Title: Beneath London's Fog
Author: Iona Caldwell
Genre: Occult Fiction, Ghost Story, British Literature
Publisher: FyreSyde Publishing
Release Date: 30th October 2019
BLURB supplied by Xpresso Book Tours
Jonathan is the immortal master of Raven Hollow Manor – a decrepit mansion riddled with superstition, murder and restless ghosts. Beneath it lies a restless malice.
Its previous owner driven mad, violently kills his guests with a rusted ax, creating the perfect venue for Jonathan to seclude himself in a prison of his own device.
Jonathan is the immortal master of Raven Hollow Manor – a decrepit mansion riddled with superstition, murder and restless ghosts. Beneath it lies a restless malice.
Its previous owner driven mad, violently kills his guests with a rusted ax, creating the perfect venue for Jonathan to seclude himself in a prison of his own device.
When
the streets of London begin to run red with blood; the bodies exhibiting
disturbing signs and baffling wounds, the identity of the killer remains
elusive to police.
The
bodies are just the beginning of Jonathan’s troubles. A mysterious letter
accusing Jonathan of committing the murders appear, raising suspicion in the
police. Hidden beneath the mangled bodies, Jonathan soon realizes he is being
forced to face demons he thought died in a forlorn past he attempted to escape.
One
thing Jonathan knows for certain: He must deal with the demons of his past if
he is to survive his future. Not only him but those he has come to love as
well.
For
fans of Jim Butcher, Stephen King, Darcy Coates and Nick Cutter.
PURCHASE LINKS
EXCERPT
The Streets Ran With Blood
I want it known
before this tale begins – I am not a hero but a villain. I want no sympathy
from whomever reads this recalling of my story; no mourning for the tragedy
that befell my life. I am not an innocent man but a sinner forced to face the
ravaging demons and ghosts of his own creation.
My story began
as many do – a lie, a fire and murder. One of my kind murdered the woman I
loved in the coldest of blood in one of history’s darkest times at the behest of
a possessive noble.
After a run in
with him in Nottingham, I soon found myself fleeing for my life from hunters,
framed for a murder I had not committed.
Forgive me, I
am getting ahead of myself.
Let me begin
where this part of my story took place.
A bloody civil
war ravaged London followed shortly by the Great Fire in 1666. A glorious time
for me and those like me to take advantage of the chaos and remain hidden in
the shadows.
I managed to
pursue the one responsible for nearly getting me killed two centuries prior to
the plague which befell London before the fire.
Within the
shadows of the flickering flames of St. Peter’s Cathedral, I struck him down
and departed the city, thus avoiding my demise.
I had yet to
escape him, however, when his vengeful spirit devoured the souls of the
innocent in a mad bloodlust.
Though greatly
injured, I managed to drive his spirit to my new home Raven Hollow Manor in
London, imprisoning him in stone coffin in the crypt beneath it.
Peace resumed
in my life and nobles of all kinds enjoyed lavishly hosted parties within the
halls of my estate.
Unfortunately,
the short lived splendor at the hands of the hauntings filled the ears of the
locals and my beloved home decayed into a tangled web of blood-filled rumors
and superstition.
My once
glorious halls became infested with dust, its crystal chandeliers covered with
cobwebs, their spiders fat on the insects buzzing around the decay and
mold-covered wallpaper.
Yet, there I
remained as it proved a decent place to not only contain my greatest sin but
served also as a castle of solitude.
The tides of
time swept by in a cacophony of modernization and the movement from
superstition to things only mortal science could explain.
I still needed
to venture into the city, not only to feed but also to purchase other items
needed for everyday living.
It wasn’t until
the winter of 1910 that my silence would be disrupted in the form of a girl
named Holly, a young street urchin accused of theft. I took her with me after
using a bit of “persuasion” on the local officers to let her go.
They did not
need to know where I would take her and she soon grew into a wonderful
messenger on my behalf. She became a rather attractive young woman with bouncy
blonde curls who kept me company with stories of what went on in the city.
I am sure, at
one time, she became infatuated with me. It did not surprise me. To mortals, my
kind held a certain allure they found difficult to ignore. I ended her
infatuation quickly following a stern talking to and dousing with cold water.
One day, while
in my labyrinthine garden, Holly came to me in tears.
When the people
of London learned where Holly lived, the townsfolk dubbed her a practitioner of
black magic.
One day, I
found Holly sitting on one of the marble benches in the garden, sobbing. I
picked a flower and put it in my daughter’s hair, sitting next to her beneath
the statue of a praying angel.
“You need not
worry about them, dearest. Mortals are always quick to place labels on what
they do not understand.”
Holly sniffled
and sobbed, wiping her nose and offering me a smile. “But why do they avoid this
place, Jonathan?”
“Mortals fear
what they cannot comprehend. Pay them no mind. You are a wonderful young
woman,” I purred, brushing a blonde curl from her face.
