Sunday, August 30, 2026

INTERVIEW WITH S.A. SIZEMORE (Whispers of the Pale Witch)




Whispers of the Pale Witch 
Beckett Coven Series
Book One
S.A. Sizemore

Genre: Horror/Paranormal Thriller
Publisher: Rowan Prose Publishing
Date of Publication: September 29, 2026
ISBN: 978-1-961967-99-1
ASIN: B0FTBTKG9J
Number of pages: 398
Word Count: 98,000
Cover Artist: Kelly Moran

Tagline: Shall we begin?

Book Description: 

Some secrets should just stay buried. 

After the sudden death of her great-aunt, Kylie Beckett lands her dream job as a forensic photographer in the small seaside town where she was born. But once there, a series of murders and the theft of a dangerous relic force Kylie to uncover the dark truth about her ancestors. 

With the help of newfound family, she learns to harness unconscious powers to stop the vengeful and unstable Pale Witch before she unleashes a demonic spirit on Salem, Massachusetts once again. 

Shall we begin?

Excerpt 2 from Chapter 3

Elizabeth was distracted. This is just so damn overwhelming, she thought as she studied Kylie’s face.

The last time they were both on this porch, Elizabeth held her small toddler hand and tried not to cry as they hugged goodbye. Now, Kylie Beckett was a grown woman standing in the doorway some twenty years later. Elizabeth waited decades for this moment, but it felt unexpectedly awkward and strange.

Kylie had the same caramel complexion and bright smile of her African American father, along with a feminine version of his athletic build. Her mother’s Anglo-Saxon features were also apparent in her soft reddish-brown hair and intense amber eyes. She looked rather androgynous without any makeup or earrings. Her t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers were more appropriate for Southern California this time of year than the coming New England autumn.

The rain poured down hard on the porch roof.

“You can come inside if you like.” Kylie motioned for her to move forward.

Elizabeth glanced past the front door towards the cellar. A pained look flashed over her eyes. “It was me.” She touched a tiny bronze cylinder hanging from a chain around her neck. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t completely honest. I was the one who found Hester after the heart attack. I haven't been able to step foot in the house since.”

There was an awkward pause between them.

Kylie was thrown upon meeting Elizabeth. After their phone conversations, she had pictured someone quite different. Instead of the frumpy, busy-body white woman she imagined her to be, Elizabeth was by far one of the most strikingly beautiful women she’d ever met. It was strange, though. She felt familiar, like a childhood friend, not just a recent acquaintance.

“I meant to be here when you arrived.” Elizabeth tapped some raindrops from her umbrella again. “My assistant only just told me you called. We had a very busy Friday afternoon.” She pointed to the left of the doorframe. “The switch for the porch light is on the wall just by the coat hook.”

Kylie leaned over to flick it on. The porch became bathed in a warm glow as if the house was coming back to life. A moth tapped on the ceiling lamp after missing its warmth.

“When do you start your new job?” Elizabeth asked.

“Monday.” Kylie brightened. “Thank you so much for the introduction. I’m really looking forward to it.”

A warm smile crept across her mouth as Elizabeth noticed the tiny, white seashell on a black cord around Kylie’s neck. More emotions rose inside her.

“I'm sorry.” Kylie rubbed her eyes. She didn’t want to seem inhospitable, but she was very tired. “It took a few days to get here, and I still need to pull some stuff out of the car before I get to bed.”

“Of course. Of course.” Elizabeth nodded in agreement. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, no worries.” Kylie peered out at the rain and then back at Elizabeth’s impressive heels and expensive suit. She waved her hand. “I've got it. Just bringing in a couple of things.” She paused for extra emphasis as she said, “I really do appreciate everything you've done for me over the last few weeks.”

Elizabeth thought her heart was going to break right there and then. Her fingers fumbled around in her vest pocket and fished out a white business card. She handed it to Kylie. “Here’s my contact info again in case you need anything. I'll have my assistant set up a time for us to talk. Maybe The Roof on Sunday for brunch?” She opened her umbrella, but the showers magically abated as she descended the porch steps.

