Stan leaned over. Grasped the rusted latch. Lifted up, the door rising at an angle from the ground, hinges creaking, width wobbling.

Dirt steps leading down. Smell rising of a place that doesn’t see enough sunlight.

Bud handed Stan a flashlight.

Jones avoided looking down the steps. “I can probably give you boys a deal on anything you find down there. To be honest, I only bought the jars because it was part of a larger deal. I never wanted them.”

Halfway down the steps, Stan turned on the flashlight.

Beam scouting around the dirt-packed walls as he reached the bottom step.

The root cellar was empty except for a wooden bookcase on the left, against the wall.

Four shelves, three bottles on each shelf.

As the flashlight hit the bottles, glittering their dust, the dark interiors tapped into life.

He started at the top row, angling the front of the flashlight down so it only indirectly illuminated the contents, to avoid glare. The first small gray face floated from the back of the jar towards the front. Mouth opening like an anus, big hopeless eyes blinking.

--from Ghosters, my latest book.

When someone you love dies, are they gone forever?

Meet the Ghosters, and the desperate people who hire them.

In our modern world, only Ghosters know what comes after death. What stays behind. And what dwells between.

Available in both Kindle and trade paperback editions.

In the UK the Kindle edition is only £1.92; the trade paperback is only £9.32.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Ghosters-Ralp...

In the US the Kindle edition is only $2.99; the trade paperback is only $13.36.

http://www.amazon.com/Ghosters-Ralph-...