10 Things You Might Not Know About NightBorn by Theresa Cheung

 

When a brilliant dream psychologist begins appearing in thousands of strangers’ nightmares, she must confront a terrifying truth…

 

What if the line between your waking life and your darkest dreams disappeared forever?

Alice Sinclair, a driven psychology professor, is about to find out. When thousands of people begin experiencing terrifying, vivid nightmares … all centered around her, Alice’s quiet academic life is shattered. Haunted by the question of why she’s become the subject of these shared dreams, Alice embarks on a desperate search for answers, uncovering a chilling secret: someone – or something – hungry for global power has discovered a way to manipulate consciousness itself. The world is fast becoming a playground for those in control of the dreaming mind.  In a heart-stopping race against time, Alice must navigate a treacherous web of deception, where nothing – and no one – can be trusted, not even herself.

Read a sample.

NightBorn is available at Amazon US and Amazon UK.

Book Excerpt

Florida, USA—Sometime soon

Alice saw the wave. It was a beast.

It rose slowly at first, the way a predator prepares to strike—silent, inevitable. It quickly gained speed, swelling into a towering monster, a force of nature, as if the ocean itself had decided to swallow her whole. The wave surged, easily 30 feet high, dark and roaring with a ferocity she could feel in her bones. It moved toward her with the relentlessness of fate.

She turned, panic seizing her as she raced up the beach, her bare feet slipping in the wet sand. The ocean was closing in—the world was closing in on her. Her breath came in jagged gasps, but the wave, too quick, slammed into her, yanking her under.

Her body twisted through the water, eyes stinging, lungs burning, desperate for air, clawing at the debris swirling around her—plastic, broken wood, seaweed, dead fish—but there was no solid ground to cling to. The current pulled her deeper, its

grip tightening like cold fingers around her throat.

She gasped for air, choking on the water, the world a dark, crushing void. She couldn’t see. Every nerve in her body screamed for release, but the ocean kept pulling, tumbling her in every direction, turning her body like a puppet with broken strings. She was drowning. No—she was going to die.

Something in her snapped.

Her feet hit something solid. Hard. Stone? She couldn’t tell.

All she knew was that she had to rise. She shoved upward, throwing her weight toward the surface with every ounce of strength she had left. Her body screamed, but she pushed

harder, until her head broke through to air. For one split second, she inhaled—but the water dragged her down again, relentless, hungry for her life. She fought the instinct to panic.

She couldn’t let it win. Not today.

Just breathe. Just breathe, Alice. Instinctively she let herself float, stilling her body, letting the sea carry her, accepting the weight of the water around her. She couldn’t fight it anymore—but maybe she didn’t have to.

Her feet found solid ground again. She shoved upward, defiant, gasping as she broke through. Sunlight blinded her.

Alice jerked awake, the sharp taste of salt lingering on her tongue, her body tangled in the sheets. The echo of the wave still thundered in her ears. The sunlight slanted through the bedroom window, blinding. Her pulse thrummed in her neck as if the sea still had its grip on her.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. It was a dream. Just a nightmare.”

What if it wasn’t just a nightmare?

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, Alice’s feet hit the cold floor. Had Swiss psychiatrist and dream analysis pioneer, Carl Jung ever felt this unsettled after one of his dreams? Had his own night visions ever made him question his grasp on reality?

Her eyes flickered to the bedside table and her Red Book: the dream journal she’d named after Jung’s own. Ever since she was young, she’d written down her dreams. But this one felt radically different from the rest.

It was too real, though it clearly wasn’t literal. She lived more than an hour from the nearest beach and had never been to it. Was the dream a symbolic glimpse into her own future? A warning? Or something darker, deeper?

It was just a dream. Maybe it was just all the energy she’d poured into teaching Jungian dream analysis spilling out cathartically in a nightmare.

The feeling of drowning clung to her.

She grabbed her journal and scribbled out every detail of the dream. The ocean. The wave. The suffocating terror. Jung had called the act of recording dreams an act of self-analysis—so why did this one feel more like a clear and present danger than an analysis? Was it the forbidden mystery Jung had hinted at in his Red Book—that thin line between genius and insanity where revelation could be found?

Was her obsession with dreams driving her mad?

It was her calling, her passion. Perhaps, as director of the new program in Jungian Studies at the University of Central Florida, she could teach her students what she had dreamt and encourage them to analyze it; maybe it would be cathartic for

them and for her.

