J E Franklin

Crouching at the Door J E Franklin

Life is good. Your house is swept and put in order. Then you hear a noise outside. You pull the curtain away, peering out the window to see an enticing figure grinning at you. You pull the door open, admiring its scent in your nose, appreciating its voice with your ears. You reach out to stroke the silken fabric it wears, only to caress the roughened hide of a scabrous beast. Gideon Prossiden is a good cop. At least, he thinks he is. But after being assigned a cold case that goes nowhere, and being compelled to fight off impending lunacy from an onslaught of absurd hallucinations, he begins to question his good cop status. Now he's tangled up in a keen desire for the coroner's secretary, and with an equally intense guilt for his less than gentlemanly daydreams about her. But she holds the resolution to his cold case, and he must somehow suppress the lechery in his mind while hiding from his anger about her persistent talk of religion and that "God stuff." It looks like an angel, white robes gleaming with an inner fire. How can it feel so monstrous? Now the thing at the door snarls, hissing, and your mind is roiling with immoral thoughts, lustful thoughts, while sickening scenes of blood and mayhem spatter the carnal circus. But there is hope. There is one who stands at the door and knocks, whose brilliantly white robe is not a guise. The crux is, how can you tell the difference between them? Gideon Prossiden stands on that crux, and a pretty, blonde warrior stands beside him, desperately fighting to help him see the truth. Will he fall, and take her with him? Or will his sleeping soul awaken to journey with her on the path to paradise? The battle for their minds started before time began. Who, or what, will prove to be the victor?