Hi.

I’ve got you marked down. You’re obviously the best (but you already knew that…)

Here’s a pic of a puppy:

Image result for cute ridgeback puppies

Today is the last day!

Today is the last day to grab a copy of The Wish Room and get access to all of the free giveaways.

If you missed the early previews, here’s what the book is about:


What lies behind the locked closet door?

This question consumes Harold Withers as he and his wife Nora attempt to bury the ghosts of past tensions in their new house. While Harold obsesses over opening the locked door in his study, Nora yearns for the child and the new attempt at life Harold promised to deliver.

What lies behind the locked door has other plans though.

When Nora finally realizes that there is only one way to ensure she gets what she wants, she takes matters into her own hands.

As the lies stack up between the married couple, the door opens to reveal what can only be called…

The Wish Room

And here’s just a few things people have said after reading it:

  • Bloodworth held no punches in this book.” – Craig Stilton
  • “Probably the most interesting book Bloodworth has ever written. I’d always wondered about those Wish Rooms Lucie mentioned in Handbook for a Teenage Antichrist. Can’t wait to be terrified again.” – Emily Flores
  • This book is AWESOME. I’ve probably never read a book that delved so deeply into the falling apart of a couple and the fallout when supernatural evil becomes involved.” – Courtney Sherman
  • “Please put out more books. I never realize how much I miss Bloodworth until he releases a new book or story.” – Jolene Brown
  • “[…] is an amazing book that will make you never want to go to sleep again.” – Derek Hockley

Again, you have less than 10 hours left to access the giveaways I’m including free for everyone that purchases by today.

If you buy right now, I’ll immediately send you:

Extra 1:
Greed – The Machine: A Card Game for Backstabbers
You’ll get two different pdfs of this card game (color and greyscale) and an instruction sheet.

Extra 2:
A behind-the-scenes pdf that contains all 16 covers I made for The Wish Room before deciding on the current cover along with my thinking for cutting all the covers I didn’t use.

Here’s how…
FIRST, buy the book: Click here for links to all the different stores.
SECOND, forward your receipt to wishroomgiveaway@gmail.com.

That’s it! I’ll follow up and send you your giveaways.

Thanks so much!
Bloodworth

One Day Left!

One Day Left!

There’s only one day left to pick up a copy of my new book The Wish Room and get access to all of the free giveaways. If you buy right now, I’ll immediately send you:

  1. Greed, The Machine – A Card Game for Backstabbers
  2. A behind-the-scenes pdf that contains all 16 covers I made for The Wish Room before deciding on the current cover.

Here’s how…
FIRST, buy the book. Click here for links to all the different stores.
SECOND, forward your receipt to wishroomgiveaway@gmail.com.

That’s it! I’ll follow up and send you your giveaways.

Thanks so much!
Bloodworth

Ready for Chapter 3 of The Wish Room?

Ready for Chapter 3 of The Wish Room?

Yeah, me too, but first, just a reminder: there’s only a few days left to pick up a copy of my book The Wish Room and get access to all of the free giveaways. If you missed the announcement, make sure to click here to see all kinds of cool giveaways you can access.

Alright. It’s time. Chapter three of The Wish Room.

So Harold is your favorite character, right?

 


Chapter 3

That night they made love and Harold did everything he could think of to make sure his wife felt satisfied. At the end he came inside her as usual: Nora hated condoms. Falling onto the bed beside her in a sweaty mass he panted, “You had a point earlier.”
“Did I?” Nora asked, her breasts rising and falling with each deep breath.
“Yeah. You’re right. I do need to get in shape.”
“Mmm,” Nora stretched beside her husband and he watched her, taking in her lithe, sweaty body.
“I need to get healthy. I shouldn’t be this winded.”
“Oh?” Nora slipped her hand down between his legs and squeezed his testicles. “And who says I don’t want you tired after sex?”
“Jesus, Nora. What’s gotten into you?” Harold smiled: he couldn’t even remember the last time his wife responded to him like this.
“You did.”
Harold chuckled. Why couldn’t she always be like this? Why couldn’t she always make him feel like a man? Maybe he just needed to get in shape and reclaim his title as man of the house.
He would walk in the morning. That was a perfect time for walking. It would be cool and he would hardly sweat at all.
Harold closed his eyes and thought of nothing more than how good Nora’s hand felt between his legs.
Nora closed her own eyes as Harold’s soft snores filled the room.

