A Ghostly Experience? 


Something very strange happened on the morning of Sunday, February 7 around 6:30. The old Bakers-Peters mansion is down the street from where I live, located at the corner of Kingston Pike and North Peters. I was out early and I came to the red light, in the middle lane with a pickup truck to my left. The traffic light can be a little long in waiting so we are sitting there waiting in the dark. The streets are all empty at such an early time on a Sunday.  Suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere a silhouette breaks across the truck's headlights like somebody walking across the street in front of us.  But nobody was there. I looked over at the driver and it was a moment frozen with surprised looks on both our faces as if to ask.... Did you see what I just saw?

The Bakers-Peters Mansion is reputedly haunted by Dr. Abner Baker who treated soldiers during the Civil War. It is believed that union soldiers, angry that the doctor was treating confederate soldiers, demanded he turn over the soldiers. Dr. Baker is believed to have locked himself inside a room on the upstairs floor, refusing to turn over the men.  He was shot through the door by a union soldier and died from his wounds. It is also believed that Dr. Baker's son, shot and killed the union soldier that shot Dr. Baker. Dr. Baker's son may have also been killed during the fight but it's hard to confirm this with certainty. Several have reported experiences inside the mansion of cold spots, lights turning on and off and whispering. But there have also been reports of people seeing figures in the windows and moving shadows on the grounds.

Have you had an experience at Bakers-Peters Mansion or any other strange or bizarre experience? Would you like to share it anonymously? Contact me here!


Cover Reveal! Weeds in the Sidewalk

 Thank you to everyone for being so patient. The time is finally here and I'm pleased to give you a first look at the cover of my brand new novel Weeds in the Sidewalk!


Sneak Peak! Weeds in the Sidewalk

We sat quietly side by side on the crowded train surrounded by the knowing eyes of the haves and the condescending relief in their eyes that their lives weren’t as pathetic as mine. Lisa was talking to me, her voice bouncing against me like a slapping hand, but I didn’t hear her. She wanted to know what happened. She wanted to know what I saw, what I remembered. I would never tell her. The shame that stuck to my skin like spider webs was mine to wipe away.

Running. Always running. It was what I had to do. Unworthy of a life that was given to me, a gift I didn’t deserve, wallowing in the dirt that filled me to the core; the push and shove of routine bodies, crotches and asses in my face as I sat on the plastic seat and stared into an abyss of mindless words and laughter. None of it mattered to me, the feeling of death, the brake-slamming stop, when a person is simply no longer there, behind closed eyes and closed lips, a silence beyond a single breath.

I felt her hand touch my hand. For a moment she was just Lisa, not the witch hiding behind the blackness of her walls. She understood without knowing. I could see Rodney in my mind chasing me, always chasing me, trying for his own personal reasons to be a god that he thought I needed. The warm sunbeams on the back of my neck like a reassuring squeeze from him that I would be okay. But I knew better. I knew why…

Staring at the walls of my room, the shadows that streaked across the ceiling from outside, a fan gently breathing on me with a constant cool breeze, I knew that I was finally dead; the musky stagnant smells; the window with prison bars, my empty stomach slowing dying, the flood of my stolen days.

 It had to be my fault. Rodney did what I asked. He opened the locked door and let me see. I couldn’t hide in the darkness. He had turned on the light. There was no escaping the past. I needed to see my savior, smell his wretched stench and look into his blackened smile. I needed to feel safe again. I needed to forget again. I wanted to hide behind my strange drawing that I used to not understand. I needed to erase everything from this point backward. My world needed to come to an end.

The linoleum was cold under my feet as I stood in the kitchen in the glow of the city coming through the window. The blade of a butcher knife in my hand reflected like a star...



Five days a week we walked a routine path on routine days in our routine lives. I would routinely talk about my latest writing project and you would ask me questions and try to figure out what made me tick. We would routinely talk about getting fat and routinely talk about money and the future. You would routinely talk about softball and your eyes would light up. You would routinely laugh and I would routinely roll my eyes at the sound of your goofy laugh. We even routinely talked if only by text every day of the week.

Routine was something I looked forward to every single day.

November 20, 2015

Five days a week I walk a different path because I can’t make myself walk the path we routinely walked. I talk to you but you can’t answer. I tell myself that you’re listening and hear your voice in my head. I hear your goofy laugh and pretend that it’s real. Sometimes at a glance I see you, in your jacket, hands stuffed in your pockets only to realize it’s someone else. I never thought I’d miss routine so much.


He Tastes Like Sin... Brandon Shire's review of Rogue

Brandon Shire is not only an author I admire, he's an amazing artist and inspiration to me. I was honored to read his review of Rogue.