Thursday, August 15, 2013

Teaser | Whisper Cape by Susan Griscom


The eerie wail of the howling wind sent shivers down Addie’s spine. Pulling her jacket sleeves down over the palms of her hands, she gripped the steering wheel to hold it in place. Thank God the heater worked. The vicious cold air outside mixed with the fog floating in from the ocean, enveloping her truck, filling her with an ominous sensation. It swirled its way over the landscape, transforming the spectacular terrain into something unfamiliar. Sinister. The late morning haze shrouded most of the highway, snaking its way through the massive redwoods, stirring visions of her nightmare. The roar of the surf thrashing against the rocks emphasized the menacing force.

She shuddered. Her breath quickened. Hot and tingly blood pulsed through her body, swamping her with a sense of dread. The force strengthened and burned as though her veins were on fire.

Addie inhaled, holding her breath for a few seconds before exhaling. “Deep breaths, Addie, slow, deep breaths,” she whispered as the memory of the horrible nightmare flooded her mind.

She concentrated on her breathing, feeling the rapid beat of her heart, determined to steady her nerves.

“Think of something else,” she demanded and glanced down at her camera and tripod. She’d remembered to bring them along today, hoping the sun would come out so she could go to the cliffs during her afternoon break, still determined to decorate her bare apartment walls with pictures of the giant waves crashing against the massive rocks. She grimaced, leaning forward to peek at the sky, perturbed the sun wasn’t going to cooperate.

Addie turned her concentration back to the road. One wrong turn could be fatal if her truck were to swerve and go over the cliff. Her new truck—well, new to her anyway—was sturdy and powerful, exuding confidence and strength, the exact attributes Addie needed at the moment.

She absently tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “Another cloudy day. I should have taken pictures during the summer months, like any other normal person.” She glanced up at the sky again before bringing her eyes back to the road.

That’s when she saw him standing in the center of the highway.

She screamed, grasped the wheel with both hands, and steered to the right. The truck lurched. Her camera and tripod clunked against the passenger door and then fell to the floor. Addie tried to straighten the wheel, but the gravel on the side of the road sent the wheels spinning toward the ditch. She slammed on the brakes, skidding several feet before finally stopping inches from a very steep slope.

“Oh, God … did I hit him?” She’d heard a thump against the truck. “I must have hit him.”

Her hands shook. In fact, her entire body trembled with fear. Forcing her uncooperative limbs to move, Addie shoved open the heavy truck door, held on to support her quivering body, and stepped out. Her rubbery legs buckled under her as the fierce wind blew her jacket open. Steadying herself, she used both hands to keep it closed and crept to the back of the truck, scanned the area, but saw no one. Not even a hint of a body.

She called out. “Hello? Sir, are you all right?”

No one answered. The silence was disturbing, as if something sucked all evidence of life out of the area, leaving nothing behind except the sound of the wind rustling through dead leaves and the surf pounding against the rocks below. Still holding her jacket closed, she sprinted to the other side of the truck, but there was no trace of the guy.

Her stomach knotted. Her eyes fell upon the dents and scratches on the front fender. She studied them for a few seconds, but it was impossible to tell if there was any new damage. Just last week she’d miscalculated a turn and scraped the fender against the dumpster at work.

Keeping her jacket closed with one hand, she held her long dark hair back from her eyes with the other and searched the area the best she could. She didn’t see anyone.

“Where did he go?” She ran back to her truck, pulled herself up onto the seat, and quickly shut the door. Her hands shook as she pushed down on the locks, and for a moment, she just sat, frozen.

“No one was there.”

About the Author
Susan Griscom writes paranormal romance, but her playing field delves into a different milieu than the usual vampires and werewolves. Some day she might write about fangs and fur, but for now she prefers sticking to strong heroes and heroines confronted with extraordinary forces of nature, powers and abilities beyond the norm, mixed with a little romance to get the blood boiling.

A self-proclaimed dreamer, her favorite pastime is reading, but writing is her passion.

Susan, a member of Romance Writers of America, lives in the Sierra Foothills in Northern California with her very romantic husband, her small yippy dog, Riley, and her humongous black cat, Saké. Her family consists of his and hers; four wonderful sons and one beautiful daughter, four grandchildren and two more on the way. Susan has said that when a story takes hold and pulls her into the fantasy, that's magic.

You can visit Susan at or email her at or

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