Sanctuary of Echoes now at Kindle Unlimited

Just in time for the Autumn season Sanctuary of Echoes has arrived at Kindle Unlimited. Slip into the supernatural and take an unpredictable journey through the past and present in the mysterious, enigmatic city of New Orleans.

Corey Knight was more than convinced that all she could look forward to now was a quiet, reclusive life spent living out the rest of her days in her childhood home on the fringes of New Orleans’ French Quarter. But the unexpected specter of her deceased father plunges her into a mad quest for a missing supernatural weapon unearthed long ago. And unfortunately her only ally is a lost love who she betrayed. 
Iain Shaw returns to New Orleans, a city he abandoned a decade before whilefleeing a devastating past. Here he is only confronted by it again in thevisage of the woman he once adored – the one he is now determined to get backat any cost.
Follow them both in a wild supernatural tale of discovery and redemption as they confront and unearth the echoes of a buried and unyielding truth that once tore them irreparably apart.


Summer Sale at Cornerstone Book Publishers

Cornerstone Book Publishers is having a Summer Book Sale July 28-30.  All of the products in the store will be 25% Off (excluding previously discounted items).  All of my books are on sale as well as a huge inventory of other wonderful volumes. Be sure to drop by and take some time to explore all Cornerstone has to offer. 🙂


The House At Pritchard Place – Just released as an Audio Book

Take a wild ride this summer into places unexpected and into realities that just might literally crawl out of your nightmares. The third installment of The New Orleans Paranormal series, The House at Pritchard Place, is now an audio book and available at, Amazon, and I Tunes.

Nothing is really wrong with the old Warrick House on Dante St. except that there most certainly is. Nothing is exactly wrong with its new mysterious owner except that Elise is sure that something doesn’t add up. In the third installment of The New Orleans Paranormal Mystery series, with the help of the very psychic Breslin clan, Elise is about to embark on a wild rescue mission into another dimension that will land her squarely somewhere she doesn’t expect, right back into her past. Right back to a childhood home whose memory still haunts her to this day – The House at Pritchard Place.


The Hotel Mandolin — Just Released as an Audio Book

Are you in the mood to take a vacation in a thoroughly haunted hotel?

The Hotel Mandolin: A New Orleans Paranormal Mystery has just been released as an audio book. Now available at, Amazon, and I Tunes.

Peril is wrapped up in the most enticing of disguises, in The Hotel Mandolin, the second installment of The New Orleans Paranormal Mystery series. It’s opulent, it’s classic, and it’s one of the most renowned hotels nestled deep in New Orleans’ famous business district, but something is amiss at The Hotel Mandolin. PI Peter Norfleet is calling out the big guns to help him investigate a recent suicide at the famous establishment – his good friend Max Gravier, a formidable psychic, and his girlfriend Caroline Breslin, a talented empath. But none of them can seem to scratch the surface of this puzzle, no one except Cassie Breslin, Caroline’s clairvoyant mother, who has somehow tapped into an unexpected connection with a tragic ghost from the turn of the century. And the more she uncovers the more dangerous and malevolent the mystery becomes.



Gravier’s Bookshop Audio Book

In the mood for a New Orleans Paranormal Mystery? Gravier’s Bookshop is now available as an audio book at, Amazon, and I Tunes.

Max Gravier had no intention of becoming a recluse, but after his wife’s death it seems his life is heading in that direction. He spends his time running Gravier’s Bookshop on Magazine Street and occasionally on the quiet helps the police solve a crime with his psychic sensitivities. That is until he answers Caroline Breslin’s call, a cry for help out of his dreams that draws him into a fierce battle for a young woman’s soul.

In this first installment of The New Orleans Paranormal Mystery series, Caroline Breslin, an amazingly gifted empath, is determined to strike out on her own and has moved out from the protection of her family home. All is going extremely well until, of course, she comes under siege from a devastating supernatural attack. The last thing Caroline wants is to run back to her family for help, even though she is painfully in over her head. What she really needs is a knight in shining armor – or maybe just that guy that keeps haunting her dreams.




