Please welcome Author Doug Dillon to my blog today!
A former award winning educator, Doug writes about things paranormal and historical. His
interest in the paranormal comes from personal experiences as detailed in the nonfiction adult
book he and wife wrote titled, An Explosion of Being: An American Family's Journey into the
Psychic. Out of those events and extensive historical research, he then created Sliding Beneath
the Surface for young adults, Book I of the St. Augustine Trilogy. Doug set his trilogy in the
oldest and most haunted city in the United States, St. Augustine, Florida. Books II and III of the
trilogy are on the way.
Book Title: Sliding Beneath the Surface (Book 1)
The St. Augustine Trilogy
Author: Doug Dillon
Release Date: August 24, 2011
Print Length: 166 Pages
Genre: YA Paranormal
Presented by: As You Wish Tours
Hello St. Augustine Fans! Let’s not forget the YA Paranormal Fans!
For two days, the Kindle version for Sliding Beneath the Surface will be available FOR FREE
on Amazon.com—a special promotion. Those days will be May 18th & 19th. Spread the word
and tell everyone you know about this wonderful opportunity.
In old St. Augustine, Florida, fifteen-year-old Jeff Golden’s recurring dream of being
stabbed in the chest and bleeding all over his bed is driving him crazy. It’s causing him to lose
sleep and giving him severe headaches. When his psychically gifted friend Carla and an ornery
Native American shaman named Lobo try to help, Jeff is inundated with terrifying paranormal
Reaching out of Florida’s distant past, something increasingly entangles Jeff in tentacles
of danger that threaten his sanity and eventually his life. But the harder he tries to understand,
the deeper he gets. When comprehension finally dawns though, time has almost run out. Lobo
does his best to prepare Jeff for what he must face in order to survive but it may be too little and
It’s at this point that both Jeff and Carla find themselves swept headlong into an
alternative reality from which they may never return. If they don’t quickly and fully adapt to this
situation, all hope is lost. From Lobo they know how it might be possible to change what is
happening but the question is, can they? Repeatedly, Lobo has told both teens, “You create your
own reality whether in this world or in another.” If acted upon properly, that advice just might
save their lives and end suffering on an even wider scale.
A new resident of America's oldest and most haunted city, St. Augustine, Florida,
fifteen-year-old Jeff Golden suddenly finds himself up to his eyeballs in frightening paranormal
experiences. At the end of his rope in trying to figure out what is happening to him, Jeff decides
to rely on his friend Carla Rodriguez, and Lobo, an old Native American shaman, for help.
Despite this guidance, things get even worse. Jeff's spine tingling encounters increase
in number and intensity at an alarming rate, scaring him even more. Eventually, he makes
the startling discovery that unresolved circumstances involving a bloody event directly out of
Florida's distant past threatens his sanity and possibly his life.
Finally, overwhelmed by forces he cannot understand or control, Jeff's world shifts from
frightening to downright terrifying. In desperation, and on Lobo's advice, he leaps headlong into
the unknown in order to save himself. What Jeff discovers though is that he has entered a level of
reality he is completely unprepared to handle while unwittingly dragging Carla with him.
Like all the books in THE ST. AUGUSTINE TRILOGY, the premise for Sliding Beneath
the Surface is simply this: You create your own reality.
With a final laugh, Carla coughed, caught her breath, and said, “That alarm system is Lobo‘s
way of scaring off unwanted visitors without actually having to use real dogs. So, are you finally
“Anything to get away from you letting me get attacked by wild dogs,” I said, trying to sound
serious, even though I realized I probably had looked pretty silly.
“Oh poor baby,” Carla said with one of her sly, sexy smiles.
God she looks so good when she smiles. I mean she looks good all the time, but her smiles are
something else, like a flash of warm sunshine. Ruining the moment, the screech of a power saw
sliced the air for a short time and stopped. It sounded like it came from the small, unpainted
building. I remembered hearing that saw noise from Carla‘s back yard.
