Tag Archive: fiction

The sequel is here!

High school sophomore Devin Mulwray isn’t happy being known as the Ghost Boy at Grey Bluff High in Arcata, California.  Since Devin’s dramatic encounters with the angry ghost of Rutherford Rousten, stories about his unique paranormal abilities have spread all over town.

Devin’s trying to get back to a normal life and cope with his new job at a trendy fashion shop when bizarre occurrences start happening all over again.  A stuck-up girl at school starts behaving very strangely during a school rally, appearing to be under a demented trance.  Devin finds himself again summoned to disturbing dead-of-the-night encounters with the resident spirit of the old Escamonde Hotel.  And Grey Bluff High’s most enthusiastic paranormal expert, Nayra Montez, insists that Devin meet up with her enigmatic mentor, Dagmar Wiltschaft, to learn more about the occult.

Before Devin knows what’s happening, he and his two best friends, oddball musician Clive Welter-Manes and technology enthusiast Rex Hisakawa, are drawn into investigating ghostly manifestations at the expansive home of the wealthy Holster family.  Devin’s girlfriend Emily starts wondering about all the time he’s spending with Nayra and Regina while Devin has his own questions about why Emily always seems to be talking about the handsome, multi-talented Joaquin Veracruz.

Devin has to deal with a creepy séance, a meeting with a forest phantom and a haunted Victorian lantern before he can get to the bottom of the strange circumstances around the Holster haunting.


I Was a Teenage Ghost Hunter II


If you are looking for a book to help you get into the Halloween mood, or just feel like getting a good spooktastic ghost story in your life then this book is for you!

I thought this book was totally amazing! The characters were interesting and kept me amused throughout the entire story, and I found myself excited to see what crazy thing they did next.

I found the interactions with Rex, Clive, and Devin comical and I absolutely love how each of their personalities worked with each other. The three of them definitely make a very entertaining trio!

All in all I enjoyed “I Was A Teenage Ghost Hunter” very much, and most definitely recommend it to anyone who has the slightest interest in ghosts or the paranormal!


“Devin stared through the large plate glass window of the Escamonde Hotel at the dark branches of the walnut tree. In between two of the large, lower branches there was a wispy, white piece of fabric. Or at least, there had been one second before. He blinked, and saw the fabric again. But then he jerked away and yelped…

And this is just the first paragraph…Just in time for Halloween Author Brian K. Henry has gifted me a copy of his book “I WAS A TEENAGE GHOST HUNTER” and let me tell you this book is definitely a book you wanted to slip in your kids Trick or Treat bag for Halloween. I absolutely loved this book.

I… could… not… put this book down until the very end. That’s right I read this book in one sitting…it’s that good. There were a lot of spooky and unexpected twist and turns…but there were moments I could not stop laughing. This is definitely that kind of Halloween book that kids… and adults of all ages… will definitely fall in love with. This book would definitely make a wonderful Halloween cartoon special, which I would definitely curl up in my favorite chair to watch.

Without giving away too much about the book, I am very pleased with the ending, and when… and if… a sequel comes out I’m all ready. I highly recommend this spooky… but comical book…like I said before…just in time for Halloween.”

Find the book on Amazon: http://amzn.to/1gwPt3U

Opening of my novel I Was a Teenage Ghost Hunter:

Devin stared through the large plate glass window of the Escamonde Hotel at the dark branches of the walnut tree.  In between two of the large, lower branches there was a wispy, white piece of fabric.  Or at least, there had been one a second before.  He blinked, and saw the fabric again.  But then he jerked away and yelped.

A small stream from the cup of caramel latte had burned his hand.  The paper cup lay on the floor where he’d dropped it, a pool of overpriced, precious sugary brown liquid pouring out around it.  “Shit,” he muttered.

“Isn’t that the fourth latte you dropped this week?” Ramona was asking in all seriousness, without the slightest trace of humor.  She had somehow instantly turned up at Devin’s side, where he hadn’t realized she was standing, and was looking darkly at the mess spreading on the floor.

