared. And I don't want to be disturbed. But I don’t always get what I want.