THE DEAD ARE COMING

 

 

 

THE DEAD ARE COMING

The dark woods keeps them hidden.

I know that I’m forbidden

From walking this way.

I must get away.

 

I hear them moving through the trees.

Let me get away from them, please.

The footsteps are louder.

The moon is now rounder.

 

The end for me and the town is near.

A crystal ball I don’t need to peer.

My head bowed and on bended knee.

This will still not end well for me.

 

THE DEAD GAME SERIES

PREY FOR THE DEAD Blog Tour – Day 4

Thank you, Stephen Geez, for hosting my tour on the day I share my story about my brother – a story close to my heart.

Welcome to the “PREY FOR THE DEAD” Blog Tour! @SusanneLeist @4WillsPub #RRBC

 

https://stephengeez.wordpress.com/2019/04/04/welcome-to-the-prey-for-the-dead-blog-tour-susanneleist-4willspub-rrbc/#comment-62769

 

On day 4 of her tour,

say hello to my guest blogger,

author Susanne Leist!

 

A little about me:

When someone asked me to contribute an article on my life to an author’s blog, I panicked. What should I write? I’m a listener. I listen to other people’s problems and stories. I’m a good listener. But I don’t enjoy speaking about myself. But now I’m a writer, and I must move into the spotlight.

I’ve done a few interviews on fellow authors’ blogs. Their questions served as guidelines. Now I have a blank page in front of me. Should I delve into why I became a writer? People have done this. Instead, I’ll write who inspired me. The person who I loved and admired most and then lost too soon: my brother, Neil Leist.

Neil lit up a room when he entered it. He was six feet two inches, but it wasn’t his height that drew others’ eyes. It was his dynamic personality and his intelligence. Those gray eyes mirrored his capacity for greatness. He acted as my father when my father wasn’t home but worked days and nights as a taxi driver. Only eleven years older than me, Neil took care of my blind mother and helped raise me. He shouldered heavy burdens early in his life.

My brother did well in college but flourished in the business world. He traded on the Commodity Exchange until he earned enough money to take over a Fortune 500 company. With a majority share in its stock, he became the CEO of American Bakeries. Neil brought me with him on his rise to stardom. I worked for him on the Exchange and at his offices on Madison Ave. I majored in Finance at New York University, prepared to join him. My parents were proud of him. Life was perfect until the phone call in the middle of the night.

The light in my life dimmed as I fell into darkness as dark as my mother’s. My brother had been in a car accident in the Hamptons. His red Porsche hydroplaned on the wet road. Neil was a good driver with quick reflexes. He drove the car off the road and onto the grass. Luck wasn’t with him that night. Someone had parked a truck in the grass, and the Porsche crashed beneath it.

Neil lingered in a coma for two years before he died. Meanwhile, his so-called friends at American Bakeries undermined his position at the company by causing the stock price to plummet. We sold his investment in the company in one big chunk and at a significant loss. We made the company’s executives pay for what they did. I spent eight long years dealing with finance people and lawyers.

After this experience, I lost my taste for high Finance. I received an M.B.A. in Finance. But I couldn’t return to the markets. Instead, I turned to the one passion in life I had never explored: my love for reading and writing stories. And The Dead Game was born. I used poetry to promote my book. Now I’m hooked on poetry. My stories and poetry are dark and twisted. This year I released the second book in The Dead Game SeriesPrey for the Dead. It is just as twisted and intense as the first book.

My life has taken unexpected twists and turns. I wasnt happy with Finance, even in the beginning. I did it as a challenge. I wanted to do well in a male-dominated field. And now I have a new mission. I want to prove to myself I could become a good author. And I believe I’m well on my way.

Thank you for listening,

Susanne Leist

This picture was taken when Neil met with Mayor Koch concerning the opening of additional American Bakeries’ factories in New York.