“Sounds fun.” Kylie nodded in agreement, not having a clue what The Roof was.

“And we can discuss the lawsuit,” Elizabeth said as she walked down the path.

“W-wait, what?” Kylie stuttered. “What lawsuit?”

“I emailed you about it.” Elizabeth turned slightly. “Beulah Prudaetor is contesting your aunt's trust. But don't worry. She can't take this place from you. I'll make sure of that.”

“But...” Kylie moved forward and wrapped a hand around the white porch post. She looked past Elizabeth at the neighborhood beyond. She liked this place. Loved its quirkiness. Hester’s house already felt like home, even though she’d only been there for a few minutes.

The stress on Kylie’s face drew Elizabeth back to the porch. “Please don't worry about it right now. Go in and get a good night's rest.” Then, she broke her promise and said what she had planned to hold back. “You look so much like your father and so very much like your mother.”

“You knew them?” Kylie asked while startled and curious by the sudden compliment. “You knew my mother? I never did.”

“I know.” Elizabeth pushed down her emotions and patted Kylie's hand. “You get settled in. There will be plenty to talk about and lots of time in which to do it...now that you’re back.”

Before Kylie could see her cry, Elizabeth walked out to the rain-soaked street. She got into her brand-new, white, electric sedan and drove off.

Kylie was alone again on the porch.

The rain paused long enough for her to run out to her hatchback and bring in a few boxes. Before going inside, she picked up the business card she had set down on the porch railing and read it aloud, “Elizabeth Ingersoll, Esq.”

There was so much to focus on in such a short time. Kylie hadn’t noticed the surname until now. Ingersoll was her mother's last name.

“Elizabeth is family.”

 

 

 


About the Author:

Drawn to playwriting from an early age, S.A. Sizemore began writing professionally while studying English and theater arts in college. After producing several plays regionally in Southern California, Sizemore pivoted to the themed entertainment industry. Whispers of the Pale Witch is the first installment of the Beckett Coven series inspired by Sizemore’s ancestral connection to the Salem Witch Trials. She is a full member of the Dramatists Guild of America, proud member of the LGBTQ+ community, European and Cherokee/Chickahominy decent, and resides in California with her wife and two dogs, Agatha and Harry.









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Thursday, August 20, 2026

INTERVIEW WITH CAROL JAMES MARSHALL (MalaBrava)





Supernatural Central Short and Quick Interview


  1.  Tell me a little bit about the main character of this book.

Griselda, AKA Grizzy, is a mad scientist in a family of monsters. She’s the one everyone goes to when things get crazy, and MalaBrava is a trillion percent crazy, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

  1. Do you believe in the paranormal, and if so, do you have an experience you can share?

I’m agnostic when it comes to the paranormal. I am Mexican, and culturally, we are big believers in the paranormal, but I’ve always questioned everything I’ve been told about it. That doesn’t mean the possibility isn’t out there; it just means it may or may not be tangible. That’s how I see it, anyway.

  1. What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?

I’m currently writing a very dark gothic horror novel called The Order of the Wicked. Just think “evil nuns.” After that, I will be writing book two of my MalaBrava series.



MalaBrava 
Carol James Marshall 

Genre: Horror, Dark Comedy
Date of Publication: August 1, 2026
ASIN: B0H12RB68Z
Number of pages: 241
Word Count: 58,477

Book Description:

Welcome to Malabrava a town where the squirrels carry knives, the vampires have HOA problems, and the local mad scientist is still workshopping the perfect dick.

When Grizzy Del Monstruo isn’t decapitating problems or resurrecting boyfriends in her basement lab, she’s navigating family dinners, supernatural bureaucracy, and the inconvenience of having a moral compass. Around her, monsters bicker, humans wander in by accident, and nobody seems particularly concerned about the body count as long as it stays within city limits.

Malabrava is a brutally funny, deeply inappropriate adult dark comedy packed with gore, sex, monsters, and unhinged domesticity.

If you like your horror ridiculous, your comedy filthy, and your towns aggressively cursed, you’ve just found your new favorite place to never visit.

