Prodigies of Age

The BLOOD!

The SLAUGHTER!

The SUSPENSE!

These will be splattered across every page as detective Martha Sevinski braves the dangers of the underground organ trafficking scene in her search of the Boston Butcher, a vicious serial killer preying on the fresh college minds of Harvard University. As the predator makes his way down the list of top ranking students to harvest their brains, Sevinski finds herself racing against the clock to uncover his secret identity and teams up with an unlikely ally in the person of her estranged husband, Dr. Ratchet, a professor of forensic science.

A bold and provocative debut novel, SKULLCRACKER will keep you hooked from start to finish and leave you begging for more from former child prodigy Sally March. A stark departure from the fairy tales she authored in her childhood, the new Queen of Horror is certain to inject terror into your veins.

Sally pressed her fingers against the back cover, its lustrous surface reflecting the dim lights of the narrow backstage room. The diffuse features of her freckled face could also be seen in between words. The synopsis felt satisfying. It was exactly what she had in mind.

The advance copies had sold out. Online forums were rampant with gossip about her. She had allegedly “gone wild.” By all accounts, the very definition of “wild” was simply for a former child sensation to turn nineteen.

“What a touching story,” concluded Moira, faking tears as a worn-out mother and her teenage runaway daughter hugged emotionally on a couch in front of the posh host.

The scene unfolded before Sally on a large flat screen TV, hanging from the wall like an ominous pixelated eye watching over her. Even in the age of streaming, Moira’s talk show drew astronomical ratings, due in no small part to its star’s exuberant personality and her larger than life guests. From the most dysfunctional families in America to the most shameless of celebrities, the quest for fame always culminated in an appearance on the program. Moira’s tears quickly faded. She dried them up in no time with a handkerchief pulled from the side pocket of her shiny silver blazer and addressed the camera directly.

“Up next, the moment YOU have been waiting for!” she proudly declared, a mischievous smile on her scarlet lips. “We catch-up with the latest rebellious child star, none other than author Sally March! I wouldn’t want to miss that tea, if I were you.”

The broadcast cut to a commercial just as Moira was taking a sip from her pearly fine china cup, her side eye gleaming with the promise of juicy drama. A mere five seconds later, Sally heard a knock at the door.

“Miss Sunshine,” quipped the assistant-director, peering her head through the threshold. “Your turn.”

Sally walked out into the long corridor leading up to the stage, clenching the book with all her might. They wouldn’t get the best of her. They couldn’t. She soon reached the studio’s antechamber and hid behind a blue velvet curtain.

Hold on, she thought. Now is the time to prove yourself. Moira’s voice rose from the other side of the curtain.

“Without further ado, please welcome the one, the only, Sally March!”

The blue velvet lifted. Sally found herself facing a hostile crowd that consisted mostly of fortysomething mothers holding out cardboard signs that read “STOP CORRUPTING OUR YOUTH.” The young writer’s eyes struggled to adjust to the blinding stage lights amidst the countless boos emerging from the audience, and she only found the set after a copious amount of blinking. There, in her large, quasi-royal armchair, Moira was waiting for her.

“Dearest Sally,” said the host quietly as her guest took place in the hot seat. “It feels like we just met for the first time yesterday. Do you remember sitting in that very couch with your princess doll at the tender age of nine, promoting your first collection of fairy tales?”

“I certainly do,” replied Sally, her skin flushing at the thought of the atrocious memory. “How could I forget?”

“Granted, I’m unforgettable.”

The audience erupted in laughter at the dated, self-aggrandizing joke. Moira had them in the palm of her hand; there was nothing Sally could do to win their allegiance.

“I can hardly argue with that,” replied the young woman with defiance splattered across her face.

“Time to spill the tea,” said Moira, taking another sip out of her cup. From her position, Sally could see it was empty. “It looks like the little princess is no more, is she?”

“I don’t see what you’re talking about. A princess forever remains a princess, even when she trades her pink gown for a leather jacket.”

Whispers ran across the crowd. Although she could not hear what they said, Sally knew the voices meant no good.

“Right. Everybody loves a renegade.”

“WE DON’T!”

All women in the first row stood up simultaneously, brandishing their signs. They were all dressed identically, wearing white shirts adorned with red crosses over a print-out of Sally’s face. The words “PROTECT OUR DAUGHTERS” hovered above her curly red hair.

“Looks like we have some strongly-opinionated women in our audience today!” proclaimed Moira. “You sure have come a long way from the sweet, innocent tales you used to write. Any thoughts about the impact your antics could have on younger, impressionable audiences?”

“Antics?” said Sally with flagrant disbelief. “My new creative direction hardly qualifies as antics. A woman can’t write about modern day Cinderellas forever.”

“But isn’t this what your fans liked about your writing? Strong heroines that didn’t need princes to rescue them? Alternate versions of classics where the princess escaped the dragon all by herself.”

“I think you’ll find Detective Sevinski is a strong heroine in her own right.”

“Yes, and we all know what she does with her handsome Dr. Ratchet.”

More boos flooded the room. The animosity towards her was now so intense that Sally feared the air would soon become too thick to breathe.

“Detective Sevinski is an adult, and so am I. Adults do not go by the same restrictions my previous characters had.”

“Can adults also do this?”

With a snap of Moira’s fingers, a paparazzi snapshot appeared on the giant screen adorning the back of the set. The rather unflattering picture showed Sally at a restaurant table, a glass of wine in her hand, laughing with friends.

“It seems our princess prodigy can’t shake off the party scene these days,” commented Moira to a new chorus of boos. “Even though she’s not of drinking age yet. Not quite the role model we thought she was.”

“This picture was taken at a book convention in Montreal,” snapped back Sally. “I am of drinking age in Canada.”

“So, your reckless partying has even taken you across the border. What kind of message does this send to your fans, to our daughters?”

The heavy insinuation drove Sally over the line. She stood up, towering over the whole set.

“Listen Moira. I came here to promote a new chapter of my professional life, one that departs from the sugar-coated, pink-colored vision of life I have always been made to write about. I’m smart, I’m creative, I’m a hard worker, and most important of all, I care about having full control over my career. Isn’t that what your daughters should aspire to be?”

Silence fell over the crowd. Moira lowered her square spectacles, staring deep into her guest’s soul.

“Perhaps your audience – and yourself – believe this creative control is something to be ashamed of,” Sally added. “Too bad, because I’m not your ship to trap in a glass bottle. I sail the ocean free.”

For a moment, Sally truly believed she had made her point. Everyone stood still, entranced by her speech. It took a fraction of a second for this spell to be broken.

“YOU WON’T PLANT THIS FILTH IN OUR DAUGHTERS’ HEADS!”

The loudest mother in the crowd swished her arm, and soon a tomato collided with Sally’s cheek. More women joined in the tomato pelting, and the young author found herself dodging a shower of red spheres dashing towards her body. She ran offstage at lightning speed, and the curtain closed behind her once more.

The adrenaline rush had come as a surprise, but a welcome one. Glancing at the synopsis at the back of her book again, Sally collected a trail of tomato mush off the hard cover, then licked it. This might have been her best promo yet. Mission accomplished. Her rite of passage towards adulthood had been completed.