What if her students were the key to unlocking the deeper meanings of her own dream? She could see herself standing before the class, scrawling on the blackboard, her voice filled with energy as she taught them about using their dreams to peer into possible futures, even to shape reality. Inception—she would reference that for sure, the perfect movie fix to illustrate how the subconscious could manipulate perception and even reality.

What better way to introduce her students to the power of their own dreaming minds?

Alice pushed herself out of bed as the sinking feeling of the dream still clung tight. Blinking rapidly in front of her bedroom mirror, she forced herself to take deep breaths. Her long dark hair framing the mismatched eyes staring right back at her: one

blue, one brown. She had always hated this difference. Always hidden it behind a pair of blue lenses.

A perfect illusion of normalcy, her blue lenses. They always worked—ever since she was 14, when her mother had taken her to the ophthalmologist to prevent the cruel teasing at school.

Alice slipped them on, as though the simple act could shield her from her nightmare.

The rhythm of her repeated blinking to help the lenses settle helped bring a semblance of calm.

Something was coming, though; she could feel it. Something was drawing her, pulling her into the unknown. Could she rise above and survive it?

Alice dressed the part for her day ahead and stepped out into the bright light of the day.

Was the drowning nightmare a message? A warning? And if so, a warning about what?

– Excerpted from NightBorn by Theresa Cheung, Collective Ink, 2025. Reprinted with permission.

10 Things You Might Not Know About My Debut Novel NightBorn

Writing NightBorn has been one of the most transformative and daring experiences of my career. Many readers know me for my dream dictionaries and spiritual nonfiction, but stepping into fiction opened up an entirely different world - one full of surprises, detours, and hidden meanings.

1. The idea came from a single question my daughter inspired and a real life dream hacking campaign.

My daughter devours dark, gothic fantasies but refuses to read my nonfiction. One day I wondered: What if I taught dream decoding through a story she’d actually want to read? That question unlocked the entire novel. I'd also long been fascinated by a 2006 marketing hoax called thisman.org where a sketch of a man was posted online with the question have you dreamed of this man and thousands of people said they had.

2. Every major character is rooted in Jungian psychology.

Alice Sinclair and the other key characters are intentionally shaped around Jungian archetypes. Their choices and conflicts mirror the symbolic themes I’ve studied for decades even if readers don’t immediately notice.

3. The book doubles as a “hidden” dream manual.

Beneath the thriller plot, the conversations and dream scenes contain real dreamwork techniques. If readers follow the symbols closely, they’ll find authentic guidance on interpreting their own dreams.

4. The tagline“Some dreams must be set free. Nightmares, after all are dreams too”—came to me in a dream.

I woke one morning with those words in my mind, and they became the soul of the story. It captured both the emotional arc of Alice and the message I wanted to share about the subconscious.

5. The cover was designed by my son-in-law.

We had no budget for a designer, so he offered to try. What he created is striking, eerie, and unforgettable. Readers often tell me it triggers dream recall which delights me to no end.

6. My traditional publishers didn’t want me writing fiction.

After decades of nonfiction success, they were hesitant about me stepping outside the genre they associated me with. Their gentle “no” became the push I needed to take an indie route and trust my creative instincts.

7. The book took nearly five years to complete.

I wrote NightBorn in the spaces between my nonfiction deadlines. There were rewrites, pauses, self-doubt, and moments I wondered if it would ever be finished. But the story simply refused to be abandoned. It quite literally haunted me and often felt like it was a message from the future.

8. Alice Sinclair’s academic background mirrors a path I almost took.

I considered becoming a university academic before choosing writing full-time. Exploring that path through Alice let me revisit a version of myself who took a different route in life.

9. Early readers reported remembering their dreams more vividly.

This was the most magical surprise of all. Many readers and reviewers said the book triggered detailed dream recall for the first time in years. For someone who has devoted her life to dreamwork, that feedback was a dream come true, if you forgive the pun but dreams love to pun.

10. NightBorn is only the beginning.

This novel opened a creative door I never intend to close. I’m already exploring ideas that go even further into consciousness, symbolism, and the shadowy spaces between waking and dreaming. Writing NightBorn was my leap of faith - a novel born out of passion, intuition, and a lifelong love of the dreaming mind. I hope you enjoy discovering its layers as much as I loved weaving them. Wishing you wild and wonderful dreams.

