Hello peeps! I’ve had a Wattpad account for ages now, but never really knew what to do with it. It floundered, being ignored and gathering cyber-dust until I thought, ‘I know, I’ll share some of my work with my yummy readers there.’ Starting with one month of part one of Finding Esta, I will put a piece of my work on Wattpad for a month and advertise that fact (you could help with that if you feel so incline – thanks muchly – and hope it garners more readers, a review or two, or more feedback on what I offer (I live to improve). So, what do you think?
Finding Esta is a British paranormal mystery with an urban fantasy twist! For Luna, each day is not about living and succeeding, but about survival. Luna has never been popular, in fact, even her parents loath her. She can hardly blame them; her psychic issues do make her a little odd and her only friends — Flo and Ada–are Shadows who exist inside her troubled mind. Although the normal world is all she’s known, it’s a place where she’s never belonged, nor been understood. For Luna, each day is not about living and succeeding, but about survival.
That is, until her work as a journalist leads her to investigate the disappearance of baby Esta, snatched from her home over twenty years earlier. Soon, our psychic heroine stumbles upon a series of revelations in a clandestine realm of vampires, weres, and magical alien-supernaturals. Revelations that make her oddities appear perfectly banal in comparison, and obliterate every preconceived idea of the normal world.
Her hunger for truth drives her forward. Yet constant physical changes, undefined blood in her veins, heightened power of psychic gifts she’s always hated, and an ache to belong somewhere, to someone, all force her to discover incredible things about herself. Things she could never have imagined. Ignorance may be bliss, but the truth will set Luna free, if only she can face it.
“Finding Esta is the tumultuous tale of one extraordinary woman’s journey of self-discovery within a supernatural underworld.”
The Little Boy Who Flew
When I was around seven years old, a boy flew to my bedroom window and tapped on the glass. I’d been taking comfort in the moon’s silvery illumination of my room and considering alien life forms in far away galaxies. Like you do.
At hearing the boy, and then noticing him floating outside, I leapt from my bed to let him in. I had yet to see Salem’s Lot, so I didn’t link imminent doom to peculiar airborne boys at my window.
How did he fly three storeys? I neither knew nor cared. Surrounded by the dead 24/7, a boy hovering at my window, even at night couldn’t freak me out. In fact, so desperate was I for intimacy and connection, I welcomed him without a second thought.
“Hello.” My cheeks dimpled with a grin, as yet unfazed by the gaps between my teeth. “Come inside, it’s cold out there.”
He attempted to smile, but the corners of his mouth struggled with the effort. Something about his tacky pallor suggested he might be unwell. With fluid-like, otherworldly movements, he climbed over the ledge without disrupting a single book or doll.
His hand shook when he reached out to me; I couldn’t take my eyes off it and backed off instinctively, always consumed by the dread of touch.
Still, the boy continued to offer me his hand, his snowy skin glistened like frost under a winter sun, and his serene beauty couldn’t mask his sorrow once his emotions wrapped around me like a cool cloud. Regardless of potential pain, I felt compelled to offer comfort and again, without a second thought, I reached to hold his hand.
Psychic touch being one of many oddities to blight my young existence, I winced when intense anxiety signalled the incipient agonies and images of psychometry But when our fingers linked, only a kind white light and pleasant tingle passed at the point of contact-no pain and no visual histories stormed my mind as would normally happen.
But something told me this boy wasn’t like the boys at my school.
Despite offering more of a physical contact than a Shadow, sadly his touch didn’t quite count as flesh on flesh. A Shadow looks like the blurry version of their living selves, but the boy appeared completely real, yet wasn’t. Somehow, my fingers had passed through an image of him, like a hologram, but I felt him in a way I could not feel Shadows.
The unsettled dead-wandering Shadows, or ghosts to the laymen-were my burden. Making and keeping friends is impossible when you see the dead and cannot touch, so I had no real friends, especially my own age.
Looking at my flying boy, our fingers still touching, tears itched for release, but I was well-practiced in how to restrain them. Whoever or whatever he was, we’d shared painless touch-a miracle any way I looked at it. I only broke that contact a moment later because I found it hard to breathe when his abundant emotions merged with mine.
“Wow.” I stepped out of his emotional cloud for a little relief. “Please, sit over there.” I pointed with a shaking finger towards my bed. “Can I help you?”
The sallow boy shook his head and moved his blue-tinged lips to speak, but nothing came out. Grimacing, he flung his head side to side, his long raven hair whipped across his face. Still, no sound disturbed the whispers of nosey Shadows lurking as always in every corner of my bedroom. READ MORE
Read and enjoy. All I ask is that you comment and/or vote after you do. 🙂