Summary:
Parapsychologist Dr. Nigel Taylor doesn’t work with psychic mediums. Until, that is, a round of budget cuts threatens his job and an eccentric old woman offers him a great deal of grant money. The only catch: he must investigate a haunted house with a man she believes to have a true gift.
Oscar Fox, founder of the ghost-hunting team OutFoxing the Paranormal, has spent his life ignoring the same sort of hallucinations that sent his grandmother to an insane asylum. When he agrees to work with the prestigious—and sexy—Dr. Taylor, he knows he’ll have to keep his visions under wraps, so his team can get a desperately needed pay day.
Soon after Nigel, Oscar, and the OtP team arrive at the house, the questions begin to pile up. Why is there a blood stain in the upstairs hallway? What tragedy took place in the basement? And who is the spirit lurking in the closet of a child’s bedroom?
One thing is certain: if Oscar can’t accept the truth about his psychic abilities, and Nigel can’t face the demons of his past, they’ll join the forgotten souls of the house…forever.
Rattling Bone #2
Summary:Some secrets won’t stay buried.
Oscar Fox grew up suppressing his psychic gifts. Now he and his ghost-hunting team, including his boyfriend parapsychologist Nigel Taylor, travel to Oscar’s hometown in hopes of learning more about his legacy.
A trail of family secrets lures them to an abandoned distillery, still haunted by the ghosts of Oscar’s ancestors. A curse lies upon his bloodline, and if the team can’t figure out how to stop it, he might be the next to die.
Original Review October 2023:
HOLY HANNAH BATMAN! How did I not read this before now?!?!?!?! I don't think anything will ever top my love of the author's Whyborne & Griffin series but Outfoxing the Paranormal definitely has the potential to give it a run for it's money. Some paranormals are tailor made for October reading and can only tickle one's fancy at Halloween time but Jordan L Hawk has a knack for creating Octoberesque reads that are so brilliant you can enjoy them all 12 months of the year.
Perhaps it was the lightheartedness of the paranormal book I read before The Forgotten Dead that made the evil, creepy side of Nigel and Oscar's ghostly encounter even scarier or maybe it was just the nature of what happened in the house that is being investigated that raised the spooky side. Either way, Forgotten is definitely darker and bordering on horror more than straight on paranormal. It's hard to make me jump while reading a ghostly tale in the same manner I do when watching the genre but Hawk has managed to do just that. The saying goes: "It's Halloween, everyone is entitled to one good scare" well I definitely had more than my fair share then because I jumped out of my seat and was scared out of my wits many times.
I love the balance of cautious skepticism and committed belief when it came to what they are investigating. I really enjoyed the fact that that scale referred to everyone not just the MCs, it's one thing for the characters to believe in what they do but its another thing entirely to see it tackled when they all face the entity in the house, you just know that the fear is genuine which heightens the spookyness for this reader.
I'm not going to say too much more so as not to spoil anything for those who like me are first discovering The Forgotten Dead. What I will say is the chemistry between the characters, both romantic and friendship, is amazing and the evilness of the horror side is edge-of-your-seat-HOLY CRAP!-scream inducing that once you start, there is no way you want to stop.
Rattling Bone #2
Original Review Book of the Month May 2024:
Our little band of ghost hunters is once again on the trail but this time the trail leads to Oscar's family. Okay, so even though the phrase is used in the blurb, "ghost hunters" is a bit lax, a bit neat, a bit simple in explanation. The group, Oscar, Nigel, Tina, and Chris, are doing so much more than just hunting them, they are attempting to set them free to move along. This time there is a curse, killing a member of the family every 25 years and guess what? Yeppers, it's been 25 years since the last death.
It's been over a year since Rattling Bone was released and 6 months or so since I read book 1, The Forgotten Dead, Rattling was just as deliciously danger-filled mayhem as Forgotten. I would say Rattling is probably marginally less horror labelling and more paranormal than book 1 but only by the slimmest of slims. On one hand the victims are less evil than the curser but they too have had generations to relive their ghostly fate and in letting it fester all that time they are definitely creepy and perfect for this horror-ladened paranormal gem.
As for Oscar's dad, well you want to hate him, think badly of him for trying to supress his son's gifts but at the same time you understand it stems from a place of fear after what his mother went through all those years earlier. Does it make me want to forgive him instantly? No but I do understand where it comes from and for that I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that he'll accept the truth. Whether he does or not, well you have to read that for yourself to discover.
