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Don’t Fear The Reaper

October 20, 2011

This week I am hosting the fabulous Michelle Muto. Michelle is a writer of urban fantasy, the paranormal, and all things eerie and curious. Lover of scary books and funny movies, sports cars, chocolate, and changes of season. Owned by two incredible dogs and an iMac. Author, wife, sister, freelance tech writer, and IT geek. In addition to all this, Michelle is my critique partner and fellow Rebel.

The flash-sized first chapter of her YA horror novel, Don’t Fear The Reaper, is featured below. As a thank you for taking the time to read and comment, I will be giving away one copy of each of Michelle’s two novels (e-book only, format of your choice) to one lucky commenter.

Enjoy and Good Luck!

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for they are with me.

I repeated my version of the psalm as I watched the ribbon of blood drift from my wrist. I’d hoped it would be a distraction—something to stop me from wondering what my sister’s dying thoughts had been. Exhaling slowly, I let the emptiness consume me.

Jordan had kept my secrets and I had kept hers. In the end, it came down to just one secret between us that took her life. Now, it would take mine. I should have said something, but nothing I said or did now could bring her back or make anyone understand what she meant to me.

Are you here, Jordan? Are you with me? Tell me about heaven…

I told myself Jordan was gone, never coming back, but her memories continued to haunt me. I had no idea if there even was an afterlife. If God existed, I was convinced he had given up on me. Not once did I sense he’d heard a single one of my prayers. I wasn’t asking for the world—I only wanted to know if my sister was safe and at peace. What was so hard about that?

She should still be here. It wasn’t fair.

I’d been the difficult one—much more than Jordan. For a while, I’d even gotten into drugs. Mom and Dad had worried I’d get Jordan into drugs, too. But I wouldn’t. Not ever. Besides, that part of my life had been over long before Jordan’s death. A small gargoyle tattoo on my left shoulder was all that remained of my previous lifestyle.

Mom and Dad started treating me differently after Jordan’s funeral two months ago. She and I were twins, so I understood how hard it was for them to look at me and not see her. Sometimes, they wouldn’t look at me at all. Mom went to the psychiatrist, but no one asked if I needed to talk to someone about what happened. No one asked if I needed sleeping pills or antidepressants. Yeah, sure. Don’t give the former addict pills of any sort.

Not one person saw the all-consuming suffering that gnawed at my soul. Why couldn’t anyone see? Jordan had been more than my sister—she’d been my Samson, my strength. I would have done anything for her, and yet, I’d failed her. I wasn’t the one who’d killed her, but I might as well have been. How could I ever live with that? My heart had a stillness to it since her death.

I shall fear no evil.

I couldn’t very well recite the first part of Psalm 23 because it said I shall not want, and I did want. I wanted to go back in time. I wanted my sister back. Clearly, goodness and mercy were never going to be part of my life ever again. In my mind, I saw myself walking through the iron gates of hell with demons cackling gleefully all around.

I didn’t want to die. Not really. I was just tired and didn’t know of another way to stop the pain. Doctors removed a bad appendix. Dentists pulled rotten teeth. What was I supposed to do when my very essence hurt, when the cancer I’d come to call depression made every decent memory agonizingly unbearable?

Before I’d gotten down to cutting my wrist (I managed to only cut one), I’d taken a few swigs of Dad’s tequila—the good kind he kept in the basement freezer. I’d used another swig or two to chase down the remainder of Mom’s sleeping pills in the event I failed to hit an artery or vein. Then I’d set the bottle on the ledge of the tub in case I needed further liquid encouragement. Instead of using a knife or a razor, I attached a cutting blade to my Dad’s Dremel. The Dremel was faster, I reasoned. More efficient.

It would have been easier to OD, I suppose. But I felt closer to my sister this way, to suffer as she’d suffered.

I recited the line from Psalms 23 again. It had become my personal mantra.

The words resonated in my parents’ oversized bathroom. I’d chosen theirs because the Jacuzzi tub was larger than the tub in the hall bathroom. Jordan and I used to take bubble baths together in this same tub when we were little.

Innocence felt like a lifetime ago. I searched the bathroom for bubble bath but came up short. Soap might have made the laceration hurt more so it was probably just as well. Besides, the crimson streaming from my wrist like watercolor on silk was oddly mesmerizing.

