Leanne109 was the winner of an autographed copy of Wild Ghost Chase. I'll be contacting her offline to arrange to deliver her book.
Ericka Scott
www.erickascott.com
Showing posts with label Ericka Scott. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ericka Scott. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
Wild Ghost Chase - excerpt and contest
Another excerpt from Wild Ghost Chase
Over a hundred years of impressions permeated the house.
In the corner, children gathered around a Christmas tree. Then,
the vision swept away, replaced by one of a woman sobbing into
her hands. Over his shoulder, Enigma heard a man shout. An
old woman, toothless and dressed in a ragged Victorian gown,
ran through the room and up the stairs. His psychic senses were
overloaded, so, to firmly plant himself in the present, he glanced
over at Monica and caught her gazing at him.
Her eyes held a look he’d seen all too often before. Lust. He
schooled his expression to one of nonchalance and returned her
stare with neutral interest, a direct conflict to his real feelings.
He wanted to talk to her, touch her, kiss her lips. Yeah, like that
would ever happen. She’d called him Jason, so she knew part of
his real name. He doubted she knew who he really was. No one
did. Heck, he wasn’t sure he even knew.
Enigma ‘Jason’ Mysterio died in a car crash two years ago.
Three times he’d been pronounced dead, and three times the doctors
and staff revived him. Three times lucky? To be alive, yes.
When he’d emerged from the large tunnel of light the last time,
he’d brought something back with him. Visions of the dead. The
apparitions affected him to the point where he could no longer
hold a normal job. On a whim, he’d auditioned for a part as a
medium on a television show—and gotten the role. At the urging
of his agent, he’d stopped using his normal sounding middle
name and embraced his given name, Enigma.
A short scream interrupted his reverie. Irene had her hand
dramatically poised over her eyes. How the hell he had ended
up with her as a partner still flummoxed him. Yeah, Irene was a
looker, but she was dumb as a box of rocks. Amazing that more
than a few folks thought she had psychic ability. She didn’t have
an ounce of extrasensory perception. Nor, in his opinion, could
she act.
He caught Monica rolling her eyes in disgust. His insides
flipped again and his pulse increased. Why did she have that effect
on him? He liked his women tall and athletic. In contrast,
she was short, had unruly dark hair that probably defied every
hair product ever invented, and didn’t need the extra ten pounds
the camera was rumored to add. Still, her curves made his hands
itch. Although she’d never suspect his attraction, he’d had years
of practice hiding his feelings.
As a child, Enigma Jason Mysterio had been teased for his
odd name and his extreme shyness. Growing up, he’d done everything
not to be noticed; he wore glasses, dorky clothes, and all the
trappings of a nerd. After the accident, he’d embraced his second
chance at life, this time determined not to miss out on anything.
“Enigma!” Irene’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Yes.” Enigma gave her an easy smile.
“I think we should walk through the entire house before we
get settled. I want to make sure I have a room free of impressions.
It’s imperative I get a good night’s sleep.”
“Of course, let me tell T where to start setting up—”
“I mean now,” Irene snapped.
“Sure.” Enigma shot an apologetic smile at T, their long-suffering
technical assistant, and then followed Irene up the stairs
with a sigh. She didn’t need a room with no ghosts. Heavens, the
woman didn’t have a psychic bone in her body. No, she simply
wanted to get the most comfortable bed in the house. With a
shudder, he hoped she wouldn’t suggest test driving a mattress.
The overt propositions started the day he began working with
her. Adept at saying “no,” Enigma had been amazed at Irene’s
persistence. Recently, something changed.
Perhaps she’d decided to devote herself to saving her marriage
to their producer, Richard. Thinking about their relationship,
or lack of one, he shook his head. No, the big dark cloud on
her aura screamed divorce. Judging by the thickness of the stain,
it wouldn’t be pretty.
“So, what are your impressions?” Irene asked when they
reached the top of the stairs and were no longer within earshot
of the rest of the group.
“There’s too many to sort through right now.” Enigma
shrugged. Suddenly, the scent of roses permeated the air. He
stopped, feeling as if he’d walked through someone. He made
out a petite form wearing something voluminous and white.
“I’m picking up the spirit of a woman. She died young.” At his
feet, he psychically sensed a pool of spreading blood. “I think
she was murdered.”
“Oh.” Irene shivered, a sexy move that appeared as if she’d
practiced it for hours in order to get the motion just right. “Good
boy. That gives me something to work with.” She began opening
doors and peering into the rooms.
