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 “Wherever You Go”
The Storyteller, Volume VII
I walked around; they got out of the car, too, wondering if it all was a big waste of time.
“… and with the other two teams going to God knows what!” I heard Walter complaining.
I began to feel nauseated, for some unknown reason, and leaned on a tree. A bullet hit the tree, next to my face, sending splinters all around my head.
“Run for cover!” Kelly yelled, taking her gun out.
The officers returned fire; someone was shooting at us from inside the house. I hid behind that same tree; my heart began racing.
“Oh God, what now?” I said to myself.
“Stay down, Jake,” Carl said next to me.
I nodded.
I turned to look at the side of the house from my hideout and saw Tom pointing at something behind that old house. I paid attention to some noise coming from that direction; it seemed to me that there was a river running behind the house.
I looked at Tom; he was still pointing in the same direction.
Now? You want me to go there NOW? Shit.
I started running for the side of the house.
“Jake! What the hell are you doing? Come back!” Carl yelled behind me.
I covered my head and ducked while I ran in the open.
“Backup is on the way! Stay where you are, kid!” Walter shouted from behind the car, where he was taking cover with Kelly.
“What is it Jake?” Kelly asked me.
I didn’t stop to answer; I kept on running to where my brother was.
I finally made it to the side of the house and stopped there, gasping for air. A couple of bullets went through the rotten wooden boards, not far from me. It seemed that whoever was shooting could see me through the cracks in the wood. I ducked again and turned to look at where Tom had been standing a minute ago.
He was standing by the shore of a river that flowed rather rapidly, for my taste. The water next to Tom was white with foam.
You’ve got to be kidding me….
Tom pointed at the river; I got up and—once more—I began to run to where my brother was. There was no way I was going to get myself in that river.
Maybe I could talk Tom out of making me.
“Stop running, damn it!” I heard Carl behind me; he was still trying to catch up.
It seemed he had been following me the whole time. I ran down the small hill, toward the river. Tom never looked at me, not once. He always seemed to look in the direction he pointed at; I wondered if it all was some sort of a hallucination on my part.
As soon as I got close, Tom jumped into the water and disappeared in it.
“Oh God! Don’t let him drown!” I yelled, without thinking Tom was already dead.
I jumped into the river without any hesitation. All I could think of was getting my brother out of the water.
As soon as I got in that river, I felt myself being swept away by the strong current; I barely made it to the surface to get some air. Rocks and tree limbs made me slow down, but still I was going downstream, and fast. I saw my brother, standing on the other side of the river, pointing again.
Oh God, give me strength.
I started swimming as vigorously as I could to get to the other side of the river. After a while I was able to hold on to some rocks; I held onto them while trying to catch my breath. My hands got cut on the sharp edges of the rocks but I didn’t feel a thing with all the commotion going on around me.
Tom was not far from me; he was still on the other side. I started to move slowly to where he was, knowing that one false move would send me on my way downriver, making me lose my objective.
After a minute—that seemed to last forever—my feet touched the ground below. I was able to hold on to some tree roots and pulled myself closer to shore. I saw what Tom was pointing at; it looked like a large potato sack caught up in the same roots I had used to get there.
I made it to that big bag and touched it; I could have sworn it moved, but it might have been just the strong current moving it.
I saw a string around the top of it. I undid the knot and the bag suddenly opened. I saw a man inside it; I thought it had to have been one of the corpses they were looking for. I had never seen a dead body before; his face was totally white and his lips were a little blue. He had dark circles around his eyes.
I tried backing up from it.
The man suddenly opened his eyes; they were the eyes of a madman, shot with blood, and a pair of arms came out of the bag at the same time he let out a horrific growl.
He embraced me with extreme force; knocking the air out of my lungs.
===========================
www.storytellersbookclub.com