The loneliness inside proved unrelenting, and the line from the psalms made me feel better. I prayed for the agony inside me to stop. I argued with God. Pleaded. But after all was said and done, I just wanted the darkness to call me home.

I tried not to think of who would find my body or who’d read the note I’d left. I blamed myself not only for failing Jordan, but for failing my parents, too.

My lifeline to this existence continued to bleed out into the warm water. Killing myself had been harder than I’d imagined. I hadn’t anticipated the searing fire racing through my veins. I reached for the tequila with my good arm but couldn’t quite manage. Tears welled in my eyes.

Part of me foolishly felt Jordan was here. The other part feared she wasn’t.

Give me a sign, Sis. Just one.

I imagined seeing my parents at my funeral—their gaunt faces, red-eyed and sleepless. How could I do this to them? Wasn’t the devastation of losing one child enough?

No. Stop. A voice in my head screamed. Don’t do this. Don’t. Please…

I shifted my body, attempted to get my uncooperative legs under me. I could see the phone on my parents’ nightstand. I could make it that far. Had to. The voice was right. I didn’t want to do this. I felt disorientated, dizzy. Darkness crept along the edges of my vision. Focusing became difficult. A sweeping shadow of black caught my attention. Someone stood in the bathroom—not my sister. A man. Had I managed to call 911? I couldn’t remember getting out of the tub. And why’d I get back in? Did I use a towel?

Mom is going to be pissed when she sees the blood I’ve tracked all over the bedroom carpet.

“I’m sorry,” I told the man in black.

“It’s okay, Keely. Don’t be afraid.” Not my father’s voice. It was softer, with a hint of sorrow. Distant. Fleeting. Later, I’d feel embarrassed about this, but for now I was safe from the nothing I’d almost become. My teeth clattered from the chill. My eyelids fluttered in time with my breaths. The tub water had turned the color of port wine. The ribbons, the pretty, red watercolor ribbons were gone.

Dull gray clouded my sight.

A voice whispered to me, and my consciousness floated to the surface again.

“—okay, Keely.”

Cold. So cold.

“I’m right here.”

There was no fear in me as the man bent forward, his face inches from mine. He was my father’s age, and yet strangely older. His eyes were so…blue, almost iridescent. The irises were rimmed in a fine line of black, and the creases etched at the corners reminded me of sunbeams as he gave me a weak smile. The oddly. Dressed. Paramedic. A warm hand reached into the water and cradled mine. My fingers clutched his. I sighed, feeling myself floating, drifting. Light—high and intense exploded before me. No! Too much. Too much! I shuddered and labored to catch my breath, but it wouldn’t come.

Finally, the comfort of darkness rose to greet me.

* * * * *

Don’t Fear The Reaper can be purchased at

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble

Don’t Fear The Reaper: Grief-stricken by the murder of her twin, Keely Morrison is convinced suicide is her ticket to eternal peace and a chance to reunite with her sister. When Keely succeeds in taking her own life, she discovers death isn’t at all what she expected. Instead, she’s trapped in a netherworld on Earth and her only hope for reconnecting with her sister and navigating the afterlife is a bounty-hunting reaper and a sardonic, possibly unscrupulous, demon. But when the demon offers Keely her greatest temptation—revenge on her sister’s murderer—she must uncover his motives and determine who she can trust. Because, as Keely soon learns, both reaper and demon are keeping secrets and she fears the worst is true—that her every decision will change how, and with whom, she spends eternity.

* * * * *

Also check out Michelle’s YA Paranormal Romance The Book Of Lost Souls:

When teen witch Ivy MacTavish changes a lizard into her date for a Halloween dance, everything turns to chaos. And when no one is powerful enough to transform him back except Ivy, it sparks the rumor: Like father, like daughter. Ivy has heard it all before – that her father, who left when she was seven – was involved with the darkest of magic.

