Inhalt
Midnight Whispers
Copyright © 2016 by Will Neill
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Contact Julie Larson; Agent and distributor at the above website or alternatively visit
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100004843245206
Ordering Information:
Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.
Orders by U.S. trade bookstores and wholesalers. Thank You
Will Neill
Acknowledgements by the Author:
My thanks to my Wife Dianne for her editing skills and keeping me sane when I write also to my friend Julie Larson of storystar.com who promotes and always gives me kind reviews.
A video trailer accompanying this story can be found on YouTube at
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qZizRhV15TU
Please go along and enjoy this and my other Titles.
Synopsis.
Midnight Whispers is a short story about 7 unsolved murders.
Set in Belfast Maine. Two Investigative Reporters begin to unravel the secret of the Murders and the late night caller to a radio station. A young boy who seeming was one of those killed.
‘’An award winning story by Irish Author Will Neill of crime and supernatural events with believable characters and a plot that will keep you guessing until the end’’
Circus of Indie Artists
First Publication in C.I.A 2015
Book Cover by First America
‘’ Midnight Whispers’’
A long time ago, twenty years to be precise my Father died. What’s special about that you may be thinking, it happens to people who are old or sick, to people who are in car accidents or in his case get murdered. And there’s not a day goes by that I don’t think about him, Sometimes it’s when I’m just sitting reading a book or watching the news channel that a wave of melancholy comes across my body. And always there seems to be a void that surrounds me, like that feeling you get when someone has left a room. Even though you may not have been talking that emptiness in the silence left can be as loud as any scream. The police at the time said it was a robbery that had gone wrong, yet the only thing they took was my father’s journal. The story I’m about to tell you if I had heard it myself two weeks ago I wouldn’t have believed it. I work for the Boston Star, a small rag that likes to think it’s bigger than it is and one my Father was director of. Generally it covers political news, a bit of sport and a few pages of small cover stories sent in by budding freelance journalists in the off chance the editor might offer them a full time post. Most can’t write an article for shit so I find myself reading and reviewing those that are of some interest and setting them right before going to press. Quite a few go in the garbage and depending on Charlie’s mood, that’s my boss by the way, the others I put forward are read by him. If he likes the story it go’s in if not then it joins its trash buddies. I had been through about thirty or so the day before press was due and had worked late into the night, ten of which I never got past the first page they were so bad, the following twenty I grammar checked, put them in my order of preference and placed them on Charlie’s desk for him to read the following morning. Normally the ten Charlie chooses then goes to press and sometimes the others are held for more investigation or debunked considering how he feels.
By the time I got into my office around 8am Charlie had already read the stories I had put forward, my guess was he had been in at dawn just to get a head of the printing guys down in the basement. The ten he had chosen were already in my in-tray waiting for me stacked into a neat little pile for final approval. It’s my job to take them down to the letterpress room so they can be scanned; Charlie’s office is on the corridor leading to the main elevators, a twenty foot square room that consists of a glass floor to ceiling partition with an inset door hung on silver hinges screwed into the half inch plate. A giant antique oak bureau that’s supposed to be a perfect replica of the president’s desk that sits up at the white house takes up most of the centre floor area, on the wall behind his high backed brown leather swivel chair is a poor painted portrait of him sitting regally staring down at himself. The rest of the room is filled up with a row of windows that look down onto lower Bellevue Avenue and the corner of west Sixth Street on Willmott. I was oblivious to everything around me as I sauntered down the corridor listening to a podcast of a previous day’s news
Impressum
Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 07.06.2016
ISBN: 978-3-7396-5940-4
Alle Rechte vorbehalten