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 out there and see the world’; thus beginning an incredible tour around the world that lasted for a few years. She graduated from College majoring in Communications and has a Masters Degree 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, winning a few of them in Spain and England. Writing has always been a fun and loving hobby to her. She currently resides in the US.
Fragment taken from the story “Icarus”
The Storyteller, Volume III
I saw him asleep, leaning on his big table, the one he used to draw in the gray room with no windows. I noticed he was not alone.
The black-winged Fallen Angel I had seen years before was with him. I felt uneasy. Fallen Angels were never up to anything good.
“What are you doing here?” I asked the Fallen Angel.
“So, this one here is your human friend, isn’t he?” he asked me, pointing at the human with his long finger.
“Why do you care?” I asked him.
He seemed older than I remembered him—when I first talked to him—almost ten years before, by the lake. The Fallen Angel stood too close to my friend; I feared he had hurt the human and that was why my friend was not moving.
“I don’t care about him at all; I care about you. Do you remember me?” the Fallen Angel asked me.
“Yes,” I said, still feeling uneasy due to his proximity to my friend.
“Your Mentor has done a good job with you, boy. You have grown to be a True Angel; I’m proud of you, my son,” he smiled, walking toward me.
I backed up.
“Don’t call me that,” I said, getting angry.
“And what else can I call my own flesh and blood then?” he said with a devilish smile while he kept on walking toward me.
My wings touched the opposite wall; there was not enough space for both of us in that small room. There was no more room for me to back up.
“Let’s talk elsewhere,” I said, trying to get him away from the human.
“I like it in here. I have noticed your particular interest in this human over the years.… I want to know why,” he said, looking at my friend.
The Fallen Angel then walked back to my friend and spread his black wings around him, as if he were to embrace him, without touching him.
“Please don’t harm him,” I said, concerned.
“That I cannot promise. What is it with you and humans that attracts you so much to them?” he asked me.
I tried to leave the room; he moved fast toward the door, blocking the way. I looked at him.
“What I told you that day by the lake while you waited for your Mentor was true. You are the firstborn to a Fallen Angel and a True Angel. I am your father.”
“That’s not true—you lie!” I said, wishing I could just fly away, but I could not leave my friend alone with that monster.
“It is no lie. Your mother and I fell in love, and despite our clans opposition, we loved each other in secret, very much,” he began to say, looking into my eyes.
“Stop that. I don’t want to hear it,” I said.
We both saw the human waking up and moving. The Fallen Angel with black wings moved to one side to take a better look at the human.
The human stretched and we heard a few of his bones cracking; he then moved his head to one side and the other and his neck cracked, too. The human then got up and looked around; he turned the lamp on his big table off and walked out of the room. I walked toward the door to follow him; I wanted to go with him.
“Don’t go,” the Fallen Angel said.
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