About the Author

Theresa Cheung is an internationally bestselling author and public speaker. She has been writing about spirituality, dreams and the paranormal for the past 25 years, and was listed by Watkins Mind Body and Spirit magazine as one of the 100 most spiritually influential living people in 2023. She has a degree in Theology and English from Kings College, Cambridge University, frequently collaborating with leading scientists and neuroscientists researching consciousness.

Theresa is regularly featured in national newspapers and magazines, and she is a frequent radio, podcast and television guest and ITV: This Morning’s regular dream decoding expert. She hosts her own popular spiritual podcast called White Shores and weekly live UK Health Radio Show: The Healing Power of Your Dreams.

Her latest book is the paranormal thriller, NightBorn, available at Amazon US and Amazon UK.

You can visit her website at www.theresacheung.com or connect with her on X, Facebook, Instagram or Goodreads.

Sponsored By:

Book Spotlight: Christmas in Newfoundland 3 by Mike Martin

Christmas traditions, old and new from Sgt. Windflower and his family and friends.

 

Sgt. Windflower loves Christmas and we’re happy to share what he and his family and friends do at Christmastime in Grand Bank or Marystown or Ramea, Newfoundland. Some of the stories feature Windflower and Sheila’s adorable daughters and of course Eddie Tizzard and his family make several spotlight appearances. Other stories take you back to Christmas seasons of many years long past and there’s even a return of a fabulous Newfoundland tradition, the Mummers. Christmas is a time to celebrate but it is also a time to reminisce and remember. We hope that it will bring back pleasant memories for you and your family to share at Christmas and throughout the year. Come celebrate Christmas in Newfoundland with Sgt. Windflower Mysteries.

Read sample here.

Christmas in Newfoundland is available at Amazon.

Book Excerpt

A Christmas Wish

Richard Tizzard gazed out at the ocean from his small home in Grand Bank, Newfoundland. The wind was high, and the waves were crashing against the shore, sending spray up into the air. Already, his house had a thick coating of the stuff on the side facing the water and he could hear it creaking and groaning against this relentless onslaught.

But inside, with the wood stove piled high, Richard and his old dog, Rusty, were perfectly comfortable and content. Both of them were coming to the end of their lives and Richard had accepted that almost completely. His children were trying to keep him hanging on as long as possible, but he was fine with what he knew was an inevitable outcome. 

He loved the quote by the great Bengali poet, Rabindranath Tagore that his friend, Doctor Vijay Sanjay had shared with him. He smiled to himself as he repeated it to Rusty. “’Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp as dawn has come’.” Rusty seemed to smile, too, at this saying. 

It wasn’t that he wanted to go, but Richard Tizzard was getting himself ready. In the meantime, he planned to enjoy his family to the upmost. His two daughters, Margaret and Brenda lived in Grand Bank with their almost grown-up families. His son, Eddie, lived in Marystown now with his wife Carrie and their two children. Little Hughie was almost two and the joy of Richard’s life while the baby, Sophie, was quickly overtaking her brother as his favourite. 

He smiled again when he thought about Eddie and his young family. It reminded him of when he had a young family of his own back in the tiny community of Ramea. Ramea is and was a small village off the southwest coast of Newfoundland that was only accessible by ferry. It did, however, have a rich fishing ground nearby and for many years provided a good livelihood for Richard and his four brothers, all of whom fished the abundant waters for many years.

But in the early 1990’s the inshore cod fishery collapsed and by 1992, when the cod moratorium was declared, all of them were out of work. The older brothers retired their boats and licenses and took the government support that was offered. Richard was too young for that, so he used the payout to move to Grand Bank. First, he worked in the fishing industry on a crew of a longliner operating out of Marystown. But when that work diminished, he went back to his true love, carpentry and woodworking.

He still did a little personal work on the side but his days of working for a living were over. He enjoyed all his family and the grandchildren tremendously, but the truth was that all he had left today were memories. Like many older people he spent a lot of time reminiscing and remembering these days. And as it was getting near Christmas, he thought a lot about Christmas from his past.

Growing up in his mom and dad’s saltbox house in Ramea. Christmas was a very quiet and peaceful affair. But he still remembered it fondly as one of the nicest times of the year. His father and older brothers were fishermen, so the winter was a slow season. They fixed their nets and did a few odd jobs around the house, but most of their time was spent cutting and splitting wood for the cast iron woodstove that heated their home and was action central for all cooking and baking.

