There might be no such thing as werewolves, vampires or ghosts but apparently, evil Klowns are real. Tempest Michaels is once again investigating ridiculous cases that are clearly not even slightly paranormal in nature. However, his daily menu of fun is interrupted by a plague of men dressed in garish outfits. They wear twisted clown make-up as they terrorise the Kent towns and villages with ever escalating and more frequent attacks. The Klowns should be a case for the police to solve but their leader appears to have a serious beef with Tempest and they are coming for him and anyone that gets…mehr
There might be no such thing as werewolves, vampires or ghosts but apparently, evil Klowns are real. Tempest Michaels is once again investigating ridiculous cases that are clearly not even slightly paranormal in nature. However, his daily menu of fun is interrupted by a plague of men dressed in garish outfits. They wear twisted clown make-up as they terrorise the Kent towns and villages with ever escalating and more frequent attacks. The Klowns should be a case for the police to solve but their leader appears to have a serious beef with Tempest and they are coming for him and anyone that gets in their way. Who are the Klowns? What do they want? And what's with the ridiculous smiles? If they were not enough of a nuisance, he has foolishly employed a woman he is utterly besotted by. Trying to ignore Mr Wriggly's thoughts about what to do with his new colleague, he goes after his silver medal, a girl he lusted after years ago at school, but while Mr Wriggly might not care tuppence about the difference, is Tempest's heart really in it? Throw in a demonic possession, a restaurant with ghostly footsteps and some more meddling by his mother, it looks like another entertaining week for Kent's best Paranormal Investigator.
At school, the author was mostly disinterested in every subject except creative writing, for which, at age ten, he won his first award. However, calling it his first award suggests that there have been more, which there have not. Accolades may come but, in the meantime, he is having a ball writing mystery stories and crime thrillers and claims to have more than a hundred books forming an unruly queue in his head as they clamour to get out. He lives in the south-east corner of England with a duo of lazy sausage dogs. Surrounded by rolling hills, brooding castles, and vineyards, he doubts he will ever leave, the beer is just too good.
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