The Search for Sasha Lockwood by Thomas Grant Bruso – Spotlight and Giveaway

March 26, 2025 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Thomas Grant Bruso will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Something is stalking the campgrounds at Pine Hill Creek.

Rumor has it that local folklore about the notorious Bigfoot is responsible for the mystery of a missing young woman.

When eighteen-year-old high school senior Sasha Lockwood vanishes without a trace while camping with her friends, fear and horror sequester a small community. Local and federal law enforcement officers begin an exhausting twenty-four-hour investigation of seventy acres of vast forest, looking for the victim.

The tight-knit community is in an uproar, horrified by these unexpected events. An unrelenting sheriff’s department and a media-savage system doggedly interrogate Sasha’s parents and close friends.

What happened the night Sasha Lockwood disappeared? Is it real or part of a cruel joke? Is Bigfoot responsible, or is something sinister at play in the deep, dark woods?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Journal thoughts

I’ve got a secret.

I can’t stop thinking about my best friend, Annie Monroe. We’ve been friends since forever. I don’t know what I’d do without Annie. She’s not only a friend, but a decent, caring person. She is beautiful, artistic, and somebody I don’t ever want to lose.

We went swimming in her parents’ inground pool today. We ordered pizza and had a few beers. Her parents were out of town. So, it was refreshing to be alone with Annie. Finally. Usually, we see each other at school, while passing in the hallways or after ninth period study hall, or by our cars in the parking lot. Rarely are we alone, which I’d prefer. I love hanging out with her. She makes me feel good. We laugh and smile when we’re around each other. She makes me feel safe. I admire her self-deprecating personality and wise-cracking jokes.

It’s as if time stops when we’re together. Annie introduced me to her shoe collection and the new painting she’s been working on since the beginning of the school year.

She’s so talented, and everything she creates shines like the gorgeous high heels and charm bracelets and that great big smile she wears every day.

Her new pastel and watercolor painting is of Lake Champlain where we used to sit every weekend by the water’s rocky edge. She unveiled the final product to me last weekend when she invited me for a picnic by the lake.

She also told me she loved me more than a friend.

Hearing the words over egg salad sandwiches and potato leek soup (her signature dish) hit me like a hot skillet on the back of the head.

I was floored, speechless, and thrilled—all at the same time. I knew how I felt about Annie. And being around a person for so long only heightens those emotions. But I never knew how Annie felt about us. We’d never done anything sexual together, not even kiss, obviously.

Years ago, I struggled with my sexuality and my feelings for girls, especially Annie. I wanted to make a move and kiss her or hold her hand and tell her I loved her. But I was naïve and scared because I was unaware of her thoughts—whether she liked me the way I liked her or not.

What if Annie wasn’t sympathetic? What if she wasn’t a lesbian? What if my open-hearted discussion about love and romance spiraled out of control and left egg on my face? I didn’t want to ruin a good thing with Annie. Our friendship meant everything to me, like life or death.

I always wondered or worried that she’d notice how I looked at her when we were together, sitting by the lake, or walking by each other in the hallways at school, or during one of our sleepovers.

Annie Monroe is a stunning beauty, an eye catcher for both sexes. I almost drown staring at her peaches and cream complexion and losing myself in her illuminating blue eyes.

There is a sunset glow about her when you’re in her company. Life feels less lonely, unhinged. At least, for me. Reality blurs and all my problems vanish when Annie opens her mouth to talk, or smile. The way she curls the feathery locks of her hair around her earlobe weakens my soul in a wonderful way.

So, when she told me she loved me, more than a friend, I cried happy tears.

We held hands for the first time in public, by the lapping water, in the gathering dusk.

It was magical. Our relationship was more than just…friends.

Love is a powerful thing.

The way Annie and I love is unmatched by all the other romantics walking around: fighting, cheating, and living a lie.

We are happy together.

Our secret is safe with us.

About the Author: Thomas Grant Bruso knew he wanted to be a writer at an early age. He has been a voracious reader of genre fiction since childhood.

His literary inspirations are Ray Bradbury, Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Jim Grimsley, Karin Fossum, and Joyce Carol Oates.

