Excerpt from The Gypsy Queen by LV Gaudet

•February 20, 2018 • Leave a Comment

“Travis blinks. He rubs his eyes and closes them, silently praying for the world to come back to him. A part of him deep inside is afraid that admitting that fear will make it true that the world is gone.” -The Gypsy Queen




The Sad Surreal Tale Of Mademoiselle Blanche Monnier

•February 18, 2018 • Leave a Comment


15 Google Earth Images That Are Pure Nightmare Fuel – TheThings

•January 29, 2018 • Leave a Comment

What hides beneath the depths, in the darkness, and in our nightmares?



Cover Reveal – The Gypsy Queen

•January 28, 2018 • Leave a Comment

Cover by Erskine Designs


paranormal drama thriller


When a young man with an enthusiasm for get rich quick schemes discovers an old abandoned paddle wheel river steam boat he has dreams of the riches and glamour she will bring.

His best friend and unwilling business partner sees only rot and decay in the old boat.

The Gypsy Queen’s dark past will not be forgotten.

15 Of The Scariest Pictures Taken In Hospitals – TheRichest

•January 15, 2018 • Leave a Comment

As if hospitals aren’t already scary enough… food for the horror writer


26 The Woods – Henry and June (1985) by LV Gaudet

•January 13, 2018 • Leave a Comment


“June,” why did you throw out the cake? Henry asks.

“The boys will want a fresh cake when they come home,” June says, still fussing with arranging the kitchen exactly the way it was before her boys went missing.

With the weight of worrying over June on his shoulders too now, Henry leaves the kitchen.

He goes to the living room and sits down heavily in the chair.  He looks at the silent T.V. and thinks about turning it on.  It seems pointless.  He rubs a hand over his haggard face, letting his head drop in a posture of defeat.

“It’s like she thinks they will walk in the door at any moment.  I wish they would too, but I see the looks the police officers give me when they don’t think I see.  They don’t think our boys are coming back.  They don’t think they are just lost. Thank God June hasn’t seen those looks.”

The ring of the door bell tolls hollowly through the house.

Henry looks up.  He’s not expecting anyone.  The sound of the bell fills him with a sick dread.

He glances at the kitchen.  He can hear June still puttering around in there.

Getting up heavily, he goes to the door and opens it.

One of his neighbours is standing there uneasily, shifting his weight and not quite looking at him.

“Hello Fred.”

“Hello.”  Fred doesn’t look any more at ease at having been greeted.  He looks just to the side of Henry.  He can’t look at him.



Fred swallows and shifts.

“I-I just came to ring your bell.”

Henry nods.  This moment is not getting any less awkward.

“You did that.”

A moment of awkward silence hangs between them.


Fred shifts.

“Fred.  Why can’t you look at me?”

Fred tries to look at him, to meet his eyes.  He quickly looks away, looking just to the side of Henry.

“Fred.”  Henry tries to catch his eye.  “Why can’t you look at me?  Why are you ringing my bell?”

“One of the boys,” Fred starts.  He hesitates, trying to meet Henry’s look and fails again.  He tries again.  “They found something.  In the woods.

Henry’s face loses a little life, turning pale and sagging just a little.

He looks back towards the kitchen where June is puttering around.  He looks back at Fred, catching his unwitting eye.  Fred looks away quickly, but not quickly enough for Henry to see the pained look of pity.

The look takes a little piece away from Henry.

Henry nods.

“I have to let June know I’m going out.”

Fred nods.

Henry turns and walks to the kitchen, feeling Fred’s eyes on his back.

He pauses in the doorway watching June for a moment before he speaks.

Trying to control his voice, he hears the gravity of his own words like a hidden message he hopes June does not pick up on.

“Junie, Fred came by.  The boys want me to come down to the rec center to discuss plans for tomorrow’s search for the boys.”

“I’ll be here,” June says without looking at him.

There is a gulf between them of words that cannot be communicated in a time like this.  Words that show false hope and which might dash that hope.  Words of no hope.

Henry turns and leaves, leaving the house with Fred.


Available on Kindle and in paperback on Amazon:

Garden Grove Cover - McNally - front cover

The McAllister Series

where the bodies are


Where the Bodies Are

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00023]


The McAllister Farm

HuntingMichaelUnderwood - final - media copy


Hunting Michael Underwood




And  for the teens and middle years kids who like middle years/teen drama and monsters, a fantasy psychological thriller.


