Archive for Bob Freeman

Imperfections of Sleep (part 4 of 6)

Posted in Occult Detectives, Writing with tags , , , , , on July 11, 2017 by Occult Detective

iosp4

Imperfections of Sleep
Part 4 of 6

The 427 horses of Sam Hill’s ’69 Caprice rumbled across the back roads of Wabash County. It was a little rough around the edges, but had it where it counted. Besides, its owner came by it the old fashion way — he’d stolen it.

Granted, that theft occurred in 1971, and its original owner, a fence that went by the name Rager Creek Johnson, was dead shortly thereafter, but Hill still relished in the satisfaction that he’d swiped this ride from someone unworthy of what she had to offer.

He pressed the gas pedal to the floor, kicking up a cloud of dust, as he and Landon Connors cut a wake across the winding gravel road that led toward the Mississinewa.

“How in the hell does a girl in the fourth grade get drawn into Cairnwood Manor’s amor fati?” Hill gripped the wheel, slid through an intersection, cutting hard left, and bringing the Caprice onto pavement. The tires barked as they grabbed traction, leaving a black scar on the county road.

“There’ve been rumblings in the Nevermore for weeks, something kicking around the old place of late,” Connors replied. He wasn’t fond of his mentor’s predilection for hard driving. “Damn it!” he shouted, slamming his fist down on the dash, “We should have seen this coming.” He paused. “I should have…”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, kid,” Hill said. He cast a glance at the young man beside him. Early twenties, but he’d already lived enough for three lifetimes. He lost his mother when he was just a boy, and he wasn’t much older than that when the incident in Antarctica went down and the Connors patriarch, Ashton Connors, met his untimely demise. That was four years ago. It had left Landon with a bum leg, but more than that, it had left him with emotional scars that were slow to heal. “In case you haven’t been paying attention, we’ve been busy, or have you forgotten the peace we brokered between the land wights and the Rich Valley Sylphs.”

“Yes, I know, but…”

“Not to mention our little misadventure with Nicole van Klaveren last week,” Hill continued. “We’re a damn band-aid,” he hung a quick right, fishtailing onto a gravel road for a short spell, then cut back north. “We can’t save the world,” he added bitterly, “not when all the heavens have turned their backs on us.” He flipped out two cigarettes from his breast pocket and tossed one at Connors. “Now smoke that and focus on what’s ahead, because what’s behind us is…”

“Sam!” Connors exclaimed, both hands reflexively clutching the dashboard, his right leg stomping on a brake pedal that wasn’t there.

“What the —?” Hill floored the brake and threw the Caprice into a sliding stop, the smell of rubber and smoke filling the air.

Standing in the middle of the road, fields of corn awaiting harvest on either side, stood a young woman. Connors shook his head as he climbed out of the car, his attention swiftly shifting from concern for her well-being to danger-mode as became aware of the evanescent tendrils of smoke swirling around the woman’s feet. About her, burnt into the pavement, was a nine foot circle, arcane symbols following its arc. Magic still radiated from the scar, a purple glow that faded to an almost indiscernible wisp of eldritch vapor.

Sam responded quickly, the crackle of magical energy beginning to spark at his fingertips, but the woman was quicker. She unleashed a binding spell that wrapped itself around the private investigator, fettering him within a spiraling chain of Enochian letters, pulsing with fairy fire.

This was above Connors’ pay grade, but he was learning. Prepping an offensive spell in his mind, tapping into the elements at his command, he just needed time to bring it all together. But time was in short supply. I need to take a different approach, the occult detective thought…

“That’s a neat piece of work,” he said, flashing her a devilish grin. “Where did a pretty young thing like you learn such a nasty little spell?”

“From you, you old snake-charmer,” she replied.

Connors was stunned. “From me? You must be mistaken. I think I’d remember if we’d met before?”

“Oh, we’ve met,” she said, stepping forward in the circle. “Just not yet.”

to be continued

Imperfections of Sleep (Part 3 of 6)

Posted in Occult Detectives, Writing with tags , , , , on July 10, 2017 by Occult Detective

lc

Imperfections of Sleep
(Part 3 of 6)

“This is the son’s room?”

Landon Connors was kneeling beside the twin bed, rubbing the blue rose patterned sheet between the fingers of his right hand while his left held tightly to an antique walking stick decorated with arcane and ancient symbols atop a shaft of ebony.