Devin quickly wiped the hot latte drippings from his hands on a white towel and began soaking up the remains of the failed beverage with all the recycled napkins and paper towels in the vicinity.  He muttered some insincere apologies to Ramona and the elderly lady tourist who looked on peevishly from the other side of the counter, waiting impatiently for her indulgent drink.

“I’ll get that for you,” Ramona told the frail lady without enthusiasm.  She went into action on the latte, with her patented, sullenly slow-motion technique.

“I want whip cream,” chirped the lady, repeating her earlier instruction.  She was clearly perturbed at having her carefully planned Arcata idyll interrupted by a teenage barista’s incompetence and was eager to re-join her equally elderly lady friends at one of the cafe’s little wooden tables covered with one of the hotel’s quaint, handmade tablecloths so they could plan out their birding or antiquing adventures for the day.

“Yeah,” said Devin.  He’d popped back up, a soggy towel in one hand.  As Ramona plunked the latte on the counter, he grabbed a nearby canister and shot onto it an unceremonious glob of lopsided whip cream, giving the latte a final, disorderly glop of indignity.  The tourist lowered her white eyebrows darkly but took the cup and retreated without another word before some other injury could be visited on her beverage.

Read more: http://bit.ly/NjiFnJ wattpad_finalA

Praise for I Was a Teenage Ghost Hunter

Wattpaders love I Was a Teenage Ghost Hunter

“Easily as good as Eoin Colfer or Rick Riordan”
“This is good writing and you definitely got more than one LOL out of me.”
“Awesome sauce!!”
“This is an awesome book. I love it so much!”
“Fun!!!! Reading this book is awesome. I finished it all in 3 days”

Read it free on Wattpad: http://bit.ly/1a4tUH0

New Free Novel: I Was a Teenage Ghost Hunter

Hey guys, check out my complete new novel I Was a Teenage Ghost Hunter now on Wattpad! http://bit.ly/1a4tUH0 Here’s a synopsis:

Moody sixteen-year-old barista Devin Mulwray is doing his best to ignore bizarre manifestations at his job in the chilly Northern California town of Arcata. Already teased about his recurrent ‘phase-outs’, the last thing he needs is to get pegged as a guy who sees ghosts. It doesn’t help his state of mind that his boss is a sarcastic slacker, his single dad is always on the road with clients and local occult fan girl Nayra is spreading ‘ghost boy’ rumors about him online.

But when violent paranormal activity badly spooks teens at an abandoned estate, Devin’s pushed into investigating by his eccentric friends Clive, a budding composer, and Rex, a tech head excited by ghost hunting gadgetry. At first reluctant to get involved, Devin’s encouraged when Emily, one of the more empathetic girls at Grey Bluff High, is impressed with his daring.

Together the friends explore the creepy Rousten manor. But as the only person able to perceive the manifestations, Devin soon finds himself going one-on-one against a powerful spirit who attacks the locals and infiltrates Devin’s own dreams.

Devin must face his fear of confronting the spirit world and get to the bottom of the hauntings before the specter unleashes more havoc on him and his friends.

Gorman Fowley approached the check-in counter with a wry, minor smile.  Too much time had gone by since he’d flown out of Evil International Airport.

The over-rouged, middle-aged brunette at the counter narrowed her eyes, accented with mint green eye shadow.  She gave a quirk of recognition with her mouth.  “Fowley.  Haven’t flown you out in a while.”  Her voice was a croaky instrument, like that of a toad from a sparse woodland.

Fowley plopped his luggage, a large rectangular item in dried-blood red, onto the scale.  “I’ve been missing it, Runa.  Sitting in my apartment thinking of all those destinations.”  Fowley had an unruly head of brown hair that poked out in varied directions and wore a crumpled, thrift store suit in a shade somewhere between light brown and salmon.  His face was leathery, with the over-tanned tone of a man who spent many idle days on corrupt beaches.

“The Lost Isle of the Decapitated Children,” Runa said wistfully.

“The Canyon of Sacrificial Goats.”

“Bloated Crone Mountain,” continued Runa, glancing toward the huge graphic poster on the wall.

“Archfiend Archipelago,” countered Fowley.

Runa put an abrupt end to the dreamy recitation.  “What your final destination?”  Her fingernails, bathed in dark pomegranate polish, were poised to strike the dusty keyboard.

