Exclusive Preview: Suspenseful Novel Excerpt and Book Cover

Are you a fan of suspenseful novels that keep you on the edge of your seat? If so, you're in for a treat! Today, we have an exclusive preview of an upcoming thriller novel from self-published author Jack Sturgis.

This gripping story is set in the small town of Ridge Creek and delves into the dark world of murder and conspiracy. With an intricate plot and complex characters, this novel is sure to keep you guessing until the very end. To give you a taste of what's to come, we're sharing an excerpt from the book that will leave you hungry for mor Chapter 1: The Unseen

The fog chokes the streetlamps like a shroud, swallowing their dim glow as I carve a path through its murk, my flask clinking against my chest—a cold, familiar echo of nights I can’t outrun. I traded a soldier’s fatigues for a badge in a town too quiet to trust, a speck on the map called Ridge Creek where the silence is a lie, jagged as the rocks a lighthouse begs you to dodge. Most nights, I’m that hazard—unseen, unyielding, best avoided. Tonight’s no different, except for the weight in my gut, the kind that’s kept me alive through missions I shouldn’t have survived.

The road twists past the old textile mill, its rusted skeleton hulking against the mist. Locals say it’s haunted—by workers who died when the looms caught fire decades back, or by whispers of deals struck in its shadows since. I don’t believe in ghosts, but I’ve seen enough blood to know places like this hold grudges. Beyond it, the diner’s neon buzzes faintly, a flicker of life in a town that’s half-dead. I slow the truck, peering through the haze at the boarded-up storefronts lining Main Street. They’re relics of a prosperity Ridge Creek hasn’t tasted in years, their cracked windows staring back like empty eyes. Something’s festering here, beneath the quaint veneer. I feel it every time I pass, a rot I can’t name but can’t ignore.

My phone buzzes against the dashboard, shattering the stillness. The screen glows with an unknown number, no name attached. I’d let it ring out most nights, chalk it up to a wrong dial, but that pull in my gut—the one that’s never steered me wrong—won’t let me. I answer, the line crackling faintly.

“Birch,” a woman’s voice says, low and unfamiliar, cutting through the static like a blade. “It’s time you saw the truth. The gallery. Come alone.”

The call drops before I can ask a question, leaving me with nothing but the hum of the engine and a name I don’t recognize. Not Jacqueline Raines, the town’s golden girl, but someone else—someone who knows me, or thinks they do. My fingers tighten on the wheel as I accelerate toward the gallery. I’ve got no reason to trust a voice I can’t place, but I’ve followed worse leads into darker places.

Minutes later, I pull up to the gallery, a two-story Victorian Jacqueline nursed back from ruin. Fog wraps it tight, its spires clawing at the sky like something out of a ghost story. She’d turned it into a beacon for Ridge Creek—priceless art, polished floors, a symbol of hope for a town that’s forgotten what that feels like. I’d seen her charm in action once, last summer at a gala she had organized to benefit a children’s wing at the hospital. She’d cornered me by the counter, her smile disarming as she pressed a coffee into my hands. “Even heroes need a break, Birch,” she’d said, her voice warm, her eyes seeing straight through my gruff retreat. I muttered something about not being a hero. I remember that warm feeling of being seen - if only for a moment. 

My flashlight slices through the murk, spotlighting the entryway. The door’s ajar, a sliver of shadow beckoning me in. I push it open with my boot, gun drawn, every nerve taut as I step inside. The gallery’s dark, emergency lights casting dim pools over paintings and sculptures—faces in portraits watching me from the walls like silent witnesses. A flicker of light draws me down a narrow hall, past a maze of shadows, to a door at the far end.

I nudge it open, and there she is—Jacqueline Raines, sprawled across the hardwood in a sea of blood stark against the gallery’s cold white walls. She’s untouched otherwise, staged almost, her body a grotesque centerpiece in her own sanctuary. 

I step back, scanning the room. Windows sealed, locks intact—no sign of a break-in. The shot was close, precise, from someone she knew, someone she let in. I pace the perimeter, boots silent on the polished floor, searching for anything that might provide a clue. Nothing. Whoever did this walked out the same door I came through, clean as a ghost.

Kneeling down, I study her face. Her eyes are open, staring blankly at the ceiling, lips parted, as though frozen mid-sentence. I pull out my flashlight and scan her body for anything unusual. The gunshot wound is clean, a precise entry point near her heart. They were in close proximity to her when they pulled the trigger. Jacqueline knew her killer.

Jacqueline deserved better than this. She was the kind of person who went out of her way to make people’s lives better. Even when I was at my worst—and I’d had plenty of those days—she’d offer a kind word or a warm smile when we crossed paths. I’d dismissed her as naive back then, someone too good for a town like this. Now, staring down at her lifeless body, I feel the sting of regret. I should have appreciated her more while she was alive.

Just as I rise to search through the building, something catches my attention in my peripheral vision. A silhouette, faint but unmistakable, lingers just outside the edge of my flashlight’s reach. My pulse quickens, and I feel a chill race down my spine. I snap my head toward it, light shining into the shadows, but there’s nothing there.

I could swear I saw a figure—a woman, watching from the darkness. I linger, squinting into the inky shadows, waiting for a movement, a flicker, anything to prove I’m not losing it. But the hall is empty, silent. Only the low hum of the gallery lights echoes in the space.

The odd thing is, the presence didn’t feel… threatening. 

I check the security system on my way out. Cameras cover the gallery’s entrance, hallways, every room. I need to see if the footage shows who was in here last, if anyone else entered. But when I access the system, I’m greeted with an error screen: “Last 24 Hours Unavailable.”

As I stand in the silence, the weight of it settles on my shoulders. Jacqueline Raines wasn’t just a victim. This was a message, maybe for me, maybe for the whole town. The gears of a dark plan are in motion, and I’m at the center of it, whether I like it or not.

I turn back to Jacqueline’s body, my mind reeling. Whoever called me wanted me here alone; whoever killed her wanted me to see this, to understand the impossibility of it all. And that silhouette I thought I saw… was it real, or was my mind playing tricks? A whisper of my past lingering too close?

I don’t know. But something tells me this isn’t over.

For those eager to dive into this riveting tale, be sure to sign up for the newsletter on Jack Sturgis' website to receive updates on the sequel's release. Grab your copy of the eBook or paperback on Amazon Kindle to experience the full thrill of "The Shadows We Keep."

With its blend of suspense, mystery, and intrigue, this novel is sure to be a must-read for fans of the genre. Stay tuned for more updates and get ready to lose yourself in the shadows of Ridge Creek.