WWBB on Facebook!

You are invited to post your book links, blurbs, snippets on WWBB's Facebook page. Follow me on Twitter and use @louise_wise for a retweet.

Friday, 20 July 2018

Do you trust your doctor? You probably won't after reading this book from Kirsten Mckenzie #chilling #horror #badmedica .@rararesources .@kiwimrsmac.


Doctor Perry
by
Kirsten Mckenzie

Under the Hippocratic Oath, a doctor swears to remember that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon’s knife or the chemist’s drug.

Doctor Perry assures his elderly patients at the Rose Haven Retirement Home that he can offer warmth, sympathy, and understanding.

Doctor Perry is a liar.


Hiding from a traumatic past, Elijah Cone wants nothing to do with the other residents at the Rose Haven, content to sit at his window waiting to die. He’s about to learn that under Doctor Perry death is the easy option...

Excerpt from Chapter 49


Doctor Perry


by
Kirsten McKenzie



Myra has just buried her old cat, who she found dead in the garden, severing the last link to her old life. The twin boys she and her husband, Doctor Perry, are fostering, have just made her some afternoon tea. The twins aren’t as angelic as their little blonde faces would lead you to believe, they may have had something to do with old Tom’s death. And now they’ve got their hands on some of Doctor Perry’s very special tonic… the tonic he uses on his patients at the Rose Haven Retirement Home…



The boys walked into the lounge, huge smiles illuminating their angelic faces, and Myra smiled at the mess of jam spread across a slab of bread, which no doubt they’d helped themselves to, judging by the smear on one boy’s cheek.
“We made you a coffee,” said James.
“And an afternoon snack,” said Jesse.
The coffee had splashed over the rim of the mug forming a muddy puddle on the wooden tray but leaving enough left in the mug to satisfy. The sight of the rustic jam sandwich made her stomach rumble, she hadn’t realised how hungry she was.
“Thank you, boys,” Myra replied with absolute honesty.
The boys giggled, their high pitched falsetto voices more at home in a church choir than her suburban home.
“Can we go outside to play now please, Myra?” asked James, his hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“Yes but don’t pick the flowers in the garden,” she said. As they vanished from the room she followed with, “Because some of them are poisonous,” but whether they heard, she couldn’t be sure.
Myra closed her hands around the coffee mug. The aroma toyed with her senses and she took a sip. The boys had added too much cream in an attempt to cool the coffee, making it more lukewarm than hot, but at least they’d tried. The horror of what had happened to Tom would never leave her, but sinking into the cushions of the couch, she tried to let go of the afternoon’s stress. So many nights she’d sat here on her own, a baby in her arms and a bottle in her hands, the soft scent of the baby filling the space left vacant by a husband never at home. But for now the space was hers. She took another sip and felt the caffeine kick in — the twins had made it stronger than she liked and the difference was noticeable, she felt her eyeballs popping open and her heartbeat increasing. She hadn’t realised how much she’d needed a fix until now.
Myra tried closing her brown eyes but when she did, she imagined images of cats padding paw-less through her garden leaving smudges of blood on the grass, and fancied she could hear their exposed bones clicking on the tiles of the kitchen floor like a blind man with a cane tap, tap, tapping his way closer and closer. Myra swallowed the fear threatening to paralyse her. Shock, she was going into shock, and she gulped back the rest of the coffee, cold enough to knock it back in one long swallow. And then it hit her. It felt like she’d been pinned underneath a giant fan, the cyclonic air flattening her skin, forcing it into undulating waves over her tired cheekbones. Her eyebrows moved under their own volition, her jaw clenching. It felt as if hundreds of cats were stabbing at her with their crudely amputated bones as they clawed their way into her lap for blood-soaked cuddles. She tried screaming but couldn’t find her tongue, her pulsating skin made that an impossible task.
The nightmarish vision of the cats vanished, leaving only the excruciating pain from their imagined amputations. Myra watched as her fingers shrank into themselves, leaving stumpy shadows of her formerly long tapered digits. Her wedding rings slipped off onto the tray, sending up a tiny splash as they landed on the polished wood — the gold circles an empty promise of something never delivered.
Myra’s head bobbed forward as she sank into the cushions. No, she wasn’t sinking into the cushions, she was shrinking, the couch threatening to engulf her diminutive frame.
Through a deep reserve of inner strength, she reached up to touch her face, her tiny fingers pressing into her rippling skin. It was as if she’d plunged her fingers into the breathing gills of a shark — her cheeks, jaw, teeth, bones, muscles, and tendons pulsated under her touch. Her face had taken on a life of its own. Then, it was as if someone had filled her head with Fourth of July crackers, and then lit the fuse. The pain so excruciating that she found her voice and as her adult-sized cranium shrank and compressed her brain at an inconsistent speed with the other changes to her body, Myra’s screams shook the house.
* * *
The boys laughed as they climbed higher and higher up the tree in the garden, a pair of garden clippers tucked into the waistband of Jesse’s shorts. What fun they would have now! Two little boys doing what little boys did.
~
For many years Kirsten McKenzie worked in her family's antique store, where she went from being allowed to sell the 50c postcards as a child, to selling $5,000 Worcester vases and seventeenth century silverware, providing a unique insight into the world of antiques which touches every aspect of her writing.
Her historical fiction novels 'Fifteen Postcards' and it's sequel 'The Last Letter' have been described as 'Time Travellers Wife meets Far Pavilions', and 'Antiques Roadshow gone viral'. The third book in the series 'Telegram Home' will be released in November 2018 by Accent Press.
Her bestselling gothic horror novel 'Painted' was released in 2017, with her medical thriller 'Doctor Perry' following closely in April 2018.
She lives in New Zealand with her husband, her daughters, an SPCA rescue cat and a kitten found in the neighbour's shed, and can usually be found procrastinating on Twitter under the handle @kiwimrsmac.

Social Media Links –


No comments:

Post a Comment