“Imp Town,” said Fowley triumphantly.

Continued: http://bit.ly/15U8PAt

10. Sherlock Holmes

9. Chingachgook

8. The Silver Surfer

7. Huckleberry Finn

6. Ebenezer Scrooge

5. Macbeth

4. Satan (Paradise Lost)

3. Captain Ahab

2. Emma Bovary

1. The Wicked Witch of the East



Other characters who would not be as interesting if named Tom are included in my sci-fi extravaganza Space Command and the Planets of Doom: http://amzn.to/atEZo9

Bringing you another eye-popping edition of Behind the Tweet, this installment looks behind the scenes at the crafting of my recent mind-spinning tweet:

Idea for a story #32: The Dancing Eisenhowers go undercover to break up a Swiss wig smuggling ring.

This concept has so many potential directions, it’s amazing it hasn’t been done before.  It’s a natural story to appeal to all the four main fiction reading quadrants: lovers of mystery, dancing, presidents and wacky schemes.  The tale would even lend itself to instant musical adaptation.

Imagine The Dancing Eisenhowers themselves as a four man crew (although a female Eisenhower could open up lots of interesting possibilities for gender-assumption interrogations).  There’s Jed, a veteran, seasoned Dancing Eisenhower, who’s danced through it all, relived the highlights of both administrations, and done the pas de deux with Nixon until he’s sore in the phalanges.  Then there’s Milt, the flashy, show biz Eisenhower – a standout glamour boy who shamelessly uses his status as a marquee-topping DE to score with the babes.  Then there’s Murl, the fish-out-of-water country boy, always having to disguise his dyed-in-the-cotton yokel vocal tones when the DEs do another round of New York City PR interviews.  And finally, there’s Tug, the young up-and-comer, barely old enough to pass for an Eisenhower, his head newly shaven and his attitude full of spit and polish and vim and vigor, but primed for a speedy disillusioning when the hard, footsore reality of long-term Eisenhower dancing sets in.

Just as this ill-assorted crew is coping with the latest strenuous demands placed on them by skinflint manager Barnes “Barney Boy” Q. Barnes, they’re drawn into the crazy machinations of The Hair Pin, a Geneva-based megalomaniac determined to get a corner on the world wig market.  To get the boys under his thumb, The Hair Pin kidnaps the Dancing Eisenhower’s occasional female guest dancer, America’s ‘first girl of tap dance’, Buttercup ‘Mamie’ Melchers.  Holding her hostage in a secure Swiss bank vault, the Hair Pin threatens to permanently wax Mamie’s scalp unless the boys do his nefarious bidding and use their all-too convenient baldness as a means of smuggling rare wigs out of the mansion of his archenemy, legendary hairpiece collector Baron Tonscha von Hansard.

After plenty of machinations, gyrations and bare-knuckle, bare-headed thrills, things wind up with an all-singing, all-dancing, all-Ikeing finale, as the boys reveal The Hair Pin as a crypto-fascist follicle fetishist and he’s hauled off to serve time in a Swiss cuckoo house.  Then it’s back on stage for a joyous chorus of ‘Eisenhower and How!’ before the curtain falls.

At least, that’s one variation of how this tweet could play out.  But then, there’s more than one way to dance an Eisenhower.


For more absurdity check out my short story collection ‘Space Command and the Planets of Doom’: http://amzn.to/atEZo9

Commander Brogan Lannrat gave a determined grimace, displaying the square, well-formed teeth that had previously attracted favorable attention from more than a few highly skilled Lounge Dancers on the Planet of the Green Lagoons.  “No puffed-up pillbug is going to look down his nose at me.”

“Pillbugs don’t have noses,” noted crew biologist Mecky St. John.

“I don’t care what part of anatomy they might or might not look down from, they won’t be looking down from it at me.”  Lannrat stood, hands on hips, at the entrance to the Prime Bugorium, the elaborately ribbed and segmented bug government headquarters on the Planet of the Pompous Pillbugs.  The purple-and-black granite of the planet’s surface spread out in undulations behind him like series of giant, oversize, rocky ear canals.