“Todd,” Sam Hill replied. He stood in the bedroom’s doorway nervously, yet dexterously twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “He’s away at camp.”

Connors glanced around the room. Sports and super-hero posters on the walls, trophies occupying bookshelves alongside Harry Potter, The Hardy Boys, and a dogeared Lord of the Flies paperback. All-American kid, but he wasn’t the reason they were here, and he sure wasn’t the reason there was a magical black stain on this room.

“You feel it?” Connors asked.

“The temporal vortex?” Hill replied. “Why do you think I’m not crossing this threshold? Last thing I need is for Scratch to sniff me out here.”

“How in the hell does a little girl pick up a taint like this, let alone open a rift in the Veil?” Connors stood painfully, his knee protesting against the strain. He held out his hand, palm down over the bed, forcing the invisible threads of the tear to shimmer into a semblance of discernible tendrils. “She was experiencing…” He winced from a slice of astral pain that coursed through him. “…horrible nightmares…” He staggered, shaken, as he reached into the void, conjuring forth abhorrent visions that twisted and morphed like smoke born apparitions. “…but more than that, she…”

“She what?” It took all Hill’s will to not go to his young protégé’s side.

“No, this isn’t right,” Connors said. He stepped away from the bed, limping toward the small desk in the corner. He brushed the desktop clear — comics, trading cards, and sports magazines all falling into a cluttered mess on the floor. The occult detective dug through the deep pockets of his trench coat, carefully depositing a deck of tarot cards and a silver candle holder. He then withdrew an array of candles, settling on one colored lavender, and replacing the others within the confines of his coat. He touched his finger to the blackened wick and fire sprang to life.

“You’ve been practicing,” Hill said from the doorway.

Connors ignored him and continued his work. Tossing his coat onto the bed, and his antique cane atop that, the young man turned and focused his gaze on the open flame. It danced before him, undulating with a sensual alacrity.

The world fell away then, replaced by fractal images and a sea of infinite colors all swirling together in a copulating frenzy, a bleeding ensemble in an explosion of depraved indifference. From that mass, it rose, a dark shape, gathering about it the deep blues, purples, and blacks, climbing shapeless into the thunderous sky, dripping, oozing, and malevolent.

That amorphous entity, malefic and inchoate, exploded, turning the surreal landscape into deeper shades of black. Connors felt himself drifting now, soaring across the now ebon sea, the dark clouds overhead spider-webbed with electrical discharge.

Faster now, toward a floating shape as the sea and sky melt away leaving only a great void of black. The shape ahead, now coming into focus, revealed a meteor, its top a shear surface, adrift in the great void. Descending, Connors’ astral form looked down on a sprawling manor, eclectic in design as colonial, second empire, and romanesque architectures collided beside the ruins of an ancient tower.

Landon Connors knew the place below him, knew it well, but past it he sailed over a rising forest, and a mirrored lake, and a dam beyond. The sky opened up now as clouds rolled in to fill the void and lightning lashed out and the sound of wolves howling filled his ears.

9swordsConnors fell away from the desk and onto the floor, his head whipping back to where several hours before a young girl had been consumed by unrelenting nightmare. He rose tenderly, drawing himself back up to the desk.

“Landon,” Hill said, not disguising his concern. “What is it, boy?”

Connors reached out slowly for the tarot, sliding the top card away from the others, then dropping it face up onto the desk.

“I know where she is…”

to be continued

Imperfections of Sleep (Part 2 of 6)

Posted in Occult Detectives, Writing with tags , , , , on July 9, 2017 by Occult Detective

samhillImperfections of Sleep
Part 2 of 6

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“What the hell?”

Sam Hill raised up from the Army cot he called a bed, tucked into the backroom of his office. Glancing at the clock in the corner, next to the coffee pot and hot plate, he read 8:03am.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

He was still dressed from the night before: rumbled dress pants and suspenders, wife-beater t-shirt. He slid his feet into his worn pair of Balmorals, snatched a cigarette from the apple crate he used for a nightstand and lit it with the snap of his fingers.

Gutter magic had its uses.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Christ on a stick,” he muttered, rising off the cot and opening the door to his office. He could make out the silhouette of the morning’s intruder through the frosted glass of the front door, the inverse lettering — Sam Hill: Private Investigator — hanging like a black stain against their grey shape.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Keep your knickers on,” he yelled, crossing the room. His head was pounding. How much Bourbon had he drank last night at Purgatory? Some questions, he decided, were better left unanswered.