About two weeks before Christmas his mother would start her Christmas baking. Shortbread cookies, mince pies and next year’s Christmas cakes. This year’s cakes were all ready to be unwrapped in a week or so and that would begin the ‘season of eating’ his dad called it. Richard loved the smell of the cookies and cakes as the days went by and to hear his mother singing, usually some old hymn or Christmas song like Angels We Have Heard on High or Away in a Manger. 

The men would continue their work as usual until a few days before Christmas Day. Then, his father would announce that it was time to get their tree and the whole family, except his mother, who was almost literally chained to the stove in the kitchen, would head out with their horse and sleigh to find a Christmas tree. They didn’t have to go far.

The houses in Ramea were built mostly around the harbour in sheltered nooks and crannies out of the constant wind. That meant almost all the land above them was still heavily forested with an abundance of Balsam firs that made the perfect Christmas trees. His father would lead the procession into the forest, but the tradition in the Tizzard family was that all the children would draw straws to see would pick their tree. The year Richard drew the shortest straw he was so excited he almost peed his pants.

As the others urged him on, making suggestions, Richard took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them and turned around, he saw it. A six-foot Balsam fir with many branches that spread out from top to bottom. “That’s it,” he cried, and everyone cheered. They cut it down and put it on the back of the sleigh to go home. When they arrived, their mom had made a pot of hot cocoa and while the tree was drying out in a corner they sat around and enjoyed their sweet, hot treat with some home-made cookies.

When Richard closed his eyes today, he could still smell that Christmas tree in their kitchen and taste that delicious hot cocoa. He remembered his mom sitting by herself next to the stove smiling. That was one of her last Christmas holidays with them, he recalled. She died like so many others at that time from complications in the birth of his youngest sister. Christmas was never quite the same in their household after that.

– Excerpted from Christmas in Newfoundland 3 by Mike Martin, Ottawa Press and Publishing, 2025. Reprinted with permission. 

About the Author

Mike Martin was born in St. John’s, NL on the east coast of Canada and now lives and works in Ottawa, Ontario. He is a long-time freelance writer and his articles and essays have appeared in newspapers, magazines and online across Canada as well as in the United States and New Zealand. He is the award-winning author of the best-selling Sgt. Windflower Mystery series, set in beautiful Grand Bank. There are now 16 books in this light mystery series with the publication of Friends are Forever. A Tangled Web was shortlisted in 2017 for the best light mystery of the year, and Darkest Before the Dawn won the 2019 Bony Blithe Light Mystery Award. All That Glitters was shortlisted for the LOLA 2024 Must Read Book of the year award. Some Sgt. Windflower Mysteries are now available as audiobooks and the latest Darkest Before the Dawn was released as an audiobook in 2024. All audiobooks are available from Audible in Canada and around the world. Mike is Past Chair of the Board of Crime Writers of Canada, a national organization promoting Canadian crime and mystery writers and a member of the Newfoundland Writers’ Guild and Capital Crime Writers. His latest book is Christmas in Newfoundland 3: Sgt. Windflower Holiday Tales. Visit Mike’s website at www.sgtwindflowermysteries.com. Connect with him at X and Facebook.

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Creativity Has Gone to the Dogs by author Celeste Fenton

 

Two mysteries. One fight for survival. And danger closing in from both sides of the sea.

Gabby Heart travels to a remote Scottish castle with her best friend, Abe—a bestselling children’s author—expecting misty views, historic charm, and quiet time to plan their next book series. But Brantmar Castle holds more than ghosts of the past. When the women are taken hostage, Gabby must rely on her instincts, her resilience, and the help of men who may not deserve her trust to survive. Meanwhile, on Dost Island, young residents are vanishing without a trace. As those left behind scramble for answers, unsettling clues emerge—leading to a dark motive no one could have predicted. From the storm-swept highlands of Scotland to the rocky shores of New England, Captive Heart at Brantmar Castle blends mystery, emotional grit, simmering romance, and humor, in a story where secrets run deep... and time is running out.

