Spiritwood G.J. Wise

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Spiritwood  by  G.J. Wise

Spiritwood by G.J. Wise
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About the book:The town of Spiritwood gets its name from an Indian legend that tells of spirits living in the woods surrounding the town…the thing is, the legend is true.There is an evil held captive in the vast wilderness surrounding the town ofMoreAbout the book:The town of Spiritwood gets its name from an Indian legend that tells of spirits living in the woods surrounding the town…the thing is, the legend is true.There is an evil held captive in the vast wilderness surrounding the town of Spiritwood.

When Jed Guiness buys a place and moves to Spiritwood from Chicago, he accidently unleashes that evil. Now, he and a handful of others must try to re-capture that evil before the entire town is destroyed.Quotes:“I wouldn’t stick my head in there for a hundred bucks.”“She thinks that there’s no such thing in the woods...”“I think there might be a sacrifice tonight.”Excerpt:His heart hammered in his thin chest when the sound came again, and his eyes went wide with fear. Bishop made his way to the window in his room and looked toward the porch. It was a starless night, black as a mine and he could barely make out the porch rail.

The heat lightning flashed, showing only a pale, sleeveless arm, smeared with some reddish brown substance and speckled with bits of leaves and twigs. The hand was thick and fleshy, the fingernails black with grime. Bishop jumped with the roll of thunder that followed, but it got him moving. He headed through the dark to the living room, where he thought he could get a better view of the porch.Outside the wind picked up a little, billowing the curtains in through the open windows, then sucking them to the screens in the next breath.

The lightning flashed again, leaving an X-ray image of the room before his eyes. Bishop crept to the window closest to the porch, kneeling on the couch and leaning over the back. He looked past the curtain, craning his neck for a better view.The visitor had moved closer to the door, revealing no more than he could see from his room.

Bishop noticed that the breeze blowing in through the window came in as cold as a grave and the skin on his back came up in chill bumps. It smelled of death.The knock came again, followed by the knob turning back and forth. Bishop was paralyzed with fear. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to call out to the intruder to get away, or call to his mother for her to get up, but his vocal cords wouldn’t cooperate.The knocking became more insistent, increasing from a tap-tap-tapping to a solid thudding that resounded through the room.

The door handle turned again, and Bishop said a silent prayer of thanks that he’d remembered to lock up when he came in, but then it creaked in its frame like the visitor leaned his shoulder against it measuring its strength.



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