Excerpt:

Griselda grew up in Malabrava. Her family founded the town. The streets, the smells, the houses, the people, and even the squirrels with knives run through her veins. She loves Malabrava and all its quirks.

Grizzy is a Del Monstruo. Not the youngest, not the oldest. She’s the middle-aged one. The Auntie. The one who never married, never wanted to. Grizzy’s the one people call when something needs to be handled. Because that’s what Grizzy does. Grizzy handles things.

Nobody asks how. It’s understood. Grizzy is what some might call sketchy with a heart of gold. She’ll go to war for the people she loves, and she has a clean, no-fuss method of decapitation for the ones she doesn’t.

She lives in the family home, dead center in the town of Malabrava. Her parents retired to a smaller place on the outskirts, saying they needed more land for at-home burials. Her sister Gracie prefers her condo near their parents. Gracie said that the convenient burial space is a plus. Makes cleanup easier.

They left Grizzy the house. You’d expect a gothic mansion, right? This is Malabrava, where things creep in broad daylight. A home for someone called Del Monstruo should come with bats, cobwebs, a gong, a butler who only groans, and a maid with wild frizzy red hair and access to the gong.

But no.

Grizzy’s grandfather was a modernist. Way ahead of his time. He wanted to be a supervillain, and in his mind, supervillains needed sleek, sprawling homes with underground bunkers, hidden rooms, and plans for a moat.

He never made it to “super.” He was a decent villain. He refused to recycle and regularly flipped off children, but he lacked the follow-through. He couldn’t commit to one evil scheme long enough to earn the title.

Grizzy’s grandmother was the true force. A science-minded woman with dangerous ideas. She adored the modern mansion. It gave her room for her lab.

That lab became Grizzy’s favorite place in the world.

Grizzy the fixer, the inventor, the one always tinkering away in her lab is deeply loved by her family. But her mother, a devout occultist with a dramatic streak, had other hopes. She wanted Griselda to be witchy. Ideally, a Voodoo Priestess. She always said Griselda looked striking in white. Though, in the end, she would’ve settled for a kitchen witch with a solid essential oil game.

Her father, a known vampire, had his hopes too. Gracie inherited the thirst. Gracie was the one born with a taste for blood.

But not Grizzy.

Instead, she snuck into her grandmother’s lab as a child. Touched everything labeled “Do Not Touch.” Sniffed everything marked “Hazard.” Dreamed of beakers and blueprints. She ignored every warning.

At twelve, she came out to the family as a Mad Scientist.

Her parents told her they loved her. Accepted her, a little reluctantly. Gracie grinned. She had another reason to be the favorite now.

They threw a family barbecue for her official announcement. The cousins came. The uncles, the aunts, the vaguely-related lurkers. Grizzy cut a cake shaped like a beaker and declared, “I’m a Mad Scientist, like Granny.”

There was a pause.

Some awkward glances.

Then applause.

The Del Monstruos were known for monsters...being them, birthing them, bargaining with them. But Grizzy wasn’t rattled by the hesitation. She knew the truth.

What was better than being a monster?

Inventing them.


About the Author:

Carol James Marshall is a storyteller who loves serving up scary stories with and sometimes adds some laughs. 

Carol writes genre-bending horror packed with comedy, paranormal twists, sci-fi, and suspense. As a bilingual, low-vision author, she uses adaptive tech and bold fonts to bring her stories to life, crafting her books in English, Spanish, or sometimes both. 

When she isn't weaving nightmares or getting lost in an audiobook, Carol works as a medical coder and biller. Her journey spans from the sunny streets of Los Angeles, California, to the vibrant culture of Mexicali, Mexico, and she now happily calls Georgia home.




