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Death’s Door   There was that song again, it tapped at my temples with its drowsy tone. Where had I heard it before? I couldn’t remember, I was stuck somewhere between dreaming and reality. On the edge of waking but still holding the hand of a dream. My eyelashes flutter against my face as I try to open my eyes, their lids heavier than normal. I wanted to sleep a little longer, but the blasted song would not stop playing. Dancing in my ears and forcing me to wake before I am ready. What...

The craving for a mocha latte with extra mocha was pretty intense, and after dealing with the kids all day, I needed a little me-time. I decided to stop by my favorite coffee shop closest to my house and work on an outline for my next book while slurping down a delicious caffeinated liquid—or two. I just wanted peace and quiet, even though I could see the shop was more crowded than I liked; at least no one was screaming “mommy” every two seconds.

Pay attention to the house rules to survive the night in House of Timor. Not all who enter can leave. *No part of this story is to be duplicated or shared without the author's written consent.*