The Ghost Files A Collection of Supernatural Thrillers

By John Davimos

THE GHOST FILESThree pill heads living in the same half way house all suffer from the same nightmare. They each dream of a man hacking up his family with an axe. Their counselor is all too willing to chalk up the dreams to their collective drug withdrawal. But as their rehab draws to a close, the addicts realize that the house they are living in could be truly haunted after all.THE DEER WOMANPastor Jacob and his wife struggle to make their way in Wild West, praying nightly for a miracle to happen as his wife cannot conceive. One night, a stage coach barrels into their yard and inside is a dead man and a baby. His wife insists on keeping the baby, believing that God has delivered him to them. A few months go by and then a mysterious woman appears in town, looking for her child She's a demon, a succubus, and wants her the baby back for a sacrifice. But the pastor and his wife won't give up the child without a fight.YOUNG BLOODHannah and Abbie are best friends barely making ends meet while working as waitresses. The economy is shrinking in their small town and they can barely afford their studio apartment. They find out that the kindly old woman that owns the restaurant where they work is sitting on a million dollars cash in a safe. The two young women plan to rob the restaurant of the money but they soon discover the old woman is a vampire who does not take kindly to thieves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trellis Publishing
• Release date: Jun 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201374310

Book preview

THE DEER WOMAN

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COURTNEY VAUGHN

The grass on the prairie swayed in the wind as the guineas clucked and plucked ticks from the dry, cracked earth. Pigs snorted into their slop trough and squealed as they rooted one another aside, trying to fill their bellies. Their ears twitched as the flies tried to rest on them. The tiny black wings and feet tickled wherever they landed. Beads of perspiration caught in Sarah’s eyelashes and stung her eyes. She wiped her forehead with her arm. Dust turned to mud in the streams of her sweat.

She picked up the bucket that she had balanced on the knotty fence. The smell of the pigs was as familiar to her as the wrinkles on her calloused hands. In the distance, thunder faintly rumbled. Sarah shielded her eyes with her hand and peered into the distance. Hopefully the rain would make it to them this time. The crops were parched, and the well was low. The wooden bucket banged against her hip as she lugged it back to the house. The rough, rope handle sawed against her palm.

Jacob’s weather-worn boots were on the front porch. They had a hole in the bottom of the soul, but even so they were his better pair of shoes. The wooden slats creaked under her weight as she pulled open the door. It drooped in a lopsided fashion that left a small gap at the top even when it was closed. The bottom corner had grated against the porch until an arc was scarred into the slats, marking its path. Sarah’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness of their little home.

In the far right corner she could make out their bed. It was draped with a threadbare, patchwork quilt that Jacob’s mother had given them as a wedding present ten years ago. The other side of the house had a wobbly table Jacob had handcrafted for them. His hands were better suited to praying than they were to manual labor. Three stools sat beside the table. Two of them were well worn and smooth from years of sitting. The third one was just as rough as the day it was made. Jacob had made it for their future child, but they had not been blessed with that yet. Looking at the stool made Sarah ache inside, but putting it away would feel like giving