Nightmare Resurrection: Nightmare Series Book 4

They thought the nightmare was over. But a new terror has been unleashed… Reporter Denny Purcell knows the truth. Aliens are real. The Interlopers, sinister invaders from another dimension, live among us. She’s determined to expose these beings and their horrific plans. But to the rest of the world, Denny and her team are just another group of crackpots and raving lunatics. When reclusive media mogul Sir Charles Lanier offers her a job, Denny and her partner Frankie leap at the chance to prove their theories. But they soon discover they are trapped in a deadly conspiracy, with origins far beyond this world. The interlopers have a new queen, a powerful hybrid named Cassandra. And Cassandra is determined to silence the two reporters once and for all. On Lanier’s private island off the coast of Wales, Denny and her partner are subjected to a horrifying ordeal. Denny must battle for control over her mind and body after she is infected by an alien symbiont. She and Frankie soon find themselves on the run, hunted across the island by Cassandra’s underlings. As they struggle to escape the queen and reunite with the rest of their team, Denny begins to fear the worst. Removing the fused symbiont could kill her. But leaving it attached could lead to a fate worse than death. A slow, painful transformation into an alien creature... PRINT LENGTH AUDIO LENGTH NARRATED BY PRODUCT DIMENSION ISBN LANGUAGE English PUBLICATION DATE November 22, 2018   Read a Sample   Chapter 9: Survival   She’s dead. Oh God, she’s dead.   Denny knelt by the edge of the cliff, sobbing and howling, for what seemed like hours. Eventually she was lifted up gently by the housekeeper and caretaker, who led her slowly back to the house. There she was escorted upstairs to her room, undressed by the middle-aged woman, and laid gently on her side to rest.   ‘I am sorry we could not save her.’   Cassandra’s voice was always in her head, but usually it consisted of persistent commands. This new thought seemed genuine in its compassion. It was still a cold, alien compassion, but with a slight tinge of humanity.   “She’s still dead,” Denny said into her pillow. “And it’s your fault.”   ‘We must survive.’   This time the message was more emphatic, harsher. With it came a strange image, just for a moment. It was a pattern, reminding Denny of a simple crossword. It was gone in an instant, and the mental pressure returned, clamping Denny’s mind in a psychic vise. Then, once more, Cassandra’s attitude seemed to soften.   ‘Rest. Rest, and regain your strength. Let the Helper work free of your emotional turbulence.’   Mention of the symbiont made Denny try to get up, but the overwhelming force of the Queen’s mind held her still. Her muscles would not obey her, her limbs remained inert. She struggled, tried to fight off the psychic influence, but it was futile.   ‘I have fewer subjects to focus on,’ Cassandra pointed out. ‘Now that Murphy and the two young ones are dead. That means I can more easily control you. Do not struggle. Rest.’   Denny felt herself start to drift into sleep, or unconsciousness. It was hard to tell. The pressure of Cassandra’s will was forcing her to abandon thought; close her eyes, remain immobile.   I … don’t … want … to … sleep!   She was too tired to resist, and sleep claimed her. Her dreams were chaotic, dark, violent. Over and over again, she saw the whirling sky and cliffs through the eyes of Murphy. Before he struck the rocks, he had glimpsed Frankie falling. Denny saw her friend surrounded by white birds, circling her like angels. Then came the moment of impact, the shattering extinction of Murphy’s mind.   When she woke up it was dark. Denny reached out for the bedside light, and as she stretched her arm there was a twinge of pain from the symbiont. She had forgotten its presence, if only for a moment. With the reminder of her enslavement came a cascade of other memories, emotions, thoughts.   Denny walked into the bathroom, still naked, and studied herself in the mirror. She half-turned, trying to make out the entity that clung between her shoulder blades. She glimpsed a grayish bulge, and suppressed the urge to retch. A phrase swam into her mind, whether from her own memories or someone else’s she could not be sure.   Hag-ridden. Witches, the night-hags, were supposed to ride their victims, clinging to their backs. But this is not some folk tale. No magic remedies for this.   She padded back into the bedroom, the carpet cold under her bare feet. She looked at her best suit lying neatly folded on a chair. Then she went to the wardrobe and took out a baggy tee-shirt, jeans, flat-heeled boots. It was only as she was selecting clean underwear that she realized she could not wear a bra with the creature nestling along her spine.   Maybe never again, she thought. Getting a little saggy is the least of my worries, though.   When she had dressed, she checked the time on her phone. It was nearly nine pm. The message NO CELL SERVICE reminded her that she was totally isolated, in a trap that she had walked into more or less willingly.   But where’s my jailer?   Denny tried to find some trace of Cassandra’s mind overseeing her thoughts, tracking through her senses. She detected no alien presence. This raised a question that had never occurred to her before.   Does she sleep? If she’s part human, surely, she must? And if she’s asleep, she can’t retain conscious control of anyone – I guess?   It was such a simple idea. Denny cursed herself for not thinking of it. If the Queen slept, did her powers slacken, or fade completely? Again, she tried to detect any mental intrusion. She sensed nothing, felt no strange power at work.   “Okay, let’s check out the area.”