 

 

SUSANNE LEIST BIO

I have always loved to read. Agatha Christie, Alistair Maclean, Robert Ludlum, and many other authors filled my young imagination with intrigue and mystery. When I wasn’t reading late into the night, the TV shows—Murder, She Wrote and Columbo—entertained me with tales of murder and suspense.

Over the years, my taste in TV expanded to include such shows as Supernatural and The Originals. I searched for paranormal murder mysteries but found few at the library or bookstore. So, I wrote one.

A career in writing has been a big leap for me. Accustomed to the number-crunching field of budgeting and the hectic commodity markets, I left my first career and M.B.A. in Finance behind to pursue my dream. I do not regret my foray into literature for one moment. Fellow authors helped me make my way through the competitive field. I write every day and even tried my hand at poetry. If someone tells you it’s too late in life to try something different, they are wrong. It is never too late to follow your heart.

The Dead Game is the first book in The Dead Game Series. It brings fantasy and the surreal to the classic murder mystery with dead bodies, suspects, and clues. It offers vampires, vampire derivatives, and a touch of romance to give spice to the mix. Once you read The Dead Game, you will never look at a dead body the same way.

In Book Two, Prey for The Dead, the suspense continues as The Dead use an exclusive club in Disney World and infiltrate the rich and famous. The Dead grow in power, and not even the sun or the swamps of Florida can weaken them. Lindamy main characterand her friends join with the human vampires or hybrids to defeat the evil forces threatening to control their town.

I hope you enjoy my books. The third book of The Dead Game Series is waiting for me to write.

SUSANNE LEIST’S

SOCIAL MEDIA & BOOK LINKS

 

Book trailer:

https://youtu.be/pILNxaD5XlI

 

PURCHASE LINKS:

Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07PB9KG4P

Nook:

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1130732773?ean=2940161260111

 

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

Twitter:

https://twitter.com/SusanneLeist

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/susanne.leist.98

Instagram:

https://www.instagram.com/susanne.leist/

BookBub:

https://www.bookbub.com/authors/susanne-leist

 

To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the author’s tour page on the 4WillsPublishing site.  If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please click HERE.  

Lastly, Susanne is a member of the best book club ever – RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB #RRBC! If you’re looking for amazing support as an author, or if you simply love books, JOIN US! We’d love to have you!

Thanks for supporting

this author and her work!  

Be sure to click the title to open comments,

then tell us what you think!

 

READ ME A TALE

 

 

Read me a tale, grandfather,

of battles and dead bodies.

Turn the pages, grandfather,

of the book of horrors.

Tell me more stories, grandfather,

of evil armies and sadness.

I will close my eyes, grandfather,

and wish the darkness away.

ONE SONG

 

 

ONE SONG

 

Sing me a love song.

Rhyme me a sad tale.

The woe of heartbroken lovers

whose tinny cries take to the air.

The needle rides the grooves.

Round in a circle, it goes.

No beginning or end.

Like a tear that refuses to fall.

A song without an end.

The melody echoes through eternity.

One jump and scratch at a time.

THE DARK ALLEY

nature/vintage blog

 

I step from the restaurant

where there had been light.

Now there is only darkness,

and no stars in sight.

 

I hear footsteps in the distance.

Dark shadows move and sway.

Steps echo louder in the dark.

I bow my head and pray.

 

I run to the light.

Then I’m falling down.

My face to the ground.

My world, upside down.

 

I lift my head.

Black shoes before me.

The lights go out.

Darkness now claims me.

 

Welcome to the WATCH “#RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RRBCWRW

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rhani-dchae

 

 

THE WEEK MY FATHER DIED

I was at work when my mother called to tell me that dad had been rushed to the hospital the night before, suffering from excruciating pain in his abdomen.  

Dad had been diagnosed with prostate cancer about fifteen years earlier and it had spread to other parts of his body, but he had been doing fairly well so there was no reason to anticipate something like this.

Mom told me that dad had spent quite a bit of time at the hospital while they ran numerous tests to discover the cause of his pain. Long story short, his kidneys were failing and there was nothing that could be done. He was sent home with a hospice nurse so that he could be with his family in comfortable surroundings when the end came.

