"...First-class storyteller, Staci Layne Wilson, has a style that is all her own: from her wicked tongue-and-cheek insider play on words and names to the heart she puts into the tale. She evokes the reader's compassion for her mild-mannered main character—being publicly dissected by a talk show host, to his mounting terror at the long string of grisly murders that keep mysteriously finding their way to him...with an ending so tightly twisted that it fits
perfectly! Also, you'll find an added bonus: Wilson's short story, "Lover's Eye," at the end of Ghost Writer: a delightfully erotic, stomach-flipping tale of everything you've ever thought (and heard) about eyeballs, spun into a diabolically visual yarn about artist Iris Blume and her passionate greed for instruments of sight. Ghost Writer is among her very best works yet; I'm doing more than looking forward to reading more Staci Layne Wilson books—I'm begging her to hurry up and write another one!"—T. M. Gray, author of The Ravenous
"With enviable ease, Staci Layne Wilson manages the difficult trick of combining edgy eroticism, knowing humor, and unflinching horror into one delicious package. Like some bizarre ménage a trois between Stephen King, Candace Bushnell, and Sarah Silverman, her fiction explores every aspect of the Forbidden."—Peter Atkins, screenwriter of the Hellraiser and Wishmaster films, author of Morningstar
"Staci Layne Wilson is an expert at creating believable characters, a chilling scenario, and a roller-coaster-ride-of-a-story that doesn't put on the brakes until the very last page."—James Newman, author of Holy Rollers and The Wicked
"Staci Layne Wilson knows how to write. Read Ghost Writer, and you'll see what I mean. But it just doesn't stop with good writing...there's an underlying hipness to everything that's going on, and while the suspense builds, you can't help but notice the sexiness, the rock and roll, the creativity spurred on by the innate sensibilities she clearly possesses. Her characters breathe the same airs we do, their fears are as real as they get. Her phrases...they send shudders of guilty pleasure across the raised skin on your back as you absorb them one delightful word at a time."—Michael Laimo, author of Atmosphere and Dregs Of Society
"Take Cary Bouchard, a less than average, downtrodden shadow of a man and give him a free a ride on Hell's roller-coaster, complete with blood, guts and terror. The result? Staci Layne Wilson's psychological horror novel, Ghost Writer. Wilson has written a fresh twist on a classic favorite. Is fortune and fame worth a price? Any price? For seasoned and new readers of the genre, treat yourself to a masterfully written mind tweak, haunting descriptions and an ending that screams, 'Move over, Rod Serling!'"—Cass Andre, author of El Chupacabra
"In her latest work, Staci Layne Wilson tackles one of the most enduring questions of modern horror fiction—where do writers get their ideas? By the time the reader is done with Ghost Writer, they'll never look at another writer the same way again and all their darkest suspicions will be confirmed. A rousing good tale, full of atmosphere and suspense."—Joseph Nassise, author of Riverwatch and Heretic
"...A haunting adventure with roller coaster turns and surprises. This is one you'll want to read with the lights on as you buckle up for a scary ride into the darkest realms of horror!"—Scarlett Dean, author of Unfinished Business and Destiny's Call
"...Lovingly lavished with every cliche in the book—this Satantic satire will
have you laughing out loud even as you're shaking under your covers with fright. Wilson's provocative prose is vibrant, engaging and sharp as a demon's claw."—L.M. Parkinson, author of Teeth
The dog stopped before him and then began to shudder and shake.
Cary braced himself for an attack.
It then began to foam at the mouth and convulse like a twisted marionette doing a dance of death. Oh, God, I'm going to die here in downtown Los Angeles, torn apart by a rabid dog. Then the dog began to gag. It looked decidedly ill. Please don't let him puke on my Gucci shoes.
The pooch proceeded to do just that, then abruptly turned tail and ran back into the alley.
Cary looked down at his ruined shoes in disgust. Aside from the various chunks of what smelled and looked like raw and barely chewed putrid meat, Cary saw the mangled edge of what could only be...an Insta-Pic photograph. He lifted one soaked foot gingerly from the cement and his stomach roiled in revulsion as the vomit oozed off of his shoe like slime from a swamp surface. A large chunk of flesh rolled off to one side, exposing the entire photograph...
The horror was too much...