Abby Normal Book Tour & Giveaway

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Welcome to my Forty-Ninth Hosting for Silver Dagger Book Tours!

One of my favorite genres, HORROR!!
I love it! 
Below I've included a sweet excerpt for you to peruse - if you dare 💀

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Abby Normal 

The Abby Normal Series Book 1 

by Samuel Thomas Fraser 

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Horror 

Abby Henderson has lived her whole life under a dark cloud. When she was born, a demon called the Deacon claimed her family as his property. When she turned 13, she was traumatized by an ominous psychic vision. When she turned 14, her dad had a psychotic breakdown and tried to kill her.

She’s just turned 25, and now people are dying all around her.

This is all according to the Deacon’s plan. He believes that Abby is the key to a ritual that will unleash an ancient evil on the world, and he will stop at nothing to make sure that ritual succeeds.

Now, Abby is in the fight of her life against an enemy that defies all reason. Together with her pious girlfriend, her magic-slinging ex-teacher, and a hotheaded Amazon with a machete, Abby will have to use every trick in the book to outlast the Deacon. Because if she can’t, her next birthday is going to be Hell. 

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In the years to come, Abby would often think back to this night, and she would curse herself for not seeing the warning signs.

The first thing she should have noticed, as she walked down the hall, was the night light right outside the bathroom. As she got near it, it buzzed and flickered wildly, creating a dizzying orange strobe effect. But Abby barely noticed; the house was old, and the wiring was less than reliable.

The second thing she should have noticed, as she closed the bathroom door, was the noise. A low, groaning whisper seemed to come from behind the walls. It was the same collection of sounds, repeated over and over: Kha’al Azna’ghal ixxi. Kha’al Azna’ghal ixxi. Kha’al Azna’ghal ixxi. Again, Abby ignored this. The pipes in the house made a lot of weird noises in the dead of night, and the wind was really howling outside. It was surely just a breeze blowing around the house that made it sound like whispering.

The third thing she should have noticed, as she sat down, was how cold it got. The toilet seat felt like it was made of ice, and Abby felt a shiver run up her entire body. Her teeth chattered and she had to tuck her hands under her arms for warmth. But still, she put this down to the house. Her parents had often complained of a distinct draught in this part of the house, and the heating was completely knackered.

As she flushed and went to wash her hands, Abby assured herself that the night of ghost stories, bad weather, and spooky TV was simply starting to play tricks on her. There was nothing lurking in the shadows waiting to grab her. Besides, she had other things on her mind: she knew a thousand ghost stories by heart, but she still had to pick one that would scare the hell out of her friends. Bloody hook on the door handle? Too obvious. Caller inside the house? Way overdone. Killer... in the... back... car... seat...?

Suddenly, the room tilted dangerously. Abby’s legs went numb and she grabbed the vanity to keep herself from falling. With hands and a head that were suddenly made of lead, she turned off the water and pulled herself back up. She tried to yawn but closed her mouth as soon as she opened it. She wanted to throw up all of a sudden, and opening her mouth would surely break the seal.

Abby looked in the mirror to see if she could see what was wrong. But what she saw looking back at her was more wrong than anything she could have dreamed.

There was no Abby and no bathroom on the other side of the mirror. There was instead a large, decrepit hospital room with cracked tiles in pale white and snotty green. Rusty, leaking pipes snaked up drab concrete pillars to a ceiling fifty feet high. The walls were covered in rows upon rows of strange sigils and pictograms like Abby had never seen.

In the center of the room was an obsidian altar measuring twelve feet by seven. There were no tool marks on its smooth surfaces, and it looked as though nature itself had constructed it that way.

And then she heard the chanting. It was a low, guttural sound, a canid growl with a serpentine back beat. And it was the same odd collection of non-words that she had chalked up to the whispers of the wind not two minutes ago: “Kha’al Azna’ghal ixxi. Kha’al Azna’ghal ixxi. Kha’al Azna’ghal ixxi.” The chanting seemed to come from everywhere at once, but the room was empty.

And then it wasn’t. A horde of weird figures in black robes and blood-red hoods marched across the mirror, close enough that Abby thought she could reach out and touch them. Of course, when she tried, all she felt was the smooth glass. Yet still the figures marched, paying Abby no mind. It was as if the mirror had ceased to be a mirror, and had become a window into some dark, unknown dimension beyond time and space.

