Hi all!
I'm Page Morgan, author of The Dispossessed series—dark, romantic novels about shape-shifting gargoyles in Paris at the turn of the last century. Think demon hunters, gargoyles, and the girls who love them ;-) Thanks for stopping by my little corner of the 9th Annual
YA Scavenger Hunt! For those of you new to the hunt, check out how to play
here.
Today I’m hosting Rin
Chupeco, author of THE GIRL FROM THE WELL. Welcome Rin!
Before we get to Rin’s
exclusive content, let’s get to know her a little, shall we?
About the girl:
Rin Chupeco once wrote obscure manuals for complicated
computer programs, talked people out of their money at event shows, and did
many other terrible things. She now writes about ghosts and fairy tales, but is
still sometimes mistaken for a revenant.
About the book:
Okiku is a lonely soul. She
has wandered the world for centuries, freeing the spirits of the murdered-dead.
Once a victim herself, she now takes the lives of killers with the vengeance
they’re due. But releasing innocent ghosts from their ethereal tethers does not
bring Okiku peace. Still she drifts on.
Such is her existence, until she meets Tark. Evil writhes beneath the moody
teen’s skin, trapped by a series of intricate tattoos. While the neighbors fear
him, Okiku knows the boy is not a monster. Tark needs to be freed from the
malevolence that clings to him. There’s just one problem: if the demon dies, so
does its host.
And now for Rin’s exclusive
content! Here’s a scene from the upcoming, yet-to-be-titled sequel to THE GIRL
FROM THE WELL:
I’m no hero, believe me.
I’ve never rescued babies from burning buildings. I’ve never volunteered to
save humpback whales or the rainforest. I’ve never been in protest rallies,
never fed the hungry in Africa, never righted any of the eighty thousand things
wrong with the world these days. Heroism isn’t a trait commonly found in
teenage boys.
Stupidity, though. We’ve got
that in spades.
Stupidity is why I’m huddled
up behind a large sofa-bed, underneath a heavy blanket already partially
drenched in my own sweat despite the AC humming in the otherwise silence. The
television is tuned to the least scariest show I could find: a Jersey Shore
rerun - horrifying in its own way, but not in the way that matters, which is
the most important thing. I’m keeping an eye on the TV screen, and not because
I’m eagerly awaiting Snooki’s next freak-out.
I’m watching the screen
because I want to know when it’s coming to find me.
Earlier that night, I’d
taken a raggedy-looking doll, cotton stuffing already scooped out, and replaced
it with uncooked rice and a few fingernail clippings. I sewed it up again with
red thread - when you’ve done this enough times as I have, sewing becomes as
good a weapon as any. Then I waited for 3 am to roll around before filling the
bathtub up with water and sticking the doll inside.
“Dumbelina, you’re it.” The
name was not my idea, but it was what I had to work with. Using the same name
from the ritual Sondheim and his girlfriend started and never finished - that’s
how it knows you’re singling it out specifically, to play with. Just to ensure
there were no misunderstandings, I said ‘You’re it.’ two more times.
The doll, like most dolls,
said nothing. It gazed up at me from beneath the water, a drowned ball-jointed Ophelia
made in some obscure sweatshop in China. Synthetic brown hair and plastic eyes
in a yellow broadcloth dress. Common enough, the kind that could have been a
knock-off of a knock-off.
But then the air changes.
Then comes that invisible spider crawling up my spine, the one tickling the
hairs behind my neck. That invisible spider I have grown to know these last
couple of years, the one that whispers there’s something else in the room;
breathing with you, watching you, grinning at you.
I hate that damn spider.
For one moment, the stringy
brown hair glittered a shiny black sheen underneath the florescent lights. For
one moment, I saw the doll’s glassy gaze take on just that faintest tinge of
malicious self-awareness. For one moment, that damn thing’s head broke through
the water’s surface, and looked at me.
I switched off the lights. I
backed out of the bathroom, closed the door. I hid.
It sounds pretty idiotic,
playing hide-and-go-seek with a doll. It’s not. It’s part of the rules I gotta
play by.
The first rule is this: I
have to finish the game. No matter what happens.
--------------------
AHHHH, Rin! Thanks for
sharing that scene with us, though I'm officially FREAKED OUT. It has at least 26 scary things about it. *wink
wink*
As a
BONUS GIVEAWAY, leave a
comment and add my blog to your G+ circle (or
follow me Twitter) for a chance
to win a signed hardcover of THE BEAUTIFUL AND THE CURSED! I'll choose a winner on Oct. 6!