“The pomposity is something you have to accept.  It’s a part of their DNA,” explained Mecky St. John.

He and Lannrat had traveled to the Bugorium gates on their Bounce Bike, Space Command emissaries on a secret mission to investigate Pillbug intentions.  Space Command intelligence officers had picked up unsettling noises in the cyberverse about Pilbug territorial prerogatives, setting off alarm bells at Blouder Base.

“After their evolutionary triumphs over the small-giraffe, this planet’s pillbugs have an attitude problem that’s insufferable,” Mecky explained, in that nearly insufferable, wheedling crew biologist voice of his.  “They’re the only bugs within three systems that possess the power of speech.”

“Fortunately I possess the power of ignoring speeches,” said Lannrat.  He gave his signature commanding guffaw, which tended to intimidate anyone with a less robust sense of humor in his immediate environs.  “Now let’s see just how nervously these bugs quail when an authentic, full-bodied human challenges them head on.”

Lannrat strutted toward the guard-bug standing sentry at the Bugorium entrance, his space boots stomping the granite with the full force of the militaristic chieftain that he considered himself.

The guard bug wobbled slightly on his lowest legs, a sleek, imported black helmet sheathing the upper part of his body.  Two of his many upper-right legs twitched restlessly, sending the spear he held into wobbly gyrations.  “Who approaches the Bugorioum?” the huge arthropod asked, in a somewhat rusty voice since it was pretty infrequent that any visitors actually approached to even try gaining entrance to the massive grey complex.

“Humans,” sneered Lannrat.  “I suppose you’ve heard of them?  Although the elevated, sophisticated nature of our affairs rarely leads to an intersection of our world with yours.”

The pillbug twirled his lance in an impressive flourish with seven or eight legs until it’s glinting point was just a pillbug-leg length from Lannrat’s check.   “What is your business at the Bugorium?”

“Haha!”  Lannrat laughed, as though the deadly pillbug lance was little more to him than the plaything of an inconsequentially rolling, insignificant, dirt-speckled millipede.  “Very entertaining!  I salute you on your twirly skills, your dexterous thrusting.  It’s a veritable floorshow for the visitors: Pillbugs on Ice!”

Mecky St John trotted up, coughing into his hand with exaggerated embarrassment.  “You’ll have to excuse my Commander, oh Pillbug officer.  He’s not accustomed to dealing with the more intelligent members of the gargantuan bug community.”

“Don’t apologize for me, Mecky,” Lannrat snorted, knocking aside the pillbug’s lance with a jerk of an arm.  “This bug needs to learn his proper place in the cosmos, below the great chain of human beings.”

“Commander Lannrat,” Mecky warned, “I don’t think it’s advisable…”

But it was already clear that Lannrat’s move had been inadvisable, since the guard was flailing all of his ungrounded limbs and running straight at the Commander, shaking his helmet and emitting a piercing tone that made a typical whistle seem as low-pitched as a foghorn.  Lannrat stood his ground, and was just about to experience a full collision with the onrushing bug flesh when the pillbug halted.  A crackle of energy had darted through his helmet and with this signal the bug had ground to a stop.

A voice boomed with authority from a helmet-implanted speaker.  “Guardsman, escort the intruders to the Bugorium Auditorium.”

“Haha,” Lannrat chortled again.  “They think we’re common intruders.  Wait until they realize they’re dealing with superior beings here.”

“Commander, I don’t think you understand…”

As the guard turned to lead them into the Bugorium, Lannrat gave a light kick to his shell.  “Show us the sights, bug man.”

Just minutes later, Lannrat and St. John found themselves in the large, but clammy, ceremonial auditorium, adorned with a dozen detailed sculptures of great pillbugs of yore, most of which, to the untrained human eye, looked remarkably alike one another.

Brogan Lannrat stood in the middle of the floor, hands on hips, looking up scornfully at the stone table where a council of especially sententious-looking pillbug potentates sat in a semi-circle.  “You call this a central Bugorium?  Ha.  I’ve seen more ornate arthropodean chambers in my niece’s Insect Farm.”

Mecky St. John was next to Lannrat, trying to keep a lid on his frightful quivering at the concerted pillbug power arrayed against them.  “That attitude may not be our best approach, Commander.”