Revisiting The Left Palm

With the recent release of the audio book of The Left Palm and other Halloween Tales of the Supernatural,  I decided to revisit this book and some of the inspirations that went into the stories.

The first story “Wolves” actually contains a character that I found continually resurfaced in my writing to the point that I decided to give him his own novel, The Broken Vow. Ethan Garraint is a werewolf who has been alive for many centuries. In this first story he is being hunted by a daughter who believes that he murdered her parents. The title itself denotes an ambiguity as to who is actually the wolf or hunter in this story and where exactly your sympathy should lie if anywhere at all.

The second story, “Emma Fallon,” was a story inspired by a trip to the Lafayette Cemetery, having actually seen this lovely name on a tomb. Much of the story takes place within the psyche of the heroine, unraveling just as her own perception of what she believes is real also unravels.

My next story goes a little bit darker definitely conveying the notion that nothing is as it seems. “The Soul Shredder” crosses into the realm of other dimensions that lie next to our own and a woman who has the ability to glimpse into that world. The idea that our actions in this world have far-reaching unseen consequences to us is an interesting idea to toy with and perhaps one to contemplate.

“Wildflowers” is a bit of a ghost story, a bit of a romance, and a tale that explores reincarnation from a different perspective. The idea of perceiving life well beyond the confines of our limited senses does intrigue me, and the heroine in this story is certainly challenged to embrace a far greater existence than conventional thought entertains.

The last story in the collection is called “The Left Palm.” In this story in the span of an ordinary day a young woman is forced to confront a figure of mythical proportions. It certainly does explore the idea that everyone’s life matters, no matter how inconsequential they may view themselves. Our choices can undeniably reverberate and impact the world in a powerful way.

I hope you’ll take some time to check out The Left Palm. And do enjoy the season.

— Evelyn



Just when all seems well and quiet, when all becomes comfortable and predictable, then reality bends. Evelyn Klebert takes you to a place where ordinary life fractures into the sphere of the paranormal. The journey begins with one woman’s unstoppable quest for vengeance against a supernatural creature in “Wolves”, and continues in an old historical graveyard where a horrifying discovery is uncovered in “Emma Fallon”. In “The Soul Shredder”, a psychiatrist’s unusual patient opens his eyes to a disturbing new view of reality, while in “Wildflowers” a woman strikes up a supernatural friendship with impossible implications. And in “The Left Palm” a fortuneteller in the French Quarter receives a most unexpected and terrifying customer.


The Left Palm Audio Book

In time for the season The Left Palm and Other Halloween Tales of the Supernatural has been released as an Audio Book at, Amazon, and ITunes. If you’re in the mood for something spooky, I hope you check it out. 🙂


Just when all seems well and quiet, when all becomes comfortable and predictable, then reality bends. Evelyn Klebert takes you to a place where ordinary life fractures into the sphere of the paranormal. The journey begins with one woman’s unstoppable quest for vengeance against a supernatural creature in “Wolves”, and continues in an old historical graveyard where a horrifying discovery is uncovered in “Emma Fallon”. In “The Soul Shredder”, a psychiatrist’s unusual patient opens his eyes to a disturbing new view of reality, while in “Wildflowers” a woman strikes up a supernatural friendship with impossible implications. And in “The Left Palm” a fortuneteller in the French Quarter receives a most unexpected and terrifying customer.





Revisiting an Old Friend: An Uneasy Traveler

The smell of coffee wafting across the bookstore came as a comfort to him as he walked inside to escape the bitter cold of the January morning. His face felt numb and in some respects oddly paralyzed.  Yes, granted getting out on the road on such a day was stupid — but he’d been working doggedly all week and the idea of spending the whole weekend alone shut up in his mountain home was intolerable; nice, cozy, well-furnished as it might be, at the moment it still felt like a prison.


I wrote this paragraph, the first lines out of An Uneasy Traveler, nearly a year before I picked them up again and began writing the novel. Actually that isn’t such an unusual practice for me to begin something, even just a paragraph, and put it aside until the time seems right for it. In this case the time came at quite an unusual juncture in my life. My family and I who had been living in Virginia for some time near the Appalachian Mountains moved out onto the coastal city of Lancaster. We only lived there a year for business reasons, but for us, ostensibly city people who deeply craved a return to New Orleans, it was more than a departure. In some ways it was a shock, living in an old country farmhouse over a century old, 30 minutes away from a Wal-Mart and at least twenty from a decent sized grocery.  


