Book rating: R (not suitable for those 17 and under)
Book contains: More than two words of profanity per page
Independent Author Index (IAI): What is your book about?
Debbie A. Heaton (DAH): A unique story of second chances guided by supernatural activity where the main character, Riley Russell, embarks upon a journey of self discovery which takes her on a tour of her life to date, allowing her to change her future path for the better.
IAI: How did you pick the topic for The Haunting of Wolfe Haven?
DAH: As a therapist, I deal daily with people who stumble and fall and it’s my job to help them see the changes they can make in their life to make it better. As I began to develop the characters and the story line, I naturally headed down the path of defining each of the characters as imperfect people with room to improve and the story line followed suit.
IAI: How is The Haunting of Wolfe Haven different from other books that cover the same or similar information?
DAH: My book promotes the belief that we live in an imperfect world filled with second chances if we are only willing to put ourselves out there and try.
IAI: What do you like most about writing this book?
DAH: I really enjoyed creating ‘Wolfe Haven’ and the grounds that surround it. I always wanted to live in a haunted mansion and creating the house and its history allowed me to enjoy the experience. The topiary wolf garden was another joy that just seemed to create itself as the story unfolded.
An excerpt of The Haunting of Wolfe Haven:
Lying in the Scarlet Room, I twisted and turned, trying to push back the memories. Not until the thought of Glenda and Colin’s betrayal of my trust rose in my mind did I manage to put up a barrier that I was not yet ready to pass. There was a painful comfort for me in other memories. But thinking of Glenda and what Colin had done—that was only pain. So I blocked out both of them. To think of them was to destroy my ability to live in the present, which was all I had.
The wind whispered eerily down the tower and into the corner of my room, but at length the night sounds furnished the rhythm I needed. I fell into a sleep of physical and emotional exhaustion.
I woke in the dark with a start, huddled in the bed beneath the covers, every muscle in my body instantly tense. I strained to hear. Was that really a voice whispering urgently to me? The sounds of other voices and a loud crackling filtered through the window.
Pulling down the comforter, I stared into a room that was no longer dark. A bright flare was reflected on the red canopy of the bed, and the shadow and flicker of flames moved in replica across the ceiling. I gasped. In a swirling mist at the corner of the room stood a woman with dark hair.
Closing my eyes, I lay with my heart pounding for several seconds. How did she get in here? Goose bumps crawled over my flesh. I was icy cold beneath the comforter.
No, the air was icy cold. Freezing. Imagination, I told myself. It was summer. The wind must have kicked up the monsoons, but there was no way it could be freezing in here.
I opened my eyes. A chill breeze flowed through the window that overlooked the garage and kennels. Shivering, I stumbled across the room to the window. The stable and garage were aflame, and the shouting voices were real. Tristan’s workshop was on fire, and men were there fighting to save it. Through the screen of oak trees I could see darting figures, black against the flaring light, their shadows long on the ground. The night air coming in was warm but still I shivered.