“He‘s in his workshop,” she said. “Not good. He doesn‘t like being interrupted when he‘s
concentrating on his carvings. He might even be a little grumpier than usual, so try not to be
“Great, can‘t wait.” I groaned, massaging my left temple with the tips of my fingers when Carla
turned away. “Sounds like so much freakin‘ fun.” The idea of facing some bad tempered old
man was not really how I wanted to end my day, you know? Bad dream or no bad dream. By
then though, we were approaching Mr. Lobo‘s beat-up truck. To the left of the truck, light shown
between the blinds of the two large windows in the workshop, but I couldn‘t really see anything
“Being sarcastic isn‘t going to make things any better,” Carla said. “We‘re not here to have fun,
we‘re here to get you some help, OK?” She sounded like a mother taking her child to see the
doctor for the first time.
“Yes, momma,” I kidded, using a squeaky child‘s voice, “I promise I‘ll be good.”
Carla rolled her eyes, shook her head and punched me in the arm. “You are absolutely hopeless
sometimes.” When I say punch, I mean punch! For a small person, she packs a wallop.
”Lobo,” Carla said before the man could turn around, ”this is my friend Jeff Golden and he—”
”You know better than that!” The man scolded. What a voice. A deep one, like a big old Harley
cranking up. While using the rag to wipe sawdust off his hands and arms, he turned around and
faced us. “Nobody comes here unless they‘re invited by me personally, especially this boy who
has problems buzzing around him like angry yellow jackets.”
Angry yellow jackets? The guy‘s attitude reminded me of a crappy teacher I had last year. Hated
the man. Not a good beginning.
Lobo didn‘t have a big belly like a lot of older guys. A broad chest matched his big shoulders,
but the man‘s face is what really made me stare. It looked like the front of a ship, as if it could
cut through water. A large thin nose stuck out above a small mouth with full lips that puckered
just a little. From those lips on each side, a permanent frown sliced down to a sharp chin. Other
deep lines across the rest of his face and neck showed the man did have some age on him, like
His eyes though, are what really caught my attention. Deep set under thick, bushy brows the
color of his hair, the pupils looked completely black. Even so, they glittered as if a tiny powerful
light inside each one kept trying to get out. I swear, when he looked at me, I thought for a second
I was seeing twin lasers rapidly firing in my direction. Talk about weird.
Carla walked over to him, placed her hands on her hips and slowly raised her head so that
Mr. Lobo couldn‘t help but look at her. I tell you what, all five foot four inches of Miss Carla
Rodriguez was poised like a little snake ready to strike. I wanted to smile, knowing Lobo was in
for it, but I didn‘t. The guy deserved it.
When Mr. Lobo entered the room, his weird-looking eyes instantly locked with mine.
Without shifting that laser-like gaze, he lumbered over to the recliner opposite me on the other
side of the coffee table and sat down. Even when he picked up the bottle of water Carla left for
him, he kept up that intense stare. Man, I felt like a germ under a powerful microscope—a germ
still fighting a headache.
No one spoke, and the silence around us seemed to get heavier somehow, thick like clear syrup
or something. I tried not squirming in my chair, but it was hard. I mean all that silence got really
uncomfortable, you know? Instead of looking at Carla‘s friend directly, I stared at the Tiffany
floor lamp next to his chair. It‘s glass bowl pointing downward showed little green leaves against
an light orange background. What can I say, looking at the thing kept my mind busy.
And another thing. It wasn‘t freezing in the house, but it sure wasn‘t warm—no heating going
on that I could tell. Carla had her coat on and I wore a heavy long-sleeved shirt, but old Lobo
sat there in that same sleeveless shirt he wore in his workshop. The guy seemed not to notice the
The snapping sound when he opened his bottled water broke the spell, but only when the man
chugged a couple of deep swallows did he look away. What a relief not to have those eyes
slicing through me for even a short time. In seconds though, he was staring at me again, hard
as ever. Still no one spoke. At that point, I figured if nobody else was going to say something,
I would—anything, to get things moving. Yeah, I wanted the guy‘s help but sitting there facing
him in complete silence, especially with Carla watching, wasn‘t working for me. “Ah, Mr.
Lobo,“ I did my best to smile, “Carla thinks that maybe you can—“
“Save it“ His deep voice filled the room. “First rule, don‘t call me Mr. The name‘s Lobo, nothing
“Uh, OK.“ I tried to look and sound as relaxed as possible. Actually, I was starting to get
“Rule number two, Mr. Golden,“ he lectured, like I thought he might. “If you want my help, you
do things my way. Got that?“
“So tell me about this dream,“ Lobo said to me in his rumbling voice as he sat back down in his
“Dream?“ Neither Carla nor I had mentioned my dream yet. If anybody else had brought me
there besides Carla, I would have sworn that person had already talked to Lobo about my
“Am I not speaking clearly enough for you?“ The man replied with this sour look on his face.
