About this item
Lisa McManns Dead to You meets Kate Ellisons The Butterfly Clues in a psychological thriller full of romance, intrigue, and mystery. . One year ago, Callie was found in an abandoned apartment, scrawling words on the wall: "I KILLED HIM. His blood is on my hands. His heart is in my soul. I KILLED HIM." But she remembers nothing of that night or of the previous thirty-six hours. All she knows is that her father, the reverend at the Church of the Holy Promise, is missing, as is Hannah, a young girl from the parish. Their disappearances have to be connected and Callie knows that her father was not a righteous man.. Since that fateful night, shes been plagued by graphomania -- an unending and debilitating compulsion to write. The words that flow from Callies mind and through her pen dont seem to make sense -- until now. . As the anniversary of Hannahs vanishing approaches, more words and memories bubble to the surface and a new guy in school might be the key to Callie putting together the puzzle. But digging up the secrets shes buried for so long might be her biggest mistake.
About the Author
The story begins when I'm seven years old, living in a haunted house. I don't sleep. I'm afraid, and I'm seven. Would YOU risk falling asleep in a haunted house? One thing I know I shouldn't do is wake Mom. The woman's exhausted all the time; she needs sleep. Besides, if I tell her I'm being haunted--the whispering never stops, and it's escalating to yanking on my hair, pulling at my toes--she probably won't believe me. "Chalk it up to her wild imagination," she'll mumble over the phone to my father, who is somewhat of an apparition himself. My brother, who is about four, walks the hallways at night in a daze. Sleepwalking. Sometimes, if I drift off, I wake up to find him staring down at me with his big, blue eyes. It's another reason I don't sleep. He's cute, but creepy. I wonder if the entities in the house, those we can't see, influence him to rise out of bed every night. My sister sprawls on the twin bed on the other side of the room. The spirits don't bother her. I wish they would, and not just because she's somewhat of a nine-year-old tyrant, but because if she experiences it, she'll believe me. She's a good person to have on your side, if you know what I mean. Tonight, I've already walked my brother back to his room, and I'm trembling beneath the covers, when I hear it: "Psst! Sasha! Go into the closet! Go into the closet!" They're snickering at me, tickling my toes. It's nearly three a.m. I'm tired! I just want it to stop! I have much to do in second grade tomorrow. Like alphabetizing words that weren't challenging a year ago.So I do the unthinkable: Walk into the closet. Sit on the floor. Wait for something to happen. NOTHING happens. But at least they've stopped talking! When I look up, I see a notebook and a pencil waiting for me on a shelf. I take it down and start to write. I haven't stopped since.These days, I'm drawn to survival instinct and suspense, so that's what I write. I collect tap shoes, paint samples, and mega ideas. I live where my stories unfold, in the suburbs of Chicago. My days are filled with my amazing daughters, our crazy pups, and my incredible guy. And those spirits still impel me to write in the dead of night, but we have an understanding now. They're not allowed to tickle my toes.OBLIVION, Egmont USA: May 27, 2014
