BOOK TOUR: Bluebird at My Window by H. Noah #psychological #darkfiction @thehnoah @RRBookTours1 #RRBookTours

BluebirdatmyWindow copy

Welcome to the book tour for Bluebird at My Window, a dark exploration into the human psyche and deep trauma. Read on for details!

Bluebird at My Window

Publication Date: February 15th, 2022

Genre: Dark Fiction/ Psychological

When faced with trauma, how would you react?

Would you survive, succumb, or lose yourself to your own meaning of justice?

Ann was only seventeen when she died. She tried to be a dutiful daughter, to pray, to repent. But it wasn’t enough. Her mother, Diane, didn’t mean to kill her but when she found Ann consorting with devils, she had no choice. She believed the angels—that in the end, the water would save them both.

But every choice holds weight.

One death, and Arthur is thrown back into the work he wanted to leave. One death, and Richard must face the reality of his choices. One death, and Maddie and Marie are confronted with the hardest parts of love.

If only good intentions were enough to keep them from the carnage of their own decisions . . .

A dark contemporary fiction drenched in blood, this debut novel from H. Noah has an intricate true crime feeling with psychological depth.

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Excerpt

Chapter 1

Portland, Maine

Friday, October 14, 2016

Diane Loucks

The water swelled like a second skin around her fingers. Thick flesh-colored tendrils, clinging to the newly pure.

Light scattered through the small window, burning white hot across the chipped tile, curled wallpaper, and filth. Everything within this small house on a hill still festered with the sin of her—my daughter.

She’d fought me as she always had. Her arm draped over the side of the old claw tub, almost at ease, even bent back at an odd angle. I’d forgotten to turn off the water completely, but I couldn’t get up. I was fixed against the ground, watching as the water gathered and fell from her pale fingertips. No more rush, no more panic. Each drop reached slowly to the floor, hitting the tile with a soft pink splash.

It was done.

My naked flesh numbed to the bitter tile as I lay at the tub’s feet. Each fold of skin stretched, suctioning to the floor, holding me in place. Something had gone wrong in the blessing. I’d stripped myself in preparation but she’d refused, made me pull clothing to ribbons as I blessed the water.

When she didn’t wake up, I’d called the preacher. Tried to understand what had happened, why the angels had lied.

But he was useless.

That’s when I slid to the floor, streaking the wall behind me with her blood. Ichor that still clung to my skin and the floor beneath.

Fraud. Liar.

You did the right thing.

It should have worked.

It did.

Pure!

Why didn’t it work?

She’s clean now. The preacher was unholy.

Why hasn’t she risen?

You were the unclean one.

The scream ripped from within me. I wanted quiet, needed it. I scratched my ears, ripping my body from the tile.

The pain worked, but not well enough.

I slammed knuckles into my skull.

Not enough.

Thump.

My skull reverberated against the hard ceramic. The sharp ache purified, but didn’t silence. So I kept crashing into it as skin split across my forehead, turning my vision burgundy. It gave me something to focus on, to control.

The demons didn’t like that.

I could hear them in the walls, closing around me. Devils playing tricks as they reached from beneath the wallpaper, touching. I thrashed against them all, gouging holes into the small space. Drywall fingers ripped through flesh as my blood seeped and spilled to the floor, covering hers. The air was suffocating, poisoned, thick, and sandy.

They wanted to silence me.

But still I screamed.

They wanted me quiet, malleable to their will.

Everyone did.

I wanted to fracture the foundation.

Thump

I tasted the blood, metallic on my tongue, as it sieved through teeth. Even my voice betrayed me in the end, as screams rasped silent.

My body calmed as shame rippled through me. My eyes trailed back toward the tub, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I watched the drops instead as they spread beneath.

“Liars . . .” My throat, raw and unyielding, graveled to the forced whisper.

The angel said she’d be reborn if I cleansed her with word and water. The passage in question still echoed mockingly.

I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you shall be clean from all your uncleanness, and from your idols I will cleanse you.

I looked back down. The water was staining the floor poppy pink, clear but iridescent as it swelled to reach me. I shrank from its edges, slipping slowly in my own blood as I pushed back, cornering myself. The water couldn’t hide what I did, couldn’t erase her blood, only magnified each feature in rose-colored hues.

This morning had been like the rest. Peace within the daily observances. But the angels knew. Whispered. Prodded me to spy. Helped me catch her as she talked to that unclean deceiver.

I’d warned her how evil hides in the pure things, but she persisted. Fed and entertained that bluebird, but I knew better. It’s why I hadn’t questioned when the Good Book appeared in my hand or why I beat the demon within her again and again. The word of God turning fat and satiated with her penance.

I wanted to stop, but the angels whispered. Pushed me to finish.

To bring her back to the Lord.

About the Author

They’ve been a massage therapist, social worker, poet, teacher, and more. Picking up a B.A. in Criminology and an M.S. in I-O Psychology. They’ve also lived in Alaska, Maine and many places in-between. They are currently still trying to find a forever place as they travel the US.

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