Shawna Platt

Paranormal & Psychological Thriller Author

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Another 5 Stars for Her Only Son

Posted by [email protected] on October 20, 2015 at 4:25 PM Comments comments (0)

5 STARS! "It's been a long time since I've picked up a good book to actually sit and read...I am normally an audio book person. I could not put this book down. It's a good fast paced book with characters that pull you in right away. Her Only Son grabbed every emotion as I turned the pages...you won't regret picking this one up! Hope to see Shawna Platt do some more like this one." ~Jane Blanton (for Her Only Son)

Reviews

Posted by [email protected] on September 25, 2015 at 1:45 PM Comments comments (0)

“Her Only Son, by Shawna Platt, is a great thriller/suspense/mystery that you'll want to read. She has quite a way with words and tells a wonderful tale. Shawna is no one hit wonder, and she does justice to many genres. Read and enjoy!” ~Blaze McRob

 

"When I picked up this book I could not put it down. I highly recommend this read." ~Yvonne Mason


"I loved this book! From the first page until the last...could not put it down. Very good story line, loved the characters, hated some of them, and rooted for most of them. Nice twists in the plot. Great job, Shawna Platt, looking forward to reading more of your work. I am so glad I found another great author with great books to read." ~La Vonne Christian

Available on Amazon and https://www.createspace.com/4998723" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">CreateSpace.


 

Her Only Son-Now Available

Posted by [email protected] on September 18, 2015 at 2:55 PM Comments comments (0)

Available on Kindle and Createspace.

 

A government program gone wrong. Artificial insemination used to create a new breed of solider. The year is 2020 and war still plagues our world. After suffering extreme loss of life, the United States government creates a voluntary program called Operation Vala, which involves the artificial insemination of women between the ages of twenty-one and twenty-five to produce a child the military will claim and raise to be a new breed of soldier. When Kinsey Garrick finds herself an unwilling participant in the program, she chooses to fight back. When she escapes the compound with her newborn son, she becomes the target of a nationwide man hunt lead by the head of Operation Vala. Known only as Hakon, this man will stop at nothing to capture and destroy Kinsey, and take from her the one thing she's willing to risk it all for...her only son.

Instincts

Posted by [email protected] on May 23, 2015 at 1:20 PM Comments comments (0)

“Some say you create your own reality by your thoughts and actions, but sometimes life throws you into a series of events that had nothing to do with actions on your part. Sometimes life brings players onto the field you never saw coming. They hit you out of nowhere, blindsiding you with a force so severe you're left broken and disconsolate; your mind operating in fight or flight mode and the only thing you can trust are your instincts. You better pray they're right, these instincts, for they're all you've got to survive.” ~Shawna Platt

Excerpt From Clover Hill

Posted by [email protected] on May 1, 2014 at 2:20 PM Comments comments (0)

     The next morning was met with a bitter cold that froze the ground and the icy wind felt like knives against the skin of the townspeople who gathered on the hillside. Despite the cold, most were quiet as they faced the tree where the noose swayed. Sadness on their face as they knew they were losing a friend, but felt powerless against the church. For them, Marie St. James would be deeply missed. A few of Edward’s faithful followers preached the death of the witch was a blessing.

     Inside her cell, Marie stood and looked out the small window into the morning sky. She was not afraid of what was to come. She would accept her fate without guilt for who she was. She would die with her head held high.

     A guard approached her cell door and opened it. Marie turned and allowed him to bind her hands and ankles. Edward stood at the opening of her cell and as she was lead past him; he placed a gag in her mouth and tied it behind her head. He read from the Bible as Marie was lead from her cell out into the cold morning.

     Marie was lead to the steps outside the jail where Edward paused to allow the townspeople to view the accused witch. There were mixed reactions from the crowd. Most were expressing sadness and remorse. Edward’s followers were spitting at her and continued their fear based preaching.

     Edward pushed Marie forward into the crowed and she was lead up the hill to the tree which held the noose that would end her life. As Marie passed Cordelia, her eyes fell to the newborn baby she’d helped deliver. Bridgette stood beside Cordelia and wept as Marie was lead past them.

     “This is wrong,” she whispered, her voice full of fear.

     Cordelia patted her arm. “There is nothing we can do to stop it.”

     “We have to try.”

     Bridgette lunged forward and grabbed Edward by the arm. “This is wrong! She doesn’t deserve to die!”

     Edward pushed her to the ground and looked to the people who gathered around her. “Anyone who supports this witch will feel the noose around their neck as well.”

     Bridgette regained her footing and took her place next to Cordelia, her eyes burning with hatred.

     Marie reached the top of the hill and stood in front of the hanging tree. She turned to face the crowd and saw William and Frances standing together. William took a step forward, but Marie turned away. Edward grabbed her by the arm and pushed her toward the horse-drawn wagon. She was lifted onto the wooded crates in the back of wagon and the noose was placed around her neck.