Bruso loves animals, reading books, and writing fiction, and prefers Sudoku to crossword puzzles.

In another life, he was a freelance writer and wrote for magazines and newspapers. In college, he won the Hermon H. Doh Sonnet Competition. Now, he writes and publishes fiction and reviews books for his hometown newspaper, The Press-Republican.

He lives in upstate New York.

Twitter | Goodreads | Facebook | BlueSky

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or NineStar Press.


Filed Under: Guest Blogs, Mystery/Suspense Tagged With: , , ,

Scars and Secrets by Thomas Grant Bruso – Spotlight and Giveaway

January 7, 2025 By 8 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess fish Promotions. Thomas Grant Bruso will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Ralph Ashton gets more than he bargained for when police question him about the death of his ex-boyfriend Elijah Ray, whose body is discovered at the edge of the Saranac River.

When the local police visit Ralph and ask him about a critical piece of case evidence, Ralph becomes a prime suspect. He sets out to learn what happened to Eli the night he left his apartment and is startled to learn about his former boyfriend’s shady past.

As Ralph pursues a dangerous investigation, he discovers things about Eli he did not know while they were together.

Ralph’s life starts to unravel when he loses more people close to him as his mother lies in a hospital bed dying of cancer. Is learning about the truth of Eli’s death worth jeopardizing his safety?

Enjoy an Excerpt

The Saranac River empties into the mouth of Lake Champlain and a sliver of late-evening sun shimmies and slices across shavings of broken ice like a school of shiny fish.

I straighten the blue-and-white striped silk tie my last boyfriend gifted me and stare out at the early November landscape. The ground is dusted with newly fallen snow, and the river, a swollen malignant serpentine of icy water, snakes through a vista of evergreens and sycamores.

I catch my hard stare in the reflection of the large picture window of my therapist’s office.

Dr. James Matheson, basketball tall with peacock-blue eyes and warm brown skin, dressed in a rosy-pink dress shirt and charcoal-gray suit, coaxes me back to the present. His voice is butter soft and attractive, musically inclined and bilingual. Spanish on his mother’s side, I think.

My thoughts unravel like vines on a branch, disoriented, a broken fuse box with faulty wiring. I blow out a loud breath and turn to the long-legged and handsome therapist, my hands packed in the pockets of my khakis so he won’t see them shake. Men make me nervous and weak-kneed.

Dr. Matheson is patient and smiling, waiting for me to speak, to say something, since I’ve been standing in silence for the last fifteen minutes, staring out at the dismal day passing by.

I think about my mother who lies in the hospital dying. I’ve just come from visiting her, before my scheduled therapy session. Dr. Matheson wants to discuss it, from his stone silence and sensitive stares.

I glance at my wristwatch. I’ve been in Pretty Boy’s office for almost an hour, and I haven’t said much or given the good old doc enough to judge or dislike me or cancel my next session. I am surprised he has not asked me not to come back. Maybe he’ll call County Hospital and admit me to the psych ward on the fourth floor if I open my mouth and let him into my dark, sad life.

He does not reach for the phone. He sits poised in the high brown leather chair behind his polished cherry wood desk, with many medical certifications on the wall behind him.

He stares across the room at me, grins, keeping a professional manner, waiting for me to give him his money and time’s worth.

I drag myself toward the overstuffed leather chair across from his desk and collapse into it, as if it is my home base.

About the Author Thomas Grant Bruso knew he wanted to be a writer at an early age. He has been a voracious reader of genre fiction since childhood.

His literary inspirations are Ray Bradbury, Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Jim Grimsley, Karin Fossum, and Joyce Carol Oates.

Bruso loves animals, reading books, and writing fiction, and prefers Sudoku to crossword puzzles.

In another life, he was a freelance writer and wrote for magazines and newspapers. In college, he won the Hermon H. Doh Sonnet Competition. Now, he writes and publishes fiction and reviews books for his hometown newspaper, The Press-Republican.

He lives in upstate New York.

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Nine Star Press.


