MUSE MONDAY
Please join me in welcoming Karen Hulene Bartell to Muse Monday on Discover... Her post is so intriguing, I'm sure you'll enjoy it and want to check out her book. Read on!In the no man’s land between cultural myths and emotional
vulnerabilities, superstition can devolve into delusion, and where does that
lead?
INDIGO Blurb:
Reeling after her fiancé dumps her, she inherits a rustic cabin from an unknown
relative. Eerie incidents and rumors of a mythical windigo alarm her, but she’s
determined to learn the truth about her dysfunctional family before she flips
the property.
Despite unscrupulous realtors, bloodthirsty prowlers, and a
devious ex, her life improves with a rescued puppy, and passion ignites when
she meets Dylan McCoombs, but…
What does a demonic half-beast share with a psychosis and
porphyria? Are monsters born or formed? Nature or nurture? Is a windigo spirit
genetic? More importantly, does she carry the gene?
The deeper Raluca Olson digs, the more questions emerge. Is
the darkness outside OR within her?
What is a windigo? Is it folklore, a legendary beast,
OR something more personal?
The windigo is a moral warning from Indigenous and French
traditions—OR it’s a manifesting evil spirit.
Origin: Algonquian folklore, especially Ojibwe, Cree,
French, and other northern Indigenous peoples.
Nature: A malevolent, cannibalistic spirit OR a
transformed human, often described as emaciated, with a heart of ice, glowing
eyes, and a foul odor.
Cause of Transformation: Insatiable hunger, greed, or
any excess, often originating with famine or starvation.
Symbolism: A cautionary tale about greed, the loss of
humanity, and moral decay.
Appearance: Humanoid with monstrous features, up to
15 feet tall, with a skeletal frame.
I followed the road as it dipped
and twisted through the wetlands, rose again between bordering alfalfa fields
speckled with blue gypsyweed stalks, then dead ended at a railroad track.
About-facing, I backtracked.
Though the sun shone brightly, a
cold shiver ran down my spine when I passed the cemetery. The hair rose on the
back of my neck, and I turned, looking behind me. Instinct told me I was being
watched. No cars or other hikers on the road…no houses nearby. I
surveyed the wooded graveyard, peering through the trees’ long shadows until a
pair of glowering eyes met mine.
Sitting on the stone chair was a
man with a lean, lupine face, heavy beard, slanted, almond-shaped eyes, and a
thick head of hair.
Fight or flight? My thoughts spiraling, I tensed
as I played out one stressful scenario after another. My mouth dry, I swallowed
hard, checking the country road for traffic. Nothing. No cars and no one except
this skulker lurking in the cemetery.
But he stayed motionless, not
waving or acknowledging me in any way. He just stared through hooded eyes.
Creepy…I kept him in my peripheral
vision as I strode past, then sprinted to the cabin, checking behind me before
punching in the entry code. Not until I slammed the door did I breathe deeply. What
a weirdo.
I eyed my laptop on the kitchen
table, debating whether to finish editing the latest manuscript but was too
keyed up to concentrate. Instead, I unpacked one of the moving boxes stacked
against the breakfast bar. Who knows how long it’ll take to flip this place?
I glanced about the cabin. A
collection of fly-fishing lures and vintage fishing signs decorated the knotty
pine paneling: Cast away your troubles.
Support your local hookers. Wake and lake. Even the dinnerware featured
a rainbow-trout motif.
Bordered by two windows, a
fieldstone fireplace filled the front wall, floor to ceiling. Flanked by rustic
end tables, a fold-out sofa lined the adjoining wall. The backdoor led to a
covered porch, overlooking the lake. The kitchenette filled the back wall and
part of the fourth wall, which opened to the bedroom and bath.
As I found homes for my clothes,
books, and personal effects, I debated whether to redecorate or flip the cabin
as is. Then the change of pace hit me.
How did I end up here? My thoughts slipped back to two
weeks before, when I was in Chicago, ticking details off my wedding checklist. And
why would Winifred Nelson leave me this place?
****
Contact Links:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KarenHuleneBartell
MeWe: https://mewe.com/i/karenbartell
X: @HuleneKaren
Instagram:
https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/karenhulenebartell/
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/611950.Karen_Hulene_Bartell
Website: http://www.KarenHuleneBartell.com/
Email: info@KarenHuleneBartell.com
Amazon Author Page:
https://www.amazon.com/author/karenhulenebartell
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/karenhulenebartell/
BookBub:
https://www.bookbub.com/profile/karen-hulene-bartell
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/karenhulenebartell/
AUTHORSdb:
https://authorsdb.com/community/17847-karen-hulene-bartell
Buy Links:
Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/3kRlWn
Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/Indigo-Cryptid-Charisma-Hulene-Bartell-ebook/dp/B0GHZHM1WQ
Barnes & Noble:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/indigo-karen-hulene-bartell/1149708480
BookBub:
https://www.bookbub.com/books/indigo-by-karen-hulene-bartell
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/249818067-indigo
Walmart: https://www.walmart.com/search/?query=9781509265251
BooksAMillion: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/9781509265251
Indie Bound:
https://bookshop.org/p/books/indigo-karen-hulene-bartell/d36bdd344e121211
iTunes: https://books.apple.com/us/book/indigo/id6760712664
The author of 30 published books and Indigo, Karen Hulene
Bartell was born to rolling-stone parents who moved annually. Her earliest
playmates were fictional friends in books. Paperbacks became her portable pals.
Ghost stories kept her up at night--reading feverishly. Novels offered an
imaginative escape, and she began her first novel at nine, learning the joys of
creating her own HEAs. Professor emeritus of the University of Texas at Austin,
she lives in the Texas Piney Woods with her husband and *mews*--three rescued cats
and a rescued CATahoula Leopard dog.



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