The Mourner's Cradle by Tommy B. Smith

The Mourner's Cradle: A Widow's Journey
by Tommy B. SmithGenre: HorrorThe tale of a widow's harrowing journey through grief and peril into the
cold remnants of a dead world.Damon Sharpe had in part found victory, he believed, in his battle to
unearth a truth obscured by time. By autumn, he was dead, leaving to his wife Anne a house of
unfulfilled wishes, remnants, and the key to the enigma of his
obsession, the Mourner’s Cradle.A journey through grief and peril delivers
Anne Sharpe from her home in St. Charles to the faraway skeletons of
a long-dead civilization where she will find the desperate answers
she seeks…or die trying.Goodreads * Amazon
“I’m sorry, dear,” the person, an elderly woman with curled white hair, said. “Sorry for what?” Anne replied. She saw no value in artificial kindness. She certainly didn’t owe it to anyone. She didn’t even know the woman who stood in front of her or most of the rest of these people, and they never knew her. They couldn’t know how she felt, what she and her husband had shared, or what remained now that he was gone. The only things left of Damon Sharpe, other than the ring she wore and his still form in that casket, were inside of her and inside that house they had shared, though its contents had become almost worthless to her. The house might as well be empty. In a way, it was. “Anne,” a soft voice said to her from nearby, “if there is anything I can do, please let me know.” Anne turned and fixed the brown-haired woman in the gray dress with a flat stare. The woman swallowed, taking a step back. “Anne, it’s me,” she said. “Tabby Reinhart. I know we haven’t talked in a while, but—” “Miss Sharpe?” another voice broke in, the voice of a man. The tall man in the dark blue suit stood just outside of Anne’s peripheral vision, to her left and behind, as if he meant to force Anne to turn around to face him. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. She continued to face the casket. “My condolences,” the man’s low voice spoke. “Why are you here?” Anne asked. “Why, Miss Sharpe, I’ve come to pay my respects.” “There is nothing respectful about your visit here. We both know that.” The man shifted. She could imagine the amused look that crossed his face, even if she didn’t look at him. “Miss Sharpe—”“Mrs. Sharpe.” A cough. “Very well, Mrs. Sharpe, my name is Brock Keller. Your husband and I—” “I know who you are,” Anne said, “and I know why you’re here. You’re here to have one last laugh before they lower my husband into the ground.” She faced the black-haired man in the blue suit and locked him full in her stare. “You have no right to be here.” Keller appeared surprised. The surprise was feigned, Anne knew. No matter what he pretended or said to the contrary, Keller knew the hardship he had inflicted. “You did your best to destroy everything my husband worked for,” Anne said to him. “No, Mrs. Sharpe, you have it wrong,” Keller said.
“He was my husband,” she said. “You think I don’t know what went on his life? You think I don’t know about the things you’ve done? You’re a liar, Keller.” Tommy B. Smith is a writer of dark fiction, author of The Mourner's Cradle,
Poisonous, and the short story collection Pieces of Chaos, as well as
works appearing in numerous magazines and anthologies throughout the
years. His presence currently infests Fort Smith, Arkansas, where he
resides with his wife and cats.Website * Facebook * Twitter * Amazon * GoodreadsFollow the tour HERE
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