Nora jerked awake several hours later, breathing hard and drenched in sweat. She slipped her feet out from beneath the covers and placed them on the floor. The cool carpet felt good against the burning soles of her feet.
Nora stood and then fell back onto the bed. Her knees felt weak. She took a deep breath and tried to stand again. This time her legs held her. She was thirsty and hot, and her bladder felt overly full.
Nora walked to the bathroom, one foot in front of the other, her knees still shaky. She pushed open the door and reached around in the dark until she found the bathroom counter. Edging along the surface, she found the toilet, popped the lid, and sat down.
Nora’s bladder opened and she felt uncomfortable relief fill her as the hot fluids began to fill the bowl beneath her.
Nora put her elbows on her knees and smiled as she felt air releasing from her vagina. Harold had really put on a show earlier. She couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gone down on her.
Feeling the cold hardness of the seat when she leaned back, Nora closed her eyes in the darkness of the bathroom and thought about Harold.
Something that sounded like a muffled giggle came from her left and Nora jerked away from the seat, standing up and feeling a drop or two of urine run down her thighs. She backed into the counter and slid along it until she got to the door. Taking a heavy breath, Nora flipped on the light.
The brightness instantly blinded her and Nora’s eyes closed on their own accord. Blinking hard and rubbing her eyes, Nora tried to restore her vision.
The muffled giggle came again; it sounded like a small boy’s. Nora squinted. The sound seemed to be coming from behind the navy colored shower curtain.
Why couldn’t Harry have bought a clear one, or even one of those translucent ones?
Nora took a step towards the curtain, her hand out, every nerve and muscle in her body coiled and ready to spring her in the opposite direction.
She took another step and stopped.
Was this really the best idea? Should she really be doing this without Harry?
She looked through the open door and into the bedroom where the light from the bathroom pooled on the bed.
“Harry,” she tried to call, but nothing came out.
“Harry,” she tried again.
Her voice wasn’t working.
Nora took another step. Her hand brushed the shower curtain, and then, without a thought to the consequences, she breathed in deep, ripped the curtain wide open, and stared.
Nothing.
Not a thing.
The bathtub sat there with its white porcelain and its shiny, white tiles separated by white grout. The showerhead—one of those expensive kinds the size and shape of a colander—hung enormous over the tub.
Nora felt a chill worm down her spine as she looked at the tiny window that made up the upper foot of the tile wall.
It was open.
Probably Harry opened it sometime during the night. He always liked to tell her that “opening a window is cheaper than running the A/C, Nor.”
The window being open, she probably heard a small animal in the backyard, not a muffled giggle like she thought she had.
So nothing was wrong, she told herself.
Just a shower and tub.
Nora reached out to slide the window shut and put one foot into the tub. She jerked to a stop and moaned. The porcelain was warm beneath her foot.
Her bowels wrenched and she cried out.
Pulling her foot out of the tub, she spun and sat back down on the toilet. All thoughts of giggles and warmth fled before her need to avoid soiling herself.
Her bowels loosened and she felt the heat of her movement pass through her. The dripping slowed, and as a new wave issued forth, she cried out again.
It burned, but didn’t seem to be close to over.
Nora cried out once more and this time she felt her vagina clench down and release like she was in the throes of an orgasm. She felt something deep in her stomach shift.
She tried to call out to Harold, but couldn’t find her voice as another gripping contraction seized her vagina and midsection.
Tears slipped down her face in well-worn tracks as the contractions sped up.
Something was coming.
The contractions sped and she felt the lips of her vagina open wide, delivering something into the toilet with a splash.
Nora moaned as she heard it moving in the toilet below her.
She spread her legs and looked between them in the toilet bowl.
It was too dark to see anything.
She heard another splash.
What if it touched her?
The thought came unbidden, but caused Nora to rocket up off the seat. She cried out again as she felt something rip inside of her.
Spinning around and looking down into the toilet, something brushed the back of her leg. She knew what it was instantly.
The umbilical cord wrapped around her son’s throat came out of the bowl and snaked around the back of her leg and up into her.
Joshua floated on his back in the toilet, small and frail and blue, surrounded by her floating shit. One of his tiny hands rested on his stomach, the other was raised above his head like a child that wanted to ask a question of a teacher.
Or of a mother.
Like he wanted to ask her why she’d done it again, why she’d killed her son.
Why had she let him hang choking from her loins waste deep in her shit?
Nora brought a hand to her mouth, catching the sob, and then bending at the hips, she reached into the bowl and pulled her baby boy out of her mess. Nora held Joshua to her breast, ignoring the smell of feces and trying to guide her son to her nipple as she brushed flecks of waste from his face.
Tears fell down her cheeks as she rocked her son in her arms.
She’d killed him again.
Nora heard the muffled giggle again, and turned to see the back of a pale, wrinkled leg that looked fishlike in the light.
It was bent at the ankle and right below the knee at an unnatural angle, making an S. The leg had tiny, tight curls of shiny black hair. Dragging up the tile of the shower and out the window into the backyard, the yellow toenails on the grey foot clicked every time they hit a line of white grout.
Nora screamed.

“Nora. Nora baby, wake up.”
Nora jerked from Harold’s arms and ran to the bathroom, falling to her knees in front of the toilet and throwing up. Her eyes widened as she remembered the dream and this toilet.
The light clicked on behind her and she threw open her eyes, forcing herself to stare through the fumes of her bile and the dark, partially digested leaves from dinner floating in the water.
“Honey, are you okay?” Harold’s voice came from behind her.
Joshua.
Nora ignored him and plunged her hands into the vomit and toilet water. She ran her hands along the smooth porcelain on the inside of the bowl, feeling, feeling, feeling for her Joshua.
Nora heard Harry say her name and then felt his hand on the back of her neck. The hand pulled at her, gently at first, but when she didn’t stop her search in the fetid water it became more forceful.
“Just let me finish checking, okay?”
“Checking for what though? Did you lose your ring or something?”
“No. I lost…”
Nora broke off, unable to fill in the enormous blank that loomed before her.
“Lost what?” Harold said.
“I-I’m not sure.”
She could feel Harry looking strangely at her from behind.
“I think I’m just tired and stressed. Could you give me a second?”
“Honey, I just want to—”
“Please?”
Nora hadn’t meant to cut him off. She hadn’t meant to speak to him in that horrible voice. He was only trying to take care of her, trying to understand, but how could he? How could he understand what it was like to have your body turn traitor to your offspring, to have your body reject the one thing you wanted most in the world?
Harold had lost something too that day, but he hadn’t felt it like she had. Bearing the child was her part of the deal, her responsibility. He only had to knock her up and then his part was finished. She had to carry Joshua for nine months, falling in love with her baby boy and then failing at the crucial moment.
Harold would never understand her sense of loss.
“Let me know if I can do anything, okay?” Harold took a step back from her.
“Thank you. And Harry?”
“Yeah?”
She heard the note of strain in his voice. She’d hurt him.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh. It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.”
“It’s not okay. I’m sorry I snapped at you like that,” she said, disgusted with herself.
“Alright. I know. I’m going to grab a glass of water from downstairs.”
“Thank you,” she said as she heard him walking back through the bedroom and out of it.
Nora sighed and shook her hands off into the bowl.
What a mess.


That’s it for today. Keep being awesome, and don’t forget: you have to buy the book by March 22nd in order get access to:

Extra 1:
Greed – The Machine: A Card Game for Backstabbers
You’ll get two different pdfs of this card game (color and greyscale) and an instruction sheet.

Extra 2:
A behind-the-scenes pdf that contains all 16 covers I made for The Wish Room before deciding on the current cover along with my thinking for cutting all the covers I didn’t use.

Click here to see more.

Until next time,
Bloodworth

Are you ready to see more from inside The Wish Room?

Are you ready to see more from inside The Wish Room?

Cool, I’m ready to show you. Just a reminder though: time is almost up to get access to all of the free giveaways when you pick up a copy of my book The Wish Room. If you missed the announcement, make sure to click here to see all kinds of cool giveaways you can access.