Purchase a copy of Captive Heart at Brantmar Castle

Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/Captive-Heart-Brantmar-Castle-Mysteries/dp/B0FNNF1N9L

Barnes & Noble:  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/captive-heart-at-brantmar-castle-celeste-fenton/1148429830

Books-a-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Captive-Heart-Brantmar-Castle/Celeste-Fenton/9798292238829

You can also add this to your GoodReads reading list

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/241919370-captive-heart-at-brantmar-castle?from_search=true&from_srp=true&qid=pApPHZoBlz&rank=8

 

Creativity Has Gone to the Dogs

(How Daily Dog Walks Spark Creativity)

Some writers have muses. I have a dog. Her name is Gemma—my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, my constant companion, and the furry little dictator who keeps me from becoming a statue fused to my red leather sofa. When I’m in writing mode, time stops existing. Hours pass. I haven’t eaten. I haven’t blinked. My legs have forgotten what circulation feels like. I’m deep in a scene with Gabby and Abe when suddenly—thud! A small, insistent head bumps my elbow.

Gemma’s saying, “Hey! Pay attention to me! I’m here! Also, I have a bladder.” I sigh. I’m at the good part. But those brown eyes are impossible to ignore, so I obey her royal command. Sometimes I grumble. Even when I grumble, tell her she has the worst timing, Gemma just wags her tail and trots toward the door, certain that the world—and my sanity—await us outside. And as soon as we step out, I know she’s right.

The air hits me like a reset button. I hear the birds singing, see the cranes stepping gracefully across the road, the squirrels squawking like gossiping neighbors. Gemma’s nose hits the ground—she’s already on the trail of a lizard. My shoulders loosen. My breathing slows. The tension I didn’t even realize I was holding starts to melt away. We wander past the lake. A log floats lazily near the bank—but wait… the log blinks. Alligator. Florida life: never dull.

Some days, the sun is so hot my skin feels as if it might sizzle like bacon. Gemma pants, her little pink tongue hanging out, but she’s determined to finish the route. We make it to the shade of an old oak, its branches sprawling like a green umbrella over the street. The azaleas are blooming—lavender and pink against the sunny yellow of the Mexican petunias. Suddenly, I remember why I love this ritual. Because this is where the thinking happens. The untangling.

As we walk, the next plot twist slips quietly into place. A line of dialogue I’ve been struggling with finally lands. Sometimes I run into neighbors. We talk. I gather bits of gossip that might (purely coincidentally, of course) find their way into a future chapter. I comfort a neighbor who hasn’t been feeling well, and it feels good to focus on someone other than myself—or Gabby, Lola, or Lavanda—and my endless list of plot holes.

Gemma visits with her dog friends—tails wagging, noses bumping, butts sniffing, the pups ecstatic about simply being. Their joy is contagious. By the time we circle back home, I feel lighter. Clearer. Refreshed. Writing can trap us inside our heads, looping through words and worries. Gemma drags me—sometimes literally—back into the real world. She reminds me that life isn’t meant to be lived in front of a glowing screen. It’s meant to be walked through, sniffed, observed, laughed at, and sometimes, dodged (especially if it’s the skunk that lives in the woods around the corner). These walks are more than exercise. They’re breathing space for the soul—and the imagination. When I come back, I don’t just feel better physically; I write better. My mind feels cleansed. The rhythm of walking somehow shakes loose the next scene, the next spark, the next solution.

So yes, my creativity has gone to the dogs—and I’m grateful for it.

Because every day, Gemma reminds me to step away from my corner of the couch where my laptop and I live, to breathe, to look, to live. She makes sure I find balance between the deadlines and the daydreams, the hustle and the heart.

And as any writer (or dog) will tell you—sometimes the best ideas don’t come from sitting still. They come from putting one paw, or one foot, in front of the other. So now it’s your turn. Do you have a furry or feathered friend that keeps you grounded? I’d love for you to share in the comments—maybe a picture too. Or contact me at https://celestefenton.com/contact or on social media.

 

 

About the Author, Celeste Fenton

Celeste Fenton holds an M.Ed. and Ph.D. in education and has over thirty years’ experience in higher education. Her writing is fueled by a lifelong love of mystery, a fascination with the complexities of the human heart, and just enough real-world experience to keep things interesting. A widow, mother of adult twin sons, proud grandmother, dog lover, and semi-retired professor living in Florida, she weaves imagination with insight to create stories that are both emotionally rich and laced with suspense.