     Edward stood in front of the wagon and looked up at Marie. “Marie St. James, you are here-by accused of practicing witchcraft. Let it be recorded, that on this day, October 25, 1685, you will be hanged by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul.”

     Marie looked out at the crowd and locked eyes with William. Frances stood beside him, tears streamed down her cheeks. Frances turned and spoke to William.

     “May you live with your conscious forevermore.”

     William lowered his head to the ground; remorse showed on his face. “I’m bound by the laws….”

     Frances cut him off with a wave of her hand. “She carries your child.”

     William looked at Frances, his eyes full of shock and turned toward Marie, still standing on the wooden crates. Before he could respond, the horse was slapped and charged forward, pulling the wooden crates out from under Marie’s feet. Within seconds, Marie’s body jerked as the noose took hold. Frances closed her eyes, turned, and walked away. The crowd slowly disassembled.

     William stood, frozen, watching Marie’s body sway back and forth. He caught Edward out of the corner of his eye as he was leaving. William blocked his path.

     “Aren’t you going to cut her down?”

     Edward smiled and turned toward Marie’s hanging body. “She will hang here for the remainder of the day, as a lesson to others.” Edward walked over and stood by Marie’s hanging feet. “I’ll be spitting on your grave tomorrow.” He turned and walked away, patting William on the shoulder. William stood alone, watching Marie’s body sway back and forth at the end of the rope. He lowered his head again.

     “Forevermore.”


     In the darkness of the forest, Marie ran. Her thoughts were frantic. She had to escape, but she didn’t know why or from whom. She only knew she had to get to her cottage. She’d be safe there…or would she? She didn’t know. She was so confused. Her cottage came into view and she charged through the front door, breathless. She saw Frances seated by the fireplace. Saint was in her lap, but jumped down and went to Marie. She reached down to pet him and looked to Frances.

     “Frances?”

     There was no response. Marie walked to her and touched her shoulder. Frances shuttered and turned. No one was there. She turned back around, confused, and gazed into the fire. Saint let out a loud meow. Frances turned and saw the cat walking in circles, his attention drawn to something Frances couldn’t see. Marie became anxious and touched Frances’ shoulder again.

     “Frances?”

     The front door burst open and William rushed in. Frances pushed to her feet and attacked him. William held her by the arms, but took a few good blows to the face. He pushed her out at arms length.

     “I’m so sorry!”

     Marie stood by the wall and watched.

     Frances continued her assault. “She’s gone! You could have stopped this!”

     William shoved her away, angry. “I couldn’t stop it! I tried to get her to…..”

     Frances collapsed on the floor and wept. “Her body is still hanging out there. She was carrying your child.”

     “Why wasn’t I told?”

     “She hadn’t known for long. She told me the child would die with her.”

     Marie’s eyes widen in horror. She turned and fled the cottage.

    

     Marie ran through the forest, low tree branches gripped her clothing.

     “No! No!”

     She increased her speed until she reached the tree where her body hung. She grabbed the clover pendent hanging from her neck.

     “No!”

     She stepped closer to the tree and dropped to her knees, her face in her hands. She raised her arms and head to the sky and screamed, “Why?” Birds scattered. Her breathing increased as a wind began to stir the leaves around her. Her hair began to lift and blow. Slowly, she lifted her head and her hair turned black as the wind whipped through it. Her breathing was heavy and controlled. She stood slowly and raised her arms and head to the sky. The wind increased and whipped her dress and hair. Her eyes turned black as night. Her lifeless, hanging body swayed in the gusts from the creaking tree branch. She stood before her swinging body as the wind swirled out of control. She turned to face the town below, took a few steps and raised her arms to the sky once more. In a voice of controlled anger and intent, she spoke.

     “This grass will die. This tree will twist. I cover all of you in mist. The ones responsible soon will pay. Their beating hearts I take away.”

     A violent storm engulfed the town and hillside. Marie slowly made her way down the hill into town. Back at the cottage, William and Frances noticed the sudden storm brewing. Frances rushed to the front door and opened it; wind and rain pushed through the opening. Frances stepped out on the porch. William joined her and Frances turned to him.

     “It’s Marie. She’s returned.” The eerie feeling she felt earlier in the cottage made sense to her now and explained why Saint had acted strangely.

     William looked out at the growing storm. “What is she capable of?”

     Frances shook her head. “It depends on how angry she is. I would be more worried about the people she may seek revenge on.”