Welp. Let’s dive right into another chapter. How are you liking Harold so far? 🙂

 


Chapter 2

Nora stood alone in the kitchen. The fatigue of moving boxes all day dripped down from her neck to her back muscles. She stared into an empty cardboard box that felt so much like her own life.
Without looking, she tossed the empty box over her shoulder into the space she was beginning to think of as the breakfast nook. Nora’s forehead creased as she thought of Harold’s face. Not Harold’s face as she had just seen it, but his face when she gave birth to their son.
The pure happiness and pride highlighting Harold’s features made her heart soar through the pain of the contractions, but the way his face fell coupled with the lack of crying from between her legs, made her heart freefall down the shaft of her chest into her wrenching bowels.
Joshua never even took a breath.
Harold looked over at her after the doctor apologized and left them with their grief. The pride and happiness evident earlier on Harold’s face washed away in a torrent of disgust. Disgust at her, at Joshua, or the doctor, Nora didn’t know. She just knew that on the day she bore their dead son, Harold wore the disgust he’d felt plain on his face.
According to the doctor, Joshua’s umbilical cord entered the birth canal before he did. Joshua’s head then entered a loop in the umbilical cord and as he traveled towards the doctor’s open hands, the cord crushed his throat which resulted in his death.
Nora had a different take. She thought that her body killed her son. Her body was to blame for his death. Her body was judge, jury, and executioner in the trial for her son’s life. The sentence was death by hanging.
After hauling up a new box onto the work surface of the kitchen’s little island, and slicing through the packing tape with a chef’s knife, Nora began the tedious process of pulling out forks and spoons while trying to make the sounds of metal tinkling against metal block out the memory of the sound of Harold’s footsteps leaving her alone in the hospital room.
Sorting out different sized forks, knives, and spoons, Nora remembered Harold coming back into the hospital room. The look of disgust on his face had migrated to his eyes as a false, understanding sort of smile tried to form itself on his lips.
Harold said he loved her and didn’t blame her.
The way he said it made Nora feel like he’d actually said that he hated her and this was all her fault.
That day, Nora watched the husband she knew and loved be kidnapped by the imposter she could hear stumbling around in the nursery.
“It’s not his,” Nora said.
And the room wasn’t. They had talked about it. They had planned. They had decided.
Nora had even asked to make sure he was serious about having another child, and after a moment’s reflection, the man standing in the other room had said that he would give her another child if that was what she wanted.
Nora’s hands shook, something that was happening more and more these days, as she picked up the yellow tray holding the sorted, shiny utensils and slipped it into a drawer beside the clear glass refrigerator.
The fridge reminded Nora of a gas station fridge filled with cheap beer and garbage energy drinks, nothing more than a bum’s treasure chest.
Harold had seen that particular monstrosity in a magazine and obsessed over it for weeks, badgering her about color schemes and sizes and what she thought the optimal level of crisper space was.
Optimal level of crisper space?
Enough to fit a couple of tomatoes, some cilantro, and some parsley.
That answer had earned her a scowl from Harold and a week filled with sulking and sour looks. He even bumped shoulders with her in the kitchen several times, always saying sorry afterwards like it was an accident, but Nora knew better.
The utensils inside clattered and the drawer slammed as she forced it closed. Nora stood before the fridge, staring at its cold lines and its unforgiving harshness.
For all its love and caring, the fridge could’ve been Harold.
A hot tear slipped down her cheek, the familiar warmth and wetness feeling more like home than the house in which she now stood.

