Pressley Barclay is an author with writer's block...and a new home.
But his home contains more than the solution for his block.
This might be one adventure from which he never returns...
Pressley Barclay is a famous author and with that fame came his writer's block. As a way to escape from the noise and distraction of the city, he finds his dream home in the country estate -- and at a steal...or is it? His new home turns out to be more like a hell than a Heaven. Things get worse when he finds the mirror. The mirror was meant to stay hidden. The realtor told him a tale that the prior owner claimed her husband was "sucked" into a mirror and disappeared. Pressley's curiosity with the mirror finds him in an alternate world. Taking refuge in a spooky old house, Pressley finds "them"... Like daylight and dark, the men are enigmatic and sad. Who were they? With no way back home, Pressley Barclay is in for the survival lesson of his life, relying solely on his wits to survive and solve a mystery spanning four centuries, a decadent mystery involving the two young men and how they died. Will Pressley free the house of the torturous limbo it has endured for so long, or will his spirit be the newest addition to a house of solemn shadows and lost souls?
Excerpt
The house was dark, but the open front door allowed some light to trickle into the cavernous front foyer. Pressley let out a low whistle as his eyes rapidly moved all around the room. The gothic structure reminded him of his house, too much of his house. The windows were encrusted with dirt, grime and cobwebs, but light managed to filter in tiny ribbons, through the beautiful, ornate, stained glass panes. It seemed that each window had a different scene on it. Pressley could see a sunrise in one window, a full moon in another, an altar with someone kneeling and a dog and lady in another pane. The rest of the windows were much too caked over with filth to see anything on them clearly. He wished he could see what the rest of the windows held, but he had to try and find a way to get home, not worry about how much this house resembled his, although the thought troubled him.
Pressley stood and looked at the colors dancing around the floor. They, like the swirling mirror had been, were hypnotic and it took a concerted effort on his part to tear his eyes away. He had gotten his fill of enough swirling of anything and wished to only see things as they were supposed to be, and not misting, churning in any way, or calling to him. He looked around again. He knew that this mansion must have been the pride of its owners, at one time. Even in such terrible disrepair, it was still magnificent.
This house was full of shadows, it seemed. He had grown somewhat accustomed to shadows, as the shadows in his house still made him feel unwelcome at times, but the shadows in this room leapt up and towered over him and then died away again, as if wishing to make their presence known to him. He shivered. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.
Pressley rubbed his legs. They still ached and standing around doing nothing wasn’t helping them any. A giant, sweeping, staircase loomed before him, flanked by candelabras. He had enough of stairs, but he needed to explore this place. He might as well get started, being as he was here and had no idea when or even if he would be leaving.
The cracked, black marble floors disintegrated and broke even more than it already was, under his feet, as he walked to the stairway. He retrieved a candelabra, and took the lighter from his pocket. He had never smoked, but always thought it handy to carry a lighter in case he ran into a situation where he might need one. He had made use of his lighter many times and never went anywhere without it. This plight he found himself in now could definitely be considered a good time to have a lighter handy. He always got strange looks when he voiced his thoughts to his friends on why carrying a lighter was necessary, when he didn’t smoke, and he was further heartened by the fact that he did have it. He was right…not that anyone was around to see or even care. Being prepared was something that he was all too familiar with, as he had to learn to be prepared for anything, while growing up. He was thankful many times that his mother’s odd and eccentric ways had rubbed off on him. Many times, it was the simple things that he had been exposed to, the forgotten ways of doing things that had saved his life.
Pressley’s hands shook as he clicked the lighter. It was one of those windproof ones, so he could click it instead of having to rub his thumb across the little ball that other lighters had, to achieve a flame. He hated those lighters that you had to rub your thumb across the ball of flint he guessed maybe it was, as many times, he could never get enough friction to get the lighter going. Pressley would be the first to admit that he wasn’t the least bit interested in fire or lighters, so he had no idea what to actually call that part of the lighter, and called it the flint for lack of a better word. What had his friends called it before? He couldn’t remember and figured that as Murphy’s Law would have it, the time that he actually did need to know some trivial information, the time that even a small scrap of conversations with his friends about their lighters would come in handy, he couldn’t remember not one word of anything they had said. Well, whatever, that flint ball, Pressley would call it, whether that was what it was or not, because “ball click thing” sounded dumb, had always burned his thumb.
It seemed to take a while to get the ancient and damp wick to light. He was suddenly reminded of his contrary wallpaper at home and how it had given him a difficult time as well. Why couldn’t things simply be simple for once? Pressley exhaled and screwed his mouth up. Probably because if things were simple then it wouldn’t be his life that the simple situations would be happening in.
Pressley huffed and continued to click the lighter on the wicks and as if having mercy on him, they lit. However, there were two candles that, no matter how much Pressley coaxed, begged or threatened them, they wouldn’t light. The others sputtered as if teasing him and punishing him for bothering them, and then burned a bright orange flame that died down to a calm and soft glow. The candelabra threw light in all directions around him, but it barely cut through the gloom as he achingly ascended the staircase.
Pressley looked at the railing carefully as he held onto it, more to pull his wobbly legs up the hateful stairs, than anything else. He knew that on their own his spaghetti legs would never have supported him. The staircase railing was carved from the same, hearty oak as the door was and was engraved with a winding pattern of what looked like some sort of vine. Some of the railing was worn smooth, but what was still visible of the pattern was beautiful. Pressley hadn’t noticed the inside of the railing, as his view from the floor was limited, but flowers, giant, open flowers, had been carved from the wood that made up the railing and seemed to “bloom” from the vines as they wrapped around the banisters.