The image changed, and Abby jumped back. The hooded figures were standing in a V-formation, facing her. Thin, luminous bands of coloured light surrounded the figures at the front of the V, and when Abby concentrated on the lights, she could instantly tell what the hooded figures were thinking. They were watching her. They wanted her. She couldn’t see their eyes, or much above their mouths, but one look at those auras and she could feel their eyes boring into her. They were still chanting that horrible chant in perfect unison, but lower this time. The words came in a hoarse, whispering chorus. “Kha’al Azna’ghal ixxi. Kha’al Azna’ghal ixxi. Kha’al Azna’ghal ixxi.”

At the very point of the V, one figure was not chanting. His robes were not like the rest, either: rather than black, he wore brilliant white, with gold accents at the collar and sleeves, and a hood of deepest purple. Abby looked past the figure to his black-and-green aura and her eyes read it like a barcode. In the image centers of her brain, she saw a large serpent, the size of a city bus, with the snarling head of an alpha male lion and two gargantuan, veiny bat-like wings on its back. The aura whispered to Abby that this lion-snake creature was the white-robed figure, with all his coverings removed, and that he was in charge. And he was called the Deacon.

Abby didn’t know where these people had come from or why they were so interested in her. She didn’t know how she instinctively knew so much about them, things that she didn’t want to know. She just wanted to get out of here. She backed up, flat against the shower door, and the Deacon started to speak.

Abby decided she’d liked the Deacon better when he was just staring at her. Every sound he made pierced the air like a gunshot, even though he barely spoke above a whisper. The words he spoke made no sense to Abby, but his followers obviously understood perfectly.

“Ko kxx grav ak ra sytqa lach, Kha’ell Ag’haz lekxxo tov godaj-xu. Ek rataz haec Godaj-pael, ek-eli karnu godaju izot ynhash allac cymhael li tazhael. Paka ko sidit karnu.”

As the Deacon spoke, the hooded figures stared even more intently at Abby. Slowly, they began to chant again, but a different chant this time.

“Ka ag’haz dul kxx. Ka ag’haz dul kxx. Ka ag’haz dul kxx.”

Abby knew she had to get away from here. More than anything she wanted to run, to scream for help, but her legs were paralyzed and her mouth refused to make any sound beyond a small, terrified squeak.

The Deacon raised his hand, and the chant grew louder, faster. “Ka ag’haz dul kxx. Ka ag’haz dul kxx. Ka ag’haz dul kxx.”

The hooded figures were working themselves into a frenzy, though they remained stock-still. Their auras intensified, and Abby could see in their deepest hearts the monsters they really were. Hybrids of humanity and cetacean, baying hounds with too many eyes, goat-legged monstrosities with tentacles falling out of their mouths. Every one had a monster in its core, like the Deacon and his lion-snake, and the monsters were rabidly excited.

“Ka ag’haz dul kxx. Ka ag’haz dul kxx. Ka ag’haz dul kxx.”

Abby’s heart was pounding. The hooded figures followed the Deacon’s example and raised their hands, trying to reach for her. The chanting was still getting louder and faster.

“KA AG’HAZ DUL KXX! KA AG’HAZ DUL KXX! KA AG’HAZ DUL KXX!”

And then the impossible happened. The glass separating Abby from this terrifying spectacle dissolved, and the Deacon glided forward like a phantom. His hand reached out of the mirror.

Abby started to cry. Her heart jackhammered against her breastbone and the sweat poured off her like a waterfall. A voice inside her head was screaming, RUN! Open this door and RUN! But she knew she couldn’t. Her whole body was shaking, and she couldn’t get it under control long enough to take two steps in any direction.

“KA AG’HAZ DUL KXX! KA AG’HAZ DUL KXX! KA AG’HAZ DUL KXX! KA AG’HAZ DUL KXX!”

The voice in her head continued: If you can’t run, then scream. Cry, yell, bang on the door, just get somebody’s attention! Just do something, anything, that will help you GET! OUT! OF! HERE!

And then the Deacon spoke again. But this time, Abby understood what he was saying. “Abigail. Abigail... Henderson...”

He knew her name. Dear God, he knew her name. How did he know her name?

Suddenly, Abby found her voice again. And she screamed.

Samuel Thomas Fraser is a writer and actor from the rainy mountains of Vancouver, BC, Canada. A lover of medieval literature and truly weird fiction, Sam holds a BA in English and a Certificate in Creative Writing from Simon Fraser University. His short fiction and poetry has appeared in outlets including The Macabre Museum and Unleashed: Monsters Vs. Zombies Vol. 1. As a performer, he has inhabited such memorable stage roles as Algernon Moncrieff in The Importance of Being Earnest and Charlie Cowell in The Music Man. Abby Normal is his first novel. 

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