Once Upon A Nightmare

"Why am I dreaming this dream over and over, said Johnny. Haven't I always been a good boy?" Johnny didn't like living in his father's castle because of the horrid past of torture chambers that claimed so many of the townspeople. The Wellington's who lived for hundreds of years in the castle before Johnny were a very greedy Royal family who liked to throw big Ballroom parties, especially masquerade parties. Sir Jonathan Wellington the owner of the castle would make sure everyone at the party had plenty to drink and a good time such as dancing and loud music to cover up the screams down in his chamber of horrors, because he didn't want anyone at the party to suspect a thing. Sir Jonathan Wellington was very proud of his torture chamber and liked to brag about it to his guests at the party. Sir Jonathan would carefully pick out who he wanted to show his torture chamber to. Usually, loners were not much fun to be around. Sir Jonathan would put a mild sedative in their drink just before he would lead them down to the chamber never to return. Sir Jonathan's chamber of horrors went on for many years until Sir Jonathan got a little sloppy with his choices of his victims. When the two victims that were led down to the chamber of horrors, pretended to drink their drinks, overpowered Sir Jonathan and put him on one of his own torture devices. The Rack stretched Sir Jonathan's body till it was completely torn apart. Nobody knows how many victims there were, but there were enough to make Sir Jonathan a serial killer in those days even though this term wasn't used back in those days. Sir Jonathan's chamber of horrors could be the reason for all of the haunting surrounding Castle Wellington. Johnny's father would tell him bedtime stories about the castle which would cause him to have nightmares, but for some reason, Johnny would only have one dream and that would be being buried alive in the garden.

Hunter Kerrigan, a superbly skilled and highly decorated Force Recon Marine Officer, and son of a former CIA Station Chief is aggressively recruited from the Corps to pursue a career in The Agency. After training at The Farm in Virginia, his first assignment is to find and terminate a former CIA agent and defector turned international assassin, code name Pisces. While tracking Pisces, Hunter faces ambushes by covert agents from three foreign governments. These attacks are peculiarly set up by his own agent runner, sensuous Samantha McGee and her two high echelon CIA bosses. While enmeshed in the hunt for Pisces, three of Kerrigan's former lady friends are hideously murdered with no apparent connection other than he had dated them in the past. The police in three US cities believe it's a serial killer, however, Hunter is convinced it's a means of revenge, and is Pisces' at his most evil. Hunter continues his tenacious search and termination mission, and while doing so becomes involved with a steamy Israeli Mossad operative, Dvorah. Closing on his target, Hunter then discovers that Pisces is also the murderer of his father years before in London. Further, Dvorah is assassinated for assisting him. After tracking Pisces through San Francisco, London, Pisa and the Amalfi coast, he finds the recurrently vanishing Pisces on the Isle of Capri under another alias and living with the widow of a man he murdered early on. Here the mission comes to an end...or does it? And Pisces is terminated...or is he?

A collection of short tales bound to raise every hair on your neck and send chills down your spine. We return to the nightmares once more in this collection sure to make you think twice before going out in the darkness or taking that shortcut home. So come along on the journey into madness and terror if you dare.

A legend awakens... A monster hunts us. After hibernating for a decade, it's ravenous. We long to stop this nightmare, but the end of the road is far. There is no waking up once a legend sets its sights on you. Disappearances every ten or so years make little impact on the small town of New Haven, Virginia. Hikers get lost. Hunters lose the trail. Even when a body is discovered, the inhabitants' memories last about as long as the newspaper articles. No one connects the cases. No one notices the disappearances go back beyond Civil War times. No one believes a legendary monster roams the forests in Southwestern Virginia. I don't either until the truck breaks down on an old mountain trail. Cell phones won't work in this neck of the woods. It's amazing how much a person can see by starlight alone. So what if we can't feel our fingers or toes as we hike toward the main road. How many more miles left to go? Crrraaack! Hear that noise? The collection includes the novellas Once upon a December Nightmare and Nightmare Ever After and the short story "Good Nightmare, Scary Monster."

On the night of October thirteenth, the Hunter's Moon descended upon the quiet town of White Chapel. As Sara Bishop drifted off to sleep under its soft illumination, the full moon seemed to have brought with it something far more sinister than a warm glow. At once, the nightmare started. But this wasn't any ordinary nightmare This one seemed real as if she could smell it, feel it, taste it. It was one of those dreams one that awakened her witch-like sense a harbinger of heartbreak and now, horror. Together with Rebecca Parker, the only other person who understood her gift, someone who had experienced her own strange senses, Sara hoped to come to terms with this ominous nightmare. But her closest friend and next door neighbor was no where to be found not since the night of October thirteenth. And so it begins. With little help from her skeptical husband or local police, Sara finds herself virtually alone as her grisly dreams crawl from the darkness to become a sick and twisted reality a reality where she has become the ultimate desire of a sadistic serial killer. As images of death, phantoms and shadows surround Sara in this Halloween season, she needs to listen to the whispers in her mind, use her gift, to unmask those around her, for one of them is the man from her nightmare. And he sees her when she's sleeping He knows when she's awake. When the next full moon descends upon White Chapel, he will reveal himself to her. And under its silvery glow, a new nightmare will be born. Will Sara Bishop have to experience death itself to stop this killer? Or will her nightmare never end?"

Our life was supposed to be adorable and unique which turned into a dream of sorrow. Trying to build the perfect family, just so she could destroy it all. There were many days when she was silent and always never around. How could someone so beautiful and full of life turn untrustworthy, unfaithful and undependable overnight? Showing her my affection she was apart of my life, which happened to be urban legend she never cared for anyone but herself, this is why we grow apart?

Poetry is a window straight into an author's Heart, Mind and Soul. Journey vicariously through a writer's life in this unique volume of autobiographical poems. Experience the excitement surrounding her greatest triumphs. Suffer through incredible miseries and heart aches. Explore unbelievably profound romances. Watch her writing style develop from that of a simple carefree thirteen-year-old into the introspective thoughts of a young woman whom has faced an inordinate number of trials. You will smile, laugh, wonder, ponder, and even cry. If you love complex meaningful poetry, then this is the book for you.

From the first Police album, Outlandos D'Amour, through Sacred Love, here are the collected lyrics written by Sting, along with his commentary. “Publishing my lyrics separately from their musical accompaniment is something that I’ve studiously avoided until now. The two, lyrics and music, have always been mutually dependent, in much the same way as a mannequin and a set of clothes are dependent on each other; separate them, and what remains is a naked dummy and a pile of cloth. Nevertheless, the exercise has been an interesting one, seeing perhaps for the first time how successfully the lyrics survive on their own, and inviting the question as to whether song lyrics are in fact poetry or something else entirely. And while I’ve never seriously described myself as a poet, the book in your hands, devoid as it is of any musical notation, looks suspiciously like a book of poems. So it seems I am entering, with some trepidation, the unadorned realm of the poet. I have set out my compositions in the sequence they were written and provided a little background when I thought it might be illuminating. My wares have neither been sorted nor dressed in clothes that do not belong to them; indeed, they have been shorn of the very garments that gave them their shape in the first place. No doubt some of them will perish in the cold cruelty of this new environment, and yet others may prove more resilient and become perhaps more beautiful in their naked state. I can’t predict the outcome, but I have taken this risk knowingly and, while no one in their right mind should ever attempt to set “The Waste Land” to music, in the hopeful words of T. S. Eliot, These fragments I have shored against my ruins.” —Sting, from the Introduction