As to the original ghost who has cursed the family line? She's just pure evil, not saying there wasn't reason for her initial anger but to go after so many lines that had nothing to do with her fate is what makes her the big bad. There is just so many levels to this story and the characters, good and bad, you can't help but be intrigued, conflicted, but above all else entertained to the nth degree.
The Forgotten Dead #1
Chapter One
“This is Oscar Fox with OutFoxing the Paranormal! As usual, we’ll be bringing you a combination of urban exploration and ghost hunting as we investigate a location off the beaten path. Now, I can’t tell you exactly where we are for tonight’s hunt, because we’re here at the invitation of the property owner, who wants to keep his privacy intact. What I can tell you is it’s a farmhouse built in the 1870s and lived in by generations of the owner’s family. Unfortunately, they experienced more than their share of tragedy within these walls.”
The old woman hit pause on the remote, and the large screen on the wall froze. “Are you familiar with this internet show, Dr. Taylor?” she asked.
“No,” Nigel Taylor said, shifting in his seat uncertainly. “I’m not sure why you’re showing me this.”
This was supposed to be a meeting to talk about his grant proposal. The grant he desperately needed if he was to justify his continued employment as an assistant professor at Duke University’s Institute of Parapsychology.
“We need to tighten our belts,”the dean had said, and Nigel would have sworn he’d been looking right at him. “Cut the fat from the meat.”
Research into the survival of personality after death didn’t exactly bring in the big money, and hadn’t since the start of the Cold War. Telekinesis, telepathy, remote viewing…all of those could be measured in the lab, demonstrated with numbers and graphs to organizations with deep pockets.
Ghosts, though, were another thing.
Survival research had been hanging by a thread at the institute when his advisor retired and he was hired to take her place. If he wasn’t able to secure a hefty grant today, that thread would be cut.
This meeting was supposed to be his chance to salvage it. Patricia Montague was heir to a cigarette company fortune; her family had generously donated money to Duke University’s Institute of Parapsychology from the 1930s to the 80s, when they abruptly withdrew all funds. When she’d contacted him about a new grant for research into the survival of personality after death, it had seemed like the answer to his prayers.
And now he was sitting in a lavishly appointed hotel room with her, watching internet videos of all things.
“You teach a course on the history of parapsychology, do you not?” she asked. Patricia Montague was an imposing, pale woman in her 70s, her silver-white hair worn in a pixie cut, dressed in a tailored lavender suit. “Then you know as well as anyone that mediumship is not what it was in its heyday during the 1800s. Even then, most were frauds.”
“But some were—are—genuine.” Nigel looked back to the screen. The video showed a man’s affable face: white skin, dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a grin that invited you to smile along with him. He was a big guy in terms of both height and weight, but moved with the ease of an athlete. The abandoned farmhouse he stood in front of could have been found anywhere from North Carolina on south, its warped boards stripped of paint by sun and rain, century-old oaks towering overhead and dropping enormous branches in the yard and through the roof.
“Who is he?” Nigel asked, wondering what the hell any of this had to do with his grant. “That is, I caught the name, but I’ve never heard of him.”
A small smile touched the corner of Ms. Montague’s mouth. “I take it you don’t follow college football, Dr. Taylor? Back in his student days, Mr. Fox played defensive tackle at Clemson.”
“Right,” said Nigel, as though he’d ever heard the term ‘defensive tackle’ before in his life. “And now he makes ghost hunting videos?”
“Indeed. Keep watching.”
She clicked play again. The video had editing and production values that put OutFoxing the Paranormal above the usual amateur ghost hunting footage that Nigel had seen. Oscar and his camera person made their way through the dilapidated house, Oscar excitedly pointing out finds like an upright piano, in between narrating the tragic history of the house. He had the energy of a golden retriever; just watching him made Nigel feel exhausted.
They investigated the usual suspects: the basement, a bedroom where a woman had died, the stairway where a man fell to his death, a nursery where disease swept away a generation.
It wasn’t until they came to the kitchen, however, that Oscar paused. “Hey, let’s try an EVP—that’s electronic voice phenomena for any new viewers.” He went through the standard questions. “Is anyone here? What’s your name? Why are you here?”