Filed Under: Guest Blogs, Mystery/Suspense Tagged With: , , ,

Method to Madness by Thomas Grant Bruso – Spotlight and Giveaway

November 24, 2023 By 6 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Thomas Grant Bruso will be awarding $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Five years ago, Jack Ballinger was a police officer.

He has since moved from the small upstate New York town of Black Falls for greener pastures and a peaceful life alone in the Green Mountain State. Time has changed Jack — he is no longer the man he used to be. A significant challenge for him has been the heartbreaking loss of his boyfriend, companion, and one true love, Steve.

Now alone, Jack has yet to deal rationally with the immediate changes of his new life. After losing his partner, Jack drank heavily to numb the pain and forget his life-changing loss. Now, he must find a way to move forward without Steve and the life he built for himself. Joining an Alcoholics Anonymous group helps quiet the voices that still keep him awake at night. But something much darker has followed him to his life in the quiet corners of Vermont.

When Jack thinks he has buried the scars of his past, a new nightmare emerges. How far will Jack go to end the imminent evil in his life and kill it for good?

Trigger warning: this story addresses suicide and suicidal ideation.

Enjoy an Excerpt

My work boots clipped across the newly polished floor, squeaking with each determined step toward the security guard’s office in the back of the mall. I didn’t usually get frightened, but after the week’s events of Jacob Adler’s murder and my recurring hallucinations, I was on guard twenty-four-seven. The wall I’d built after Steve died sent me into a tailspin. I lost my self-confidence to “live on — move on,” as Steve had put it. Getting out of bed was the most challenging part of the day, getting started. But not as difficult as being a suspect in somebody else’s murder.

I locked up in the office, hung my jacket on the wall peg along with my badge, fastened my uniform hat on top of my coat, and secured the building. I walked around the side of the shopping center to get to my truck, which was parked near the auto shop garage in the adjacent lot. My keys clanged against the side of my uniform work belt.

There was a crispness to the air as it gusted across my face.

When I reached my truck, I stopped and glanced at the imposing three-floor structure of the Rushford Shopping Mall. It had been a game-changer, I told myself. When my life was at its lowest, the job as mall security had saved me. Moving from upstate New York to Vermont and being hired at a stone’s throw distance from where everything had bottomed out of my life, life could not be better. I had to keep reminding myself that I was lucky. This was meant to be.

I was living. No – I was surviving the best way I knew how. The sharp gust of wind filled my eyes with a deep sadness.

I slipped my key into the driver’s side door. I jumped inside, cranking the station to a country song I knew Steve would roll his eyes at, but his enthusiastic expression brightened my mood. I sat in the quiet interior of my truck, my head falling against the headrest, my eyes closing to the welcoming solitude. I drummed my hands on the bottom of the steering wheel.

About the Author:
Thomas Grant Bruso knew he wanted to be a writer at an early age. He has been a voracious reader of genre fiction since childhood.

His literary inspirations are Ray Bradbury, Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Jim Grimsley, Karin Fossum, and Joyce Carol Oates.

Bruso loves animals, reading books, and writing fiction, and prefers Sudoku to crossword puzzles.

In another life, he was a freelance writer and wrote for magazines and newspapers. In college, he won the Hermon H. Doh Sonnet Competition. Now, he writes and publishes fiction and reviews books for his hometown newspaper, The Press-Republican.

He lives in upstate New York.

Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | Facebook

Buy the book at Amazon.


Filed Under: Guest Blogs, Mystery/Suspense Tagged With: , , ,

Shadows in the Night by Thomas Grant Bruso – Spotlight and Giveaway

August 12, 2022 By 4 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Thomas Grant Bruso will be awarding a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Sequel to Past Sins

Jack Ballinger has seen a lot of horrible things in the six years he’s been a police officer, disturbing images he wishes he could erase from his memory forever. Crime scenes, dead bodies, and the death of his parents dredge up an unsettling time from his past, a tortured childhood he does not want to revisit. But Jack must confront a new waking nightmare that sends him spiraling out of control, down a rabbit hole of indescribable terrors, questioning his existence as a human being, cop, and partner.