* * *

The doorbell rang as Nora rinsed lettuce in the sink a few hours later. The doorbell was a foreign sound and reminded her that although they’d bought the house, it still felt like a stranger’s.
Nora shook her hands off before drying them with a dish towel, then she walked out of the kitchen.
“Hi,” the couple standing in front of her said in unison when she opened the front door. The man held a magenta box with a black taffeta ribbon bowed on top.
The woman was at least seventy. Her hair glowed a deep shade of blue that Nora was certain the woman hadn’t intended. Large gold hoops hung down from her ears and her lips were painted a gaudy shade of red.
Really, everything about the woman in front of her screamed gaudy. She wore a tangerine blouse and a vibrant, multicolored shirt with flying parrots and toucans on top. Large stones of turquoise hung around her neck and almost every ring was dotted with the same tell-tale blue. The woman’s pants were the same color as her tangerine t-shirt, and her shoes looked like lime-green genie slippers with beaded flowers on each toe.
The man next to her stood tall and only a bit hunched. His face was lined and he squinted at Nora, who wasn’t sure if it was the bright day or cataracts. He wore a light blue pair of coveralls and a bleached white pair of Keds that seemed even brighter than the whole of the woman’s ensemble.
“Hi?” Nora said, not sure who these people were.
“I’m Elsa and this is my husband Dougie.” Elsa nudged the man.
“Douglas, if you please,” he said, smiling at Elsa. “I’ve simply quit asking her to call me that. She likes Dougie and my Elsa does pretty much whatever she wants.”
“I do,” Elsa said, then addressed Nora. “Greyburn, honey.”
“What?” Nora asked.
“Greyburn,” Douglas said. “Our last name is Greyburn.”
“Okay?” Nora said, still not sure what this was, hoping it wasn’t a church trying to recruit new members.
“Relax,” Elsa said. “We’re not from a church or anything. We live across the street.”
“Ah,” Nora said. “Well it’s so nice to meet you both. Would you like to come in?”
“Only after you introduce yourself, honey,” Elsa said.
Nora laughed. “Now where are my manners? Sorry about that. My name is Eleanor Withers, but I prefer to go by Nora, and my husband,” Nora turned away from the door and called into the house, “Harry!”
“And your husband’s name is Harry,” Elsa finished for her.
“Close,” Nora said. “Harold.”
“Well that’s nice,” Elsa said as Nora moved from the door and allowed the two to enter.
Both of the Greyburns walked into the foyer and looked around.
“Well,” Elsa said, looking over to Nora. “You’ve made quite a bit of headway already and the furniture is so nice. So pretty.”
Nora blushed. “We’re still unpacking, but thank you.”
Footsteps pounded on the stairs as Harold came walking down.
“Hello,” Harold said, putting an arm around his wife.
“Harry, these nice folks live across the street from us. This is Elsa,” Nora said.
“Hi.” Harold smiled and shook Elsa’s hand. “It’s a pleasure, Elsa.”
“He’s polite,” Elsa said to Douglas who nodded back.
“And this is Douglas,” Nora said.
“Good to meet you,” Douglas said, holding out his hand to Harold.
Harold grasped it and was surprised at the strength of the man’s grip. “Good to meet you, Douglas.”
“Where are y’all from?” Elsa asked.
“Boston,” Harold and Nora said at the same time, looking at each other and laughing.
“Oh?” Douglas asked. “You a Pats fan?”
“Of course,” Harold said as the two women shared a knowing glance that said, men and their sports.
“Do you think they have much planned in the way of winning this season?” Douglas asked.
“I think Belichick always plans to win,” Harold said. “Who do you follow? The Cowboys? The Texans?”
“I followed the Cowboys for quite a time when I was younger, but I don’t see Jerry Jones doing a thing with that team as long as he’s the owner. And that quarterback? The one that used to date what’s-her-face? Chokes harder in the clutch than my old Honda lawnmower. I watch the Texans, so I guess I know a little bit about what being a Red Sox fan feels like. Well, before they won in ’04, ’07, and ‘14.”
“Give it eighty something more years, watch your team make the AFC championship game, and then watch them lose it on a routine extra point and I think you’ll only have an inkling of what the Sox went through.”
Douglas smiled. “I believe I would, Harold.”
“Boys, boys,” Elsa said before Harold could respond back. “Enough with the sports. Let’s all act like adults and let Nora open her present.”
“That’s a great idea, Els,” Douglas smiled and put his arm around his wife.
“All of mine are,” Elsa said, and then looked to Nora. “Go ahead, dearie. Just open ‘er up.”
Nora smiled at that. For the first time, she felt like this might be home.
“I’ll do just that.” Nora pulled on one of the dangling ends of the black taffeta ribbon and watched as the corresponding loop grew smaller and smaller. When the loop hit the main part of the knot, it stopped moving.
Bad luck.
Nora gave the end of the ribbon in her hand a little jerk, but the knot didn’t budge. She looked up at all the eyes on her and smiled.
“Let’s try the other side,” Nora said, putting on a smile as Elsa nodded her on.
Nora pulled on the other end and when the loop got to the main part of the knot it stopped moving.
This is the beginning.
The first housewarming present received in their new house and the knot snagged.
“I’ll grab a pair of scissors,” Harold said, starting to walk past Nora to the kitchen.
“No, I’ll do it,” Nora said. “I know where everything is. I unpacked that room.”
“Why don’t you both stay here?” Elsa said. “Dougie always carries a pocket knife for these types of occasions.”
“It’s true,” Douglas said and pulled out a tiny pocket knife with turquoise and coral inlaid into the handle. Douglas opened the blade and handed the knife to Nora, handle first.
It must’ve been a gift from Elsa, Nora thought.
Nora took the knife and felt the warmth of the handle in her palm. Slipping the edge of the blade between the black ribbon and the magenta box, Nora turned the knife and sawed through the ribbon. It made a light popping noise as the last strand let go.
Nora slipped the ribbon off the box and handed it to Harold. She opened the lid of the box and saw that the inside was filled with bright teal tissue paper. Out of the corner of her eye, Nora saw Elsa smile.
Parting the teal tissue paper and peeking in, Nora saw an object wrapped in bright yellow tissue paper at the bottom of the box. She reached in and pulled it out. The brightly wrapped object was only six inches by eight inches.
“What is it?” Nora asked, handing the box to Harold.
“Open it up and see,” Elsa said, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Nora turned it over and found the edge of the tissue paper where Elsa had taped it down. She wiggled a finger underneath the paper and tore off a strip. The rest of the paper came off quickly and with no trouble.
Nora stood looking down at the gift. It was an old black and white picture of a house. The picture was mounted on rough paper the color of eggshell and framed in an old wooden frame. The frame might have been some shade of brown in its early life, but was now ebony black.
“Is this…” Nora trailed off, not really sure what she was looking at but feeling a sense of familiarity.
Elsa nodded. “Yes. That’s the house we’re standing in right now. My great grandfather took that picture over one-hundred years ago. That was the first picture he ever took with that camera. See, back then you had to stand real still to catch a picture, otherwise the thing would end up all blurry and you wouldn’t be able to tell what was an eye and what was a shoulder. So my great grandfather, being the thrifty man that he apparently was, started taking pictures of things that didn’t move.”
“Oh no,” Nora said, frowning. “I can’t accept this. This is too much, Elsa. This is a keepsake or something grandchildren to inherit.”
“I would normally agree, but my Dougie got himself shot in the war and we couldn’t have children after that. And of course we didn’t try before then, so Dougie and I are the last of our lines. Therefore it should go to ya’ll I think. A young couple like ya’ll has plenty of childbearing years ahead of them.”
Nora’s stomach twisted at that last bit. “Still though. I couldn’t possibly accept such a—”
Elsa cut Nora off. “You can and you will. Just invite us over for dinner some time when you’ve got everything settled, okay?”
Nora tried again. “But I—”
Harold interrupted this time. “That will be fine, Elsa. We really appreciate the gift. Thank you so much.”
“Yes, thank you, Elsa,” Nora said. “We’ll cherish it always.”
Douglas looked over at his wife. “I think it’s time for us to take our leave, Els.”
“I believe you’re right,” Elsa nodded. “Well, we’ll leave you both to your unpacking and get out of your hair now.”
“Thank you so much, Elsa. I don’t know how to express to you how much this means to us,” Nora said.
Elsa nodded as she turned around and smiled. “Sure you do, dearie. Invite us over for dinner some night.”
“We will,” Nora promised.