He reached the door just as Estelle Davis was about to pound again. Her Buick was still running, pulled up to the curb out front. Hill could make out her husband sitting behind the wheel, arm up over the passenger seat, staring back at the detective’s modest digs. He’d never much cared for Bill Davis. He was a self-righteous ass. But then Wabash was full of that sort. Estelle on the other hand was a fine looking woman, who’d married far below her station, as far as Hill was concerned.

“Morning, Estelle,” Hill managed, “what’s got you all fired up?”

“It’s my niece,” she blurted out, frantic. Hill noticed then her state of dress, her unkempt hair. She was still wearing her night clothes, a long coat barely disguising the fact. “Cassidy,” she continued, “she was staying with us last night. She’s gone.”

“Slow down,” Hill said. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and led her inside. “Give it too me, nice a calm like.” He looked into her eyes, capturing her attention, then made a subtle hand gesture. He saw the weight slide off her, her shoulders relaxed, the worry eased from her face. “That’s a girl.”

“I was watching my niece while my sister and her husband, Dave Martin, dealt with the death of their sons,” she began, her voice almost monotone.

“Yes, I read all about it in the Plain Dealer.” Hill made another hand gesture. “Go on.”

“This morning, Cassidy was gone and so was Todd’s bike.”

“Give me a time frame, Estelle,” Hill said. “What time did you last see her? What time did you discover her missing?”

“We put her to bed at 9:30,” Estelle said calmly. “I went to wake her at 7:30 and Todd’s bed was empty.”

“I see,” Hill said. “And your son Todd is…?”

“Away at basketball camp.”

“Got it,” another had gesture tweaked the fabric of reality. “Tell me, Estelle, what were your actions since discovering Cassidy wasn’t in your home?”

“I called the State Police, but they said we’d have to wait 24 hours to file a missing persons report. I then called Susan, but got her answering machine. Bill and I drove around town, then I thought to come here.”

“You did fine,” Hill said, soothingly. “How old is Cassidy?”

“Ten, I think,” she said.

“And you didn’t relate this to the police, I take it.”

“No,” she replied. “I guess I panicked and hung up.”

“That’s fine, dear,” he said. Hill made a final gesture of the hand and the world came crushing back down on Estelle Davis.

“Oh my god,” she gasped. “Cassidy…”

“Estelle,” Hill began, reaching out and taking her hands, “you did the right thing coming to me. I’m going to find your niece. Believe me. I’m going to make a call and then my colleague and I will meet you back at your house.”

“Colleague?” she stammered. “Who…?”

“Landon Connors.”

to be continued

Imperfections of Sleep (Part 1 of 6)

Posted in Occult Detectives, Writing with tags , , , , on July 8, 2017 by Occult Detective

Once again, I embark on a serial short story, with little to no plan. Normally, I would be performing this literary exploration without any semblance of net, but in this case, there is one.

As this story takes place between the lines of my first novel, Shadows Over Somerset, this first installment of this six part tale is culled 99% from that novel. The rest will take us us into the tale untold… I begin in this fashion for those of you may have not read Shadows yet. For those who have, consider this a refresher.

The impetus for this tale is two-fold. One, it serves as a precursor to next week’s release of First Born. Two, this is something of a return to form, as the character whom I would later rename Landon Connors was excised from this earlier work.

This restores the balance somewhat and gives you a taste of what might have been.

Let us begin now, in the city of Wabash, 10 miles north of the small town of Somerset, where a young girl is about to lose her fight to stay awake and be submerged into a lucid nightmare from which she can find no escape…

sleep

Imperfections of Sleep
Part 1 of 6

Cassidy Martin was understandably upset. Her brothers were dead, her best friend missing, and she’d been sent off to stay with her Aunt Estelle under the guise of protecting her from whatever was going on in Somerset. But Cassidy knew her parents didn’t understand. How could they?

She laid in her cousin Todd’s bed, desperately afraid to fall asleep, but she knew it was inevitable. It was out of her control now. Unseen forces were conspiring against her, lulling her to sleep, and dragging her into the lucid nightmares that were breaking her heart. As she felt herself sinking into unwanted slumber, she whispered a silent prayer:

“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep… “

And then she was adrift, finding herself walking through the old Cairnwood Cemetery with her brothers Jimmy and Allen. They were going to protect her from Joey and the Dark Man. The fog was thick and all the tombstones were covered in blood. Her feet sloshed through the blood-saturated earth. It splashed as she walked, staining her frilly white nightgown. They walked into the woods and followed the path of blood through it. She could hear the screams of tiny children in the night, calling for their mothers, and fearing for their lives.