Making the rumors worse, someone uses an evil spell book to bring back two of history’s most nefarious killers. Ivy’s got a simple plan to set things right: find the real dark spell caster, steal the book, and reverse the spell. No problem! But she’ll have to deal with something more dangerous than murderous spirits that want her and her friends dead: the school’s resident bad boy and hotter-than-brimstone demon, Nick Marcelli. Nick’s offering Ivy more than his help with recovering the missing book – he’s offering her a way to ditch her scaly reputation as a lizard-lover. Demons are about as hard to handle as black magic, and as Ivy soon discovers, it’s going to take more than a lot of luck and a little charm if she wants to survive long enough to clear her status as a dark witch, get a warm-blooded boyfriend, and have her former date back to eating meal worms before the week’s end.

Hunks, hexes, and magical mayhem!

Barnes & Noble
iTunes & iBook

18 Comments leave one →
  1. October 20, 2011 12:23 PM

    A great piece and a wonderful selling point. Thanks Danielle.

  2. Julie-Anne permalink
    October 20, 2011 3:52 PM

    Both those books sound interesting. I love the cover for The Book of Lost Souls, very sparkly and pretty.

  3. October 20, 2011 5:56 PM

    Such an amazing opening…I’ve read it before this but even so, it still gripped me as hard as it did the first time! Well done!

  4. October 20, 2011 6:47 PM

    The end left me wanting more. I wanted to know what happened to Keely. I loved the visuals of ribbons in the water and then the ‘port wine’ color. So well done, nicely written and hauntingly real. Thanks for this chapter. I definitely need to read more. I’m hooked. 🙂

  5. October 20, 2011 7:05 PM

    Very griping piece, captures the readers attention right from the start. The writing so visual, loved this line “the crimson streaming from my wrist like watercolor on silk was oddly mesmerizing.” taking the reader right into that bathroom with her, feeling her grief, sadness and then her fear.

  6. adampb permalink
    October 21, 2011 3:19 AM

    Fluid, poetic writing with striking imagery. Thanks for the hosting, Danni.
    Adam B @revhappiness

  7. Deanna Schrayer permalink
    October 21, 2011 5:42 AM

    This is absolute superb writing Michelle! I’ve definitely got to have the book now.
    Thanks so much for sharing this with us Danielle!

  8. October 21, 2011 7:14 AM

    Wow, guys. You really know how to make my day! Such incredible compliments!

  9. Dana McEntee permalink
    October 21, 2011 9:02 AM

    I will read anything about twins, no joke! 🙂 excellent piece, thanks for sharing!

  10. October 21, 2011 10:07 AM

    Don’t Fear the Reaper looks like a great read. And the cover! Gorgeous. Thanks, Danni.

  11. October 21, 2011 3:58 PM

    Ack! Using a Dremel sounds so… painful!

  12. October 21, 2011 6:01 PM

    The cover art for Lost Souls is really cool, but I do like the one for Reaper alot too. Love the take on Reaper very interesting. 🙂

  13. October 21, 2011 7:26 PM

    Great intro, makes me want to go get the book & add it to the dozens of “to-read” books already in my pile!

  14. October 21, 2011 9:51 PM

    An agonizing introduction that I was unable to stop reading. Sounds like a very interesting book!

  15. October 22, 2011 9:26 AM

    Hi Danni, and Michelle! I can see why you wanted to host this Danni; a powerful and evocative piece of writing. Descriptions like, ” the crimson streaming from my wrist like watercolor on silk,” really make it come alive.

    I didn’t think that a section of a novel would ever work as a flash-fiction piece, but surprisingly this does, and extremely well. ‘They’ always say that you should grab your reader with the first sentence, paragraph and chapter/prologue (I know that’s a dirty word in some areas, but the same rules apply, surely?). This piece is very well crafted, and does just that.

    “If you don’t know how to write the first chapter of your novel, then write it as a piece of flash-fiction,” should go down in everyone’s ‘writer’s tips list’. The writing will be tight, paced, engaging, and enigmatic. The subject of a blog post anyone?

  16. October 22, 2011 4:42 PM

    That certainly caught my attention! The blurb sounds amazing.

  17. diannewaye permalink
    October 23, 2011 5:20 PM

    Imaginative and emotionally charged excerpt. The Book of Lost Souls sounds hilarious, in a scary kind of way. Thanks for sharing!

  18. October 28, 2011 4:44 PM

    The winner can be found here:

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