The story idea for Cunja - Romance/Thrller Book, originally titled, Twin Medallions, came from my mother. Being an avid reader all her life, she decided on a whim one day she was going to try her hand at writing a book. Mom is old school. Having come from a generation in which computers were not yet invented, she snatched up a spiral notebook and a pen and away she went. She spent her evenings writing, and every morning as we visited over a cup of coffee, she would read her story to me.
My mind wandered as she spun the tale of a little old lady in the bayou of Louisiana who stumbled across two mysterious medallions. I yearned to put a different spin on the story. A few years went by, and one day in casual conversation my mother’s story was mentioned, and I’d asked if she’d ever finished it. She told me she hadn’t. Once she revealed she had no plans to finish it, I jumped at the chance to take it off her hands. She handed me three spiral notebooks that had collected dust over the years, and I couldn’t wait to get home and incorporate my ideas into the story. And boy, did this tale of Cunja - Romance/Thriller Book mysticism take on a life of its own.
I’ve always been a sucker for detective tales. Ten years ago, I decided a new story about a detective was in order, only this time, my guy was going to have quite the troubled past. His father was going to be a notorious serial killer. And the woman at the center of the grisly crimes he was investigating, was going to be a psychic. Of course, my detective, who doesn’t believe in that woo-woo crap, was determined to dismiss the wild testimony of this witness altogether.
What was going to happen next? Well…I finished the first chapter, put it on the back burner, and then the laptop I wrote it on bit the dust some years later. I hadn’t saved the chapter. I know, I’m an idiot. Fast forward to the summer of 2020. I got the bright idea it was finally time to finish this story. Taking bits and pieces of what I could remember of the original idea, I put a different spin on it, typed out a brand-new outline, and sank my teeth into it all over again. The new title, Killing Dreams was born as book one of the Sprit Walkers Series, A Romance/Mystery book. And what do you know, it had an ending this time.
Buried Alive was written as I waited for Killing Dreams to make its debut. I don’t remember the last time I did so much writing back-to-back. Wait. I’ve never done so much writing back-to-back. But this story wouldn’t wait to get written. The premise nagged me daily, until I finally sat down at my computer and typed the header for an outline.
What was the header? Book 2 of The Spirit Walker Series. What should have been the header? I’m being assaulted by ideas, and I don’t know what to do with them all. It is amazing how a story tells itself. That’s exactly what happened with Buried Alive. As I sat at my computer for a week straight working on the outline, Buried Alive (that had no title at the time) led me on an adventure that possessed me. Every chance I got I was parked in front of the computer. I even ate my meals sitting in front of it. My keyboard had enough crumbs to feed a mouse. I listened to my husband holler through the door of the back porch, where I constantly sat, writing, “Hey, honey. Are you ever coming to bed?” My response, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I don’t recall a time those minutes didn’t melt into hours. When the book was finally finished, I promised myself it was time for a break. Then the 3rd book, The Stolen, came calling. Maybe I’ll rest when I’m dead.
Trembling from head to toe, Pricilla took her first step and paused to see if her movements echoed throughout the room.
Not a sound.
Three more paces and a terrifying snarl resonated in front of her—louder, longer, and more menacing than before. For the love of God, the ferocious roar seemed much closer to her.
Wild, demented laughter rang out.
Intense horror shocked her system, as if she’d been electrocuted. She tore across the ceramic tile floor toward the bench, no longer caring about giving away her position. She wouldn’t have much time to snatch her bag if she managed to make it there at all.
The wheezing thing came after her, charging from the left side of the room. Each loud strike of its feet seemed to shake the surrounding walls.
She clutched the back of the bench and fumbled for the bag. Her fingers wrapped around the handles about the same time as something struck the metal bench. Its bolted legs pitched forward with unbelievable force. Screws wrenched from the floor, screeching in protest. The beast swiped at her face, narrowly missing her.
Glass shattered somewhere in the distance, and a man’s gloved hand breached the gaping hole of the French door pane, disengaging the bolt.
The door swung open, hinges creaked, and the killer stepped inside, dressed in black. He carefully made his way into the living room.
He crept around to the kitchen with a knife clutched in his hand. Jenna’s breath caught the moment she realized the room he peered into was the same as the one belonging to the rental house. Oh my God, is he in here?”
Fear rained down on her. As much as she struggled to move, nothing happened, and it was a horrifying reality knowing until this vision played out, she wouldn’t be able to. He’s going to kill me right here while I’m helpless, and I can’t do anything about it. Please, somebody, help me!”
He turned into the hallway.
Now approaching the guest bedroom.
The killer stopped and peeked inside, then skulked past the bathroom, moving to her bedroom at the end of the hall.
In another minute he would be at her door.
At the same time a sharp intake of breath filled her lungs, Jenna’s eyes snapped open. Blackness surrounded her; panic set in instantly as soft whimpers set off a series of echoes. It took a moment for it to sink in the sounds were her own.
Raising both hands, her palms struck a hard object not a foot above her head. She slid her palms over a rough surface, searching, feeling across the top and down the sides of what felt like a wooden crate.
That embodied her like a tomb.
She let go a shriek, crying out in agony, “No! no! please, no!” There was no doubt she was in the very place that stoked the deepest fear in her heart. Just the way her vision forewarned. She was buried alive.