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MURDER PSYCHED
Witching Hour Ghost Hunter Mysteries Book 1
BY KAT McGEE

BLURB

Ghost-hunting can be a grave business… especially for a witch with a talking, ghost-shifting cat.

Witch and Ghost Hunter Marna Langley and her fearless crew from the Witching Hour Ghost Hunter TV show plunge headfirst into the spooky mysteries of a creepy cemetery caretaker’s haunted house.

With rumors of ghostly sightings echoing through the night, they dive into a wild quest to track down some restless spirits. Marna, a pro at witchy spells and psychic medium mojo, channels spirits with her glitchy crystal ball. But her sassy, ghost-shifting cat familiar—a furball who loves to talk back—sounds the alarm about looming danger.

Just when things couldn’t get any weirder, a paranormal debunker snakes his way into the investigation and pulls a disappearing act, causing chaos among the living and the dead. With the Witching Hour cameras rolling for what promises to be a thrilling episode, Marna’s witchy senses kick into overdrive, leading her straight to the missing skeptic’s lifeless body.

Suspicions turn to Marna’s charming co-host, Royce Davenport, who’s convinced he’s to blame for the shocking murder rocking Death’s Door, Tennessee. With the clock ticking and ghostly troublemakers playing tricks, Marna has to clear her co-host’s name and navigate through a cauldron of trouble.

As the witching hour approaches, ghostly visitations grow more frequent, daring Marna to confront the mysterious forces at play. It’s a spooky, laugh-out-loud scramble to solve the mystery, keep the Witching Hour show on the air, and ensure all spell doesn’t break loose when the clock strikes three!

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The cemetery caretaker’s house had a personality all its own, and it wasn’t exactly rolling out the welcome mat. I plopped down in front of the state-of-the-art computer terminal, my eyes glued to the screen like a kid in a candy store. More than likely, the old sitting room had never seen this much excitement.

With a few clicks, I zoomed in on the basement view, ready to catch some paranormal action.

Bridget’s anxious breathing filled my headset, each puff sounding on the verge of panic. Her ponytail bounced with every glance, casting shifting shadows that made her look like she’d seen a ghost. Which, ironically, was exactly what we were hoping for. At eighteen, she sported earrings and piercings galore and hair that would make a peacock jealous.

Not exactly the typical look for a ghost hunter, even a novice one, but my niece was a force unto her own.

Yet even in a paranormal hotbed like Death’s Door, Tennessee, her ghost-hunting efforts often amounted to more mess than mission.

Built back in the 1800s, the caretaker’s house loomed over the cemetery like a grumpy old man who’d forgotten his dentures. Every groan from the old structure sounded like it spilled secrets long buried, and the musty smell of aged wood tickled my nose, mingling with the faint, acrid tang of disturbed dust.

As co-host of the Witching Hour Ghost Hunters television show, I was busy checking camera angles and video clarity. Instead of bothering our tech guy, I cupped the mouse and sent a smidge of witchy energy along the wires to sharpen the basement camera’s focus.

In closeup, Bridget spun in a circle, swatting at imagined cobwebs.

I grinned. Ghost hunting might not be her thing, but she was giving it her best. I had to give her credit. She might not have been born with the ghost-whispering gene, but she was determined to make up for it with sheer grit and enough nervous energy to power a small town.

Royce Davenport’s scoff pulled my attention away from the screen. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking like he’d just stepped off the cover of “Brooding Ghost Hunters Monthly.”

“Marna, your niece is about as psychic as I am, and that’s not saying much” he said, his voice rumbling in a lazy drawl. “Good on you for giving her a chance, but the gal’s scared of her own shadow. She’s obviously in way over her head.” He nodded at the screen where Bridget was now doing what looked like an interpretive dance to ward off spirits. “It’s sweet to support her claim she’s an intuitive, but it’s clear she doesn’t take after her Aunt Marna Langley.”

He had a point. Bridget Coltrain was more likely to paint a portrait of a ghost than communicate with one. She’d rather mix colors than potions, much to her mother’s chagrin. But she was a marching-to-her-own-drum kind of gal, just like me, her proud aunt.

“Bless her heart, she tries,” I muttered from around the muted headset’s microphone, watching the stretch of shadows across the screen. “If determination were a ghost repellent, we’d be out of business.”

Bridget yelped again, swatting at more imaginary creepy crawlers. I pressed the desktop microphone button. “Bridget, hon, why don’t you come back upstairs? Your headlamp and EVP recorder batteries are likely running low.”

The video feed quivered as Bridget bolted for the basement stairs.

“You’re a great aunt.” Royce laughed softly, his voice warm as Tennessee whiskey.