Enigma followed, peering over her shoulder. From appearances,
no expense had been spared in the renovation of the house.
Authentic antiques, maybe even the original furnishings, were
accented with modern art on the walls and comfortable, colorful
bedding. Each room had a theme. In the first one, everything
revolved around roses. The bedspread, the curtains, and the easy
chair all had a floral motif. A vase overflowing with multicolored
blossoms sat on the dresser.
Irene drifted into the room to sniff the bouquet but then
pushed past him. This room wasn’t spacious enough for her. He
followed her trim form down the hallway. She peered into each
room, but didn’t enter any. At the very end of the hall, the last
door opened into a suite.
Enigma didn’t have to be psychic to know which room Irene
would pick. The spacious suite contained a king-sized bed and
had an attached bathroom.
“I call this room.” Irene plopped herself down on the bed
and bounced. She patted the bedspread beside her and gave him
her best come-hither smile. “Wanna try out the mattress before
we get to work?”
Enigma stood in the doorway trying to catch his breath.
Menace flooded his senses. The sound of his heart pounding in
his ears almost drowned out the bestial screams he psychically
heard. Then, he had a sense of a sudden stabbing pain in his neck,
and everything went quiet. Too quiet.
With a rush, sounds flooded in. Voices, both psychic and
real, made him startle.
“Why, honey,” Irene drawled. “You look like you’ve seen a
ghost.” She tittered with laughter. “I know you’re a good actor, so
I’m not going to believe you when you tell me this room is haunted.
I know it’s only because you want it for yourself.”
“No.” Enigma managed a weak smile. “It’s all yours.” He
glanced over his shoulder toward the sound of voices. “Everyone
else is coming upstairs. I can tell you that so far I’ve sensed two…”
Enigma trailed off, remembering the sense of evil and the bestial
screaming. “No, there are three spirits trapped here. Two women
and one man.”
“Ooh la la.” Irene raised one eyebrow and indulged in another
sexy wiggle. “A spiritual ménage.”
An eternal love triangle? Too soon to tell, but Enigma knew
one thing, there was more death than love suffusing the walls
of this house.
Want to win your own copy of this chilling haunted house tale? Leave a comment telling me the name of your favorite ghost story (film/television/book) and I'll draw a random winner to receive a signed, print copy of Wild Ghost Chase.
Over a hundred years of impressions permeated the house.
In the corner, children gathered around a Christmas tree. Then,
the vision swept away, replaced by one of a woman sobbing into
her hands. Over his shoulder, Enigma heard a man shout. An
old woman, toothless and dressed in a ragged Victorian gown,
ran through the room and up the stairs. His psychic senses were
overloaded, so, to firmly plant himself in the present, he glanced
over at Monica and caught her gazing at him.
Her eyes held a look he’d seen all too often before. Lust. He
schooled his expression to one of nonchalance and returned her
stare with neutral interest, a direct conflict to his real feelings.
He wanted to talk to her, touch her, kiss her lips. Yeah, like that
would ever happen. She’d called him Jason, so she knew part of
his real name. He doubted she knew who he really was. No one
did. Heck, he wasn’t sure he even knew.
Enigma ‘Jason’ Mysterio died in a car crash two years ago.
Three times he’d been pronounced dead, and three times the doctors
and staff revived him. Three times lucky? To be alive, yes.
When he’d emerged from the large tunnel of light the last time,
he’d brought something back with him. Visions of the dead. The
apparitions affected him to the point where he could no longer
hold a normal job. On a whim, he’d auditioned for a part as a
medium on a television show—and gotten the role. At the urging
of his agent, he’d stopped using his normal sounding middle
name and embraced his given name, Enigma.
A short scream interrupted his reverie. Irene had her hand
dramatically poised over her eyes. How the hell he had ended
up with her as a partner still flummoxed him. Yeah, Irene was a
looker, but she was dumb as a box of rocks. Amazing that more
than a few folks thought she had psychic ability. She didn’t have
an ounce of extrasensory perception. Nor, in his opinion, could
she act.
He caught Monica rolling her eyes in disgust. His insides
flipped again and his pulse increased. Why did she have that effect
on him? He liked his women tall and athletic. In contrast,
she was short, had unruly dark hair that probably defied every
hair product ever invented, and didn’t need the extra ten pounds
the camera was rumored to add. Still, her curves made his hands
itch. Although she’d never suspect his attraction, he’d had years
of practice hiding his feelings.
