The Haunting of Joanna Storm - A New Ghost Series

Hey everyone! I'ts me, Monica Leigh. I hope you had an excellent holiday. I know I did. Funny how the older I get the less Christmas is about gifts and tinsel and all those glitzy trappings. Not that I hate tinsel. I love anything that shimmers. LOL But it's the people. I got to spend a whole day doing absolutely nothing with my sweetheart. The Mister is such a good guy, y'all. I feel so blessed to have him in my life. Anyway, enough of the sappy stuff. On to the book! 

THE HAUNTING OF JOANNA STORM is Book One in the Morgan's Rock Series. There's a modern day protagonist, a writer named Megan Pressfield and of course a ghost--her name is Joanna Storm. In life, Joanna Storm was a star, one of Hollywood's first stars actually. She lived during the Roaring Twenties and she has a dream life, at least for a little while. Tragedy strikes Joanna again and again until finally the glamour girl vanishes. She leaves behind Morgan's Rock, the ancestral home of the Storm family. When Megan finds a special gown belonging to Joanna and she develops a strange attachment to Joanna and the past. 

I love this story and I hope you do too. There's a clock tower, a love story and lots of ghosts. Check out the sample below. 

Here's a sample! 

I had kept an eye on the balcony entrance as best I could between thanking my guests, but I had not seen him step back inside. I tugged his jacket around me tighter as I ventured back out to the balcony. Besides a few potted trees and a sitting bench, I saw nothing and no one at all. I glanced around in hopes of finding my treasure, but there wasn’t a trace. Perhaps Father had collected it and planned to force me to confess the loss. That must be it! He must have it in his possession!

“Father?” I called as I stepped out a bit further. Could I have missed his return? There was no trace of him out here.

Except his shoe. Where would he have gone with one shoe? I picked it up and clutched the leather protectively. Yes, this was certainly his shoe.

I walked to the edge of the stone balcony and looked across the forested area toward Rockville. Strangely enough, the fog had lifted, disappearing as if it had never arrived. Never covered the town. Had an ocean breeze blown it away? Had I dreamed the fog? That could not be true; I wore my father’s jacket, and this was his shoe. That was no dream.

That’s when I heard a scream—a long and terrible blood-curdling scream rose up from the driveway below. A woman by the sound of it. I peered over the side of the balcony and, to my horror, saw my father’s broken body sprawled on the ground. His head was turned around backward, and his eyes stared up at me. His legs and arms were akimbo, flung out wildly like a marionette cut from his strings from a very great height. A scream of my own erupted from my lips and seemed to last forever. I cannot say how long I leaned there, over the side of the balcony staring and screaming at the sight below, but it seemed like forever.

Read More!