EVPs could collect valuable evidence—or be faked by a bit of sound editing. Without access to the raw files, it was impossible to say which.
The video cut to Oscar listening to the enhanced audio in a studio. “Can you hear me?” seemed to whisper out of the laptop speakers. “Millie. I have to make dinner. It hurts.”
Ms. Montague paused the video and scanned back. “Look at his face immediately before he suggests trying to record any electronic voice phenomena.”
It was an easy face to look at; Oscar was pretty damn cute. With the video slowed down, it was easier to see the change that came over him in the kitchen. His pleasant face contorted, just a fraction of a second. Shock, fear, and pain all seemed to play over his features, before he wiped his expression clean and suggested the EVP.
“You’ll note he never mentioned any stories of the kitchen being haunted,” Ms. Montague said. “Despite the attempt at keeping the location secret, my assistant was able to easily track down the farmhouse in question. He found a brief newspaper article from 1901 about an elderly cook named Millie, who was scalded to death in the kitchen when she collapsed and accidentally pulled a pot of simmering stew onto herself.”
Nigel wasn’t at all sure he liked the direction this conversation was taking. “Maybe Oscar did the same research?”
“Then why not reveal it during the show?” She fixed him with sharp gray eyes. “Instead, Mr. Fox appears puzzled to have found anything in the location. Which in turn suggests the EVP is genuine, not faked.”
“He didn’t say anything about being a medium, though.”
“No, he did not.” She sat back, an almost triumphant expression on her face. “Mr. Fox has never made such a claim, and OutFoxing the Paranormal has never worked with a medium.”
Nigel had never worked with a medium, either, and wasn’t at all sure he wanted to now. Mediumship had been all the rage throughout much of the nineteenth century, and for the early decades of the twentieth. The science of parapsychology had been born through studying them. Hell, the original intent of founding the institute had been to investigate the big questions of life and death, hand in hand with mediums.
Unfortunately, problems cropped up quickly. A séance was hard to quantify scientifically; ESP was much easier to test in the lab. Then an argument arose as to whether mediums were even communicating with the dead at all, or unconsciously using telepathy to pick details about the departed from the minds of others.
Soon focus shifted to four subjects: telepathy, clairvoyance, psychokinesis, and precognition, all of which could be more easily measured in a laboratory setting. It wasn’t like you could get a poltergeist to come in for testing.
Over the decades, mediums came to be looked at as entertainers at best, frauds at worst. As far as he knew, no one at the institute had worked with one since the 1950s, and he wasn’t keen to be the first to break that streak.
“I’m not sure what this has to do with my grant proposal,” he said warily.
“I’ve looked over OutFoxing the Paranormal’s other videos with a close eye. I believe Mr. Fox is a true medium, who is either ignorant of the source of his impressions, or simply doesn’t wish to associate himself with a profession rife with fakes and grifters.”
Nigel felt a sinking in his gut. “What exactly are you getting at, Ms. Montague?”
“It’s quite simple, Dr. Taylor.” Her hawk-like stare pinned him. “You require three things for your research. The first is money, which I am now offering to you, no strings attached. The second is a team to help you actually do the fieldwork. I believe OutFoxing the Paranormal would be an excellent choice—they’re professional, and they’re based in Winston-Salem, so relatively local. Naturally, this would depend on your finding them a good fit for you, and if they’re amenable.”
No strings attached.Relief swamped him—he was going to get the grant—he could still save his job. Then sense broke through: despite her words, Ms. Montague was very much attaching strings. “What if they don’t want to work with me?”
She shrugged. “We can hardly force anyone to cooperate with us, so I would leave it up to you to find a replacement.”
We,she’d said. Oh yes, this money was indeed coming with caveats. “And the third thing?”
“In the old days,” she said, apparently apropos of nothing, “mediums did more than communicate with the dead. They helped restless ghosts to cross through the veil, to whatever awaits on the other side.”
He stiffened. “I’m quite aware.”
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to explain your own course to you.” She smiled. “The third thing you need is a location. I’ve looked into your past, Dr. Taylor, and I believe you can provide one.”
Shock froze him to his seat for a moment. “I, uh—”
“I refer to the Matthews house, which has recently gone into foreclosure. One of my shell companies has already acquired it.”
Nigel shot to his feet, heart suddenly racing. Memories kaleidoscoped through his head: riding his bike with Mike in the warm Georgia sun, a fit of childish rage, a haggard man smiling at him from the dinner table. “How do you know about that?”
