R.A. (Rob) Johnson is a pan-genrist author whose writing stretches from micro-fiction to novel series, and spans historical thrillers, science fiction, fantasy, horror, and even speculative nonfiction, for YA readers through adults. His forty-year career as a software engineer diverted much of his writing output to journal articles, academic papers, marketing collateral, design specs, and the ever-present code, which led to over forty-five issued patents and dozens more pending.

His writing often features an element of mystery that challenges the reader to examine the story and their world on many levels. Then again, some of it is just plain fun.

The Ghost of Mackey House by R.A. Johnson

The Mackey House is a century-old house that has been converted to a quaint bed and breakfast in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. When a struggling writer returns to Mackey House for a writing retreat, he learns that the husband of the owner of the B&B has gone missing. Inspired by the enigmatic statue on the front lawn, he begins researching the tragic and twisted history of Mackey House, and its predecessor the Mackey Hotel, for his next novel. He teams up with a local Sheriff's deputy investigating the husband's disappearance, and they uncover secrets that will put them, body and soul, in the gravest danger.

 

REVIEWS

  • "The author effectively moves his edgy narrative from the impossible to the truth, however improbable, as his monsters take center stage. Flora's journals help bring her terrifying journey to life, fleshing out Johnson's narrative. The riveting story that results is both horrifying and life-affirming. A gripping tale about an ambitious writer, a determined cop, and a deadly myth."

    – Kirkus Reviews

  • "I have chosen to give The Ghost of Mackey House a rating of four out of four stars. The storyline was exciting and suspenseful—everything you'd want from a horror/mystery. Furthermore, the characters were likable and multidimensional. It was easy to root for them."

    – Online Book Club Reviews

  • "In addition, the plot was well-crafted, nuanced and full of twists - however you think the book is going to end, you're wrong. The author possesses a gift for descriptive language and has crafted a page turner that kept me up at night until I'd finished it and unraveled the mystery."

    – Five-Star Review on Amazon
 

BOOK PREVIEW

Excerpt

Deputy Kathy Jensen stood in the Mackey House hallway just inside the front door. She clutched a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other with which she wrote "Det. Lewis" on the empty line below the coroner's name and checked her watch. "9:28 AM" went in the column marked "Arrival."

"Jensen," Detective David Lewis puffed, out of breath after the climb up the outside steps from the street below. "That statue has always given me the creeps," he said while he gulped air.

"Wait 'til you see upstairs," Kathy mumbled shakily.

He studied her ashen face. "You look like Hell."

"Tired. I was coming off shift when I got the call."

"You were first on scene?"

Kathy nodded, then steadied her voice into an official monotone. "I was doing my after-patrol paperwork when the call came in at 8:05 AM of two deceased individuals at the Mackey House. Deputies Spatz and Gheringer were on other calls, so I responded." Detective Lewis raised an eyebrow. He knew they were probably having coffee and donuts somewhere. "I arrived on scene at 8:12. When I arrived, I found Mr. and Mrs. Adams in the parlor. They're still there. Mrs. Adams was … overwrought, but Mr. Adams, who appeared to be in shock, directed me to the Veranda Suite upstairs."

"The 'Veranda Suite?'" the detective asked.

"All the rooms and suites have names." Kathy made a what-does-that-have-to-do-with-anything face. "Anyway, I drew my weapon in case there was an intruder and proceeded upstairs to the scene." Kathy paused and swallowed.

Detective Lewis spread his hands expectantly. "Well? What did you find?"

Kathy gathered herself. "Upon entering the suite, I observed copious amounts of blood splattered on the walls and ceiling, soaking the bedclothes and pooled on the floor."

"How did you know it was blood?" Lewis asked.

Kathy's initial irritation at such a stupid question turned to appreciation as she thought for a second. "The smell. It was the smell, Detective. That copper smell of freshly spilled blood."

Lewis raised an eyebrow. "You a hunter?"

Kathy nodded. "Crossbow. Sometimes bow and arrow."

He looked at her face and the wisps of black hair that had escaped her hat. "That figures," he grunted.

I'm not that kind of Indian, you idiot.

"What else?" His impatience was obvious in his tone.

Kathy was impatient, too, but for a different reason. "I observed the two decedents—"

"Never mind. I'll see for myself. Make sure you submit your full report by the end of the day." Kathy nodded. "Good."

He turned to the stairs and started to haul up his immense bulk. Kathy had the distinct impression that her "report" had simply been a chance for the fat old detective to catch his breath.

I didn't even tell him the weird parts.

"Holy shit!" The detective's shout echoed through the house.

There ya' go.