New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author


By on January 30, 2011 in Darkscope with 0 Comments

After Chelsea McCord’s marriage falls apart, her uncle talks her into a change of scene—Bisbee, Arizona, the scenic mining town with a notorious past. Her great-grandfather, mining magnate Lucas McCord, helped build Bisbee at the turn of the last century.

Chelsea discovers an ancient box camera in a dusty trunk, the film still inside. On a lark she photographs the town. Is it her imagination, or does the stench of death emanate from the camera’s inner workings?

And when Chelsea looks through a viewfinder wavy with age, she sees children in gunny-sack clothes, their eyes dark and grainy. Children from the 1920’s. She sees a young man and woman at a train station that no longer exists.

And as the past superimposes itself on the present, Chelsea learns the secret of her family’s true legacy. With one click of the shutter, she has unleashed a pure and hungry evil that will consume everyone she loves.

Now Chelsea must fight to save her beloved uncle—and herself.

“Skillfully blending elements of mystery, horror and a nice touch of irony, DARKSCOPE weaves a fascinating spell. 4 ½ stars.”
–Frank A. Loporto, Rave Reviews

“A frightening tale of lost souls, lost love, murder and deceit.”
—The Sierra Vista Herald

“Buy the book and send it to people you want to visit here. If they aren’t scared away by the plot, they’ll soon come in.”
—Bisbee Gazette

* * *

From Darkscope

Chelsea blew at the layer of dust on the viewfinder. A faint odor drifted up. The smell she associated with her father’s old schoolbooks. Dust. Age. But underneath the musty smell was something else. The stench of decay.

A strand of hair fell into her face and she was aware of perspiration condensing on her cheeks and forehead. The camera slipped in her hands.

A rustle came from behind her. A rat scuttled across the road. It had been hiding in a pile of boards near the tin shed. Pigeons flew off the roof of Central School and strung like a kite tail across the sky.

The canyon became eerily quiet.

As she squinted into the wavy glass, eyes adjusting to the dark shapes in the tiny rectangle, Chelsea realized she was looking at a house. A house, where only steps should be. A long one-story clapboard house painted dark green. Tin cans overflowing with roses had been placed at intervals along the porch. Below, the dirt road was scored by cracks and seamed together by loose rocks, as if a flood had eroded the earth.

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