“Oscar Fox wasn’t the only one I looked into before making my offer,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I know all about you, Dr. Taylor. And I have a very good guess as to why you chose to study survival research, rather than any other field.”
His mouth had gone dry, and a part of him wanted to turn and march out the door. To flee this unexpected ambush. “Why?” he asked instead. “Why are you offering the grant? Why do you want me to go there? What are you getting out of this?”
“Is it so strange that a woman my age would find herself interested in whether our personalities survive after death?” she asked. Too lightly—he didn’t believe that was her only reason for a second. “As for the rest, don’t you agree that your personal involvement could lead to stronger manifestations?”
He swayed slightly, before catching himself. In his memories, a killer grinned at him over dinner. “I imagine you’re correct about that.”
“You need my help,” Ms. Montague said. “Or at least, my money’s help, if you want to survive the next round of budget cuts at the university. Work with me on this—interview the OutFoxing the Paranormal team, go with them to the house, discover whatever you can about both any hauntings and the possible medium—and I’ll make sure you still have a job waiting for you when you’re done.” She leaned over and extended a hand. “What do you say, Dr. Taylor? Do we have a deal?”
He didn’t want to go back to the Matthews house. Did. Not.
But it didn’t look like he was about to get much of a choice.
Nigel reached out and clasped her hand. “We have a deal.”
Rattling Bone #2
CHAPTER ONE
Nigel stared out the van window as they rounded yet another hairpin curve, his knuckles white on the armrest. His ears popped from the altitude change as the road kept climbing toward the ridge above, hidden in a shroud of trees. The branches were winter-bare, the forest floor beneath covered with only a dusting of snow even though it was deep December, the day after Christmas.
Thank heavens he didn’t get carsick. His stomach was already unsettled enough at the prospect of meeting his boyfriend’s parents.
He glanced at Oscar, who sat in the driver’s seat, attention thankfully on the narrow road. A big guy, in both height and girth, Oscar’s hair and dark eyes contrasted against his pale skin. Right now, his cute face was scrunched in a look of concentration as he steered the lumbering van around yet another blind, hairpin curve, the wheels only inches away from a drop down the mountainside.
According to Oscar, he hadn’t brought any of his other boyfriends all the way out to Marrow, West Virginia, to meet the family. Which was amazing—they’d only been together since early October, not even three months. Nigel hadn’t wanted to come off as clingy, had told himself to take things slow, but maybe this was a sign that Oscar also felt their relationship was serious.
It also made him nervous as hell. What if Oscar’s parents didn’t like him? Things were so new between them; parental disapproval might make Oscar think twice about taking it any further.
Chris leaned forward from the backseat, where they sat beside Tina. Their hair was currently dyed a vivid shade of neon blue. “Your folks really live out in the boonies, huh?”
They’d been driving for over five hours, up from Durham, North Carolina, across into Virginia. As they headed northwest, the interstate failed them, and they’d spent the last few hours on narrow state roads, climbing over the ancient spine of the Appalachians to get into West Virginia.
“You can say that again.” Oscar didn’t glance into the rearview mirror, eyes remaining firmly on the road. “Once we get over this last ridge, we’ll almost be there.”
“Thank God, because I have to pee,” Tina said. “I thought there would at least be a gas station or somewhere to stop out here.”
Chris sat back. “Too bad we didn’t pack the camping toilet.”
The back of the van was stuffed with almost all of their ghost-hunting equipment, but none of the camping things they’d used during the investigation of the Matthews house back in October.
“Do you have any ideas about the ghost in your parents’ house?” Nigel asked, grateful for something to distract him from his nerves. “Who it might be, that is?”
That was the reason they were all going to meet Oscar’s parents, instead of just Nigel. Oscar had been working on his mediumship, at least as much as he could, but with the holidays, jobs, and family commitments, OutFoxing the Paranormal hadn’t had time to do another investigation since the Matthews house.
The intermittent haunting Oscar had grown up with—and over the years trained himself to ignore—seemed like the perfect opportunity for him to get his feet wet as a medium. The spirit, whoever it was, wasn’t violent, and had seemed content merely to show itself now and again. Neither of his parents had ever even noticed it was there, so presumably it wasn’t very strong.