“What’s wrong, Els?” Douglas asked as the two of them walked back across the street to their own house.
“Something’s off with those two. Did you not feel it?” Elsa asked.
“No. I didn’t feel anything. They seem like a nice enough couple. Harold’s a bit old for the girl, but other than that, nice.”
“I hope so,” Elsa said.
“What’s wrong?” Douglas asked. He was used to asking this question. He’d been married to Elsa for fifty-seven years now and knew that she usually didn’t answer it the first couple times, but whatever the issue was would stick in her like a splinter beneath a fingernail until she told him.
“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just that house. It’s so damned unlucky.”
“French!” Douglas laughed. “Mind your french, honey. I don’t think the house is unlucky, I just think the people that move in are unlucky.”
“Roger seemed so normal though, and to die like that, it was so strange.”
“I know, but some people are just a little loose up in the head.”
Elsa glared at him. “A screw loose. They have a screw loose in the head.”
Douglas chuckled, “I kind of liked my version better.”
“That’s because you’re a dirty old man.”
“Maybe, but I’ve got a dirty old bird for a wife.”
Elsa smiled at that. The first smile Douglas had seen since they’d left the Withers’ house.
“So what’s wrong?” He asked again.
“I don’t want them to end up like that poor family that lived there before Roger moved in.”
“Ah,” Douglas said, and there it was. The head of the splinter. “What were their names again?”
“Harold and Nora.”
“I know that. I meant the family before Roger.”
“Well be specific, Dougie. The Wilsons. Tammy and…”
“Bill?” Douglas helped.
“I was getting there,” Elsa said.
“And you would’ve gotten there. I was just giving your sizable fanny a boost though.”
Elsa scoffed and slapped at Douglas’s arm. “Such a dirty old man.”

“Did you ever find the key for that closet?” Harold asked as he sat down at the dinner table that night.
“No.” Nora shook her head and brought over a bowl of salad. “We have keys for the basement, the garage, and the shed in the back. While you were in the sho—”
“What is that?” Harold interrupted, pointing to the bowl of iceberg lettuce and chopped hearts of romaine sitting in the middle of the table. He frowned as Nora sat down.
“Salad. The doctor did say that you needed to start eating healthier, that you needed to make a change, remember?”
Harold’s attitude sometimes reminded Nora of a newborn’s attitude towards a jar of baby food it was dead set on not eating. Her stomach rolled over. Joshua had never even gotten the chance to eat.
Thoughts like these still hit her from time to time and knocked her to her knees.
“Rabbit food,” Harold wrinkled his nose. “I need red meat. You know that. A man needs to eat red meat to stay healthy and strong.”
Nora raised an eyebrow. Harold had been so winded from carrying in a single medium-sized box that he had barely been able to call for her.
“I’ll start walking, Nora. Don’t look at me like that.”
Nora said nothing. She removed the tongs from the bowl of greens and dished out a healthy portion to herself. She replaced the tongs in the bowl with the handle pointing at Harold.
He glared over the salad bowl at her.
“For Christ’s sake, Harry. Just eat.” Nora nudged the wooden bowl towards him with her fingertips.
Harold pulled out the tongs and removed three green leaves from the bowl, one at a time.
Nora sighed, and started eating as silence fell over the table.
“Did you check if any of the keys worked in the lock?” Harold asked.
Nora shook her head, “I was trying to tell you that, but you interrupted me. I tried—”
“Don’t speak to me like that,” Harold interrupted again.
“What?” Nora asked, confused. “Speak to you like what?”
“You were guilt tripping me.”
“I was what?”
“You were guilt tripping me, Nora. And I don’t appreciate that kind of disrespect.”
“You don’t appreciate that kind of disrespect?” Nora asked.
The word disrespect felt nasty in her mouth.
“That’s right,” Harold said, forgetting that he didn’t like rabbit food and spooning himself three large helpings. “I don’t appreciate that kind of disrespect and I won’t accept it in my house. Do you understand?”
Her lower jaw pushed out, Nora laughed. It had an ugly coughing sound to it.
“Oh, I understand, Harold. I understand that you have no clue what disrespect is. You have no understanding of disrespect.”
“I don’t?”
“No.”
“Then tell me.”
“You want me to tell you?”
“Sure, Nora. Try me.”
“Disrespect is letting your body turn into—” Nora gestured at him with a grimace, “—that. Why don’t you work out? You think I like looking at that? You think I find that sexy and attractive? You think I like that lying next to me every night?”
Harold sat there, shoveling mouthful after mouthful of salad into his mouth. His jaw opened and shut as he tore through the leafy greens and glared at her.
“Well we’re not all in possession of such god-given genetics like you are,” Harold shot back at her as a small piece of romaine flew from his mouth in an arc and landed on his plate. He took another bite and kept chewing.
“God-given genetics?” Nora asked, placing her fork on her plate and dropping her hands to her lap where they curled into tiny white fists. “You’ve seen both my mother and father, Harry. You know what they look like. You know that they both have diabetes. I keep my figure by watching what I eat.”
“When you eat,” Harold muttered.
“Oh, so I’m anorexic now? I’ve suddenly developed an eating disorder to aid you in making your point, in winning this shitty little argument?”
Harold grunted and kept eating.
“Maybe you can answer a question of mine. Hmm?”
“What?”
“How rude—no, I’m sorry—how disrespectful do you find it when someone blames all of their problems on someone else?”
Harold kept chewing, his face growing red.
Nora went on, “And further, how terribly disrespectful would you find someone ignoring someone else after they asked a question?”
“Nora, look—”
“Oh no. You look. You look, Harold. Look at the things you’re doing and tell me that they’re not disrespectful. Just you try.”
“I was just trying to show you—”
“No. No, no, no. You are not putting any of this on me. None of—”
Harold’s hand swung in a wide arc and his palm smacked the wooden bowl still partially filled with salad off the table. The bowl hit the floor with a hollow thud, several leaves of lettuce popping out like confetti, and skittered across the tile into the kitchen where it banged into the cabinet. It wobbled around in several circles, filling the room with noise, before it settled upside-down on the tile.
Harold stared at the bowl with a look on his face that suggested he was confused about how it came to be on the tile in the kitchen.
Nora leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, her face devoid of emotion.
“Well?” Nora asked after Harold failed to break the silence.
“Sorry,” Harold said, still with that confused look on his face.
“You ever plan on doing that to me?”
“What?” Harold looked away from the bowl and at his wife.
“You ever plan on laying your hands on me like that?”
“No.” Harold looked like he was shocked at her question, like she had asked if he ever planned on sawing off his own left foot. “I would never lay a hand on you. You know that.”
Nora turned her head in a slow arc and looked at the overturned bowl then back at Harold.
The bowl, Harold.
The bowl, Harold.
“Okay-okay,” Harold said. “So I was a little rude earlier.”
Nora raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, Nora. I was a ton rude earlier.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“When else were you rude?”
“Just now. I’m sorry I hit the bowl. I just lost control of myself, but I promise you that I will never lay a finger on you.”
“Unless?”
“Huh?” Harold asked, the confusion settling back on his face.
“Unless I want you to lay a hand on me,” Nora smiled at him.
“Unless you want me to lay a hand on you?” Harold asked her.
“In bed, Harry,” Nora smiled again. In the back of her mind, a plan began to form.
“In bed,” Harold mumbled to himself.
His eyes widening and his cheeks turning red, Harold understood what she was talking about.
“There you go,” Nora said.
Harold smiled as she left her chair to pick up the salad from the kitchen floor.