The brothers stopped and would go no further. Cassidy stepped through the foliage to see a farmhouse in a rough and tumble clearing. She followed the blood to the uneven porch, climbed the rickety steps, and walked toward the door. Joey was sitting on a wrought iron bench and flipping through a stack of cards.

“Hi, Joey,” the dreaming child said. “Are you ok?”

“I’m as good as can be expected. I’m dead, you know. Like you.”

Cassidy stepped toward the boy. “But I’m not. I’m just asleep.”

“Oh,” Joey said looking up from his cards, “I didn’t know there was a difference.”

“What are you looking at, Poke`mon cards?” she asked.

Joey looked to the cards then back to Cassidy. His eyes reflected fast moving clouds and lightning flashes. He pulled a card from the deck and flipped it between his fingers with uncanny dexterity. Round and round, over and under, the card danced in his tiny hand as if it had a life of its own. He stopped its progress, catching the card between his thumb and index finger. He held it out to Cassidy.

“Go on, take it,” he said. “It’s yours.”

She took the card from his hand and turned it over. On it was a picture of a man in a flannel skirt holding a severed wolf’s head into the air.

“I don’t think I like this,” she said, offering it back to Joey.

“Look at the other side,” he said.

She flipped it over and examined the backside of the card. Where it had been previously blank was now a picture of Cassidy. She was naked and hanging upside down from one ankle. Her other leg formed a figure four with her ensnared straight leg. The tips of her hair touched the ground and were stained with blood. She wore a smile on her face. Cassidy stared at the card for a long minute. Then the face on the card opened its eyes and they stared back at her with pain and sorrow.

Cassidy dropped the card onto the porch and ran across the blood soaked lawn. She ran for her life. She ran as far and as fast as she could.

Joey called out from behind her.

“Be sure to come back, Cassidy…we’ll be waiting.”

Cassidy woke from her nightmare, shaken and scared. She knew that it was time to end it. The time had come for her to take action. She climbed out the bedroom window of her aunt’s house and slipped around the side to the garage. With a little effort she opened the overhead door and pulled her cousin’s bike out from behind the lawnmower. The mountain bike was a little big for her so she stepped up on the car bumper and onto the bike’s seat. Then the child peddled. She peddled like the devil was chasing her. She peddled toward Somerset.

to be continued

One Week Till the Release of First Born

Posted in Occult Detectives, Writing with tags , , , , , on July 7, 2017 by Occult Detective

Cover 01 First Born

From the arcane sorceries of “The Wickedest Man in the World” to the supernatural exploits of Occult Detective Landon Connors and the harrowing investigations of Agents Wolfe and Crowe, this collection of macabre tales of the black arts treads the dangerous landscape between this world and that populated by angels and demons, gods and devils, ghosts and spirits, and the legendary creatures of our darkest imaginings.

First Born is the beginning of the journey into the Liber Monstrorum, the Chronicles of those Occult Detectives who are the last line of defense against those preternatural forces that threaten to destroy a world that refuses to believe that such things exist…

The ebook for First Born is available for pre-order now, with the actual trade paperback and kindle editions dropping on Friday, July 14 — one week from today.

First Born boasts fifteen stories in all, consisting of a novella (*), twelve short stories, and two illustrated tales (**). All are connected in various degrees. For instance, The Grim Beast of Iaeger (originally published by Michael Knost in Legends of the Mountain State 2) is a prequel to the events in the Wolfe & Crowe Investigation The Hour of the Wolf.

Here’s the Table of Contents:

Mourn Not the Sleepless Children
The Devil’s in the Details
The Soul Cages
Ashes to Ashes
Nos Galan Gaeaf
Familiar Territory**
Observance

Ghost of a Chance
The Cabin in the Woods*
Wyrdtails
Strange Magick**
The Grim Beast of Iaeger
The Hour of the Wolf
A Murder of Crows
A Gathering of Shadows

FB Mourn

An illustration from “Mourn Not the Sleepless Children”

I hope you get some semblance of the same feelings from these tales as I experienced whilst writing them. This genre, that of the occult detective, has been my unwavering passion for most all my life.

