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Tales of the Executioners

Joleene Naylor is the author of the glitter-less Amaranthine vampire universe, a world where vampires aren't for children. Comprised of a main series, a standalone prequel, and several short story collections, she has plans to continue expanding with a trilogy and standalone novels. In her spare time, Joleene is a freelance book cover designer and for-fun photographer. She maintains several blogs, full of odd ramblings, and occasionally updates her website at JoleeneNaylor.com. In what little time is left, she watches anime, plays PokemonGo, and works on her crooked Victorian house in Villisca, Iowa. Between her husband, family, and pets, she is never lonely, in fact, quite the opposite. Should she disappear, one might look for her on a beach in Tahiti, sipping a tropical drink and wearing a disguise. Twenty-nine short stories of love, death, heartbreak, and blood. Meet the Executioners, elite enforcers of the vampires’ laws. Walk with them through origin stories, follow them across the sea to the colonies, and run with them through the wilds, as they try to bring civilization to a land ruled by “day sleeper” clans. Fifteen interwoven stories tell the beginning of The Guild, set under the watchful - and sometimes malevolent - gaze of the ancient Malick, whose heavy shadow stretches even across the sea. Meet his favorite son, his willful daughter, his child-like pet, and many more whose jealousies, hatreds, and loves twist together to create consequences they can’t foresee.

Joleene Naylor · Horror
Not enough ratings
186 Chs

Chapter 103: Lisiantha - Home for Christmas, Part 1

This story takes place in 1986 in Iowa, a year after Fallon's story.

***

Lisiantha parked the car in the driveway and gave a heavy sigh. Surrounded by fields and a group of trees, the place had scarcely changed in fifty years. An old Victorian farm house with a handful of odd additions, painted white always painted white, as if a splash of color might give them away.

The last time she'd seen it, it had been summer. Now, the snow kissed roof spoke of winter, and a curl of smoke from the chimney said fire burned in the hearth. It would be Christmas soon. She wondered if they'd updated their decorations, or if it was still the same handful of glass bobbles and dried oranges.

"This is it?"