When she’s not writing, reading, or plotting her next twist, she’s often off exploring small towns across America—setting out solo for month-long adventures, much to the awe (and occasional alarm) of friends and family. Her latest obsessions include escape rooms, mastering the perfect miter cut for a DIY bathroom remodel, and making the impossible decision of where to travel next.

You can follow the author at:

Website: https://celestefenton.com/

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/people/Celeste-Fenton-Mysteries-of-a-Heart

IG: https://www.instagram.com/celestefentonwrites/

What is Magick Realism? by author Sherri L. Dodd

 

 

At the age of eight, Arista Kelly was frantically swept up by her parents and whisked off to an isolated town in the California redwoods. Two days later, her parents were gone. Now at the age of twenty-three, she has settled quite nicely into an eclectic lifestyle, much like her great aunt, and guardian since childhood, Bethie. She enjoys the use of herbs and crystals to help her commune with the energy and nature around her and finds pleasure in the company of her beloved pet, Royal. Usually quite satisfied with her mundane life high in the Santa Cruz Mountains, life becomes unsettling when a new recurring vision of an ominous tattoo as well as increased activity from the ghostly presence within her own cottage invade her once-harmonious existence. But life in this mountain sanctuary takes an even darker turn when the body of Arista's former classmate is found in the nearby river. As other young women fall prey to a suspected serial killer, Arista realizes that the terror is coming to her.

Purchase a copy of Murder Under Redwood Moon

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Under-Redwood-Moon-Paranormal/dp/1685133886

Barnes & Noble:  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/murder-under-redwood-moon-sherri-l-dodd/

Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/murder-under-redwood-moon-a-thrilling-paranormal-murder-mystery-sherri-l-dodd/21145506

You can also add this to your GoodReads reading list

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/206022905-murder-under-redwood-moon

What is Magick Realism?

Google makes defining magick realism on paper quite easy. You take the first part – magick – and realize that adding a ‘k’ to the word known for black silk hats containing plush white bunnies makes it into a reference toward occult or spiritual practice. The second word – realism – is accepting a situation as it is and being prepared to deal with it.

 “Did you say occult?” you may ask in a recoil, with either your heartrate picking up or your mind shutting down further discussion. I do not blame you. The occult has long been associated with demons and black magick. But it also consists of fun pastimes like astrology or tarot readings when you feel that random urge to meet with a mystical woman to find out about the promotion you applied for. Come Monday, all is confirmed by your generous manager. These readings are even more fun when they involve your love life, as a friend of mine found out when she visited a reputable seer. Feeling unwanted after her recent breakup, she was pleased to discover that she would soon meet her future husband and was given his profession and initials. About three months later, her and I are enjoying the late-eighties downtown dance scene when she totally hits it off with a random guy. By the end of the night, she realized that while it was not quite the profession as she had envisioned it, his career matched, as did one initial. By the next week, she found their astrology signs paired well, too. While the details were intriguing it was the actual chemistry that led to their engagement the following year. Only then did she realize his surname before adoption matched the missing initial. The seer’s premonition, complete.

 Magick realism is also rooted in contact with deceased loved ones. My favorite magickal moment happened on what would have been my revered grandmother’s hundredth birthday. Late-afternoon, I ‘told’ her how much I missed her and asked for a sign that she heard me. Not expecting the ‘response’ anytime soon, I donned a swimsuit and soaked in the hot tub with my husband. With no rain in the forecast, due to it being out of season and a drought, within thirty minutes of my request, a small shower trickled down upon us from a passing cloud, complete with that fresh natural scent. My grandmother loved rain as much as I, so it was easy for me to see the magick realism of the moment. Further, we watched the small cloud slowly dissipate as it drifted from our vicinity, giving no one else the experience.

 For me, magick realism is seeing the world beyond the mundane. Sure, we can explain away most things with dry, grounded, and scientific reasoning. But why? When there is happenstance, so flukey, that you scratch your head with a scrutinizing suspicion, why lose out on a chance for a novel experience? Yes, keep one foot on the ground, as you do not want to end up being a regular in the evaluation ward, but to work on rekindling that fantastical perspective you had as a child can bring a richness to your life that makes it just a little bit brighter.

About the Author, Sherri Dodd

Sherri was raised in southeast Texas. Walking barefoot most days and catching crawdads as they swam the creek beds, she had a love for all things free and natural. Her childhood ran rampant with talk of ghosts, demons, and backcountry folklore. This inspired her first short story for sale about a poisonous flower that shot toxins onto children as they smelled it. Her classmate bought it for all the change in his pocket. It was not long after that her mother packed the two of them up and headed to the central coast of California. She has ping-ponged throughout the area ever since.