We rented a hospital bed and put it next to the front window so that he could see outside into the yard. We kept instrumental hymns playing on the stereo and moved mom’s chair closer to the bed so that she could be nearer to him.

And that’s when things started to get a little crazy.

James, my seeing eye son, was living with mom and dad at the time, and my sister, who I was living with at the time, drove out with me every day.  Gail, my other sister, also came out daily, as did her husband, her four children and their collection of young ones.

Gail’s grandkids were all under ten and did not really understand the severity of the situation. They knew that Papa was going home to see Jesus, but that was about as far as it went. Gail’s family had never lived close to mom and dad, so their kids only saw my parents three or four times a year. None of them had a close relationship with dad, so the thought of losing him did not rate overly high on their radar.

For five days, the kids ran through the house, slamming the doors and yelling to each other. Even when they were sent outside, the noise was loud enough to be heard everywhere in the house. Their respective parents would occasionally tell them to tone it down, but they were kids and that’s what kids do.

At one point, one of my nephews-in-law decided to commemorate the occasion by putting it on film. He videotaped everyone going to my father’s side and saying goodbye. Maybe it was the stress of the situation, but I didn’t like what he was doing. My father’s death was not a photo-op, and I resented anything that made it seem that way.

I remember being called into the living room and told to say something to dad. I had already spoken to him several times, telling him that I loved him and assuring him that mom would be taken care of. Having my niece’s husband dictate to me where to stand and how long to talk so that he could get it on film, was infuriating.

As six families moved through the house each day, my mother spent most of her time sitting with dad, reading the Bible to him and making the most of the time that remained. She loved having her family close, but as the days passed, I could see that the noise and constant disruption was getting to her. I did speak to my nieces individually on several occasions, asking if they could please keep the kids quiet, at least in the house. They always said they would, and I know that they meant it at the time, but it never happened. The noise, the chasing from room to room, and the constant interruptions into my parents’ private space, continued. I could see that it was upsetting my mother, and I finally decided to put my foot down.

I took my mom and Gail into the bedroom and asked mom what she wanted or needed. She thought about it for a long moment and then said, very simply, that she wanted to answer the phone. Either Gail or one of her daughters had been taking the phone calls and making a list of the callers. Mom wanted to speak to those people, most of them from her church and was upset that she was not being allowed to do so. And she wanted the volume around her to be turned down to a much less disruptive level.

Gail said that she would take care of it, and she did. Within hours, her grandkids had been taken by their fathers to another location. I didn’t know where they went, and I didn’t much care. They were gone, the house was quiet, and that was all that mattered to me.

Later in the day, James, my other sister Sharon and I,

took mom to Cold Stone for some ice cream. Dad was fairly unresponsive by then, so she felt that it was okay to take a little break.

We were gone for about an hour, and by the time we got back, everyone else was back as well. But at least mom had a few hours of uninterrupted time with dad, and I’m so grateful that the girls understood and were willing to do what was needed to give her that.

My father passed that night, surrounded by family and carried home on the sound of our voices singing his favorite hymns. Standing in a semi-circle around the bed, we held hands as we sang, while my brother-in-law, a minister, laid his hands on my father’s head and prayed him home.

As cancer deaths go, my father’s was fairly quick. He had been fully functional up until the night he went to the emergency room, enjoying his life without much discomfort. He avoided the long hospital stays and horrific pain that are so often a part of that kind of death. My aunt Gloria died of lung cancer when I was eighteen or so. I went to see her in the hospital, and I remember a shrunken figure in the bed, hooked up to monitors and numerous IV lines. Her time of dying took several long and torturous weeks, and I will always be thankful that my father was spared a similar end. I would have hated to have my last memory of this strong and vital man, be that of a wasted shadow of the man that he had always been.

I thank the Lord that it didn’t go that way.

                                                                       ******

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(Rhani D’Chae) RWISA Author Page

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