home the nonprofit bookstore
Shopping Cart Your Shopping Cart

Your Account

The Nonprofit Bookstore Supporting EducationOur mission...

Left endsubjectsReaderPublishersabout usRight end

G.C. Rosenquist
booksXYZ price: $16.95
$0.85 of your order (5%) will be donated to the school of your choice.


Submit a book review

1855...Emily March thought life with her new husband, Nathan, on his vast tobacco plantation was going to be Heaven. But, soon after arriving at Evermore, life is Hell.
Ghosts, murder, dark secrets, civil war and pure evil seem to grow out of the very soil of the plantation and Emily finds herself in a battle for her sanity and her soul.
Evermore is an epic, haunting ghost story spanning the years before, during and after the Civil War. Author Gregg. Rosenquist has created a truly original and scary story you won't be able to put down.

The mass of black that surrounded Emily surprised and gladdened her heart. It seemed as if the entire town had gathered around her father’s, Edshar’s, long walnut casket to bid him farewell. The casket rested quietly next to the rectangular hole on two milled tree stubs no higher than her knees. A framed portrait of her father sat on the grass, leaning against the foot of the box so that it caught the sun and reflected a big white spot, erasing his face. That morning, after she had finally finished preparing him and as her father lay in his coffin in the cellar, Emily had an artist paint the portrait. It was a dignified and colorless portrait, the only hint of color coming from the brown suit coat he wore. Although it looked like him, his expression was grim, as the artist had, for some reason, brought her father’s two white bushy eyebrows together at a downward angle above his nose. Emily had no idea what she would do with it after the burial.

It was much too hot a day for a funeral and the late July rains they’d had in Burkesville made it unbearably humid, especially at night. In fact, Emily blamed the heat for her father’s heart attack. As she watched her mother quietly weeping into a white handkerchief, Emily remembered how she’d come running into her room the morning before, hysterical and in obvious agony. Emily followed her into their room and found her father lying still on the floor, face up and eyes opened. She ran to get Doctor Rilly. He examined her father and pronounced him deceased. As she prepared his body in the cellar that night, still numb from his sudden passing, Emily thought it ironic that he ended up being one of his own customers so soon. He’d just turned fifty. Even morticians had to die, he’d always joked to her and her mother. They never thought it was funny.

She thought him so dear that she took it upon herself to learn the skills so she could be near him. He taught her everything about death. That it wasn’t an ending, but a beginning. That the reason people wore black at funerals was that it made it hard for the spirits to find the living. That the dead should be buried with something they loved in life so they didn’t come looking for it. In her father’s case, it was his Bible.

When they bought the house in Burkesville, they converted the bottom half of it into a funeral home, the first one in Kentucky. The cellar was where they prepared the bodies and the parlor, decorated with green curtains and twenty wooden chairs was where the wakes were held. They filled in the death certificates, arranged the showings and burials and comforted the grieving family. It was all so new to people used to just placing their loved ones in a box, saying words over it, then burying it. Father thought it a good Christian way to spread the word of God. That was five years ago. Now the pomatum that held all the make-up, scalpels, and perfumes was now hers. She remembered how, under the flickering light of a single candle in the cellar, she brushed toner on his cheeks but the humidity caused the toner to congeal and she couldn’t blend it into his skin properly. It looked as if he’d been slapped in the face and nothing she did fixed it. But she knew he’d know what to do. Emily broke down and wept, pressing her ear down onto his chest and willing his heart to beat again. She cried so hard that she stained his shirt dark with tears. She realized at that moment that she couldn’t do it anymore without him; she was a retired mortician at the age of eighteen.

"G. C. Rosenquist offers a haunting tale of life in 1855, spanning the years before, during, and after the Civil War. Evil can come from anywhere, but when you find it sleeping next to you, there is nothing you can do but hope for the best and pray for daylight. You’ll look for the monster under the bed and the Bogeyman in the closet, and you'll be clutching a flashlight in your hand as you try to fall asleep at night."

Reviewed By Marissa

Fiction Books :: Horror Books

ISBN: 1593742924
ISBN(13-digit): 9781593742928
Copyright: 2008
Book Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
Binding: Perfect
No. of Pages: 196
Paper Weight (lb): 8.6

If you like this book, you may also enjoy:

Retribution              The Chosen One              Night Whispers             
David Greske Kenneth E. Baker David Greske

featly:  down

There is nothing so ridiculous but some ...  down