Martha Whittington invites readers to take a break from the doldrums of daily routine and delve into a world where ordinary lives are blindsided by the bizarre.
The Storyteller provides a feast of paranormal delights that satisfy the imagination through every intriguing tale, delving into the lives of a colorful variety of people who suddenly find themselves in unsettling situations.
Throughout The Storyteller, Whittington waves a macabre tapestry of drama, suspense and fast-paced action. From the dangers of the Egyptian desert to the cold streets of New York, she takes readers on a thrilling journey along the knife-edge between this world and the unknown. A captivating read for the fans of the disturbingly weird.
The Storyteller delivers chills and thrills at the turn of each page.
Martha Whittington was born and raised in Monterrey, Mexico; at 21 years old she decided to ‘go see the world’; thus beginning an incredible tour around the world that lasted for a few years. She graduated from College majoring in Organizational Communication and has a Degree specializing in Public Relations.
She comes from a family of published writers; at a very young age Martha began writing short stories that made it to international Poetry and Short Novel contests.
Writing has always been a fun and loving hobby to her. She currently resides in the US.
Fragment taken from the story “A Touch Without A Feel”
The Storyteller, Volume V
A few knocks on the door wake me up. I rub my face, trying to remember the dream I just had.
I can’t remember a thing.
There are more knocks on the door; I get up.
Maybe Paul and Frank have more questions for me. I don’t even know what time it is, but it’s still dark outside.
I open the door. I see Jeff there.
He pushes the door open before I can react.
I back up.
“I’ll say what I have to say and then I’ll kill you!”
He closes the door behind him.
“Why did you attack me back in the cemetery? How can you be so sure I killed Michelle? You don’t even know me, Jeff.”
He paces back and forth; I can smell alcohol on him.
“Shut up! It was you! I know it; it had to be you. Who else?”
“I don’t know who else; listen, why don’t you go back home and—”
He pulls a gun from his jacket and aims it at me.
“I thought you said we talk first….”
“No … we don’t talk! I talk. And then I shoot you. She was my life! You came back to kill her because you couldn’t stand Michelle marrying me….,” he begins to sob.
“I killed no one. You are too drunk to reason….”
“You broke her heart; it was very hard for me to make her love me! But she did love me … and I saw them putting her in a cold, dirt hole on the same day I was supposed to be marrying her….”
He comes closer to me; I back up a little. I feel the wall behind me.
“I’m sorry about that, Jeff….”
“No, you are not! You probably thought if you couldn’t have her, then no one else would! She was carrying my child, you son of a bitch!”
I try to say something but before I can do it, he fires the gun.
The bullet hits me in the head; it feels like an explosion. I fall over, in slow motion, on the bedside table and knock down a lamp on my way to the floor.
I land on the floor, face down. My eyes are still open; my left temple is burning up. I hear a commotion of people rushing inside. I hear Jeff screaming; they are restraining him now.
A police officer in uniform turns me over. I stare blankly at the ceiling; I can’t move.
I can’t think.
Michelle walks behind the police officer; I can see he’s using his radio to call an ambulance. His hand goes to my neck, looking for pulse.
Still a rookie. Two children. Afraid to die. Adrenaline rush. Served in Gulf War. Very sociable. Purple Heart. Joker. Full of life. Smoker. House on the beach. Old soul.
His images are now gone from my mind; they went right through me. I look at Michelle; she wears her wedding gown.
She’s the most beautiful vision ever. I’m ready to go with her.
She smiles at me and leans over me. She softly caresses the side of my face; she talks to me like she used to do to calm me down. She now hums a lullaby for me and puts her hand on my eyes to close them.
She is still a touch without a feel.
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