Yep. Harold is super likable… bet you can’t wait to see what Nora has planned.

That’s it for today. Keep being awesome, and don’t forget: you have to buy the book by March 22nd in order get access to:

Extra 1:
Greed – The Machine: A Card Game for Backstabbers
You’ll get two different pdfs of this card game (color and greyscale) and an instruction sheet.

Extra 2:
A behind-the-scenes pdf that contains all 16 covers I made for The Wish Room before deciding on the current cover along with my thinking for cutting all the covers I didn’t use.

Click here to see more.

Until next time,
Bloodworth

Wow!

Wow!

I was blown away by the response to the last email. We’ve already sold 100s of copies!

Thank you so much for getting behind my new book The Wish Room!

If you missed the announcement, make sure to click here to see all kinds of cool giveaways you can access.

Now, as promised, here’s an exclusive sneak peek at the first chapter from The Wish Room. You’re just going to LOVE Harold…

 


Chapter 1

“Is the box cutter in there?” Harold Withers yelled down the hall. He slumped over at the hips with his hands on his knees, his face bright scarlet.
Harold couldn’t seem to catch his breath after carrying the box labeled Study Things from the U-Haul to the room he was claiming as the study. Pinpricks of sweat on his balding cul-de-sac caught the light that streamed in through the window behind him.
Harold straightened up, his massive belly heaving as he sucked in air. The hot sweat from the top of his head trickled down his face. Taking off his glasses with their coke bottle lenses, Harold wiped his face in the crook of his elbow.
Sweat.
Only God knew how much Harold hated sweat. He hated everything about it. How dirty it was, how filthy it made him feel, the ugly smell of it. And at thirty-seven, overweight, and aching in all of his joints—mainly his knees and lower back—the sweat mocked him.
“Nora!” Harold shouted through the door. “Do you have the box cutters or not?”
When Harold and Nora visited the house in the weeks previous to purchasing it, Harold knew this was the room. This was the room that he wanted as his study. The way the light streamed in through the solitary window and lit the whole room ablaze was one reason, but the other Harold couldn’t explain.
The room felt right. Harold wasn’t sure what it was about the room that so attracted him, he just knew that it did.
The trip from Boston, Massachusetts to Solo, Texas to check out the house had been a disaster. Harold and his wife’s fights so punctuated the affair that by the end they were just happy to go back to Boston, even if it was forever poisoned to them.
“G.D., Nora. What took so long?” Harold mumbled as he heard her footsteps on the wooden floor outside the door to his study.
Harold smiled.
His study.
He liked the way that sounded.
Nora stepped into the doorway, barely taking up half.
Just twenty-three, she still had the same figure she had in high school. Small hips, slight frame, small breasts. Waify was what her mom used to call her, but with her ebony hair and pale skin, Nora always thought she looked more like an elf than anything else.
A tiny, strained smile played on Nora’s face as she looked across the room at her smiling husband.
She married Harold five years ago, just out of high school and naive about the world. The first three years of their marriage went by in a hurry. Happiness tends to speed things along. The last two dragged on, full of misery and pain.
Since Joshua, Harold replaced hugs and I-love-you’s with nods and grunts.
“What are you smiling about, Harry?” Nora asked her sweating, red-faced husband from the doorway.
“Nothing. Box cutters?” Harold asked, thrusting out his meaty right hand, palm up.
“What?” Nora asked.
“Box cutters.”
Harold’s smile disappeared as well.
“They’re in the kitchen. Did you need them?” Nora asked.
Harold made a big show of looking down at the large, taped box that sat at his feet and then back up at Nora.
The box. Nora.
The box. Nora.
“Geez, a simple yes would’ve sufficed,” Nora said as the frown that had become so common over the last two years returned to her face again.
Harold frowned and shook his head at her exiting figure. Was it really so much to expect her to think before she spoke?
Harold didn’t think so.
After a while—forever according to Harold—Nora walked back into the room with the box cutter.
“What box is that?” Nora asked as she handed him the box cutter. “I thought we were going to make this room into a nursery for the baby.”
Harold didn’t say anything as he sliced through the shiny, brown packing tape.
The baby. Nora said it like it was a fact. Like she was already pregnant. Like she wouldn’t birth a stillborn again.
Harold couldn’t even understand why she wanted to try again so soon. He’d argued with her over and over about it. Why couldn’t she just let her body reset or whatever it had to do? Harold didn’t want to deal with another dead child and another devastated Nora.
Only two years had passed since the stillbirth of Joshua.
Joshua, the firstborn.
Joshua, his son.
Harold blamed Nora. Months before the delivery, they both agreed that she wouldn’t get an epidural. When the time came though, Nora broke down like a tower of dominoes with her begging and whining and crying about the pain.
Harold cornered the doctor in the hallway afterwards, interrogating the man about stillbirth and epidurals. The doctor said that the epidural had nothing to do with his stillborn child, but Harold thought he saw something in the doctor’s eyes.
Pity.
Pity that Nora chose to take the poison that eventually killed their son. Harold’s son.
Nora’s weakness killed their baby boy and Harold knew it. He never told her though. He could never do that. It would be like folding a royal flush and Harold never folded.
“Harry, did you hear me?” Nora asked.
Harold grunted his assent.
“Well?” Nora asked.
“Well what?” Harold asked back.
“The nursery. I thought we decided this was going to be the nursery,” Nora said. She felt the tension fill her shoulders like achy joints before a storm.
“Decided,” Harold scoffed, hearing her cries for the epidural fresh in his ears.
“We decided, Harry,” Nora said, her shoulders lifting up.
Harold looked up at her, his face bland. “We’ve decided on a lot of things that have fallen through, haven’t we?”
“What are you talking about?” Nora asked.
“Nothing. I like this room. I want it as my study. If we ever conceive, we can talk about converting this room into a nursery, okay?”
“If? What do you mean if?” Bright spots of red rose up on Nora’s cheekbones.
“You heard me. If we have a baby. I’m still part of the equation here, and I haven’t decided whether or not I’m ready for another—” the word stillborn almost spilled out “—baby.”