Click here to read Clover Hill

Excerpt From Quota

Posted by [email protected] on May 1, 2014 at 2:10 PM Comments comments (0)

     Drake sat at his desk and leaned on his elbow with his hand on the side of his face. He hated school, and pretty much, everyone in it. He gazed out the window and wished for freedom. His life was a joke. He got along well with his dad, but his mom was pushy and demanding. Nothing was ever good enough for her. He’d show her someday. She thought he didn’t know, but he did. He knew, all right, and she’d pay for it. Yeah, he thought, maybe this would be the year she’d pay for it. The bell ending class snapped him to and he loaded his books in his arms and filed his way to the hall with the rest of the cattle. At least today was the last day before Christmas vacation.


     Lunch was uneventful, as usual. He sat in the corner and watched the fake exchange of emotions take place. People are strange animals, he thought. He opened his notebook and scribbled. He looked up again and smiled. More like a sneer. Should he warn them? He never had before, but maybe this would put some excitement back in the game. She thought he didn’t know, but he did, and she would pay for it.


     Rachel rushed through the front door and marched straight up the stairs to Drake’s room. She opened his closet door and started digging. Every shoe had a mate, and the shoe missing a mate, the one in question, could not be found. She sat on the floor and dug deeper. There it was, tucked in the back corner, the other shoe from the photo with traces of blood. She sat back and stared at the evidence in front of her. What was she going to do with this? She pushed off the floor, went to her bedroom, and opened her walk-in closet. She found an old luggage bag and stuffed the shoe inside. She grabbed some sweaters off their hangers and stuffed them in as well. She placed the luggage bag on the top corner shelf and stacked other bags on top of it. She sat on the edge of her bed and listened. Why did it always have to be so quiet?


     Daryl sat on the park bench outside his office building. It was cold, too cold to be sitting on a park bench, but he didn’t care. It was snowing again; it always snowed in Montana in December and it was one of the things he loved about it. He thought about Rachel and her obsession. She thought he didn’t know, but he did, and she had to be stopped. There was only one way out of this and Drake had to be kept safe. This year, her obsession would stop. He’d make sure of it. He glanced at his watch and realized his next patient would be coming soon. He rose from the bench and walked toward his office building, feeling the shadow following close behind, and had a plan formulating in his mind on how he could stop Rachel from doing more harm.


     Rachel sat on the couch and took another sip of wine. Daryl would be home soon and she had to find a way to talk to him about Drake. What was she going to do with the shoe evidence? Should she continue to hide it and wait for the best time to bring it forward? When was the best time? She had to plan it out carefully. For years, she’d been hiding the secret and now it was getting out of hand. She leaned back on the couch and swirled the wine in her glass. Everything was about to blow up in her face. How she hated Montana and the life she’d built there. She wished she’d stayed in Seattle instead of moving to this god-forsaken town. The last few years had been building up to this moment and she wasn’t about to have it ruined now. Stay calm, she told herself. You can do this. Family or not, she had to finish it.


     She was still seated on the couch, on her third glass of wine, when Daryl returned from work.The alcohol she’d consumed had built up the courage she needed to address the issue. She held her glass up, as in a toast, and smiled when he walked in the room. “We have to talk about Drake.”

     Daryl stood for a moment, accessing the situation. He sighed deeply and sat on the couch next to her. He watched as she swirled her wine, hating the person she’d become. “What do you want to talk about?”

     “Drake, of course.”

     “Yes, you said that. What about Drake?”

     She tried to sit forward, but gravity was no longer cooperating. He pulled her by the arm to a full sitting position, took her wine, and set it on the coffee table. She pointed a not so steady finger in his direction.

     “Drake is in trouble.”

     “Drake is fine.”

     She shook her head. “No! No, he isn’t. He’s got some serious problems that need to be addressed.” She paused. “I found the shoe.”

     His brow creased at her words. “What shoe?”

     She swayed on the couch. “His other shoe.The missing mate. Bloody. I have it, you know. This missing shoe.”

     He moved in closer. “What are you planning to do with this….shoe?”

     She swayed again and fell against the back of the couch. “I don’t know yet, but I have a plan.” She pointed her finger at him again. “A really good plan,” she laughed.

     He stood and held a hand out to her. “You’re drunk and need to go to bed. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Drake is not in trouble and I have no idea what you’re talking about regarding the shoe.”

     “They found a shoe at the crime scene. It matches Drake’s, but I could only find one, and it’s bloody. What do you think that means?”

     He grabbed her by the arm and jerked her off the couch. “It means you’re drunk. Are you accusing your own son of murder?”

     She wobbled in front of him, and when she spoke, her breath smelled like a stale wine barrel. “I don’t know what to think anymore.” She pushed away and made her way upstairs. It took a few tries, and Daryl thought she’d fall back down them, but after a moment he heard the bedroom door close. He ran his fingers through his hair. He had to speak to Drake about the shoe. What had Rachel done? Whatever it was, this time she went too far.


Click here to read Quota



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