Upon reflection, I’ve found that being pulled so completely out of your comfort zone can be a gift as well as a major shake-up. Our house had a cornfield on one side and a cemetery on the other. At night we would sit out on the screen porch watching a blanket of stars overhead and listening to a soundless night except for the fluttering of fireflies illuminating the darkness.


For a writer I would have to say it fed my imagination in a way that few other experiences might have accomplished. Some time in our first month there I picked up this paragraph and it took flight into this quiet, gentle but powerfully intense love story. An Uneasy Traveler is not a grandiose tale but a personal one about two people overcoming their own pain and fears to create something new and extraordinary. It, I suppose, is a child born out of this very special time of contemplation I spent in that small rural town where I saw how life could be something quite different. The novel is available in paperback, ebook, and now audio book.


Thanks for Listening,

Evelyn Klebert




What would you do if your destiny was ruining your life? Jacob Wyss, an extremely gifted artist, is battling his own demons – a deep restlessness – while overcoming the after-effects of a painful divorce. A chance meeting with a guarded, young woman one wintry morning in a bookstore sends both their lives spiraling onto a different track. For it is the call of a past-life and a spiritual awakening that draws these two together, propelling both their lives onto a new and often disturbing path. It is a monumental struggle to overcome their own obstacles, fears, and ghosts from their pasts to carve out a new life together.


Halloween Story


Well it’s almost Halloween again and I wanted to share a short story that I wrote for the occasion. Hope you enjoy spending a little time in a different realm.


 “It’s indefinable at times; this anxiety that seems to permeate well just everything.”  Her hands hesitated as they brushed the keyboard of her laptop. It was true; her hands seemed to tremble with it, her skin. It felt as though it wrapped around her like a large band that was tightening around her shoulders. It sounded like insanity, if she voiced it aloud. She breathed out and again let her fingers rest on the keyboard. “I feel nervous for no discernible reason except that I do.”

And then she hesitated and typed slowly, “Is this madness?”

“No,” she glanced up and frowned. That certainly didn’t come from her mind. “Ellie,” he said her name slowly.

“Go away,” she murmured out loud. Because now this conversation was no longer introspective, it had become quite tangible.

“But I can help.”

“You don’t exist.”

“Not exactly accurate,” murmured the figure that now filled the shadowed corner of the room.

“I’m trying to sort and you’re not helping.”

“I never said I would help.”

She sighed deeply staring at the very random sprinkle of words on the computer screen. This wouldn’t do, not in the least. “Why don’t you go bother someone else?”

“If only it were that simple my dear.”

And then she typed, “But nothing, nothing can ever be simple.”

And there was soft laughter, “Well that is the most honest thing you’ve said tonight.”


Perhaps it was madness, or perhaps just imagination. Perhaps both, but the question became did it matter, matter at all.

“What are you going to do with your life?”

That was someone else, not her question to herself but rather a question at her.

“I’m writing a book.”

“That’s not exactly practical, is it?” That was her mother, or maybe her sister. Hard to tell, they seemed to be merging a bit these days.

“Why don’t you go back to school? Use the money and–”

She’d probably exploded then. She so hated their interference.

“What about mine?”

“That’s different, you’re not real.”

“Certain of that are you?”

“No, not really certain of anything.”


Atmosphere, atmosphere was key. She’d rented a room, a room in an old house, historic sort of house not so very far from the ocean. It was a pretty, rambling house, with a lovely wide porch wrapping around the side.

“Is everything alright dear?” That was Mrs. Garvey, Viola Garvey, the landlady, so to speak. She lived on the first floor and there were several other tenants. A middle-aged woman, a widow, whose name eluded her, and a man she’d never seen.  “He’s actually rarely here. I don’t know why he keeps the rooms.”

Well that was accurate it was rooms, not one, several rooms, and a small kitchenette built in, so she really didn’t have to socialize with anyone else, if she didn’t want to.