It has long been my desire to add to the grand tradition, to keep it alive im Geiste, as it affords me the pleasure of playing in the most thrilling of sandboxes imaginable.

Occult detective fiction, whether in a modern context or set within another era altogether, offers us the chance to glimpse beyond the veil, to dissect the greatest mysteries of all. We are beings of mind, body, and spirit, and through these works, and in works to come, I look to examine what these mean, individually and as a whole.

40 Days

Posted in Horror, Occult Detectives, Writing with tags , , , on June 4, 2017 by Occult Detective

Cover 01 First Born

First Born has a due date, something akin to 40 days from today. Somewhat fitting, methinks. Shall we count down the days together?

First Born is available July 14th, but why wait? You can place a pre-order for the kindle version now. But if you’re more partial to the trade paperback, well, 40 days and nights aren’t so bad.

The Kindle Edition Pre-Order for First Born is LIVE

Posted in Horror, Occult Detectives, Writing with tags , , , , , on May 28, 2017 by Occult Detective

firstbornI am pleased to report the Kindle Edition of First Born is now available for Pre-Order.

I will pretend it is purely coincidental that I also completed a book trailer for First Born today and published it to youtube. The truth of the matter is more akin to my wallowing in a surreal state of synchronicity…

When dealing with subjects such as these, preternatural forces are always at play.

Anyway, check out the trailer below, but be warned —  its default playback is only 144p. You’ll want to increase that to 360p for optimum viewing.

Enjoy.

What stories will you find in First Born?

Posted in Horror, Occult Detectives, Writing with tags , , on May 26, 2017 by Occult Detective

LIBERMONSTRORUM

On the heels of yesterday’s COVER REVEAL, I thought I’d talk a little about my plans for the Liber Monstrorum series and share the table of contents with you.

I anticipate the Liber Monstrorum Chronicles to be at least four volumes: First Born, Descendant, Born Again, and Afterbirth. I may get to a fifth volume, Afterlife, and even a sixth, Transcendent, at some point, but that’s a ways down the proverbial Lost Highway.

First Born and Descendant are written, edited, and with all cover and interior artworks complete. First Born, obviously is very close to publication (within a short handful of weeks) and, I expect, Descendant will be along in late Fall or Winter.

A final draft of Born Again needs to be written, but I am merging three separate works into one cohesive novel, so the heavy lifting has already been done. All that’s left for me is to connect all the dots and rein in some troublesome threads.

My plan is for Afterbirth to be another collection, in a sort of kinship with First Born, comprised of short stories and novellas that occur after the events in Descendant and Born Again. I have several stories ready for this volume already.

Afterlife and Transcendent are kind of loosely floating around in my head, with Afterlife feeling like a novel and Transcendent possibly being five novellas.

But I’m getting way ahead of myself.

Let’s turn out attentions back to FIRST BORN: Tales from the Liber Monstrorum.

Cover 01 First Born

First Born is made up of twelve short stories, two illustrated tales, and one novella. All have been published in one fashion or another in various forms, though many have been reworked here and there. This is the first time they’ve all been gathered under one roof, so to speak.

Here is a list of the stories you’ll find inside:

MOURN NOT THE SLEEPLESS CHILDREN
THE DEVIL’S IN THE DETAILS
THE SOUL CAGES
ASHES TO ASHES
FAMILIAR TERRITORY
NOS GALAN GAEAF
OBSERVANCE
GHOST OF A CHANCE
THE CABIN IN THE WOODS
STRANGE MAGICK
WYRDTAILS
THE GRIM BEAST OF IAEGER
THE HOUR OF THE WOLF
A MURDER OF CROWS
A GATHERING OF SHADOWS

I will be posting pre-order information for First Born sometime over the weekend, I believe, so stay tuned.

Who’s in the mood for a collection of supernatural thrillers?

Posted in Horror, Occult Detectives, Writing with tags , , , , , on May 25, 2017 by Occult Detective

Cover 01 First BornIt’s official.

I am thrilled to announce that the cover reveal for First Born has dropped over on the website of my publisher, Seventh Star Press.

It’s been a long time coming.

These Liber Monstrorum tales, largely focusing on occult detective Landon Connors, have been near and dear to my heart for the past dozen years or so.

Even the Cairnwood Manor books are interwoven into this surreal landscape of supernatural fiction.

