I am pleased to welcome Yolanda Renée here to talk about her new book, Memories of Murder. Keep reading for an exciting and kind of creepy excerpt. (Shivers. I need my blankie to read this!)
Precognitive Dreams Fact or Fiction
Thank you Julie for hosting me today on a discussion of precognitive dreams, a plot line I use in Memories of Murder.
Precognition can fall into the realm of the paranormal, but I've done my best not to let it go too far into that sphere, and this was a personal choice. All of us dream, some more than others, and I've heard many a writer say that they get their stories directly from their dreams. I happen to be one of those people. The story line for Memories of Murder came from a dream.
In a discussion of precognitive dreams, we have to discuss the viability of a real vs. a fictional plot line. While there is no question that this story is fictional, I'd like to think there is some basis in reality for precognition. I've researched the notion of precognition and there are studies done by some major universities, but the mainstream scientific community is still skeptical, and yet there is evidence of its reality.
For me it's all about the personal experience as I've had minor premonitions, you know that nagging sixth sense that tells you something is wrong; I've also experienced precognitive dreams that came true.
Precognitive dreams showed me my husband years before we met, warned me of several violent encounters, and showed me future events and health issues that have all happened. All of my precognitive dreams repeated, and I use that fact in my book. As the main character experiences dreams that haunt her repeatedly until she records them. Such as this one:
Excerpt from Memories of Murder:
She painted with purpose, stopped, and stepped back. She had lost her train of thought, and her inspiration. Surprised at what she saw on the canvas, she gripped the brush tightly, but could not remember what she meant to record.
"What's wrong, angel? Have you forgotten your objective?
She jumped, startled by the deep voice of the beast that stepped out of the shadows. She gasped in revulsion at the abomination that stood before her.
"Don't be frightened, angel. I won't hurt you—yet," he said soothingly.
She froze in place. She remembered him. Knew she had seen him before. Terror made her powerless. Inside her chest, her heart pounded so hard, she knew he could see the beats through her thin, cotton gown. She felt naked, exposed.
"It's all right, angel. You'll get everything right. You'll be able to see the mystery clearly, I promise. Just not too soon, not before I'm ready." He gulped blood from the gold chalice in his hand, grinning as he moved closer.
"Ready? Ready for what?" Somehow, she had found her voice, and her question had strength. She did not believe in him, had never believed in the existence of Satan. Yet he stood before her, with red scaly skin, horns, and a pointed tail that circled his hideous body and stretched out to touch her. She leaned away.
"You made a wise decision, my love, leaving that idiot behind and finding your own voice. Soon, you'll understand that your place is beside me."
"Never!" She wasn't sure where she got the courage.
"Never?" he repeated and chuckled. "Is that a dare? Because I love nothing more than to hear that one word uttered. Never say never, angel. It's a very dangerous game.
He circled her, but she stood her ground.
"The absence of fear. Admirable!" He leaned in, sniffing her like a dog. "The aroma—roses. Your true essence—simply beautiful."
The closer he got, the more repulsive he became. She could smell his true essence, too, the odor of death. In the background, she swore she could hear the whisper of humanity begging for release.
"You sense my power. You hear my servants." He licked his lips, and blood-filled saliva dribbled down his chin. "You're open to my influence, my desires."
He was inches from her. A monster more hideous than any science-fiction demon created, this creature possessed no humanity, and his clumsy attempt at seduction terrified her.
Shocked by her inability to look away from him, She tried to step back.
He reached for her. She had barely managed to move when his finger scorched her cheek. The sensation was that of a red-hot brand, and she touched the wound, feeling the remnants of fire.
"Don't be frightened. It'll only hurt a little, and pain is so good." He crowed.
The Beast's movement was so quick, it was almost imperceptible, except that his face contorted. She felt the pain, unbearable—searing—as he moved away from her. He smiled broadly and showed large, pointed canines dripping fresh blood—her blood, her flesh. She swayed, her will, her strength gone. Life poured from the wound on her neck. Her hands tried to stem the flow, but blood gushed through her fingers like water from an open pipe. She sank to the floor.
He towered over her, amused by her shock.
"See, just a little pain. A kiss, my love, a brand to prove that you're mine, and a warning to any other suitor."
When he picked her up, she screamed; her final, last effort to fight him was a shriek that filled her throat, echoed in her ears. His response was a piercing laugh that held no humor, just pure malice. Like a lover, he cradled her in his arms. His touch incinerated her gown, scorched her flesh. His lips came down on hers. The fires of Hell consumed her.
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What do you think, should we heed those voices in our head, or tempt fate? Do you believe in precognitive dreams or premonitions – have any of your dreams or visions ever come true?
Thanks again Julie, I hope I've given your readers something to ponder.
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~ Memories of Murder is available on Amazon Kindle ~
You can find Renée here: