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Dead Scared

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Someone’s got to defend the dead…from the living.
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Author: Ivan Blake
Description

Who knew the dead have more to fear from the living than the living have to fear from the dead? Certainly not seventeen-year-old Chris Chandler, not before his family moved to Bemishstock, Maine in the autumn of 1985.

His father’s job is to close plants for Allied Paper Products of Wisconsin. Bemishstock is his fourth crumbling town in six years, and each one has resented and harassed the Chandlers more hatefully than the previous. Even Chris will admit that his family’s odyssey across America has turned him into a lonely, brooding nutcase, and he has only survived the soul-sucking experience by remaining virtually invisible. Then suddenly one day, after a couple of totally stupid mistakes, Chris finds himself trapped between two nightmarish forces—a grave robber and a vengeful demon—and like the cemetery guardians of old, he must defeat both or end up a corpse himself and cursed for all eternity.

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Title Dead Scared
Series The Mortsafeman
Author Ivan Blake
Designer Charlotte Volnek
Release October 10, 2017
Length Print length 290 pages - Ebook length coming soon
Print ISBN 978-1-77127-940-6
E-ISBN 978-1-77127-941-3
Price ebook $5.99
Tags Ghosts, grave robbers, mad scientists, bullying, homophobia, coming of age, mysticism, magic, young love

Excerpt

Every kid in Maine’s South Portland Youth Detention Center was fighting some kind of demon. Christopher Chandler’s demon was different; she always drew blood.

Past ten on a sticky summer night, the heavy air off the land, ripe with the smell of rotten eggs from the pulp mills and fish waste from the canning plant, no one could sleep. Two hundred boys, tossing in their beds, whispering, up to god knows what; it all made for a low, irksome hum across the complex, like flies on filth.

Chris was alone in the library, reading. One of the perks of being labelled deeply troubled and dangerous—he had lots of time to himself. He heard the door open, close, and then...nothing. After a minute, he called out, “Need help?” No reply. Still, he sensed someone watching from the stacks, and twice glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye. He knew too well where this was going.

Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes passed before he heard another sound, then footsteps, and the lights went out.

“You don’t have to do this,” Chris said.

Again, no reply.

Sighing, he pushed several books into a ratty canvas bag, and stood up. Straightening as best he could, he hobbled away toward the library door, past the darkened stacks, with only the red glow of the exit sign to light the way.

“Running away, mother--?”

Chris stopped, bowed his head, and after a moment turned around. A pimply kid, maybe fifteen, tall, wiry, and sweating like a pig, stepped from the shadows. Chris didn’t recognise the new arrival; they all had to learn.

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