As a child, Enigma Jason Mysterio had been teased for his
odd name and his extreme shyness. Growing up, he’d done everything
not to be noticed; he wore glasses, dorky clothes, and all the
trappings of a nerd. After the accident, he’d embraced his second
chance at life, this time determined not to miss out on anything.
“Enigma!” Irene’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Yes.” Enigma gave her an easy smile.
“I think we should walk through the entire house before we
get settled. I want to make sure I have a room free of impressions.
It’s imperative I get a good night’s sleep.”
“Of course, let me tell T where to start setting up—”
“I mean now,” Irene snapped.
“Sure.” Enigma shot an apologetic smile at T, their long-suffering
technical assistant, and then followed Irene up the stairs
with a sigh. She didn’t need a room with no ghosts. Heavens, the
woman didn’t have a psychic bone in her body. No, she simply
wanted to get the most comfortable bed in the house. With a
shudder, he hoped she wouldn’t suggest test driving a mattress.
The overt propositions started the day he began working with
her. Adept at saying “no,” Enigma had been amazed at Irene’s
persistence. Recently, something changed.
Perhaps she’d decided to devote herself to saving her marriage
to their producer, Richard. Thinking about their relationship,
or lack of one, he shook his head. No, the big dark cloud on
her aura screamed divorce. Judging by the thickness of the stain,
it wouldn’t be pretty.
“So, what are your impressions?” Irene asked when they
reached the top of the stairs and were no longer within earshot
of the rest of the group.
“There’s too many to sort through right now.” Enigma
shrugged. Suddenly, the scent of roses permeated the air. He
stopped, feeling as if he’d walked through someone. He made
out a petite form wearing something voluminous and white.
“I’m picking up the spirit of a woman. She died young.” At his
feet, he psychically sensed a pool of spreading blood. “I think
she was murdered.”
“Oh.” Irene shivered, a sexy move that appeared as if she’d
practiced it for hours in order to get the motion just right. “Good
boy. That gives me something to work with.” She began opening
doors and peering into the rooms.
Enigma followed, peering over her shoulder. From appearances,
no expense had been spared in the renovation of the house.
Authentic antiques, maybe even the original furnishings, were
accented with modern art on the walls and comfortable, colorful
bedding. Each room had a theme. In the first one, everything
revolved around roses. The bedspread, the curtains, and the easy
chair all had a floral motif. A vase overflowing with multicolored
blossoms sat on the dresser.
Irene drifted into the room to sniff the bouquet but then
pushed past him. This room wasn’t spacious enough for her. He
followed her trim form down the hallway. She peered into each
room, but didn’t enter any. At the very end of the hall, the last
door opened into a suite.
Enigma didn’t have to be psychic to know which room Irene
would pick. The spacious suite contained a king-sized bed and
had an attached bathroom.
“I call this room.” Irene plopped herself down on the bed
and bounced. She patted the bedspread beside her and gave him
her best come-hither smile. “Wanna try out the mattress before
we get to work?”
Enigma stood in the doorway trying to catch his breath.
Menace flooded his senses. The sound of his heart pounding in
his ears almost drowned out the bestial screams he psychically
heard. Then, he had a sense of a sudden stabbing pain in his neck,
and everything went quiet. Too quiet.
With a rush, sounds flooded in. Voices, both psychic and
real, made him startle.
“Why, honey,” Irene drawled. “You look like you’ve seen a
ghost.” She tittered with laughter. “I know you’re a good actor, so
I’m not going to believe you when you tell me this room is haunted.
I know it’s only because you want it for yourself.”
“No.” Enigma managed a weak smile. “It’s all yours.” He
glanced over his shoulder toward the sound of voices. “Everyone
else is coming upstairs. I can tell you that so far I’ve sensed two…”
Enigma trailed off, remembering the sense of evil and the bestial
screaming. “No, there are three spirits trapped here. Two women
and one man.”
“Ooh la la.” Irene raised one eyebrow and indulged in another
sexy wiggle. “A spiritual ménage.”
An eternal love triangle? Too soon to tell, but Enigma knew
one thing, there was more death than love suffusing the walls
of this house.
Want to win your own copy of this chilling haunted house tale? Leave a comment telling me the name of your favorite ghost story (film/television/book) and I'll draw a random winner to receive a signed, print copy of Wild Ghost Chase.
Excerpt from Wild Ghost Chase by Ericka Scott
Come along for a wild ride~
Excerpt from Wild Ghost Chase
“Tragedy. Oh. So much tragedy,” Irene Hopkins wailed as
soon as she stepped out of the long black limousine. Tears glittered
in her eyes and threatened to spill over. “I felt it the moment
I drove on to the grounds. There has been so much pain
and suffering here.”