Garden Grove: 7 Rusty Plowshare’s Scheme – Rusty by LV Gaudet

•January 12, 2018 • Leave a Comment

Garden Grove Cover - McNally - front cover

“So, the skull wasn’t good enough, huh?  Oh, I’ve got something better than that, much better,” Rusty Plowshare muttered bitterly.

The old man nodded to himself.  His chin, white with unshaven whisker stubble, caught and held a piece of loose straw in the stubble when he came away from the stacked bales of hay he was digging between.  The straw bales were sagging with rot and greyed with age, their fibres breaking down over the years they had sat idle.

He turned away, rummaging through one pile and then moving on to another.  Rusty moved with arthritic slowness, the skin on his thin arms sagging from age and loss of the underlying muscle mass of youth.  His face, leathery from decades of working in the sun and wrinkled with age, gave him a crazy old man in the mountains look instead of wizened with age.

He was in the old barn, its interior packed with an amazing amount of clutter of every description.  It is unbelievable the old man can even move around in there, much less search the place.  The old packrat collected anything.

There are cats everywhere too, cats of every age and description, some looking very unhealthy, all feral strays that had made this barn their home.

“Now, where’d I put it?” he muttered to himself.

It wasn’t in the narrow space of a double wall between two stalls.  He moved on to search somewhere else.

“Maybe behind the loose board in the wall?”  He pried the board off and looked.

“Ah, I know, under the floorboard!”  He moved and stooped over a floorboard, pulling it up to look beneath.  Most of the barn floor is an open dirt floor.  However, one end of the barn, for reasons known only to the old man and his predecessors, has a rough floor of old two by fours that are now soggy with rot.  One part of this section, in the dark shadowed recesses of the corner, hides a small makeshift cellar dug into the ground beneath the floor, the rest of it covering part of the dirt floor that makes up most of the barn floor.  This particular floorboard covered a gouged out section of dirt just deep enough to hold its small treasures wrapped in rotting cheesecloth.

But what he is looking for is not there.


“I know it’s here somewhere,” Rusty grumbled.

Noticing the carelessly dumped loose soil marking the spot where the skull had been dug up from, the old man reminded himself, “Got to stamp that down some, won’t do to have anyone finding it.”

The old skull had been buried in the barn for a very long time.  Of course, the rest of the body was there too, along with the tool used to kill the man.

It’s very possible the man buried so many years ago in the dirt of the barn was old Rusty Plowshare’s great great grandfather.

He did not really know for sure.  There was more than one body buried beneath the old barn through the generations of his family that lived here.

His great great grandmother’s husband, the man whose family name he carried, did not really know for sure either when he bludgeoned the young man to death in a jealous rage in that year after the then young couple was married.

If the rumours spread that day so long ago by a group of busybody old women making trouble where they had no business putting their noses were true, rumours of the wife’s alleged infidelity and possibly questionable pregnancy, then those were the remains of his murdered great great grandfather.

Or, the young man may have been an innocent victim of a husband’s jealousy and a bunch of busybodies making trouble where there wasn’t any.

Only his great great grandmother knew the truth.

She was buried beneath the woodshed some years later, after failing to provide her husband with an offspring that was undeniably his in his mind.  She had given birth to more children after that first boy, but her husband could not let go of his suspicions.

There are many dark secrets in his family’s history, and Rusty Plowshare knows where each one of them was buried.

It also could have been someone else.  Rusty had heard stories passed down about his great great grandfather’s violent temper.

“Ahh, there you are!” he cooed.  “Beautiful.”  He pulled out a round wrapped bundle and held it up as if presenting it to the watching eyes of the dozens of felines witnessing his moment of triumph.

“I know just what to do with you.  If you don’t stop them from digging out those woods, nothing will,” he said.

“I know just what to do with you,” he repeated happily.





Available on Kindle and in paperback on Amazon:

Garden Grove Cover - McNally - front cover

The McAllister Series

where the bodies are


Where the Bodies Are

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00023]


The McAllister Farm

HuntingMichaelUnderwood - final - media copy


Hunting Michael Underwood




And  for the teens and middle years kids who like middle years/teen drama and monsters, a fantasy psychological thriller.

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