“Uh … OK. My dream. Well, for the past three nights I‘ve been waking up with a horrible pain
in my chest like something has stuck me hard while I‘m sleeping. When I sit up and look down,
my bed is glowing and there‘s something long and pointy coming up out of the mattress trying to
get me. Blood is everywhere, all over my chest, my stomach, my sheets and on the pointy thing.
It's all so real, like it‘s actually happening. Then when I jump out of bed and turn the ceiling light
on, it all goes away, but my chest still hurts. I still feel like I‘ve just been stabbed. I‘m telling
you, it scares the crap out of me.“ I hadn‘t planned on saying that last part. It just popped out.
Lobo grunted and looked all around me in his weird way, his unblinking gaze all fiery.
Everybody blinks, right? Not him. I‘m telling you, it felt really odd to be talking to somebody
who keeps his eyes constantly open. Shifting his attention away from me, he put his water bottle
down on the coffee table, got up and went to the display case I had touched earlier, the one with
all the weapons. As I watched him, for the first time I noticed the circular display case over the
fireplace held a huge collection of arrowheads, spearheads and stone knives. I wondered if they
were Seminole. “Come over here,“ he said, his words a rumbling command. I could feel my
stomach twist the way it does when adults try to boss me around, but I resisted the temptation to
When I got to the case, he asked, “That something sharp coming out of your mattress look like
any of the objects in here?“ He squinted as if he somehow wanted to see the answer within me
as much as hear it. I guess by then I was a little paranoid about the possibility of him being able
to get inside my head. After what I had experienced while standing there before, I wasn‘t sure I
wanted to look, but I did. As I searched, my headache intensified, making me wince, but even so,
my eyes stayed glued to this one item.
“No trick, really,“ Carla said with this super serious face. When she spoke, her voice came out
Oh man, that did it. I mean Carla doesn‘t lie, stretch the truth, or anything like that. “Remember
when I told you about Lobo helping me to control my unconscious ability to move things without
touching them?“ she asked, her voice a little stronger.
“Uh, sure.“ I sat there looking at her in awe.
“You see, Lobo … well, has also been educating me so that I can now touch things with my
conscious mind—to do so by thinking about it. An aluminum can is light and soft, so we use
“Do we have your full attention now?“ Lobo asked, as I struggled to accept Carla‘s explanation.
“Oh yeah,“ I said, stressing each word in order to leave no doubt in the man‘s mind. Even so, I
still couldn‘t get over Carla having such an amazing ability. As I wondered how she could do
something like that, I put the crumpled aluminum on the coffee table in front of me.
“Good,“ Lobo replied. “Now we can proceed.“ After getting out of his chair, he grabbed
the carved white ball sitting on the coffee table, and suddenly tossed it in my direction—
underhanded and high in the air. Without thinking, I grabbed the thing as it came down with both
hands, and was surprised it felt so light. When the ball hit my hands, there was a clicking sound.
“Have you ever seen anything like that?“ Lobo asked after sitting back down.
“Yeah, I just remembered. There‘s one like it at the Ripley‘s Believe It or Not Museum.“ I held
it in one hand and brushed my other hand over the intricate designs and holes carved into the
surface. Gradually it became clear to me that the ridges under my fingers tips were actually
dragons curling around the openings. “What‘s it made of?“
“Mammoth ivory,“ Carla replied. “Lobo has it shipped in and then he does carvings.“
“A piece of mammoth tusk?“ I said in wonder, studying it even more intently. Inside all the holes
cut out of the surface, I could see another, completely movable, but smaller ball. Carved into
it were odd shaped stars and more holes leading to yet another ball farther down. Beyond that,
another ball, and so on. All of the balls I could see or touch with my index finger moved. That‘s
why the thing was so light, it had been carved out on the inside, layer-by-layer.
Amazon Author http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005ZEJTJ4
Book Depository http://www.google.com/url?
Please help me thank Doug for joining us today and thank As You Wish Tours for sharing him with us!