Still, from Nigel’s point of view, data was data. And it would be good for the OutFoxing the Paranormal show to put out something new after their Halloween spectacular. According to Oscar, they had some good sponsors lined up already.
“I don’t have any idea who she was, and it wasn’t like I could ask my parents.” Oscar grimaced, and Nigel reached out to touch his shoulder,.
“I’m sorry.”
Oscar sighed. “It’s okay.”
The road finally crested the ridge and began to angle steeply down. A gap in the trees revealed a river valley running roughly north-south below them, a small town nestled in the widest part of the flats, before the view was swallowed up again by the trees.
“Was that Marrow?” Tina asked.
“Yeah, and my folks live on this side of town, so you’ll have somewhere to pee in a few minutes.” Oscar hesitated. “Look…Mom and Dad don’t know about the whole ghost-hunting thing.”
Nigel dropped his hand and half-turned in his seat. “What?” Chris asked from the back, at the same time Tina said, “You haven’t told them about OtP?”
“How could I? You know how my dad is. Was,” he corrected hurriedly. “They know I’m bringing friends, but not that we explore abandoned buildings together looking for ghosts. But once they see some of our videos, they’ll be really proud of what we’ve accomplished.”
“What do they think I teach?” Nigel asked.
Oscar winced. “Psychology. Which is close!”
“It really isn’t.” Nigel pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. “So you’re introducing your friends the ghost hunters, and your new boyfriend the parapsychologist, to your father who historically hasn’t reacted well to the concept of seeing ghosts.”
“It’ll be fine,” Oscar insisted.
Chris flopped back in their seat. “Or a complete disaster. One of the two.”
* * *
As he pulled into the familiar driveway, Oscar told himself yet again that there was no reason to be nervous.
Everything was going to be fine. He’d lay everything out, Nigel would say something smart, Tina something technical, and Dad would realize they were professionals. This was science.
Oscar wasn’t crazy.
This was going to be a new start for them, a chance to work on their relationship without any lies or tension between them. Maybe he could even get Dad to talk about his own mother, Oscar’s mamaw, who might have been a medium too.
The house, built around the turn of the previous century, nestled on the uphill side of the road. A convex mirror, mounted on a tree on the opposite side of the driveway, offered as much view around the curve as possible for anyone pulling out. The driveway itself was fairly short and quite steep, leading up to a two-story house set partly into the hillside. The siding was white wood, set atop a foundation of local rock mortared in place.
The front door swung open before the engine was even off. Mom and Dad both came out, Mom bundled against the cold as if she was going on an expedition to Antarctica, and Dad wearing a Christmas sweater depicting kittens in Santa hats.
“You get out first,” Nigel said with a glance.
Oscar winced. Okay, yes, he probably should have told his parents about the whole ghost-hunting thing before they got here. And he should have warned everyone else that he hadn’t, especially Nigel. But he’d been…
Scared. That was all. Worried about Dad’s reaction if he heard the news over the phone.
It was going to be different now, though. He climbed out of the van and walked to his parents, who immediately engulfed him in a hug. He took after his father in coloring, and his mother, who was the taller of the pair, in build.
“It’s so good to see you!” Mom said. “We missed you at Thanksgiving.”
They’d spent the holiday with Nigel’s mother, a cheerful woman who lived in Myrtle Beach. Before Oscar could apologize, Dad slapped him on the arm. “I guess we’ll have to get used to sharing, now that you’ve got someone special,” he said with a wink.
Oscar grinned and turned to the van. Everyone else had climbed out, Nigel hovering warily and Tina shooting desperate looks at the house. “Tina, the bathroom is through the front door, first door on the left.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude,” she called as she power-walked to the front door.
Mom laughed. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve made that long drive myself plenty of times.”
“And this is my friend Chris Saito,” Oscar went on. “They/them.”
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Mom said warmly, and went straight in for a hug, followed by Dad who did the same.
“Thanks for having us, Mrs. Fox, Mr. Fox,” Chris said.
“Oh goodness, call us Lisa and Scott, we’re too young for that nonsense.” Mom laughed again and turned expectantly to Nigel.
Nigel looked slightly alarmed. “I’m, uh, Nigel. He/him.”
“DoctorNigel Taylor,” Oscar added, as Mom went in for a hug.
“It’s so good to finally meet you,” Dad said, shaking Nigel’s hand, then pulling him in for a hug. “Oscar can’t stop talking about you!”
