Booky Ramblings of a Neurotic Mom: Blog Tour: His Cemetery Doll by Brantwijn Serrah

Presented by: Sparkle Book Tours

His Cemetery Doll by Brantwijn Serrah

Audience: Adult 18+ - Genre: Paranormal Romance/Suspense - Format: Ebook and Paperback - Publisher: Foreplay and Fangs Supernatural Romance - Cover by: Brantwijn Serrah - Editor: Jayne Wolf - Pages: 194 - ISBN: 9781513050829 - ASIN: B00X6567H6 - Date Published: Re-release date: May 4th, 2015

Conall Mackay never put stock in ghost stories. Not even after thirteen years serving as the cemetery keeper in the village of Whitetail Knoll. But things change. Now, his daughter is dreaming of a figure among the tombstones. The grounds are overrun by dark thorns almost faster than Con can clear them. White fog and gray ribbons creep up on him in the night, and a voiceless beauty beckons him from the darkest corners of the graves.

When the world he knows starts to unravel, Conall might finally be forced to believe.

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He hadn't slept long before he heard sounds from down in the kitchen below.
"Shyla!" he called gruffly. "Weren't you heading into town?"
No answer came from below, but the sounds of pots clanging told him his daughter toyed about down there. Perhaps she'd decided not to leave him after all and taken it into her head to now re-organize the house, since he'd so clearly wanted her to stay out of the cemetery. With a low groan, Conall rolled out of bed and stepped out into the hall.
"Shyla!" he called again, coming to the head of the stairs. If she had stayed home, she could at least do it without making a lot of noise.
"Shyla, I—"
He staggered then, as the hallway dimmed. Afternoon light flickered strangely, lightning cracking a dismal sky outside, and in the space of time afterward everything else darkened. Conall darted a glance around him as the house fell into shadow.
From the top of the stairwell, he saw the first whispering tendrils of white fog.
The heat of adrenaline shot through his limbs. Conall stumbled back into his bedroom, even as the fog pursued. His gaze shot to the window as the last gray light of day faded away and eerie darkness replaced it, like an eclipse sliding over the sun.
More cold mists veiled the glass, dancing and floating. Trembling overtook him as he spun to find another escape.
He froze, finding himself face-to-face with the broken mask of the cemetery doll.
"You—" he gasped. His breath came out white as the fog enveloped them both, leaving a space of mere inches between them, so he could still see her expressionless face. Gray ribbons wound and curled through the air around him.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The doll stared up at him. He sensed her searching, looking into his eyes even though hers remained covered. She held him there with her unseen gaze, until her cool, cold hand came up to touch his bare chest.
Conall let out a low breath. He closed his eyes, and a shudder of strange ease rippled through his body. The cool pads of her fingers ran down his sternum, to his navel. The silky ribbons brushed along his side.
Then he noticed her other hand. She lifted it up, to her own chest, and she held something tightly in her fingers: Shyla's stuffed dog.
"I made that...for my daughter," he whispered. The woman with the broken mask tilted her head down toward the small toy, studying it. For a fraction of a second, her fingers appeared to tighten around it. She returned her gaze to him, then, and the toy fell from her grip into the fog, forgotten.
"Wait—" he said, but she brought her other hand up to his chest to join the first, and he recognized eagerness in the way she pressed her icy skin against his. Her face tilted to him, and then came her lips again, ivory and flawless.
"I—" Conall breathed. "I...don't understand..."
Her fingers slid up, around his neck, but he pulled away.
"No, this...this can't real. I'm asleep. I must be."
Gray ribbons danced, pulling him back to her, and she stroked his face. He sucked in a breath at her touch and found his own hand coming up to brush hers.
"You're so cold," he said. "Like stone...but..."
Her cool touch thrilled him; it made his skin tingle and the heat of his own body sing. Her perfect flesh did, in fact, prove soft under his hands, as if the contact with his worn calluses infused cold ivory with yearning. She caressed his cheek, and Conall leaned into it. Before he could stop himself, he bowed his head to her and kissed her frozen lips.

Brantwijn’s Top 10 Recommended Ghost Stories

La Llorona or “The Weeping Woman” – a widespread Hispanic legend of a woman who drowns her children and then herself. Some versions of the legend attribute this to mental illness, some attribute it to the discovery of her husband’s infidelity. She is doomed to wander the earth searching for her children’s souls.
The Shining by Stephen King – Meaning the book, not the movie. As far as ghost stories go, this is one of the creepiest for me. This is one of the first ghost stories I read in which it wasn’t the visual appearances of the ghosts, so much as their effect on the environment, that communicated their presence and their violent nature.
Duma Key by Stephen King – Another Stephen King, more recent, and with a little more fanciful feel. This story weaves in dark elements of a mythical sea goddess and a ghost ship, drawn to the Florida Coast to haunt prolific artists.
Thir13en Ghosts – My favorite horror movie about ghosts. Visually stunning with a deeply disturbing narrative weaving together thirteen histories woven together into one overarching plot.
Beloved by Toni Morrison – A subtle and thoughtful novel about an escaped slave whose infant daughter died in the quest to be free, and returns in the form of an adult woman to haunt the family who couldn’t save her.
Shakespear’s Hamlet – My favorite Shakespearean tragedy, Hamlet is charged by the spirit of his murdered father to expose the dark conspiracy which led to the king’s death.
Ghost by Piers Anthony – Perhaps a bit more of an acquired taste, this sci-fi novel incorporates a sense of personal demons and the demons of mankind’s past, along with the “ghosts” of our own minds and a metaphysical connection. One of the most memorable fusion of ghosts and paranormal with space-age sci fi I’ve ever read.
The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allen Poe – I’ve heard this one described as both a vampire story and a ghost story. Pretty classic Poe, similar (but not exactly like) The Telltale Heart.
The Black Cat by Edgar Allen Poe – Another story of a haunting, this time telling of a man haunted by a black cat he has killed. It’s an odd rendition of horror and the deep-running fears latent in superstition.
Room 1408 by Stephen King – Yes, another Stephen King. In this case, though, I prefer the film to the short story, though one should definitely experience both. This is one of the most frightening and claustrophobic stories I’ve seen.

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The story of His Cemetery Doll has been waiting to be told since Brantwijn Serrah first began jotting things down in her school notebooks instead of doing her homework. Conall Mackay and his lady ghost have existed for Brantwijn, in some form or another, longer than almost any other characters she's collected. This tale of a haunted graveyard and imprisoned beauty is, in Brantwijn's opinion, a wonderful way to finally bring them to life.
When she isn't visiting the worlds of immortals, demons, dragons and goblins, Brantwijn fills her time with artistic endeavors: sketching, painting, customizing My Little Ponies and sewing plushies for friends. She can't handle coffee unless there's enough cream and sugar to make it a milkshake, but try and sweeten her tea and she will never forgive you. She moonlights as a futon for four lazy cats, loves tabletop role-play games, and can spend hours watching Futurama, Claymore or Buffy the Vampire Slayer while she writes or draws.
In addition to her novels, Brantwijn has had several stories published in anthologies by Breathless Press, including the 2013 Crimson Anthology and 2014 Ravaged Anthology. She's also had a short story published in the Cleiss Press Big Book of Orgasm and the anthology Coming Together Through The Storm. She hopes to have several more tales to tell as time goes on. She has author pages on GoodReads and Amazon, and loves to see reader comments on her work. Her short stories occasionally pop up at Foreplay and Fangs, her blog at http://brantwijn.blogspot.com.