Grave Games: Supernatural Horror with Scary Ghosts (Ghost Mirr...

You can never run away from your demons…Thirty-two-year-old Dylan Reynolds has devoted himself completely to his family. He’s tried to put his past behind him, climbing the corporate ladder at a prominent Chicago newspaper. But when his daughter, Hunter, begins speaking of a new and mysterious friend, Dylan can’t help but fear that his past has come back to haunt him.Dylan watches in horror as Hunter’s new imaginary friend appears more and more frequently in their everyday lives. His wife is convinced that it’s just the active imagination of a seven-year-old. But Dylan knows better. The erratic behavior, the hushed discussions, the chill he gets whenever Hunter speaks of her friend. The signs are all too familiar for him to ignore.Determined to settle the score, Dylan turns to tarot reader and trusted friend, Evelyn Nardini. But neither of them is prepared for how deadly the game has truly become.All Dylan knows is that he must do everything he can to save his family. Or face an end at the hands of an evil far darker than he could have ever imagined…

From the Inside Flap

Excerpt from Chapter 3Lillie often listened to gospel music as she bathed.Dylan reached to knock when he heard Hunter giggle from her room. He moved on the tips of toes across the wooden floor of the hallway, so she wouldn't hear his approach.Her frilly bedside lamp was on, casting the room in a muted pink glow. Hunter sat at her table and chairs, her back towards the door. She had her usual posse of stuffed animals seated all around her, each with a tiny teacup in front of them."I don't know anything about that," Hunter said to the empty air, brandishing her cup. "We don't talk about those kinds of things."She paused. Dylan waited for one of the stuffed animals to respond. Hunter had created unique voices and personalities for each of them, and liked to act them out at the table.But she was silent. Hunter held her body still, as if waiting for something to happen. After several seconds, her shoulders eased up, and she seemed to relax into her seat. "Yeah, I guess so," she murmured quietly. "I could ask for you."Chills ran down Dylan's spine, as if someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt. Hunter's conversation didn't possess the usual ebb and flow of her typical make-believe sessions. Normally, she would speak to her stuffed animals, then answer on their behalf in a high-pitched voice, reminiscent of cartoons. This time she spoke as though somebody was actually answering.He wrapped his knuckles softly against the door. "Hey kiddo," he said.Dylan watched Hunter's back visibly stiffen again before she slowly turned to face him. "Hi, dad," she said. The calmness of her voice did not match the edginess of her gaze."What uh ... what are you doing?" he asked.Hunter blinked. "Just playing," she replied.She was in one of her quiet, introspective moods. He could tell from the tightness of her lips that information would not be forthcoming. The expression would have looked just as natural on his wife's face."Who are you talking to?" he insisted. Dylan caught her gaze and held it, watching her blue eyes with his own. It was the only move that sometimes made her crack."Andy," she whispered, and swallowed slowly.Dylan inwardly flinched. Andy? He studied the room more closely, but the furniture in Hunter's room was sparse, and her closet doors were wide open. There were no easy hiding places.He glanced, then, at her table, in search of the portable phone. His daughter had never talked to friends on the phone before, but she had grown accustomed to doing so every Sunday with his parents. Perhaps she had lately acquired the skill. But the only objects on the table were the usual myriad of plastic cups and pretend food. Scattered innocuously amongst the items was the plastic biscuit that had rolled under the dresser three days prior; its bumpy tan surface void of dust. Dylan couldn't help but wonder how she had retrieved it."Like ... you were talking to Andy on the phone, just now?" Dylan asked, out of sheer hope.But Hunter shook her head. She turned her torso halfway around in her chair, her eyes on the dresser. "I don't need to talk to him on the phone, because he lives in there," she said matter-of-factly.Dylan studied her, waiting for her to erupt into a fit of giggles. Haha, daddy ... I'm only joking. But she only had eyes for the dresser. He found the way his daughter regarded the large antique monstrosity to be inexplicably unnerving. As if it were a pet dog, and could, at any given moment, come to life and jostle about the room.He suppressed the urge to turn around and flee from the house. Instead, he cleared his throat, as if doing so would also clear his thoughts."Honey, I don't quite understand," Dylan said softly. "What do you mean, Andy lives in the dresser? Is Andy an imaginary friend of yours? Is he somebody that you made up, sweetheart?"But his questions fell on deaf ears. Hunter's attention was on the other side of the room, in an empty space beside her bed. Dylan opened his mouth to repeat his questions when she suddenly jerked her gaze his way."He's looking at you, dad."

About the Author

Chelsey Dagner is a horror novelist, and originally hails from Detroit, Michigan. Now residing in Greensboro, North Carolina, Chelsey has written numerous creepy articles and paranormal e-books for various horror and supernatural websites. She takes delight in anything and everything that goes bump in the night. She is proud to admit that she has lived in several haunted houses, one of which was haunted by her dead cat. When she isn't writing, Chelsey divides her time between watching horror movies (both excellent and terrible ones), playing far too many video games, and working with teens and adults at the local library.

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