“Come on dear, I know that was all a nasty shock and all, but you can’t run away from life.”

“What qualified as life?” she wondered, oh yes a practical job that everyone else deemed respectable.

“I have to go now.”

“You could do something else. You don’t have to go back there.”

“I am, am doing something else,” she murmured before she hung up. It was best not to let these conversations drag on. It only infuriated her.

“They’re worried about you.”

Feels suffocating.

“Understood, but they don’t really understand.”

She sighed deeply. “I don’t understand.”


It was October. And she headed outside for that long walk down to the beach. It was exactly four blocks from the old rambling Ainsworth House.  She couldn’t live on the money forever. Fortuitously there had been a land sale in the family just at the right time, so she’d turned in her resignation at the high school at the end of the semester and didn’t look back, didn’t want to look back.

“It was random, random violence.”

It hadn’t felt random. It felt personal, intently personal.

“He had no real connection to the school, just targeted it. It could have been worse.”

Two faculty killed, several students injured. Yes, there had been worse shootings elsewhere but it felt worse.

There was the slightest chill in the air, but it was morning and she knew it wouldn’t last. “You could do something else.” Her mind swirled; what did that look like, something else? She’d been an English teacher at that school for six years but the thought of walking back through the doors nauseated her. She pushed it all away and stretched her legs, picking up the pace.

Finally, she cleared the final row of houses and stepped past the road onto the periphery of the beach. The edge was more like a park, cemented with benches just before you reached the sand. But she bypassed it all just to get closer to the water, to breathe it in all in deeply. The cool air hit her throat as she breathed. Ellie March, you could start a family. She was thirty-two. She supposed it was possible, but she hadn’t met anyone, no one she could imagine having a family with. And she wasn’t sure if she really wanted one. Hers, well hers had been filled with such discordance.

“And you couldn’t make things different?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. There it was again that voice that she wondered if strong anti-depressants might drive away.

“I’m not the figment of some neurosis.”

She kept her eyes shut, because she would see him sometimes. And while it felt perfectly natural to her she realized that it boded some deep psychosis on her part, hallucinations and such.

“Yes, bury your head in the sand my dear that always solves problems.”

She opened her eyes, turning to her side angrily. There he was standing there, staring out at the water. A tall, sort of thinnish man, with brown hair, longish brushing his shoulders dressed in some sort of antiquated black suit that looked like it came from another century. Of course this was all her imagination, but the problem had become that her imagination was completely eluding her control.

“You really should calm down. You will work yourself up into a hysteria.”

“I wish you would go away.”

“Yes dear, well I wish a great many things that will never come to pass.”

She stared at him frowning. If she told anyone about this–

“They would lock you up in an asylum somewhere and throw away the key.”

She crossed her arms, now staring out at the calming flow of water ahead of her. Except that it didn’t feel calming, not in the least. “You see that proves it that you are simply coming out of my mind, the way you flow right out of my thoughts.”

“Read your mind?” he chuckled. She was so pleased she was amusing this manifestation of her insanity. She did note standing nearer him or it or whatever that he was a bit pale, a bit on the unhealthy side.

“Yes, I suppose. Are you sick or something? Oh never mind you’re not real,” she sputtered a bit.

“I spend or spent a lot of time indoors, did suffer with a bout of consumption in the end.”

Her eyes widened and there was that odd headache that felt like it was drumming in her head. Maybe she had a brain tumor or aneurism brought on by that terrible shooting, but then she swept it away. The whole incident she was more than happy to sweep out of her mind. “What does that mean, the end?” She shouldn’t have asked it. It was one of those doors that one shouldn’t open, not even take a peek through. But as it was one of her failings was that she was curious, curious in a way that had led her places that perhaps she shouldn’t be.

He turned away from the turbulent ocean, because it was a windy, overcast day and the waves simply responded to that reality.  He moved in a bit closer and his eyes she saw were a curious mixture of green and blue. “Do you really want to know Ellie?” he said slowly and deliberately. His speech was very clipped, formal in a way, not lazy and imprecise like so many of those in her generation.

