Jenyfer Matthews

I began writing novels nearly twelve years ago…and had no idea what I was getting myself into! Most of us don’t realize how obsessive we can be until we discover our “passion”, and then (be it sport or art or ?) we become mad things, single-minded and compelled. Well, that’s me…sometimes. Crazed, compulsive, get-up-at-4 am, obsessive-writer personality type unclassified (I write across the genres, you see!)

How did it all begin? With something completely sane – a visit to the local library. I took home eleven books, but couldn’t get into any of ‘em – so I decided to write what I wanted to read. For the most part, that’s held true ever since.

The Hollowing is my second novel with Cerridwen Press, and my 23rd? 24th novel overall? I really enjoyed writing it. Action, suspense, with a little time travel tossed in. Great fun.

I have two writing names: “N. D. Hansen-Hill” and “Melody Knight“. ND writes SF/fantasy/horror/paranormal suspense, while Melody writes romantic and erotic versions of the same genres. I now am lucky enough to have 35 books contracted with a variety of publishers.

“This is an exceptionally, spine-tingling, gut wrenching thriller that takes you by the seat of your pants and have you gripping your chair while you turn each page. From ghosts to time-traveling you are always entertained by the adventure and excitement of this plot excellent dialogue and fabulous description gives you a great seat up front to all that is happening. This is a phenomenal read, and I recommend it highly.
Coffeetime Romance

The Hollowing
by N.D. Hansen-Hill

Shawn Walsh’s problems don’t arise from his own troubled past but from someone else’s. Fires, floods, battles, bone-rattling quakes — he’s frequently an unwilling and horrified participant in events long gone. For when The Hollowing claims him, his present dissolves.

Unfortunately, his problems have everything to do with family and his rather questionable heritage — with a birthright he’d rather know nothing about. Lost and tossed about by destiny, trapped and extorted by those long deceased, he’s tired of playing a victim.

And he refuses to give up hope. There is still a chance he’ll be able to resolve his issues without dying, given the right place… And enough time.

Excerpt

Jack was running flat-out when his world unexpectedly tilted and dipped. He was scared shitless but he couldn’t stop. If he let Shawn die, when he could have stopped it…

Don’t go there.

And then he was lost. On a straight stretch of dimly lighted hallway he’d lost his bearings. He was disoriented, nauseous, with a head suddenly full of clouded spirals. The floor canted, his balance went but his momentum carried him forward. He slid the length of the corridor and out into the warehouse.

The dizzying spin went on, even worse now than before. Jack gripped a table leg and hung on while his world moved around him. His eyes were scrunched shut and there was an ache in his head he’d never experienced before. His heart pounded as he put a name to the fear—hemorrhage. Vomit was fighting its way up his throat, inspired by the stink that was already redolent in the room.

There were noises and shouts in the background but he couldn’t afford to look. The flooring was shuddering beneath him now and it felt as though the building was moving.

Earthquake.

Get out. He’d smelled the rot. The building was going…

“Shawn!” he bellowed.

He opened sore eyes to slits. The giant had recognized the danger too. He was backing across the room. He was the one howling in terror now—not Shawn. Jack had scarcely lifted himself to his knees when the fleeing kidnapper slammed into him, and they both went sprawling.

The rumbling beneath them increased. Dust scattered from joints in the woodwork and echoes of falling plaster mingled with the tap dance of furniture on flooring.

“Shawn!” Jack shouted it again, inhaled a lungful of dust for his trouble and coughed his head off as he crawled on all fours across the room. The giant with the bad temper was behind him somewhere…

Jack spotted Shawn on the far side of the room. He was sprawled across an old conveyor belt. Jack pushed himself to his feet, very conscious of human frailty as the world around him jiggled apart. Shaking almost as much as the building, he upped it to lopsided run.

If anything the gyrating upheaval, the tilt, the cant, the terrifying, nausea-generating dizziness were worse here. It took all Jack’s effort to get to Shawn’s side. He felt like he was running uphill. He dove over the conveyor that Shawn had obviously been tossed across and reached out to grip Shawn’s arm.
Only to experience one of those moments of insight—of sometimes terrifying self-discovery—that sometimes hits when you need it least.

It’s not the place, Jack realized in sudden horror. It’s Shawn.

Shawn was staring back at him, his eyes glittering weirdly in their sockets, somehow giving back more light than they took. This wasn’t a frightened Shawn, insecure about his failings. This man was centered. Solid. Locked in place.

Melded to his surroundings.

While the world went to hell around him.

Taking Jack Riley with it. Jack could feel himself slipping now, and he could never afterward find the words to describe it

But he knew he couldn’t fight it anymore.

At that moment Shawn reached for him. His broken fingers grasped Jack’s and held on

And Jack Riley’s personal cyclone abruptly ceased. Jack buried his face in his arms while the madness carried on beyond him. He could hear it all, the rumble, the jolting, the clatter of flying debris, the giant’s shrieks and curses.

Don’t look.

He had this horrible fear that lifting his head might drag him back in.

Jack lay there, clinging desperately to Shawn’s hand—the only island of calm in a hurricane sea.

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