Touched by Afterlife series: Supernatural Suspense book bundle

Her long, lean legs burned as she struggled toward the top of the impossibly steep hill. How many times had she climbed this hill as a young girl? It had never seemed so vertical. Dirt shifted, knocking her off balance. Rocks sliced at her bare feet. The top of the hill still seemed so far away. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was closer than before. Whimpering, she dug her fingers into the earth, struggling to move faster. Pain ripped through her scalp as her hair tangled in the scraggly branches of a sage bush. Was the scratching sound from the winter-dry shrub or was her pursuer that close behind her? Her lungs threatened to burst from the effort. Terror gripped her heart. With a whine, she continued to scramble upward.

A deep cold wrapped around her ankle and doubled her fear. She collapsed to the ground, panting, and sobbing in defeat. He’d caught her.

Struggling against his tight grip, she rolled to her back and kicked his shoulder, hoping to break his hold. Her stomach clenched when her foot slid as if she’d stepped on a banana peel. She groaned when her gaze met his empty, hollowed sockets. Translucent skin sagged from his bones like a macabre nightshirt. Patches of his hair had fallen out. Strands littered the shoulders of his moth-eaten shirt.

He clutched the hem of her shirt in skeletal fingers. “We need you.” His raspy voice scraped her nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

Tamara sat up with a start, panting. She mumbled a word that should have singed her lips. Outside the dog barked and the horse whinnied. She glared into the shadows of her room, searching for invisible guests. Each night for two weeks a different dead person stalked her every move, tore at her clothes, moaned in her ear.

She assumed the nightmares were a by-product of grief. Though she couldn’t explain why they had taken six months after her mother’s death to manifest. Experts say everybody grieves differently. Welcome to her grief-fest.

Running a hand through her sweat soaked hair, Tamara scanned the football banner and pom-poms hanging on her wall. Just last year she was a safe, innocent senior in high school with a healthy mom and no idea how physical, emotional pain could be.

A coyote’s eerie howl pierced the night raising goosebumps along her arms. To her trained ear, it sounded as though it were on her property. On the back half of the four-acre ranch she’d inherited from her mom. Ruff’s wild barking faded off in the direction of the intruder. At least that was one unwanted visitor her dog could chase off. She wished he could do something about her nightmares.

Tamara stared at the black, starless sky outside her window. The haunted howl of the coyote must have filtered into her dream, and her mind twisted the sound into her latest ghoul. She scrubbed a palm against her forehead trying to erase the memory of scrambling up the hill behind her barn. The dream warping the familiar rocky surface that she used to build play castles on, into a never-ending struggle.

“It was just a dream.”

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