Book Spotlight | What Doesn’t Kill You by Ken Brosky

Today the spotlight is on What Doesn’t Kill You by Ken Brosky!

Described as a “part creature-feature, part survival story”, this book tells the story of two siblings as they face an unimaginable horror and fight for their lives. What Doesn’t Kill You is out now and you can get a copy through the link below.

To give you a taste, I’m sharing the synopsis and excerpt from the book. Thank you to the author for this exclusive excerpt!

Genre: Horror
Publication Date: 5 Sept 2023
Author: Ken Brosky
Publisher: Timber Ghost Press

Synopsis

Valerie Miller and her younger brother have spent their entire lives in the dreary town of Seven Sisters, where most people are resigned to a bleak future of debt and despair. But when a mysterious woman with a dark past arrives, she brings with her a gift that could transform the town’s fortunes – and the lives of Val and Danny.

This extraordinary woman’s power is both awe-inspiring and terrifying, capable of unleashing a force that will shake Seven Sisters to its core. The stakes are high, and danger is omnipresent. Can Val and Danny rise to the challenge and seize the opportunity to finally break free from the suffocating grip of their hometown? Or will they fall victim to the terrors unleashed by this enigmatic figure? One thing is certain – when the sun rises on Seven Sisters, nothing will ever be the same again.

Excerpt

Suddenly, the front door to the chapel swings open with a bang. George starts and the bug takes flight. He rushes to the greeting room. Cold wind brings a rush of snow that stings George’s cheeks. He gets to the doorway and peers out.

The street is empty. Skeletal limbs of oaks dance and shudder in the yards of sinners.

George closes the door. He brushes snow off his arms. A chill runs down his spine.

His coat slips off the guestbook pedestal.

George screams, seeing it land on the floor in his peripheral vision; the reptilian, ancient part of his brain can only think PREDATOR and it causes an intense rush of adrenaline that quickens his heart rate. He picks up the coat, taking a few deep breaths.

“It’s only a coat,” he whispers.

A noise comes from inside the chapel.

George feels his body react again. His head feels light. It takes all his courage to peer inside.

“Hello?” George says.

But there’s no one. The pews are empty.

Something buzzes past his ear. That black bug again. He swats at it.

Behind him, the door slams open again. Snow blows in. The wind howls. George runs to the door and closes it.

This time, a hand reaches out. A human-like hand with long claws and dark green skin the color of dying moss. George cries out and pushes on the door. Snowflakes sting his eyes.

Black bugs slip through the opening. They hover around his face, buzzing. He falls back, swatting at them. They sting. It hurts terribly, and a long-forgotten memory of his childhood hits him: eating an orange pop on a friend’s porch, watching a bee land on his arm, watching it sting him and leave its entrails behind on his soft skin.

The door swings fully open. Something is standing in the opening, blocking the snow. It looks like a tall woman wearing some kind of mask … or, or a helmet, maybe. The light in the greeting area flickers.

The creature steps inside.

George turns and runs into the chapel. There’s a terrible buzzing all around him. The black bees land on his face, crawl into his ears, his nostrils, his mouth. He wants to scream but he’s too afraid they will fly into his mouth. He flees for the office behind the altar.

He shuts the door behind him. Locks it. Rakes a hand across his face.

The bees are gone. His nails scrape only soft, clammy flesh.

George steps away from the door and holds his breath. Between the frantic beats of his heart, he can make out a sound.

Ts ts ts ts ts ts ts ts …

And a word, stuck in George’s head on repeat:

Demon demon demon demon …

He picks up the landline phone. Dead. And his own cell is at Shady Pines. He searches his desk for something to defend himself with. The closest thing he has is a pen knife. But maybe there’s a better way.

Cover photo by Annie Spratt