The words
appeared to have placated her as she smiled and joined me in a moonlight stroll
through the garden.
***
Around
midnight, after dinner with Holly, I dismissed her to bed. Once she departed, I
sought out sustenance in the city.
A dense fog
rolled in due to the cool winter weather and the recent days of rain.
Combined with
the darkness of the streets and alleyways, I managed to meet a young working
woman on the corner and wooed her into joining me for a walk to the park. As
with other women, I made sure she understood I respected her body with gentle
caresses and loving words murmured into her ears.
Once I placed
her deep under my spell, I kissed the tender flesh of the woman’s throat and
exposed shoulder, thanking her for her gift.
My fangs
pierced her flesh, earning a moan of pleasure as her body surrendered its
precious life force without any significant damage. Her body pressed against
mine, her moans increasing with pleasure at my kiss.
I preferred
this method to those of many of my other brethren who tore their victims apart
during a feeding, choosing power to subdue instead of sexual allure.
When signs of
weakness began manifesting I released my hold, picking her up after licking the
small puncture wounds, my saliva healing them, leaving no marks or scars.
To assure she
received care, I took her to the nearest hospital and deposited her on the
steps without anyone noticing.
As always, I
used hypnotic suggestion to erase her memory and leave her with a pleasant
dream.
During the wee
hours of the morning, I tended to enjoy the calls of the birds and the chirping
of the crickets to help relieve the burden on my mind.
Not a soul
roamed the streets near the bridge where I liked to sit and write poetry or
read a book.
In the midst of
the silence, a horrifying shriek caught my attention, almost startling me.
My pupils
narrowed to those one might see in a viper or a cat. I let my body dissipate
into the form of a black mist, hovering over the city in search of the source
of the scream.
I found it in
the shape of the body of a mangled man.
The whites of
his eyes consumed most of the portion of the glossy orbs in his skull, mouth
gaped open mid-scream.
I knelt before
him, my own brows furrowed in frustration at the recognition of the familiar
puncture wounds on the man’s throat. This cannot be. No other has hunted here in centuries.
The disturbing
find made something clear.
Many of my kind
preferred not to hunt in one place occupied by another of higher status, or in
another’s territory for that matter. We changed due to the growing number of
human hunters who would kill any of us they came across.
Despite the
city’s size, my reputation often kept others out of my hunting grounds, for
which I remained grateful.
This new kill
had been malicious.
If I allowed
such behavior to continue, it could draw the attention of the hunters or the
local police to my home.
Whomever the
responsible party, I needed to locate them and have a word with them or kill
them if necessary.
My eyes closed,
a heavy sigh drawing up from within my lungs. I placed my fingers over the
man’s eyes, using a gentle touch to close them. “Forgive whichever of us did
this to you. You did not deserve to die in such a horrific manner.”
Searching
through the pockets of his trench coat, I located his identification card and
vowed to send some money and roses to his family.
Sounds of
sirens and the calls of the corner watchmen announced the arrival of the
authorities. I left them the man’s wallet so they could inform his family of
their loss.
I lurked in the
shadows listening to the inspectors scrutinizing the scene.
“Bloody
mystery, it is. This is the second mangled body we found this week. One has to
wonder if we might be witnessing the birth of another blighter of a serial
killer.” One of the inspectors scratched his head beneath the dome shaped hat.
I recognized
him as Bertrand Abrams, a well-known officer and one of the only men who aided
Holly during her visits to town.
From his looks,
one would expect him to hail from Scotland. A bushy mustache and stringy hair
with the consistency of sheep’s wool held the color of fire. Dimples set into
high cheekbones and a double chin made me smile. A portly belly betrayed his
affinity for too many scones and perhaps Scotch.
He had been
wrong. This death held no mystery. I merely needed to find the one responsible
before it resulted in too much of a personal dilemma.
Following the
release of the corpse to the medical examiner, I took the form of black mist
and drifted back to Raven Hollow.
The beginnings
of my night would be haunted by dreams of a past filled with love, vengeance
and pain.
It would be
filled with shining auburn locks and eyes the color of the fresh leaves of
spring.
AUTHOR BIO
Iona Caldwell is the lover of all things arcane, folklore, nature
and magic.
She is the author of
the British Occult Fiction, Beneath London’s Fog set to be published by
FyreSyde Publishing October 2019. Her second title, Hell’s Warden is forecasted
to release in February of 2020. When she’s not busy weaving worlds of the arcane
and dark, she’s spending time out in nature. An avid lover of books, Iona
claims her biggest inspirations are H.P Lovecraft, Stephen King, Neil Gaiman
and Edgar Allen Poe.
She believes
storytellers should tell the stories they want to tell. As such, most of her
titles are stand-alone novellas she hopes will leave her readers immersed in
magical worlds.
She is also an
extremely active book blogger who will review primarily horror, suspense,
supernatural thriller, mystery, and occult/gothic fiction.
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