“Haven’t decided? Did I hear you correctly? You haven’t decided?” Nora whispered.
“I haven’t,” Harold said as he pulled out his antique leather desk blotter.
“We decided this already. You were there, right? I know you were because you even said,” Nora dropped her voice and tried to mimic the bumbling manner in which Harold always spoke, “Well, Nora. If you want to make another child, I will give you that child.”
Harold pulled out a box of blue Montblanc fineliner refills, setting it on top of the blotter which now lay on the desk in the center of the room.
Harold looked up from the box and blotter, “I didn’t commit to it though. I wasn’t ready to commit to that yet.”
Nora snorted.
“Then why did you tell me you would give me another child? Why build up my hopes like that?”
“It was a mistake,” Harold said, pulling five pads of Rhodia from the box and slipping them into the drawer on the right.
“No,” Nora said, pointing a pale finger at him. “Don’t you do that. Don’t you dare do that, Harold.”
“Do what?” Harold asked. He carried a rubber banded bundle of unsharpened Ticonderogas from the moving box to his desk, snapping off the pink rubber band from around the pencils as he walked.
Nora stared as he spilled the pencils onto the blotter and started placing them into the center drawer one at a time, erasers to the left.
“This, Harry. This!” Nora screamed the last word at him and threw out her arms. “You always do this. Anytime anything goes wrong, you turtle, you ostrich, you hedgehog. You always just give up. Like nothing matters to you. Like I don’t matter to you.”
Harold kept placing pencils into the drawer one at a time, the green aluminum around the erasers catching the light from the window and kicking it back into Nora’s eyes. She looked away.
“Do you even love me anymore?” Nora whispered.
Harold froze, the pencil in his fingers an inch above the drawer, glimmering in the sleepy midday light. Instead of putting it into the drawer, he placed it onto the blotter next to the few pencils still there.
Walking over to Nora, Harold took her into his arms. Her tiny shoulders began to tremble and he felt her tears seep through the front of his shirt.
“Of course I love you. I’m just stressed about the move. We go from a one bedroom apartment to a two story, three bedroom house and a mortgage. I’m sorry if I’ve been acting off, honey. I’m just stressed.”
Harold held her close until her shoulders quit shaking, then he held her out at arm’s length. “I love you. It’s just stress, okay?”
It felt like a truce to Nora.
“Okay,” she said, sniffling between calming breaths, but then her face crumpled as she looked at the front of his shirt. “Oh no, look what I did.”
Harold looked down at the chest of his white polo. An ugly black smudge of mascara frowned back at him.
“Oh,” Harold said, putting on a smile. “It’s okay. It’s just a polo.”
“No,” Nora said, untucking it from his shorts. “It’s not just a polo; it’s your lucky polo.”
Nora pulled the polo up around Harold’s ever inflating midsection, and over his head. Harold grunted and had just enough time to grab his glasses before Nora’s tugs combined with the collar sliding over his head pulled them off.
Be it tugging off a polo shirt or screaming for an epidural, his wife never seemed to think about the consequences of her actions. Never.
Harold folded his arms across his chest, embarrassed of his overlarge areolas and his ever inflating yet sagging man breasts.
“I’ll go put this in the sink to soak. Be right back with a fresh shirt, okay?” Nora said as she bustled from the room.
Shaking his head at her departing figure, he leaned against the desk and felt the brass handle of the drawer containing the Rhodia pads dig into his not inconsiderable rear. He leaned back and slid onto the desk so that he was sitting. Feeling the warmth from his belly pressing through his shorts, Harold stared at the door in front of him.
Closet?
He didn’t remember this room having a closet when he and Nora first visited, or the other times when they came back to plan their move.
Harold slipped off the desk and walked the three steps over to the closet door. He stood there for a moment before reaching out a hand to grasp the knob.
Footsteps came from the hallway and Nora walked back in, shaking out the wrinkles from a clean red polo.
“Here we go. One fresh polo, baked to order.” Nora walked over to him and handed over the polo with a smile at her own wit.
Harold let go of the doorknob and took the shirt from her, struggling into it as fast as he could. He made sure to put his glasses down on the desk before pulling the polo over his head, though.
Consequences could be mitigated with planning.
“Thanks,” Harold said as he walked back over to the closet door. He grasped the knob and twisted.
The knob didn’t turn. It didn’t even budge. It could’ve been cement.
“I completely forgot about this closet being in here. Do we have a key for it?” Harold asked.
“It’s been in here every time we have, Harry, and I’m sure we have a key for it somewhere,” Nora said as she reached out to try the knob for herself.
Nothing.
Nora shrugged.
“Back to work,” she said in a cheery voice as she walked out of the room.
Harold put the rest of the pencils into the drawer before turning back to the door again, frowning.
Who would put a lock on a closet?
And why?
Harold walked back to the door, and without thinking about it, pressed his ear against it, straining to listen.
He stood there for a whole minute, his ear and stomach pressed against the door. At one point, he thought he heard a scratching noise, but then realized it was only Nora in the kitchen dragging boxes around.
“The hell was I expecting to hear anyway?” Harold muttered and went back to unpacking.

 


 

Thanks again for being a part of The Wish Room launch!
Don’t forget, you have to buy the book by March 22nd in order get access to:

Extra 1:
Greed – The Machine: A Card Game for Backstabbers
You’ll get two different pdfs of this card game (color and greyscale) and an instruction sheet.

Extra 2:
A behind-the-scenes pdf that contains all 16 covers I made for The Wish Room before deciding on the current cover along with my thinking for cutting all the covers I didn’t use.

Click here to see more.

Until next time,
Bloodworth

Three Weeks Left!

Three weeks left!

In just three weeks my new book The Wish Room will be published. I can’t wait to share this with you!

Over the next few weeks I’m going to be sending you several emails sharing exclusive excerpts and other cool stuff from the book.

But for now, I want to announce the thing I’ve been hinting at.