The pillbug dignitaries seemed to agree with St. John, since they proceed to make munchy, gabbling, pillbug-language sounds across the table to each other.  Finally, the central pillbug turned to the intruders and addressed them in a heavily accented speech that sounded like a man speaking through a tiny megaphone packed with pebbles and cottage cheese.

“You have brought your gangly, unfortunate people-bodies to our planet without the proper identification, visa cards or recommended two-week vacation package vouchers.  Why should we not immediately consign you to our Sponge Prisons?”

“Ha,” reiterated Lannrat.  “The Sponge Prison hasn’t been built that can hold Brogan Lannrat.  You clearly haven’t heard of my escape from the Solitary Maximum Spongiform Security facility on the Planet of the Armored Earthworms.”  Lannrat threw some vigorous air-punches to demonstrate how he’d been able to damage his holding cell’s sponge walls.

The pillbugs made more gabbling and gargling sounds that might’ve been the bug equivalent of laughter.  “Your body motions are diverting,” allowed the head bug.  “But they do not address our question.  Why have you come here, all unbidden, to soil our domain?”

Lannrat gritted his perfectly even and remarkably square teeth.  These pillbugs simply wouldn’t let up on the pomposity.  “Listen, you puffed up, overlimbed ambulatory pebble.  Space Command polices this galaxy and we’ve picked up way too much chatter lately on your insidious moon-gobbling plans.  As far as we’re concerned, you primitive talking fossils already take up way too much galactic real estate.”

The bug bigwig was unpleased.  “Your insolence is beyond bounds, Commander.  Bug-guards, teach these fleshy ones some manners!”

Before the Space Command officers could take defensive maneuvers, two of the auditorium pillbug sentries instantly rolled themselves into pill form while simultaneously collapsing onto built-in, full-size floor trampolines.  With an aggressive spin they bounced off the trampoline surfaces to the center of the chamber, both guards smacking into either side of Mecky St. John.  St. John let out an unmanly shriek and collapsed, messy blood dripping from the collapsed sides of his head where the naturally well-armored bugs had impacted.

The bug leader waved a series of impatient legs at Lannrat.  “Clobber the other one!”

But Brogan Lannrat wasn’t too be bug-bombed so easily.  The security bugs had frisked him of his Spoggle blaster upon entering the Bugorium, but Lannrat had cleverly secreted a miniature bandolier of poison Muq’u darts in his upper mouth cavity.  Using a few lighting-fast foot-and-knee movements from the martial art of Brim Pucha, Lannrat jumped in front of the dignitaries’ semi-circular table, ripped the bandolier from his mouth and let fly with five expertly placed Muq’u darts that lodged in the tender underbellies of the sententious pillbugs.  The pompous monsters’ many legs writhed agonizingly in a spontaneous, coordinated display of insane pain and then, one-by-one, the oversize arthropods tottered and, in a Muq’u-petrified state of immobility, crashed to the chamber floor.

But the Commander was not around to see the results of his fusillade.  By the time the first bug fell, Lannrat was long gone, hustling down the, fortunately, well-signposted halls of the Bugorium to the exit, lashing out with Brim Pucha kicks and Muq’u darts whenever his perimeter was broached by a many-legged armadillidium.

Within a few sweat-packed minutes he was sitting back in his World Floater, hitting the control sequence for blast off.

“This is Lannrat,” he signed in to the Blouder Base mission frequency.  “Mission aborted.  These bugs are up to no good, no question about it.  I’ve seen all I need to see.”

“Report team status, Commander.”

“St. John’s not here.  He was pretty badly bashed by those bugs.  Might even be dead.  At least sustained some brain injuries that would be damn inconvenient to recover from. But that bug-hugger’s permanently cured of his bleeding-heart bawling, leastways.”  Lannrat gave a rough, commanding chortle as the World Floater achieved liftoff and he zoomed away from the purple-and-black landscape of the inhospitable and doom-inducing environs of the Planet of the Pompous Pillbugs.



Be amazed by more tales of Space Command in Space Command and the Planets of Doom: http://amzn.to/atEZo9