Blah, blah, blah. Monica resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
Irene certainly knew how to play the crowd and make an entrance.
She may have been a farce as a medium, but she had been
cleverly marketed by the network gurus. Long frizzy blonde hair
framed her face, and she wore long fake eyelashes to bat over her
big baby blues. Monica would almost bet her paycheck no male
viewer would notice Irene’s eye color. No, their attention would
be focused about a foot below her chin where her breasts threatened
to spill out of the tight red leather bolero jacket. Lord help
them if the one large button straining to hold the fabric together
popped open on national television. That event would give a
whole new meaning to ghost ‘bust’ing.
Enigma lifted a green duffle bag out of the trunk of his bright
red Miata convertible. He was even more beautiful in person than
on television. Although handsome was a more appropriate term for
a man, beautiful was more correct. His features weren’t the least
bit effeminate. He reminded Monica of a well-constructed piece
of art. Emotion caught in her throat and an odd ache clenched
her insides. The same feeling a Monet painting, diamond Tiffany
bracelet, or a hot fudge sundae elicited. To her embarrassment,
his green-eyed gaze caught hers and held it. The ache became
deeper, an almost physical pain of need. Why? What about him
affected her this way? The six feet of rippling muscles under a
skin-tight thermal shirt, or the way his tight jeans hugged his
butt and thighs? And no, the well-defined bulge of his crotch
didn’t make her breath hitch in her throat or her heart pound
in her ears. The attraction was his smile. A low heat built low in
her belly. When his grin widened, she was sure he knew exactly
what sort of reaction he’d elicited.
Damn him. Monica tore her gaze away from Enigma and
focused on inventorying the equipment in her black shoulder
bag. When she was satisfied she had everything, she balanced
the purse on the tailgate of her pickup truck.
Research about Harrington House and the family hadn’t
turned up much information. Amos Harrington, a ship’s captain,
had built the structure in the mid-1800s and lived there with his
wife and two daughters. One of the girls had died young, the other
had married and inherited the house, which had been in the
Harrington family ever since. Monica had discovered no documentation
of any ghostly phenomena over the years. Well, not
until last year when the current resident, a woman named Kylie
Harrington, moved into the old mansion and decided to turn it
into a bed and breakfast. The endeavor had been plagued by accidents
and unexplained occurrences. Publicly, Kylie denied allegations
that the house was haunted. Privately, she’d called for help.
At first glance, Harrington House didn’t appear menacing or
haunted. By contrast, it also didn’t resemble the photograph in
the newspaper article. The new owner had put a lot of work into
restoring the house to a glory it hadn’t even had in its heyday.
Painted a soft yellow, the bright blue gingerbread trim added
a bit of splash. White eyelet curtains hung at most of the windows
and the grounds were landscaped. Large flowerbeds of pansies
decorated the front walk and huge clay pots of geraniums stood
sentry at regular intervals along a porch running the full length
of the house. The atmosphere seemed open and welcoming, but
Monica knew looks were deceiving. The owner was convinced
the house was haunted. Well, that remained to be seen.
Stay tuned for one more excerpt and a chance to win a signed print copy of Wild Ghost Chase to enjoy on a dark and stormy night!
Ericka
Launch Party: Wild Ghost Chase by Ericka Scott
What's better than a dark and stormy night to curl up with a scary good book? Nothing, in my opinion.
Guess that's why I penned Wild Ghost Chase, which just released from L&L Dreamspell on June 1st.
Two reality-show ghost-busting teams versus one haunted house.
The first team to successfully exorcise the spirits wins the renewal of their television contract. It sounds like a pretty straight-forward competition, but something or someone at Harrington House has another agenda.
Over the course of a weekend, the two teams with their respective technical advisers, a supposedly impartial network executive, and the beautiful owner of Harrington House find it isn’t just the ghosts who are running amok. A killer is on the loose and if they don’t work together, they could all become permanent residents.
Guess that's why I penned Wild Ghost Chase, which just released from L&L Dreamspell on June 1st.
Two reality-show ghost-busting teams versus one haunted house.The first team to successfully exorcise the spirits wins the renewal of their television contract. It sounds like a pretty straight-forward competition, but something or someone at Harrington House has another agenda.
Over the course of a weekend, the two teams with their respective technical advisers, a supposedly impartial network executive, and the beautiful owner of Harrington House find it isn’t just the ghosts who are running amok. A killer is on the loose and if they don’t work together, they could all become permanent residents.
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