MESSAGE in the BONES: Psychic suspense murder mystery thriller with a touch of romance. Gripping until the very last word. (Messages of Murder Book 1) by Dawn Merriman

Author:Dawn Merriman [Merriman, Dawn]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2019-10-01T00:00:00+00:00

A weight presses on my chest as I wake from the nightmare. In a panic, I push the weight away. Chester howls as he flies across the room.

Consciousness catches up to me. “Sorry, Chester. I thought someone was trying to kill me.”

I shake in my bed, blood pounding in my ears as the fear fades. I flip on my lamp to send the shadows away. A check of my phone shows I’ve only been asleep for an hour or so, it’s not even midnight yet.

“Come here, Chester.” I try to coax my cat back into bed with me, not wanting to be alone.

He gives me a haughty look and turns away. I don’t blame him, I did toss him across the room.

Sleep, which I so badly need, eludes now. After a while, I give up and head to the kitchen for a glass of tea.

The lamp light from my room bounces down the short hall onto the curtains in my front room. My shadow towers in front of me, slides across the curtains, looks like a person. I jump back in fear, my nerves raw from the nightmare. My heart pounds again, adrenaline rushes in my blood.

It’s just my shadow.

“Crap on a cracker,” I mutter, laughing at my mistake. “Jumping at shadows.”

I lean against the wall, catching my breath. Outside the living room windows, a car drives by slowly.

The headlights slide across the sheer curtains, illuminating the shape of a man.

This isn’t my shadow. It’s reflected from the lights outside, against the front window.

The car passes by and the front curtains turn dark again.

My blood sings with fear. I push against the wall, wanting to hide.

“Maybe I’m just imagining things,” I console myself.

My feet drag slow steps to the front window, ready to run. The sheer fabric flutters gently from the heat register in the floor, the soft fabric a sharp contrast to the hard fear inside me.

Feeling exposed, I put my body against the front wall, some protection against whoever is outside.

My hand shakes as I slide back the thin curtain.

A few inches away from the glass, a hideous clown mask looks back at me. The oversized red mouth droops in a horrible frown, contrasting sharply with the white face. Grotesque blue paint surrounds the eyes holes. The man’s real eyes glint behind the mask.

I drop the curtain back in place, duck against the wall.

And scream.

Outside the glass, the man laughs.

Fear freezes me against the wall. Rivulets of sweat drip down my sides and my breath comes in ragged gasps.

The front door handle rattles.

A quick check verifies I locked the door earlier. The chain rattles as the man tries to get in.

He kicks the door and my body jumps into action.

I sprint to the kitchen, check the lock on the door to the garage.

“Go away! I have a knife!” I yell, taking a knife from a drawer. It’s small, but sharp, the only protection I have.

“So do I, Gabby!” the man shouts back, the evil in his voice chilling. “Open the door and let me show it to you.

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