David Brookover is the author of six critically acclaimed sci-fi/horror thrillers. He resides in Ohio. Visit David on Facebook.
by David Brookover
by David Brookover
Published Aug 20, 2012
Genre: FICTION / Science Fiction / Action & Adventure
Ghosts threaten to enslave mankind...
The VIP grand-opening of Orlando’s newest theme park, Ghostworld, awakens a murderous evil force, which results in grisly killings and a frightening journey to a genuine ghost world. Wisecracking Joe Luna is a government Department of Supernatural Investigations (DSI) contract agent working the opening, and he witnesses the bizarre events. But there is no suspect. No motive. No clue if there will be another victim. The DSI director assigns Joe a mysterious and magical partner, Dana Drake, who he learns is curiously linked to the ruthless sorcerer they seek. Joe is a sorwolf—part sorcerer, part werewolf . . . and all bad to his enemies. Joe is going to need all his supernatural abilities to survive the onslaught of demons, ghosts, and vampires that the Ghostworld murderer employs to exterminate him. Treachery and horrors greet him at every turn. His ancient adversary is primed to exact his festering, centuries-old revenge on the human race, and only Joe and Dana can ruin his plans. But can they stay alive long enough to hunt him down?
I yanked the door lever, leaped from the Silver Wraith, and hit a bank of snow at fifty miles an hour. Talk about a rush. Dana wildly spun the hearse to the south on A1A, the opposite direction from the Reynolds mansion, while I burled into a snow drift to cloak my scent from the approaching hellhounds. Their paw-pounding was muted beneath the snow, and I held my breath, hoping that they’d continue past and follow the Rolls Royce. I waited a full minute before I crawled out from my hideaway. I stood there waiting, collecting snow like there was no tomorrow. But the hellhounds were gone. Maybe they’d like it down in Miami Beach. I brushed the snow off my raggedy clothes and checked the ground for tracks. They were faint because of the blowing snow, but they were there and following Dana. I breathed a little easier and turned north toward the mansion. Before I trudged a hundred feet through the knee-deep drifts, I stopped. There was a low growl behind me. A savage, hellish growl. A hellhound. Their pack leader must have left one behind to secure their flank . . . or it was a straggler that got lucky and spotted me. Whatever the scenario, this one was about to throw off our schedule. I spied the underworld canine ten feet behind me. Too close for comfort. More often than not, I would have heard its approach, but this howling Florida blizzard made it all but impossible to detect anything visual or auditory. The soulless killer’s beady, unblinking eyes zeroed in on my throat like menacing black laser beams. This was definitely a good news-bad news state of affairs. The good news was that I only had to contend with one of the damned demons. The bad news was that I was forced to contend with one of the damned demons. Before I knew it, the hellhound launched itself at me through the gusting whiteout. Fangs first.