Amazon: 





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Monday, August 17, 2026

INTERVIEW WITH B.M. BRIAR (So Beats a Hollow Heart)

 



So Beats a Hollow Heart: A Novella
B. M. Briar

Genre: Dark Fantasy/Gothic Horror/LGBTQ Fiction
Publisher: Attic Ebooks, an imprint of Nicole Frail Books, LLC
Date of Publication: August 18, 2026
ISBN: 978-1-965852-74-3 (print) 
ISBN: 978-1-965852-73-6 (ebook)
ASIN: B0GX36X53Q
Number of pages: 116
Word Count: 22,000 

Cover Artist: Covers by Sophie

Tagline: In a crumbling village of ghosts and grief, an assassin and a necromancer are drawn into a dangerous, intimate experiment to defy death—and loneliness.

Book Description:

A gothic horror story about losing the love of your life, So Beats a Hollow Heart follows a nameless assassin—a member of the feared Bloodcloaks—sent to rid a village of the necromancer who has been stealing its young women.

What the assassin finds is not the monster she expects, but a woman deep in grief, desperate to find a new body for the soul of her dead lover.

After her third experiment ends in failure, the necromancer—Isolde—turns her attention to the assassin. Neither woman can anticipate how profoundly they will be changed by Isolde’s fourth and final experiment.

So Beats A Hollow Heart is the winner of the Cover Story Writing Contest, hosted by Nicole Frail Books, LLC

Excerpt: 

I remembered the pain of transformation, if only as a haze of red and tearing muscle. I remembered the awful rasp of my canines being filed blunt and the burn of silver being placed over the stumps to keep my true nature at bay. I had gone through hell so that girls like this wouldn’t have to, and now I was failing her.

Isolde walked into my field of vision, blocking my view of the tortured girl and breaking me out of my spiral of self-pity; I folded up the memories and tucked them away with the others, shifting my focus to the present. Isolde’s arms were crossed, the tip of one boot tapping against the flagstones.

“This is very impressive. Look more impressed,” she demanded.

“Can I look horrified instead?”

Isolde huffed, childlike and thwarted.

“I suppose that will do,” she said. “You know, I was really counting on you to be more entertaining than George. Do they surgically remove your personalities when they pump you full of wolf’s blood?”

“I don’t know. Do they surgically remove your morals when you sign the Mage Registry?”

“Ha! I’ll have you know that several of my colleagues are terrible sticks in the mud and would take great offence at the suggestion. I’m quite certain they will stay within the bounds of safe magic use and never go even a little bit mad.”

“And you?” I ventured. “Have you gone a little bit mad?”

“Of course you would see brilliance and call it madness. If I do go mad, it’s because I have no one but a zombie to talk to. And George, I suppose.”

She smiled, just a little quirk of her mouth at one side as if the two of us were sharing a joke. I had never imagined that I would be gently needled by a target. I did not like it.

I would not say that I sulked. I had simply elected to end the conversation. It was in Isolde’s interest to keep me talking, I reminded myself: if I was talking, I was not thinking, was not planning. I needed to do both if I wanted to get myself and the girl to safety. I could come back for Isolde later. Or someone else could.

The problem was that, devoid of entertainment, Isolde had taken to scratching the bottom of a glass beaker with a scalpel. Her work was precise, careful, but the sound of sharp metal against glass scraped at my ears, interrupting all attempts at thought. I glared at her.

This was a mistake.

“I’m sure you must be wondering what I’m doing,” said Isolde, without looking up. 

“Not particularly.”

“I’m engraving the soul-binding runes into the base of this bottle.” She paused. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

“No.”

She was going to tell me anyway.

“I am engraving the soul-binding runes into the base of this bottle,” Isolde repeated, her voice heavy and her words overenunciated as if my disinterest was an obstacle she could overcome by sheer force. “So that I can recapture the soul, should the experiment fail.”

 

About the Author:

B. M. Briar spent most of her childhood in fantasyland, whether that be immersed in a book or forcing her long-suffering dad to play pretend for entire weekends at a time. Little has changed over the past two decades, except that she’s given her dad a break and taken up DnD instead. 

Her work reflects her own experiences as a queer woman, is increasingly gothic, and always a little bit magic. She is the winner of the first Cover Story contest from Attic Books. So Beats A Hollow Heart is her debut novella. 

Outside of writing, she is a cat mum, a cross-stitcher, and a truly abysmal pole dancer.








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