September and Other Stories

Three sisters unlock an ancient evil buried in the tomb of a forgotten pharoah. An alien horror manifests in the attic. A writer makes a deal with a devil over lunch. A daughter avenges her parents' deaths in a surprising fashion. Enjoy a good night of horror with the novella September, as well as 15 other short stories and poems from the works of Julie Ann Dawson.

From the Publisher

From the top of a skyscraper to the depths of an Eygptian tomb, Julie Ann Dawson provides us with a unique collection of stories to satisfy horror fans. This collection features ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and a few mysterious "unknowns" that will leave readers guessing.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

From the novella SEPTEMBER September 12, 1923 I turned from the chalkboard to see the dead man sitting in an empty desk in the middle of the classroom. His hair was matted with sweat and blood. A jagged gash swept from where his left eye should have been to his lower right jaw. Two ribs were exposed by the slashes in his chest. A bloody crucifix portraying a silver Christ on a black cross hung around the bruised neck. He used his left hand to hold his lower intestine in place, less it spilt onto the floor. I continued my lecture. It was not the first time a spirit had sought me out, though I must admit this was the first one to seek my counsel in such ill repair. I caught Sven taking notes. He must have noticed my eyes holding a little too long in the spot. The ghost was being patient, so there was no reason to hold up the class. After about ten minutes, the ghost s patience apparently ran out, because he stood and started to walk toward me. "Could this wait until AFTER class?" I asked, not realizing I asked the question out loud. The class grew quiet. Sven looked up from his notebook. The ghost rudely continued toward me, then at the last moment shifted left and began tracing a bloody finger on the chalkboard. I watch intently as the spirit completed its drawing. The symbol of the Brotherhood of the Blade dripped across my chalkboard in the ghost s blood. He turned a sorrowful glance to me, and then walked through the wall. "Class dismissed." I heard the confused voices of the students as they left the room, but paid them no mind. Sven slowly, cautiously approached. I traced the symbol in chalk so he could see it. "Sven, be a dear and go fetch Professor Oliver." "But " "NOW, Sven." My sister Natalie arrived first. Apparently, Sven thought it prudent to let the family know about my little lapse. She entered the classroom as I was setting up my camera to photograph the symbol. Professor Oliver was not far behind, so I was spared my sister s familial concern. I bluntly relayed what I had seen. Sven took notes. Natalie shook her head. Professor Oliver, on the other hand, turned deathly white for about fifteen seconds. He quickly regained his composure, however, and told Natalie that it would be best to keep this between our little group. "I have done some interesting reading concerning subliminal knowledge," he explained. "I believe what Natasha saw was no ghost, nor was it a figment of her imagination. It may be a subliminal clue. She has done extensive reading on the religions of the area. Perhaps her subliminal mind is just bringing forth information from the recesses of her memory and trying to present it to her conscious mind. This may prove very valuable indeed." "So you mean Natasha is not seeing ghosts, but her mind is processing lost information?" Natalie asked the question as if I wasn t even in the room. "From what I have read, it is becoming a popular theory." Natalie left to return to her work. Sven left to go get the car. I leaned against my desk and sulked. "What s wrong?" asked Professor Oliver. "You know perfectly well what is wrong." "I presented a perfectly plausible theory---" "I perfectly plausible lie." "My dear---" "You saw Tabitha the other night. You saw what until the other night only I could see." He became quiet and turned his attention to the chalkboard. He placed his hands in his pockets and walked toward the board. He then addressed me with a slight turn of his head. "I didn t actually see her. I felt her there, but I didn t see her. I can sense the touch of something on your chalkboard, but I do not see it. My gift is not as strong as yours." "If you know what I saw, then why---" "Natasha, there are only four types of people in the world. The first group believes that those of us so gifted are possessed and should be burned at the stake. The second group believes we are insane and must be cured. The third group refuses to accept anything but a rational explanation for the irrational and extraordinary." He turned to face me, his eyes radiating that same beautiful blue that I saw in the garden. "And then there are the precious few like us who know the truth." "Ready to go?" asked Sven as he returned. "Yes," I replied. "I will see you both at the airport tomorrow afternoon?" Professor Oliver s voice was nervous, as if he thought perhaps I would change my mind. "You will see us both," I answered.

About the Author

Julie Ann Dawson's work has appeared in a variety of traditional and electronic publications, including Demonground, Black Bough, The New Jersey Review of Literature, Lucidity and others. She serves as a regional representative for the International Women's Writing Guild.

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