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Roots of Deceit

The secrets of the past aren’t easily buried…
Sales price: $5.95
Sales price without tax: $5.95
Rating: Not Rated Yet
File Type: epub
File Type: htm
File Type: pdf
File Type: prc
Price: No additional charge
Author: D.M. Slate

Genre: Paranormal Dark Fiction Horror

Tags: Ghost, haunting, murder, horror, paranormal, deceit, Colorado

Release: May 4, 2012

Editor: Lea Schizas

Cover Designer: Mike Zambrano

Words: 63796

Pages: 158

ISBN: 978-1-77127-047-2

Price: $5.95

Back Cover:

Fueled by the underlying currents of her daughter’s death, Gianna vows to unravel the mystery surrounding the foreboding apparition who keeps making appearances in her new home, but she’s not prepared for the grisly trail of clues that’ll unfold before her; testing not only her sanity, but her guilty conscience as well.

Zack and Gianna call on a team of paranormal investigators to start them in the right direction, and after the initial terror of the ghost’s presence begins to dull, Gianna finds herself sucked into a web of deception, lies and murder, as the ultimate questions are posed: who is the terrifying pale-faced ghost, and what does she want?  As the secrets of the past reach their gnarled fingers out beyond the grave, grasping firmly onto Gianna’s soul, she starts to suspect her only neighbor, old farmer Peterson, of committing the unthinkable crime.

But finding evidence to prove a twenty-three year old murder is more difficult than Gianna anticipated, and when the ghost gets tired of waiting, she takes matters into her own hands; at which time the distinction between the two women begins to blur…


I was alone in the midst of the storm—it was dark, so very dark. The blackness engulfed me on all sides, creeping into my body and creating an eerie sensation within. The thunder was so ferocious that it rumbled the ground beneath my feet, threatening to knock me off balance.

A flash of scintillating lightning ripped through the murkiness that surrounded me, and with that split-second of luminescence, I saw the tree—the one that grew just outside of my bedroom window—but there was no house to be seen, just the solitary tree. Scared and confused, my mind raced as I contemplated my next move.  Another flash of lightning ripped through the atmosphere and I saw the tree again, but this time I could clearly make out farmer Peterson standing under the branches, holding a pitchfork in his right hand, staring at me. I stopped, frozen in trepidation, as fear pulsed through my veins like the lightning pulsing through the tempestuous sky.





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