Jack Horne, Ghost writer

(Interviewing for an intern position for our Moscow office is Stef–her resume is under consideration because she is well-red)


All the way past the East Ghost, and on the ordinary side the pond, resides Jack Horne. Same turf as Derek Thompson; so I guess that makes them a pair a normal Brits!

Our current contest, Once Upon a Time, requires that you get off your arse and sit on your arse (unless you write standing) and unleash that arsenal of words to start that novel the New York Times book list has been clamoring for. Game of Thorns–OOPS!–THRONES can wait.  Write your prologue.  Make it to the semi finals and submit chapter one.  Make it to the finals and submit chapter two.  See where this is going?  Every semi-finalists wins a gift card to Barnes and Noble for $25. Winner gets $250 cash or a date with the editor-in-chief (moi) at the McDonald’s of your choice in Moscow (Dutch).

If by chance (or on purpose) you have finished and published the novel, we’d like to see it anyhow, though you will not be eligible for prizes (other than the adoration of our readership).  We will post your prologue and put a link to your site or Amazon for those who want to buy your book, and put up chapters one and two along with the the competitors when we enter the semi-finals.

a ghost hunt








Jack Horne HAS finished his novel, and even though he is a foreigner and a Brit to boot we are delighted to publish his prologue. Here is the beginning to

A Ghost Hunt

by Jack Horne, esq.

“I can’t believe she’s in there,” I said, looking down at the coffin and shuddering. “I keep expecting to see her…as she was…before.”

Suzy squeezed my fingers. “I know, love. Me too.”

The elderly priest frowned at us and spoke louder. “Let us commend—”

The rooks in the surrounding trees cawed noisily as if trying to drown him out, perhaps they’d heard the same words too many times, as I had—the second funeral in a matter of days.

It started to rain, making the ancient graveyard, with its fallen headstones and decapitated stone angels seem even bleaker. What a place to spend eternity.

Shivering, I pulled the collar of my overcoat up and glanced round at the others. At least fifty mourners. I wondered if as many people would attend my funeral. Probably not.

The rain lashed us and I didn’t bother to wipe the stubborn tears away after that.

Only half-listening to the priest’s words, I recalled the terrible events of the past few weeks…


Here’s the link for it:



Ghost Writers on the sly!


6 thoughts on “Jack Horne, Ghost writer

  1. Parisianne Modert says:

    The “Ghost Hunt” Prologue to Jack Horne’s novel creeped fingers along my spine, compressing my breath and opening my eyes wide to devour his words eloquently floating with aura-clouds of chill and anticipation. This rainy mood scene of open coffin and “fallen head stones and decapitated stone angels” appeared in my mind an apparition, insistently tempting my icy hands to purchase the fuller work and haunting me to know “the terrible events of the past few weeks”

    Brilliant Mr. Horne, simply brilliant, but could you serve us your Chapter One which I imagine will be steaming as proper tea should.

  2. Michael Stang says:

    Jack, why am I not surprised you are published. I should pay more attention to Thorn’s (If you want to know more about what this writer is doing, here is the website). Sadly I skip all that to read the submissions, and forget to. The P to “Ghost Hunt” is filled with a promise of horror. The vampire teeth in my head are oozing to get a copy. My irreversable mummified spine is wiggling to get going. The already slipped on a banana peel is climbing back out of the grave to retrieve reading glasses.
    Great cover, BTW. What that set you back? LOL

      • Michael Stang says:

        Jack, we have to talk about approaching the Chief concerning his wolf eating grin on the front photo with that girl. For god’s sakes, he is twice (3?) times her age. Literation is now an excuse? You call him on it Brit. He listens when advice comes from across the pond.

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