First Born is a collection of occult detective stories, all connected to a larger tapestry. These short tales have been placed in chronological order and served up as a prequel to Descendant, a novel featuring many of the characters you’ll be reading about in First Born. Following Descendant will be the novel Born Again and another collection titled Afterbirth.

Intrigued? Here, have a look at First Born’s backcover synopsis:

From the arcane sorceries of “The Wicked Man in the World” to the supernatural exploits of Occult Detective Landon Connors and the harrowing investigations of Agents Wolfe and Crowe,this collection of macabre tales of the black arts treads the dangerous landscape between this world and that populated by angels and demons, gods and devils, ghosts and spirits, and the legendary creatures of our darkest imaginings.

 First Born is the beginning of the journey into the Liber Monstrorum, the Chronicles of those Occult Detectives who are the last line of defense against those preternatural forces that threaten to destroy a world that refuses to believe that such things exist…

Now, before I slink off to my library and get back to work, I thought I would leave you with this missive written by a good friend and fellow writer. I hope you’ll consider trying First Born on for size.If you’re into supernatural thrillers, then I think it will be a good fit.

BOB FREEMAN’S MAGICK
by Steven L. Shrewsbury

Someone asked me why I often spell magick with a ‘k’ attached. True enough, I first read of this spelling via the writings of Aleister Crowley and his use of the number eleven (K is the eleventh letter of the alphabet). Frankly, all cool appearances and Hammer of the Gods references aside, I use it to differentiate between what many may call magic. I’m not talking about magic, like sleight of hand with cards, parlor tricks; table knocking or David Copperfield wet dreams. True Magick has meaning, holds power and can be felt.

That said, I believe magick lurks in Bob Freeman’s tales. No deceit, no tricks, no BS. The stories in this collection hold a connecting resonance and flow naturally. I’ve seen many a writer struggle to find their voice or try to use someone else’s. Bob’s voice can reach a fine crescendo, not unlike the sweep of a wand…then rise and fall with the might of a bludgeon. Some folks want to pretty up their yarns, overcome by an overwhelming desire to whip out their throbbing thesauri. Bob tells a story and entertains, as simply as if he sat down on a couch to relate it. A natural storyteller, his opening lines grab hold fast. In “A Murder of Crows” the opening paragraph ends with the line, “The White Christ rose after three days on the cross, could the servant of the rook do less?” I had to find out more.

Some writers can lose their hold on that delightful feeling that can gush in storytelling, instead vomiting prose that sucks more ass than Dracula at a donkey farm. Bob’s sense of reality and desire to comprehend mysteries of the unknown mingle to keep one’s attention. In this connection, he makes one hungry to devour more. Part of his spell comes from life experience, both in harsh times and good, which give each story a firm frame of grit.

If this is your first taste of Bob’s brew, prepare to be hooked. If you’ve read Bob before, these shorter works will only make the head nod in a desire to read more… especially the teasers that lead up to his novel, DESCENDANT. Enjoy this glimpse into his mind.

The tales here breathe, and oft times, there’s a hint of brimstone, perhaps some of that old black magick lurks in the exhale. Bob’s tales are never typical of the classic mystery, noir or horror tale, but he places a fresh polish on certain underpinnings. His narrative in “Ashes to Ashes” dealing with Crowley’s remains, made me say aloud, “Damn, wish I’d have thought of that.” Knowledgeable beyond my vaguest hoping in such lore, he’s never dull. Bob tells a story that draws one in to accept this reality.

These yarns are Bob Freeman’s. Does he remind me of anyone else? Sure, but to say that tale is a Bob Freeman story and holds a unique magick all its own, hey, what more is there to say? He succeeds in getting it across, hitting the mark, weaving his spell.

So, grab a drink, sit down and get comfy. Let’s go to places only Bob Freeman can see and take us to…they are dark places, moody, scary and downright magickal. Get ready. We’ll be there most of the evening.

Steven L. Shrewsbury
Rural Central Illinois

First Born

Posted in Horror, Occult Detectives, Writing with tags , , , , , on March 9, 2017 by Occult Detective

Cover 01 First Born

Mark July 14th on your calendars. That’s right, at long last, I have a release date for my occult detective collection forthcoming from Seventh Star Press — First Born: Tales of the Liber Monstrorum.

For review requests or press inquiries, you can contact my publisher via ccjames (at) seventhstarpress (dot) com or email me direct through my freeman (at) occultdetective (dot) com address.

You can also sign up for the Seventh Star Press Read to Review Program

ssp 3.

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