Rolling my eyes, I sighed. “I try.” If only I were more intuitive, like my older sister, who was Bridget’s mother. “I just want my niece to gain some confidence in herself, to become whoever she’s meant to be. Even if that means scaring herself silly in haunted basements.”

I leaned back in the creaky chair, my fingers absently tracing the worn edges of the desk. The caretaker’s house seemed to breathe around us, its old bones settling with each passing moment.

Lately, I wasn’t even sure who I was meant to be. I’d been forcing myself through investigations by sheer determination. The memory of that disastrous poltergeist encounter a few months ago still lingered like a bad taste in my mouth. The case had brought Lil into my life, but it had nearly broken me emotionally, physically, and mentally.

The footage, which I’d deemed too upsetting, still hadn’t aired.

Since then, I was no longer at the top of my game, and the pressure to prove myself worthy of leading the Witching Hour team weighed on me like a ton of tombstones.

“You were right about this town.” Royce’s bright blue eyes sparkled with excitement as he spoke, his enthusiasm as infectious as breathless flutter ranging through me. “We’re detecting cold spots and electromagnetic field spikes all over the house. Even out on the grounds.” He paced behind my chair. The old house absorbed every sound, its pitted hardwood soaking in each footstep like a sponge. “There’s a good chance we’ll capture some electronic voice phenomena as well.”

“All these EMFs and EVPs are riveting, aren’t they? Maybe a tad too exciting for me,” I said, trying to quell the tightness in my chest. “Nicholas added motion detectors in several spots outside. Whatever’s happening here, we’ve got only forty-eight hours. Despite my request for an extension, the local council gave us only two days to investigate the cemetery since another group was vying for this location.”

Royce grinned as he inhaled the coffee-and-pumpkin spice fragrance as he poured from a thermos into an insulated cup. “No matter who’s trying to horn in, we’re getting the footage we need. Death’s Door is a paranormal gold mine. Now that we’re in a cemetery, are you overwhelmed?”

Overwhelmed? I couldn’t recall a time when I wasn’t. Still, I shared a reassuring glance.

“I’m fine, thank you very much. Stop hovering.”

“Yes, ma’am,” his honeyed drawl softened as he saluted with a mock two-fingered touch to his forehead. He moved over to gather an EMF detector and an EVP recorder from the second fold-up table. “Let’s get ready to beware or be scared.”

With a low growl coming from under the fold-out table, I leaned down to stroke my ghost-shifting feline familiar curled up in her cushy basket. The long-haired white cat peeked out with a wide yawn, her unique lilac eyes twinkling.

“Oh, he’s gone? Finally!” Her voice carried her Joan Rivers’ tone in full swing. “Honestly, Marna, he lingers like ants at a summer picnic.”

“You know, he is my co-host, not a mortal enemy. You could be nicer to him.”

“Oh, really? And give him a reason to strut around like a bantam rooster even more? No, thank you very much!” Lil, her whiskers twitching, hopped up on the tabletop to sit close to the one object which didn’t quite fit in with the computers, gauges, and devices. “But I’ve got to hand it to you. You have a knack for handling things with grace… unlike some of those other bumblers in the crew.”

Rubbing my fingers against the side of her cheek, Lil purred softly. As she chortled and performed figure eights around my hand, I chuckled. “I think Royce tries too hard to be likable, and your attitude might actually hurt his feelings.”

Lil let out an utterance more scold than meow. “Oh, please, his feelings are about as delicate as a battering ram. But fine, I’ll play nice… for now.”

About Author Kat McGee…

Once a professional ventriloquist, Kat McGee charmed audiences with quirky banter and puppets. But Kat’s got secrets too, like that hush-hush government-support job she once had. Yep, the kind where she’d have to tickle you with a feather duster if she told you about it.

From an early age, creative writing struck her fancy, but life’s twists and turns led her down a path filled with puppets and proposal specifications. Now, living in the southeastern United States, Kat has traded her puppets for paws and pens. In the moody, weather-challenged area, surrounded by whispering pines and lazy rivers, she’s the typical crazy cat lady who watches over a nearby community of feral cats.

Her home is a haven of chaos and laughter, shared with a lovable wire-haired sausage dog and a Siamese cat who’s as moody as a soap opera star.

Amidst the playful antics of her furry friends, Kat weaves tales that blend mystery and humor, all amid the sweet scent of honeysuckle and the soft glow of fireflies. As she crafts her stories with a glass of sweet iced tea within reach, her dog dozes at her feet, and her cat keeps a watchful eye from atop a nearby bookshelf, overseeing the skitter of words on the screen.

Links to Kat’s websites, blogs, books, #ad etc.:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/4hoAgcr

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Thanks, Kat, for sharing your book with us!

Don’t miss the chance to read this book!