Struggling with budget cuts and constantly changing policies within the police department, a cantankerous new police chief, eccentric colleagues, and his on-again/off-again relationship with his boyfriend Steve, Jack must confront an evil entity from a previous life. Grappling with old demons is just the beginning. How long will Jack keep running from the horrors of his past and finally face his fears?

Enjoy an Excerpt

When I step out into the bedroom, dripping water from the shower, I freeze, my heartbeat pulses at the sight of the bedroom door cracked open. “Hello?”

Silence.



Between the balcony doors and the east-side windows, the far corner of the room is empty.

No ghosts or visitors. There is nowhere to hide in this wide-open space.

I walk over to the nightstand where I keep my pistol. I look over my shoulder at the clamoring noise of the construction crew setting up their monstrous machines out on the street. Large yellow Cat loaders and pavers growl to life.

I leave a puddle of water behind me when I reach the dresser and pull out my gun. A noise out in the hallway draws my attention to the open door. I unlock the safety and aim the pistol at my side. I amble to the apartment door, my pulse quickening. I must have forgotten to lock it after Steve left last night, I think.

I stare around the small kitchen: nothing, nobody, but a scattering of spilled coffee beans on the floor. Lifting the gun out in front of me, I walk to the door. A stale, warm, musty smell wafts into the room. I stare out into the dark hallway.

Empty.

My grip tightens on the gun.

My skin bristles in the cool, clammy air.

I raise my gun and step out into the hall, pointing the pistol left, then right, down the long corridor. Vacant. I take a deep breath and lean against the doorframe.



The stairwell door creaks open at the end of the hall. I straighten my shoulders, pointing the pistol into the dark.

I wait.

“Hello?”

No answer.

The door opens again, its hinges groaning.



I turn to glance behind me in the dark at the two other apartments.

Doors closed.

I stay on the left side of the hall in case somebody is in the stairwell.

I meander down the corridor, moving slowly and turning once to check over my shoulder. I hear noises in the dark, but I don’t see anything. The building settles and shifts in the wind. Forcing myself to keep moving, I slink against the length of the wall to the last door on the floor.

I stop. Wait. Listen.

Alarming stillness.

Machinery clangs outside, and the construction workers’ voices echo like trapped spirits in the apartment walls. I clench the gun’s handle and my index finger grazes the trigger.

Creak.

The exit door swings open, and clangs shut. I jump back a few inches. Stare at the door. Shuffle forward, yell out, “Hello?” and wedge my foot between the doorjamb. I fling the door open with my hand.



The stairwell is empty. I walk onto the top landing and point the gun behind the door. Clear.



I stare over the edge of the staircase, three stories down. Sunlight streams into the open space below from one of the stairwell doors. I hear muffled voices, people talking, the noise of machinery reverberating off the walls and drifting up the stairwells.


I am overreacting, I tell myself, and letting out a deep sigh. I yell down the stairs for somebody to close the door. No response.


I head back into the hallway, muttering obscenities at myself for acting foolish. When I am back inside my apartment, I lock the door. Before I pour coffee, I retrace my steps across the entire 400-square inch area, checking locks and windows, looking behind doors.


I lock the balcony doors, drawing curtains and drowning out the jackhammering sounds coming from outside. As I close the left-sided drapes, something on the balcony catches my eye and sends me into another dizzying tailspin.


Fear settles in my chest like angry bees buzzing. My heart races. My nightmares return at the sight of partial muddy footprints leading over the edge of the balcony.

About the Author

Thomas Grant Bruso knew at an early age he wanted to be a writer. He has been a voracious reader of genre fiction since he was a kid.

His literary inspirations are Ray Bradbury, Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Ellen Hart, Jim Grimsley, Karin Fossum, Joyce Carol Oates, and John Connolly.
Bruso loves animals, book-reading, writing fiction, prefers Sudoku to crossword puzzles.



In another life, he was a freelance writer and wrote for magazines and newspapers. In college, he was a winner for the Hermon H. Doh Sonnet Competition. Now, he writes and publishes fiction, and reviews books for his hometown newspaper, The Press Republican.



He lives in upstate New York.

Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | Facebook

Buy the book at JMS Books


Filed Under: Guest Blogs, Horror Tagged With: , , ,