THE STORY
Not many know about the home at 1300 Brookshire Lane, or what goes on inside the white, aged, and weathered Victorian-style home. Yet, residents nearby will tell you of the flickering lights from random room windows and the periodic faint high-pitch tone of what sounds like a whistle, coming from the dark forest behind it.
Owen is all too excited to move into this sizeable two-story home with his children, but soon discovers himself questioning whether or not something-or someone-is present in the home with them. The grim, negative energy weighs heavier by the day. Every room feels of vexed, desperate eyes pursuing their every move. Furniture moves, doors slam shut, and shadows seem to have a life of their own, inhabiting ever dark corner.
With nowhere else to go, Owen finds help and discovers one thing for sure-the house wants something, and it will not rest until it has it.
reviews
“Most books don’t get interesting until about halfway through but this one had me hooked at the end of chapter 1!”
Kayvin6755
“The setting feels almost like its own character, and the sense of dread keeps you reading.”
Chip
“This book is so much more than just a haunted house story! The characters are so lovable and complex, and the themes of grief and healing really make this such a pleasurable and interesting read.”
Emily Fair
“I laughed, cried, and had the s**t scared out of me.”
Amazon Customer
“Readers will discover that the strength of this novel lies in great character development. The backstory of the main characters serves the novel in a fashion that reaches beyond the plot of a family living in a haunted house.”
Brady Longmore
“Terrence Spencer brilliantly weaves about six plot twists into this amazing edge-of-the-seat thriller.”
CK
“I was disappointed when it ended only because I wanted more. Maybe a spin off series following the two specific characters who surface on the later chapters because they’re definitely worth hearing about!”
DomiYvo
“This book is a nail biter..”
Lora Olson
“Previously I have compare TDS’ writing style do Dean Koontz and it continues to remind me of his style..”
Lisa
“You find yourself feeling what the characters feel and picturing their surroundings (very reminiscent of Steven King).”
B. Martinez
“If you like something that keeps you guessing and excited to come back for more, this is the book for you!”
Kindle Customer
“An awesome read that never bored me for a second!”
Teresa Mullens
A Letter I’ll Never Forget
Reviews are always appreciated, whether they’re posted on Amazon, Goodreads, or shared on social media. But every now and then, something arrives that reminds me why I started writing in the first place.
One reader took the time to not only read Premises more than once, but to sit down and write me a personal letter. In a world of emails, text messages, and online reviews, receiving a handwritten letter in the mail felt incredibly special.
Knowing that someone cared enough about my story to put pen to paper made this one of the most meaningful pieces of reader feedback I’ve ever received. It’s a reminder that stories can leave a lasting impression long after the final page is turned.
I’ve received many wonderful reviews over the years, and I’m grateful for every single one. But because this letter was so personal and heartfelt, it has earned a special place among my favorite reviews.
CHAPTER EXCERPT
The footsteps reached the top of the stairs.
With a final burst of effort, she slammed into the door, breaking it open. She fell hard onto the floor inside, but there was no time to recover. Scrambling on her hands and knees, she turned and shoved the door shut, pressing her feet against it.
The footsteps stopped.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by her own frantic, quivering breaths. Her feet pressed firmly against the base of the door, her muscles burning with tension. The doorknob began to turn, slowly, deliberately. A faint squeal accompanied each agonizing movement as it twisted left, then right, then back again.
Steph pressed harder against the door, her legs trembling with the effort. The knob stopped turning, leaving only silence. She exhaled shakily, daring to hope it was over.
The pounding came without warning. Violent, earth-shaking blows slammed into the door, rattling the frame and sending echoes through the room. Steph clamped her hands over her ears, the deafening noise pressing in from all sides.
She could feel it—the force behind the door, the weight of whatever was out there. It wasn’t just trying to get in; it was demanding entry. The hinges groaned, the screws loosening with each shuddering impact.
“This door,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible beneath the relentless pounding, “it’s like the back door… stuck.”
Her hope was fleeting. She could hear it—something pushing, forcing itself against the weakening wood. Each blow grew stronger, more relentless, and the door began to splinter under the strain. The center bowed inward, the wood cracking and groaning as the screws stripped from their settings.
Steph stood slowly. Her wide, tear-filled eyes never left the door as it buckled before her. Whatever was out there wasn’t going to stop. She could feel it—the raw, unrelenting malice pressing closer with every strike.
The door trembled violently, the frame threatening to give way. She held her breath, her body frozen as she watched the final moments of its collapse unfold.
Steph took a faltering step backward, her chest rising and falling with shallow, panicked breaths. Her eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for escape, but the window behind her offered only a sheer drop to the snow-covered ground below. She was trapped, the realization sinking in like icy claws wrapping around her spine. No one knew she was here except Dean. Dean… where the hell are you?
Her trembling hands rose to her mouth, her fingers curling against her lips as she struggled to keep from sobbing. Her only weapon—the flashlight—lay useless on the floor downstairs, its batteries long dead. Another step back. The pounding on the door grew louder, each blow rattling the fragile frame and sending sharp splinters of wood flying into the room. The sound seemed to reverberate through her skull, a relentless drumbeat of impending doom.
She stumbled, her heel catching on something solid. Her body gave way, collapsing backward onto the floor with a sharp gasp. Scrambling to right herself, she turned to see what had tripped her—and froze.
It was Dean.
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