Never Cry Wolf

By Debbie Dorn

Nancy was always in her own little world. She preferred to fantasize about men rather than actually engaging in relationships. Her fantasies, however, soon evolve into premonitions about a serial killer in town who is committing "werewolf" style murders in town. When she starts receiving threatening phone calls, she begins to fear for her own life as the premonitions start to hit too close to home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trellis Publishing
• Release date: Jul 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201201760

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Nancy loved to fantasize.

Once she started, it became a habit. She must have been around fourteen at the time when she first began touching herself in the shower.

She would turn up the heat and the steam would cover the mirrors. Safe from the prying eyes of the invisible man upstairs, Nancy was free to explore her body.

Her guilt seemed silly now as she sometimes became angry at her parents for brainwashing her into believing pleasure was a sin. Raised Catholic, she knew if anyone found out she masturbated on a daily basis she would be figuratively stoned to death.

Now at thirty years of age, Nancy still felt a tinge of guilt now and then. Shame had been ingrained in her at a young age and she never quite got over it.

Nancy stepped into the shower, turning up the heat and hoped the hot water would burn away the shame. 

As a young girl, she taught herself different techniques. She used her fingers to explore herself, her body, discovered what felt good and what felt even better.

But now when she touched herself she would think of someone.

And this morning she thought of Michael Walters.

The new twenty-two year old clerk at the bank. He had a shy way about him. Tall, with a mop of curly brown hair and a cleft in his chin. Michael would smile shyly whenever he would see Nancy. She knew he had a crush on her but probably thought her too old for him or out of his league.

She ran her fingers between her legs, feeling the soap suds against her womanhood.

Nancy closed her eyes and imagined.

She called it her gift. She could close her eyes and have the most real and vivid daydreams.

This time she imagined Michael stepping through her door as she showered. She would step out of the stall, soaking wet in more places than one.

Shirtless, he would have a rose in his hand, smelling the flower before caressing her face with it.

What are you doing in my house? she whispered.

He tossed the rose down, not