A light blush spread across Nigel’s face. “Oh?”
“I love your name,” Mom went on. “Nigel; it’s so old-fashioned!”
Nigel blinked, nonplussed. “Thanks? I picked it myself.”
“We should get in out of the cold,” Oscar put in quickly.
“Of course, of course; I’ll help with the bags.” Dad took a step toward the van.
The van packed with their equipment. It was now or never.
“Um, so, something I haven’t mentioned.” He could hear himself speaking too fast but couldn’t seem to slow down. “Tina, Chris, and I have a hobby—well, it might be more than a hobby, we do get money from the videos and selling Chris’s pictures.”
Both Mom and Dad looked at him expectantly. Oscar took a deep breath to steel himself. “We’re ghost hunters.”
There was a seemingly endless moment of shocked stillness. Then Dad turned and walked back to the house without saying a word.
* * *
An hour or so later, Nigel found himself sitting at the dinner table, Oscar on one side and Mr. Fox—Scott—on the other, at the table’s end. Lisa sat beside her husband, and Chris and Tina filled out the rest of the table.
“I hope we made enough,” Lisa fretted, though the food on the table could have fed an army. “How are the potatoes?”
“Delicious,” Nigel said truthfully.
Oscar didn’t say anything, and neither did his father. Their tension toward one another radiated through Nigel’s space.
“Oh good, it’s my mamaw’s recipe,” Lisa went on, apparently determined to fill the uncomfortable silence. “The secret is to use buttermilk.”
“It’s all wonderful.” Chris reached for second helpings of turkey. “Two Christmas dinners in one year—score!”
“Well, it didn’t make sense to have it just for ourselves, since y’all were coming the next day.”
The Fox household didn’t go all-out on holiday decorations, but there was a tree in what would have been called the parlor when the house had originally been built, and now was referred to as the den. The sight of the wrapped presents underneath sent a current of panic through Nigel—was he supposed to have brought something?
He and Oscar had already exchanged presents; a book on the history of ghost hunting from him, and an incredibly warm woolen sweater, hat, and socks from Oscar. He hadn’t really thought about what meeting Oscar’s parents the day after Christmas might entail.
“Sorry we kept Oscar away for the actual day,” Tina said, “but if I’d missed the family dinner, my abuela would’ve turned me into a ghost.”
As soon as the last word was out of her mouth, she realized her mistake. She held up one hand, as if to catch it, but of course it was already gone. The tension around the table went up a notch.
Whatever Nigel had thought meeting Oscar’s parents would be like, this wasn’t it. Coming here had clearly been a mistake. Certainly they weren’t going to be able to try and contact any spirit lingering in the house.
Lisa glanced at her husband, then fixed on Nigel. “So, Nigel, Oscar tells us you teach at Duke University!”
With the sinking feeling things were about to get worse, Nigel nodded. “That’s right.”
“You’re a psychologist, is that right?” she prompted, when it became clear he wasn’t going to elaborate.
Scott murmured something under his breath. His mother had died in an overcrowded state hospital; probably he had just as bad an opinion of psychology as he would of Nigel’s actual job.
“I work in the Institute of Parapsychology,” Nigel clarified. “We study phenomena outside of known biological mechanisms. My specialty is the survival of personality beyond death.”
There was a long moment of silence, before Scott spoke up. “Ghosts?”
He was going to be thrown out of the house and forbidden to ever speak to their son again. “The technical term is incorporeal personal agencies, but yes. Ghosts.”
“Excuse me,” Scott said, and pushed away from the table. He stalked out of the room.
Oscar shoved his chair back, shot an “excuse me” at his mother, and followed.
The rest of them sat in excruciatingly awkward silence for a moment. Then Lisa picked up a serving spoon. “So…who wants more potatoes?”
Saturday's Series Spotlight
Jordan L. Hawk is a trans author from North Carolina. Childhood tales of mountain ghosts and mysterious creatures gave him a life-long love of things that go bump in the night. When he isn’t writing, he brews his own beer and tries to keep the cats from destroying the house. His best-selling Whyborne & Griffin series (beginning with Widdershins) can be found in print, ebook, and audiobook.
If you want to contact Jordan, just click on the links below or send an email.
B&N / SMASHWORDS / AUTHORGRAPH
EMAIL: jordanlhawk@gmail.com
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