Her first real step into writing was the non-fiction fitness book, Mom Looks Great – The Fitness Program for Moms published in 2005, and maintaining its accompanying blog. Now, transmuting the grief of her father's passing, she has branched into Fiction, specifically the genre of Paranormal Thriller with generous dashes of Magick Realism! Her Murder, Tea & Crystals Trilogy released book one - Murder Under Redwood Moon - in March 2024. Book two - Moonset on Desert Sands - released in March 2025, and the final book in the series – Hummingbird Moonrise – became #1 New Release in Occult Supernatural on Amazon in October 2025!

You can follow the author at:

Website: www.sherridodd.com

Instagram: @Sherri.Dodd.Author  https://www.instagram.com/sherri.dodd.author/

10 Things You Might Not Know About One Foot in the Ether: Whispers of the Pendle Witches by Kayleigh Kavanagh

  

Powerful bloodlines tied by Fate, who can’t be free even in death...

 

Demdike and Chattox, famed witches of Pendle Forest, might be dead, but they’re not gone. Bound to their bloodline, they’ve spent the past two and a half centuries watching over their descendants, waiting for when they’ll be needed. When 14 year old Yana comes into her psychic abilities and inherits the ‘eyes of the Chattox family’, she can see the long-dead witches, as well as an encroaching evil. But even with this foreknowledge, she’s trapped by marriage interviews and being unable to see her own future, and more importantly, whoever her future husband will be. 

Demdike’s healing gifts are alive and working in Claire, a mid-30s midwife well renowned for her skills and holding her tongue. The Secrets of Pendle are safe with her and her midwives. However, when surgeons looking to make standardisation the norm encroach on her territory, she soon realises how, even a respected woman is vulnerable in a patriarchal system. The two descendants must come together to protect the ones they love from an ancient evil, all whilst balancing their lives and the cruelties of being a woman in a man’s world. Set in late 1800s NW England, this book has all the elements of the area: strong, hardy people, atmospheric horror and days as unpredictable as the weather.  

One Foot in the Ether: Whispers of the Pendle Witches is available at Amazon.

Book Excerpt

She hadn’t known what to expect from death. No one did. Still, none of her previous thoughts could have come close. This, and she was definitely having an atypical experience. For most souls, death was a release from the mortal coil. Complete separation from the life they’d once lived. She hadn't been so lucky. 

Some parts of the system had been the same. Her soul had been scooped up. Taken somewhere. She vaguely recalled going over her life and having events explained. Gaining an understanding of the why; to the point she was no longer angry about things which had once made her furious. However, the entire encounter was now a blur. 

The powers that be had done this on purpose, but the awareness lingered instinctively. Either way, she knew she'd died, gone to the other place, and then thrown back. Before they could send her along to wherever she should have gone next. There'd been an issue. A snag. One which stopped her from moving along to the happy, bliss-filled world of the nether realm. Said snag bore one name: Chattox. Even in death, her frenemy was still causing her bloody issues.

“Hey, Demdike, how’s non-life treating you?”

Demdike didn’t answer, suddenly filled with the desire to bludgeon the other woman. However, she knew from experience it would be pointless. They weren’t physical beings any longer—even if they were still tied to the physical world. Unless she was willing to destroy the other's soul, the spirit could reform. A tempting idea some days; this non-life was enough to make even the most patient saint a little homicidal. However, even in her worse moments, she wasn't willing to land the final blow.

“The same way it’s been treating me for the past two and a half hundred years,” she eventually returned. Still not looking at the other, less she finally indulged her violent impulses.

“They’re having a bake sale soon, at the local church. Gods, I miss cake.”

Demdike sighed. The sad part was she couldn’t even get rid of the other. Without Chattox, she would be entirely alone in this exhausting existence.

“Their cake isn’t anything like the one we used to have. They have more access to sugar, for starters.”

Demdike wasn’t even going to comment on the reasons why. King James I's and his ilk had done more than destroy her life. Stretching his greedy grip across the world. From the supposed lands of gold to the continent of darkness, James I's influence had impacted many. She couldn't help but feel for the poor souls stolen from these other countries. Their plights differed from the witch trials, but suffering was a universal language.