Pressley was so busy concentrating on the stairs and making it to the top of them without falling to his doom, and looking at the ornate banister and railing that he found so beautiful, that he nearly ran into the two men standing at the top of the stairs. He dropped his candelabra.
Professional Reviews
Nicholas Grabowsky Review at Downwarden.com
Review of “The Two”
By Nicholas Grabowsky
Ephemera Bound Publishing
August 2005 - Republished October 1, 2006
Pressley Barclay is a dark novelist whose works are successful enough to give him a large following and a degree of enough wealth to make him capable of purchasing a remote, centuries-old English mansion that nobody else wants when he tires of living in busy London.
Pressley is enchanted and awestruck with his new estate, with its statue garden, private beach, grove of fruit trees, rumors of the mansion's dark history. As he explores and inspects its interior, marveling at the exquisite architecture and the many archaic rooms, he discovers a full-length mirror of stunning beauty hidden in the depths of a sub basement.
And the mirror sucks him in.
He finds himself roaming the same property five centuries prior, at a time where its occupants were a wealthy family of high society overshadowed by two brothers whose images grace a vast painting near the home's grand staircase. Their father is the town constable, who's been taking townsfolk heat from his inability to bring to justice those responsible for a mean streak of intensely brutal sexual murders. Pressley finds himself witnessing enough of the events to be taken into the web of a fascinating mystery encompassing the house and the identities of the sadistic killers.
Andrea Dean Van Scoyoc writes with conviction and beauty and carefully vivid detail, and I applaud her. She casts an eerie haunted atmosphere like a fog bank through a graveyard in your mind which settles there throughout the read's duration, in a way not menacing but surreal like feeling for obstacles as you walk across a dark room and your eyes hadn't yet adjusted. The detail in her work matches the craftsmanship described in the story concerning the contents of the mansion, and you'll feel almost as though you've been whisked away with Pressley through that mirror with him.
Andrea has graced the literary world prior to this with critically acclaimed poetry and works ranging from goth to horror to related erotica, and her much-praised "Gothique--A Man of Two Worlds." She's a part-time model, and you can photograph her beauty beside her favorite cemetery statue, any day.
Pay attention to Andrea's works, she's a true literary artist.
Review From Nancy Jackson
Reviewed by Nancy Jackson
The Two
Written by Andrea Dean Van Scoyoc
Ephemera Bound Publishing
Released April 2005 - Re-released October 1 2006
Stepping into the mind of talented author Andrea Dean Van Scoyoc is a shocking and surreal treat. In her gripping Gothic novel The Two, she takes the reader on a mind-bending trip where truth can become deadly.
Pressley Barclay, a successful novel writer, finds himself in need of a change of scenery and some added inspiration. He accomplishes both by moving to the country, in a secluded area of East Dean. In the walls of the lush Gothic house, lie many rooms, each one an adventure of its own. Barclay realizes he’s stumbled onto a goldmine of possibilities and creative story ideas. As he spends much of his time searching the house, he comes across an impressive mirror, and can’t take his eyes from the swirling vortex of temptation. It holds him transfixed until he is sucked inside, like a portal, taking him back four hundred and eighty two years earlier. Once there he can’t return, and must fight for survival.
What he finds is a series of macabre events that makes him question is own mind. Are they dreams, hallucinations, or is he seeing the ghosts who once inhabited the gloomy abode? A painting of two brothers hangs on the wall and Barclay quickly learns more about them and their short life through an old diary. In the middle of all this he is thrust in a position of being a voyeur to the sick and twisted murders that once took place inside the home. Each room is a cruel reminder of two barbaric demons with a lust for each other and the graphic torturing of their victims. The longer Barclay spends trapped on the other side of the mirror, the further he descends into the happenings, and fears he too will become a victim.
Ambience and character development deserve high praise in this hard to put down book. While occasionally the subject matter gets a bit spicy with sexual exploration and violent torture, it doesn’t take away from the book in any way. In fact, it enhances the story, aiding in the horrific revelation of dark secrets and a necessary closure for the characters. Andrea Dean Van Scoyoc writes with an eye for detail, beauty, and a lust for the alluring world of the macabre.
The Two is a descent into darkness and allows the reader a chance to learn what is beyond the mirror. If you’re lucky you might make it back out safely.
Evil Times Two
Pressley Barclay was a well-known horror author looking for some inspiration. When he bought a foreboding gothic, country estate with a checkered past, he thought he found exactly what he needed.
But, when he finds the mirror that was meant to be kept hidden, he is transported to another world. This world is dark and mysterious and inhabited by the two. Can Pressley solve the centuries-old mystery and free the two from their purgatory?
Award-winning writer Andrea Dean Van Scoyoc creates a dark and sinister tale that strikes fear into even the most seasoned horror reader. Her attention to detail is unparalleled and paints a world of despair.
Van Scoyoc does a masterful job in shocking the reader. Her in-depth narration of the murderous deeds of the two will astonish the reader to his or her core. "The Two" is truly evil and will be a favorite in any horror connoisseur's library.
~Reviewed by Leigh O'Donovan - Authors on the Rise Book Reviewer -4 Stars
Pray for the light. Pray that you last that long. The Long Hour Before Light is a classic collection of Horror tales, re-mastered by Champagne Book Group
