Happy Friday the 13th!! Welcome to the thirteenth and final post about a brand new series of 13 suspenseful “Friday the 13th” short stories, each by a different author.
Today, I am happy to share my Friday the 13th Short Story, “Blood and Breakfast” – Now available for sale for $1.99 or #FREE on #KindleSelect
AND…be sure to check out our contest:
Enter to win 13 FREE books brought to you by our 13 Friday the 13th authors. See contest link HERE for details.
Fun Fact:
I was plotting my story and trying to figure out why a normal family man would suddenly snap and murder his family. I realized that hallucinations could cause people to do crazy things, so I researched what could make people hallucinate. I discovered that the plant, jimson weed, can cause serious hallucinations. I also wanted to incorporate some kind of an authentic local legend in my story, so I researched legends in various states and came across the Devil’s Footrock in Rhode Island. I was able to mesh the two–jimson weed and the Devil’s Footrock–to come up with how the husband/father in my story lost his mind and killed his family. It’s so much fun when ideas click and make a story come together. Here’s a photo of Devil’s Foot Rock:
Cool, right? You can learn about the legend surrounding the footprint by reading my story. Or, you can just google it 🙂
Now, more about Blood and Breakfast…
Blurb:
Determined to boost the sagging ratings of her internet radio show, “A Dark Place,” murder junkie Sasha Gillette checks into the Talley House Bed and Breakfast in North Kingston, Rhode Island. She and her co-host plan to broadcast an episode about the murders that took place there thirteen years earlier on a Friday the 13th, when a man butchered his entire family.
Not long after Sasha arrives, the other guests begin to disappear. Has a killer from the past resurfaced or is there a copycat on the loose?
One of the lone survivors, Sasha finds herself trapped with a sadistic killer and, suddenly, murder isn’t as much fun as she thought.
Excerpt:
The bedside lamp glowed, but the room was cast in shadows. The door to the balcony stood open, and the sheer drapes fluttered in the cool breeze. Juliana wrapped her arms around her body and strode over to close the sliding glass doors.
She paced the wooden floor, clenching and unclenching her fists. “The bitch. The little whore.” A knot formed in her throat, and she swiped at the tears streaking her cheeks. “And, the sorry son of a bitch. How could he? On our honeymoon?”
She continued to pace and curse, then took her phone from the nightstand and fired off a text to Bradley.
Sleep on the fucking couch tonight, you sorry piece of shit. I don’t want to see your face.
For a brief moment, she regretted sending it and wished she could take it back. But that lasted only a moment. His return text shattered her heart.
Fine by me. Fuck off.
The sobs that had been building broke free. She dropped to the bed and covered her face in her hands. Her soul felt like it was ripping in two. How did things go so wrong so fast? She thought he loved her. That he would fight for her. Instead, the first slut he encountered, he became a cheating asshole.
A sound penetrated her consciousness, and she sniffled back her tears. The door swung inward. In spite of her fury, her heart lifted. She stood and faced the door as she waited for Bradley to enter. Should she play it cool and make him beg? Or should she forgive him and put this behind them. Start anew?
She took a step toward the door as he entered, then froze. The man standing inside the room was not Bradley. She knew this because he was taller than Bradley, bigger. Besides, why would Bradley be wearing a ski mask?
“Who—who are you?” Her voice quivered. “What do you want?”
He stalked across the room and clapped a gloved hand over her mouth. With his other hand, he gripped her neck and squeezed. She tried to speak but could only make a gurgling sound. Her skin tightened with fear, and her stomach quivered. Terror seized her insides. She grabbed his wrists, clawing at his flesh, trying to loosen his grip. Her hands, slippery with sweat, couldn’t get a good hold.
In the murky semi-darkness, something metallic flashed in her vision. Oh God…a knife.
His hot breath wafted over her neck as he whispered into her ear, “We’re going for a walk. Make one sound, and I’ll slice you open from neck to navel.”
Author Alicia Dean 