THE WISH ROOM PRE-ORDER GIVEAWAY

I’ve put together several amazing things you get if you pre-order the book before March 22, 2016. Buy the ebook and I’ll immediately send you:

Extra 1:
Greed – The Machine: A Card Game for Backstabbers
Yep. You’ll get a pdf file of the brand new card game I created. This is a really fun game if you like playing backstabby type games. From what we’ve tested, this game works best with 2-6 players. It’s a pretty easy game to learn and get the hang of, and can be quite intense as the play deck runs low. I plan on running a kickstarter for this game so this is your chance to get in on the ground floor and play before the rest of the world.
You’ll get two different pdfs of this card game (color and greyscale) and an instruction manual.

Extra 2:
A behind-the-scenes pdf that contains all 16 covers I made for The Wish Room before deciding on the current cover along with my thinking for cutting all the covers I didn’t use.

INSTRUCTIONS
FIRST, buy the book. All the different store links can be found here: https://booklaunch.io/cbloodworth/thewishroom
SECOND, forward your receipt to wishroomgiveaway@gmail.com.

That’s it! I’ll follow up and send you your giveaways.

Thanks again for being a part of my new book! In a couple days, I’m going to send you another early look.

Until then,
Bloodworth

P.S. If you’ve already bought the book, you can still get the giveaways.
Just forward your receipt to wishroomgiveaway@gmail.com.

Extras!

Extras!

Over the last few weeks I’ve been hinting at some cool stuff I’m doing with the launch of The Wish Room.

Next Wednesday — less than a week from now — I’m announcing something big.

Ever since I’ve finished my book, I’ve been working on some really cool stuff to go along with it.

I’ve created several new things including:

Extra 1:
Greed – The Machine: A Card Game for Backstabbers

Yep. You’ll get a pdf file of the brand new card game I created. This is a really fun game if you like playing backstabby type games. From what we’ve tested, this game works best with 2-6 players. It’s a pretty easy game to learn and get the hang of, and can be quite intense as the play deck runs low. I plan on running a kickstarter for this game so this is your chance to get in on the ground floor and play before the rest of the world.

If you pre-order The Wish Room before March 22nd, you’ll get two different pdfs of this card game (color and greyscale) and an instruction sheet.

Extra 2:
A behind-the-scenes pdf that contains all 16 covers I made for The Wish Room before deciding on the current cover.

I love book covers. No, really… It’s gross how much I love them. I have this really bad habit of making covers for books I’ll never write. If you order The Wish Room before midnight on March 22nd, you’ll get a pdf of all my cover proofs for The Wish Room. This includes commentary on why I chose the cover I did and why I decided against the others.

So next Wednesday, make sure you open the email I send you and I’ll show you how you can get your hands on them.

Thanks again for being a part of my work and I can’t wait to share The Wish Room with you soon!

4 weeks!

Four weeks until The Wish Room comes out.

This book has been a long time coming. It was originally supposed to launch in July of 2014, but everything in my life changed around this time. New job, new apartment, new life.

Last week, I shared the cover with you. If you missed that, click here to take a look.

Now I want to share with you a sneak peek from my new book, The Wish Room. This is the first time I’ve put any of the content out, so you’re getting first dibs!

 


What lies behind the locked closet door?

This question consumes Harold Withers as he and his wife Nora attempt to bury the ghosts of past tensions in their new house. While Harold obsesses over opening the locked door in his study, Nora yearns for the child and the new attempt at life Harold promised to deliver.

What lies behind the locked door has other plans though.

When Nora finally realizes that there is only one way to ensure she gets what she wants, she takes matters into her own hands.

As the lies stack up between the married couple, the door opens to reveal what can only be called…

The Wish Room


 

Interested? Good.

That’s just a small part of what’s to come!

In the last email I mentioned that I was doing a lot of cool stuff around the launch of The Wish Room. Well, very soon I’m going to share what that cool stuff is.

Stay tuned!
Bloodworth

P.S. Click here to check out the trailer for The Wish Room.

The Wish Room launch

It’s been a hectic couple of weeks finalizing everything for the launch of my new novel, The Wish Room. Coffee has been my steadfast companion through it all. Well, coffee and Batcat.

In just over a month, my brand new book The Wish Room will be published.

I’ve been working on this for TWO YEARS and I’m finally going to be able to put it in your hands. I’ll give you the launch date below, but first let me answer a few questions I’ve received about The Wish Room:

Q: Do I need to have read Handbook for a Teenage Antichrist to follow this book?
A: Nope. It’s a standalone novel. It WILL open up the world of Handbook a little though, but it’s not required.

Q: Where in Handbook for a Teenage Antichrist does it mention The Wish Room?
A: “Dad calls it a Wish Room.”
“A Wish Room.”
Lucie nodded. “He said that he’d been inspired to build it after having a dream about a king that had one commissioned for his castle. You know how I am about dreams? Well, my dad’s the one that raised me to appreciate them, but Bal, I hear things in there when I wake up at night.”

Q: WHEN?
A: I couldn’t really answer that for sure until today. Check out this physical proof.

The Wish Room will debut on March 22, 2016!

Also, as a celebration, I have a ton of cool stuff I’m doing for you leading up to its release. So make sure you stay on my email list and open every single email.

For now, I’m just going to share the cover and a few things some early readers have said about the book:

  • Bloodworth held no punches in this book.” – Craig Stilton
  • “Probably the most interesting book Bloodworth has ever written. I’d always wondered about those Wish Rooms Lucie mentioned in Handbook for a Teenage Antichrist. Can’t wait to be terrified again.” – Emily Flores
  • This book is AWESOME. I’ve probably never read a book that delved so deeply into the falling apart of a couple and the fallout when supernatural evil becomes involved.” – Courtney Sherman
  • “Please put out more books. I never realize how much I miss Bloodworth until he releases a new book or story.” – Jolene Brown
  • “[…] is an amazing book that will make you never want to go to sleep again.” – Derek Hockley

Thanks for being a part of this!
BLOODWORTH

P.S. If you know anyone else that you think will enjoy this book, can you send them to this page: http://www.iambloodworth.com/darkness-blooms-optin-page-2/

That will make sure they get access to all the cool stuff I’m giving away soon and they’ll even get 2 free books just for signing up.