Kerry Alan Denney's title "Beyond the Vale" came in at number 20 in the Best Indie Books Title of 2017.
SYNOPSIS:
There’s no rest for the weary in the afterlife: We all must earn our passage to the next world—or pay the ultimate price.
Logan Leonard comes to his senses with his memory full of holes, and a half-familiar woman asks him if he remembers how and why he died. She tells him he must earn his passage to the next level, leads him through doorways to impossible places with surreal landscapes and bizarre inhabitants, and sends him into pictures that are portals to his past. Logan meets his spirit guide in the form of a friendly dog, finds and then loses the woman of his dreams, and battles a madman who has enslaved the entire populace of the afterlife world.
Then shadows come to claim Logan, and suddenly the stakes are his own immortal soul—and the souls of everyone he loves. All he has to do to earn his passage is rescue the woman of his dreams, defeat the shadows and their master, and correct the mistakes he made that ruined his life. If he fails, everyone will burn.
Because the punishment for failure is a one-way ticket to Hell.
EXCERPT:
The shadows grew more distinct as the torches dimmed. He did his best to ignore them, but he suspected he would always see them, forevermore in the corners of his eyes, like a door that, once opened, could never be closed again. Maybe they were a part of everything around us, always waiting to welcome us into desolation. The ghostly guides to reckless abandon and ultimate surrender, the blissful letting go of responsibility and accountability. “Forget that,” he mumbled into the darkness as the oldest torch sputtered. He cleared his throat and spoke up, as if the shadows were his audience and he was an actor in a play. “I may have cobwebs in my central processing unit, but this old boy doesn’t throw in the towel that easy, bitches. So come on. Give it your best shot.” Another torch sputtered, and he wondered how long he’d been sitting on the edge of the cot. He remembered Ashley warning him that darkness would be more frightening than it had ever been before, and stifled a shudder. He was certain that, as with Kelly, Ashley had not lied to him once, and never would, whatever her warped perception of truth may be. Neither would Jessica, or Bob—wherever he was—or Ringo, if he had a voice to try it. If Ashley was right, a deeper darkness was about to descend upon him. He watched as the third of the four torches fluttered with lighter blue flames around its bottom edges, striving to keep the fire burning as the last of its life was expelled. He chuckled, realizing how simple it all was. All he had to do was turn off the world, spare the children, win the girl, stop the madness, slay the dragon, earn his passage, and find his way back home. “Piece of cake,” he muttered as the fourth torch flickered. Darkness was almost his to claim now, equally ready to claim him. It crept upon him with a vengeance, echoing Ashley’s certainty. Death is not dying, my friend, Bob had said. And dying is not death. Laugh in your next last breath, Jessica had told him. It’ll make dying a second time easier. Do you realize now that every moment is precious? George had asked, and added, Just remember that shadows hide in the light too. “Shadows in the light,” Logan said as the last torch sputtered. He gave in to the voices, determined to defeat them, and looked down at the planks under his feet. The darkness was all his now, and he was a part of it. Ready to kick its ass again.
Except for one tiny, minor thing. Without the torchlight, a familiar pale blue luminescence pulsed from below. It seeped through the cracks between the floorboards. He’d seen it before, recognized it for what it was. He sucked in a sharp breath and started laughing again. “Kane, you son of a bitch,” he sputtered like the light of the last torch giving out. “You knew all along, planned it this way.” Whoever had built this old-fashioned town had founded it upon a quatrocyte deposit, unaware of the doom they’d pronounced upon its citizenry. Trying to hold his breath was pointless, and he breathed in the omnipresent gas of madness. ***