She would've liked to aid them, but she couldn't even help herself. There was no one to hear her, anyway. Well, other than Chattox, but as she was in the exact same situation. It was no different than voicing her words to the void. Except the void didn’t reply. 

“Aye, I know, but it doesn’t mean I don’t miss the little pleasures. Few and far between, though they were.”

Demdike hummed. This was a conversation they’d had many times. When their new existence was mostly just the two of them, they often spoke of their past. Their past life, to be specific. A lot of it seemed funny now. Maybe it was their time in the decompression zone post life—or maybe it was simply the effect of being so removed from what they’d once been—but matters of life and death were suddenly much less dramatic and far funnier when you were already dead. Fighting over coin, linens, and food were memories they could now look back on and find humour in. 

Though she also missed cake, death was a lot simpler. Mostly. There was no fighting for survival when you simply just were. No hunger to push you forward or pain to keep you still. As much as she’d once lived with one foot in the ether, having both on death's side was much simpler. If you ignored the limited company. Or how she feared her own mind and sense of self were slowly eroding over time. As though, without a physical body, she was slowly dispersing into nothingness; it was just taking a little longer.

– Excerpted from One Foot in the Ether: Whispers of the Pendle Witches by Kayleigh Kavanagh, Kayleigh Kavanagh, 2025. Reprinted with permission.

 10 Things You Might Not Know About One Foot in the Ether:

Whispers of the Pendle Witches

1. The book was originally meant to be set exactly two hundred years after the trials in 1812, but after the author learnt more about the time period, set it later for historical accuracy.

2. Schools were a big push by Queen Victoria, and this enabled a lot of women and the poorer populous to gain an education. William was originally meant to introduce the idea of schools to the north. However, when the book had to be set later than 1812, he then became someone in support of her movement who wanted to ensure even the poorest of his community could gain an education.

3. There were several campaigns to discredit midwives, despite their having much better results (compared to the doctors). Just like Claire experienced, the women were shown as incompetent and dangerous, even though the doctors had higher death rates. Repeated smear campaigns against the midwives eventually helped institute standardisation as expectant mothers (and fathers) chose hospitals as the ‘safer’ place to give birth. I think Claire would be both happy and unhappy about this, as the NHS was a dream of hers, and it keeps her women safe, but men being involved in the delivery process is something she would still be vehemently against. 

4. The revival of the spiritualist movement in the late 1800s was key to the later Wicca religion. The two are both credited with the spiritual movements we see today, and the encouragement towards alternative healing, which is primarily focused on foods and herbs. The remedies the cunning folk (Demdike and Chattox) used to use and were accused of witchcraft for.  

5. The cunning folk were very similar to shamanic healers in that they created ‘natural remedies’ from the earth and what was available to them and helped with healing spiritual matters. From melancholy and low spirits (what we would now recognise as depression) to removing and fighting invading spirits and demons. They were a jack of all trades and considered vital to the community. Until they weren’t. Supposed demonic possessions did rise in their absence though…

6. Demdike is still believed to haunt the places she lived and died, and this occultist belief informed the book and made me think, ‘why might she still be around’.

7. Chattox and Demdike were considered rivals in life, but by modern standards, they would be considered ‘sister witches,’ and this filtered into the novel, making them more like sisters who irritated one another rather than archenemies.

8. Some people think Device was a misrecorded name, and their surname was actually Davies (a popular Northern surname). Hence, why the midwife is named Claire Davies.

9. Lord James was initially meant to be a reincarnated James Device, or Nowell, but this idea was later scrapped. Instead, James was hinted as being Yana’s youngest sibling in the epilogue who was born after the cleansing ritual, and Nowell is off suffering in his afterlife.

10. Chattox accidentally spoils big reveals because she’s terrible at reading the room despite her gifts of foresight.

 

About the Author

 

Kayleigh Kavanagh is a disabled writer from the North-West of England. Growing up in the area, she learnt a lot about the Pendle Witches and launched her debut novel around their life story. Her main writing genres are fantasy and romance, but she loves stories in all formats and genres. Kayleigh hopes to one day be able to share the many ideas dancing around in her head with the world.

Her latest book is the historical fantasy, One Foot in the Ether: Whispers of the Pendle Witches. 

You can visit her on Facebook, Instagram, Goodreads and Tiktok. 

 

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