“I asked,” she answered equally as clipped.

He smiled slowly, and then reached out and lightly touched her cheek with his fingertips. Her eyes widened. She’d felt that. How indeed could she feel something that was born out of her own delirium? “You really think you’re imaginative enough to conjure me?”

She stepped back and murmured shakily, “I have to go.”

No smile now, just staring at her intently. “I haven’t answered your question.”

She didn’t wait. She simply turned and walked quickly away or was she running. She wasn’t entirely sure.


By the time she returned to the Ainsworth house, she noticed that Mrs. Garvey and Medora Ross were seated up on the side porch at the white wrought iron table. Mrs. Garvey smiled broadly as Ellie ascended the stairs. Medora glanced up at her with dark eyes. That’s right her name was Medora. Viola had said something about her family being killed, killed in a train wreck. She said nothing just raised the delicate china cup to her lips.

“We’re just having a spot of tea my dear. Would you care to join us?” Viola had just traces of an English accent and she wore. Ellie paused for a moment staring at her nearly incomprehensibly. She wore a long dress whose hem brushed the wooden floor of the porch. Ellie breathed in deeply that sharp pain in her head pounded. Maybe they were dressing up, because it was the same with Medora, a long black dress, looked like mourning, mourning from another century.

She felt dizzy. Maybe she was sick, more sick than she thought. “No, no,” she muttered. Then suddenly she heard footsteps behind her, heavy footsteps ascending the wooden stairs.

Viola stood up, smiling widely. “Oh Mr. Dupre, we had no idea when we would see you around here.”

Ellie didn’t turn around. She wasn’t curious now. She felt the pressure of a hand on her shoulder. “Ellie and I need to speak about a few things Mrs. Garvey,” he said slowly. It was that voice, his voice. The man she’d been speaking to moments before out on the beach. She pulled away and ran into the house, ran up the creaking staircase until she reached her rooms and could slam the door behind her.


“You could do something else.”

“How could I?”

“You seem unhappy, darling.”

“I don’t know maybe, maybe I will change things.”

“You could have a family of your own.”

“Maybe,” she’d answered indefinitely, then let life swirl around her again. Day to day and making no change until–

She pulled the pillow closer to her head. Pounding, pounding in her head. All of that was before, not after as she’d thought. She didn’t change anything and then —

She heard the door in the other room swing open. She hadn’t locked it. Why hadn’t she locked it?

And then he walked into the bedroom. He’d never used doors before. Why was he bothering with them now?

He stood there in the doorway just staring at her intently. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“I’m losing my mind,” she said but he had no reaction.

“You’re adjusting, not exactly the same thing.”

She sat up in the brass daybed. She hadn’t thought about how antiquated it had seemed when she moved in. She hadn’t thought about her other apartment and what she’d done with all the furniture there and who was paying the bills. “What’s wrong with those people? Viola and that woman Medora, she doesn’t speak. And the way they’re dressed. And you?”

“They’re comfortable that way. And me well I’ve always been partial to this suit. Even when I got sick.”

She swung her feet down on the floor. She didn’t want to ask, but as was her nature she did. “Sick?”

“Consumption, I was a writer, mostly a poet; then I got sick, terribly, really a difficult, well way to go.”

Her heart was racing, but she pushed onward. “Are you trying to tell me you died?”

“Yes Ellie March. I died, Viola died, and so did Medora in that terribly train accident. This place, this lovely old house is sort of a halfway house for those who need more time to make the transition.”

“The transition?”

“Yes, it’s difficult for some of us. The end was too difficult or there are things we feel we need to finish of a variety of other reasons. It’s a soft place to fall.”

She bowed her head. “Then why am I here?” — Another question she shouldn’t have asked. Why didn’t she just wait, slink away not knowing?

He smiled slowly, “You won’t be here too long will you Ellie March?”

“The shooting?”

“Would you like to take a turn with me on the grounds? They’re really quite lovely, flowers blooming even in October.”

“I suppose,” she murmured. She should be upset but she wasn’t. Instead she was intrigued as was her nature.

Copyright© 2015 by Evelyn Klebert