Sunday, 29 April 2018

Medium Wave by Rose Zolock + Excerpt


Medium Wave by Rose Zolock
Published in the UK by Caffeine Nights Publishing on the 6th of April 2018.

Where to buy this book:


The Book Depository : unavailable
Wordery : unavailable
Waterstones : unavailable
Amazon : from £1.99 (ebook)
Prices and availability may have changed since this post was written

Add Medium Wave to your Goodreads

Becky Moran has built a career claiming to talk to the dead. A successful clairvoyant medium, a Cambridge graduate with her own radio show ‘Medium Wave’ and a team dedicated to crafting the celebrity myth – because Becky Moran is a fake. Until, one night, something supernatural, inexplicable, breaks through live on air as she is broadcasting. Becky Moran discovers the paranormal is real, the dead can indeed speak and she is being pursued relentlessly towards a battle for her very survival.

‘This thing has no defined shape. Whatever energy exists within it, it cannot settle on a shape. The strands of darkness curl out and then wrap back inwards. The bulk of the shadow becomes concave, then bulbous, the height building in on itself but lacking any skeletal structure to wrap itself around. There are no eyes, no clearly defined head shape. It is creating itself from darkness, like a swirl of ebony ink dropped into a vat of putrid water, spreading silently….’




Excerpt

We meet Becky in her radio studio ‘Voice of Britain’, a national talk radio station in London, broadcasting her show ‘Medium Wave’. She has just handled a historic artefact – the crystal of Dr John Dee, Royal Astronomer to Queen Elizabeth The First….


The blackness was total. Becky Moran was absorbed by it. For a second, there was nothing. No breath, no sound, no heartbeat, no sense, no touch – just suspension without connection to the physical world. It was as if she and that darkness were one. She could see nothing. She was not aware of the seat beneath her. Her fear erased her logical thought processes.
They say that fear, when it comes, takes many forms. It could be that moment when the doctor in his white coat, his eyes kind with sympathy, tells you that they cannot operate. Or the adulterer’s fear when the deception is finally unmasked. The fear of answering the door to a police officer who may have news of a fatal accident. That of growing old and being alone. The fear of failure. The terror of a child who is convinced that an ancient hand, green with decay and with long, curling nails encrusted with the dirt of the coffin will wrap itself around her bare ankle when she puts her foot on the cold floor. There are the new, twenty-first century fears of jet planes exploding, of a suicide bomber on your crowded Tube carriage, of a deadly virus breeding silently in the city centre. Fears, real and imagined, which shape behaviour and change lives as human beings try to get through their short span of time on Earth.
For Becky Moran, her fear at that moment transcended the external. It was internal. It wrapped itself inside her body, winding through her bones and muscles, twisting itself around her brain and coiling under her skin. 
The thrum, thrum, thrum had ceased. No sound vibrated around her now and it was as if the air itself had gone, swallowed up by the darkness. The voices were silenced. In that black vacuum, the collection of cells and DNA which made up Becky Moran were absorbed into an infinite mass of the nebulous. It was as if her existence had almost been eradicated.
She inhaled sharply, and the returning air, as it passed through her mouth and into her lungs, jolted Becky back to some level of perception. Now she could hear her heartbeat, fast and loud, banging steadily in its own terrified rhythm. She knew her eyes were open, but there was no light, no light. Her breath, now recovered, was shallow and rapid. She was unable to move, even though she was not aware of anything binding her limbs. Yet she was more conscious of her body, even the feel of the fabric of her dress, scratchy on her skin, of her bare feet, and even the weight of her hair on her shoulders. 
Her brain tried to work out why she had been enveloped by this oppressive blackness; fear jiggled the synapses to snap from a dream-like state to a panic response because this environment – this experience – made no sense. 
Seconds had passed since the lights went out, but Becky felt as though this isolation in the dark had always been. Ahead of her, a pinpoint of white light – very far away – pierced the blackness. Becky focused her eyes towards it as it grew wider, larger and nearer. She sensed the darkness fighting that light, a heaviness around her pushing at it, a strong unseen force wanting to flatten that light, eradicate it, conquer it, and end it. 
It was a pure light. Becky wanted it, wanted that illumination, and knew that within it lay escape, salvation, safety. Her stomach muscles tightened as she bent, leant towards that white light, now bigger and brighter and winning over the dark mass. Her arm reached towards it and, as she moved, the darkness expanded around her in one last attempt to swallow her, make her a part of it without end, suck her into it, absorb her existence and own her. 
But the light expanded towards her and Becky moaned with longing, a desperate sound, a sound of gratitude that spoke of survival, hope, and redemption. As the light reached her body and bathed her, a voice as black as that diminishing darkness whispered: 
‘We are here.’



Meet the author:

Her Irish grandmother first told Rose about the Banshee when she was just a small child. How the wailing sound of the spirit of the dead and dying could be heard when someone was about to pass.

It was family folklore that the women in the family had ‘the touch’, the ability to see spirits and other dimensions. Rose listened and grew up fascinated by those who claimed to have supernatural or psychic abilities.

Rose does not claim to have those powers. Take her to Venice in February when the mist swirls over the canals, walk by her side along the darkened streets of Greenwich Village in New York City in high summer, listening to a ghost walk tour guide tell the stories of death, murder and the unexplained – Rose would say those stories and our belief in them gives her a power to see into the shadows within our imagination.

As a journalist, Rose takes every opportunity to explore and investigate strange stories, myth and folklore. Living in rural Yorkshire, with a rich library of ghost stories and literary tradition, Rose also has a sceptical and forensic insight into those who peddle the stories which feed our imagination but of which we have yet found no proof. She has listened to the debunkers who argue against those believers who are convinced that the dark side exists.

Rose’s mind is open. Is yours?

Author links: 
Website ~ GoodreadsFacebook ~ Twitter



Search Lit Flits for more:
Books by Rose Zolock / Horror fiction / Books from England

2 comments:

  1. This sounds like a really interesting concept. Hopefully the paranormal mystery has great suspense.


    Tori @ In Tori Lex

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    Replies
    1. I love the idea of a fake medium suddenly being given the gift. How scary could that be?!

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