Mysticism & Myths
A Paranormal Sampler
Jaxx Summers, Abby L. Vandiver, Margo Bond Collins, Dormaine G., Perri Forrest, Karen Perkins
December 15, 2014
Amazon | Goodreads
A MUST READ FOR FANS OF THE MYSTERIOUS WORLDS OF GHOSTS, SEA DWELLERS & SHAPESHIFTERS!
Have you ever wondered about different myths of the world? These include the stories that so many cultures live by and the ones that of the best movies are based upon? You do know that these interesting concepts haven’t just appeared out thin air, right?
Introducing Mysticism & Myths, a sampler by six authors of varying genres. Each author has chosen a legend or culture from various regions, and embellished the details. Webs have been spun, and fantasies have been built in an effort to deliver to a collection that is sure to be entertaining.
The worlds captured in these stories are many! From ghosts and vampires to sea dwellers and shapeshifters, and even ancestral rebirths! There's something for everyone.
For detailed synopsis, please visit: http://mythsandmysticism.wix.com/mam1
Bound By Blood (A Night Shift Novella)
By Margo Bond Collins
Sometimes the monsters in the night are real.
Sometimes they live right next door.
Isa: Gift of the Baloma
By Perri Forrest
Isa: Gift of the Baloma is a fantasy tale created from a myth that derives from the Trobriand islands (today officially known as the Kiriwina Islands).
Micco, Anguta's Reign
By Dormaine G.
Revelation can be a disheartening truth.
Cursed: A Yorkshire Ghost Story
By Karen Perkins
She’s back. This time no one is safe.
By Jaxx Summers
We are born, live and eventually leave the mortal world.
The Life Keeper
By Abby L. Vandiver
The bloodline of Romania, older than the legend of the vampire, the strigoi are vile, evil creatures who suck the life from the people of the villages that line the impenetrable forests of the country.
Bound by Blood by Margo Bond Collins
Oatmeal always makes me think apocalypse.
Not the kind of apocalypse I’m actually likely to witness, spread through droplets so small they can’t be seen by the naked eye, by germs so tiny that they might as well be science fiction to most people.
And not the kind we thought we were getting when the vampires showed up a few years ago—though something weird happened in Dallas recently, so the vampires have been hiding out for the last several months. No one knows why, for sure, but I know that the guys in the ER are thankful for the drop in neck traumas and exsanguination victims. And I was glad the hospital had a small isolation ward specially created to watch ex-sang victims overnight, just to be sure they didn’t turn. It made my job as a consultant for the CDC easier.
No, when I’m confronted with the prospect of oatmeal, I begin to think how useful it would be in a world where scavenging became the norm—like one of those zombie movies where people slide through grocery stores throwing food items into baskets, racing to gather as much as they can before the shambling horde attacks.
“I’m just saying.” I tucked a few strands of dark hair that had escaped my bun up under my scrub hat.
“When the inevitable zombie apocalypse hits? Go for the oatmeal. It’s lightweight and nutritious, can be eaten alone or used to make easy-to-carry cakes, can even be eaten uncooked. It’s pretty much the perfect post-apocalyptic food.”
“That assumes,” Dr. Will Manning said as we scrubbed in at the sinks in the small anteroom that led into the isolation unit, “that either there is someone out there doing all the hard work of growing and then milling it—or whatever it is you do to oats that turns them into oatmeal—or that there are few enough people around that the stores are still chock-full of oatmeal packets, just ripe for the picking.” He wrapped the paper gown ties around behind him, criss-crossing them around his waist and tying them in the front.
“You’re missing the point,” I said, pulling a pair of sterile, blue, non-latex gloves out of the dispenser on the wall and snapping them on one at a time, checking to make sure they covered the wrists on the sleeves of my own white, paper gown.
“So what is the point?” He reached around me for his gloves.
“That it’s important to pay attention to how we can use the things around us.” My voice grew muffled as I tied on a surgical mask.
“So let me get this straight.” With his hip, he bumped the button that opened the door into the unit. “You’re in a hospital full of medical equipment”—he gestured in a circle over his head, taking in all of Houston General—”and you’re obsessing over the post-apocalyptic value of oatmeal?”
Publisher: Cultural Cocktails
Project Coordinator: Janice G. Ross