The Exchange and Other Calamities by Mallory McCartney, and Excerpt and Giveaway!

Today, Ginger Nuts of Horror is excited to bring not just an excerpt of The Exchange and Other Calamities by Mallory McCartney but also a chance to win a copy of The Exchange and Other Calamities. Details on how to win a copy of the book can be found after the excerpt.

The Exchange and Other Calamities by Mallory McCartney

Evil lurks in the darkness, clawing its way towards unsuspecting victims . . .

A woman living with fibromyalgia finds an artifact that unleashes a reality she never thought possible . . . at a steep price.

Two high school seniors take part in a tradition that brings them face-to-face with the monstrous truth behind a haunting, dark urban legend.

The face behind a popular YouTube ghost hunting show travels to the scene of a horrific event to find fresh horrors there.

Fate takes a bite out of a young woman who ventures into the wilderness to grieve her mother.

Best-selling author, Theo Anderson, takes part in a sleep study that turns her into the very thing she fears.

Hold your breath as you immerse yourself in five harrowing stories written by bestselling author, Mallory McCartney. Fans of her gripping Black Dawn series will be kept on the edge of their seat by this horror collection inspired by real life events!

The Exchange and Other Calamities by Mallory McCartney an Excerpt.

Abnormal pain perception. I tied my running shoes, my fingers swollen, the ends still tingling from waking with them completely numb. I can only manage my symptoms. There is no cure. No cure. No. Cure. Slowly, I stood, my hips cracking loudly, the stiffness in my body feeling like I had been ripped apart in the night, haphazardly being thrown back together.

 I can sleep for ten hours each night, but I feel like I haven’t slept at all. Dragging my gaze up, I look at my reflection. My skin is translucent, the spattering of freckles over my nose just accentuating the black circles under my eyes. My auburn hair frames my gaunt face, my T-shirt and shorts breathable. This is my battle armor. This is another morning fighting to do one of the most overwhelming tasks now in my life. 

Physical exercise. 

I frown, and say to my reflection, “Don’t let the fucking fibromyalgia win.”  Fibromyalgia, the disease everyone is convinced is all in your head, but has made me feel completely dead inside. If anyone took the time to learn, they would know it stems from your nervous system, creating a complete neurochemical imbalance, and pain signals are sent down to devour you from the inside out. 

It’s debilitating. It’s real. And has left me completely isolated within my life. I took my rage and left my apartment, stepping into the complete silence of the hallway, to make my way to the elevator and downstairs before anyone else in the building was awake. T he predawn sky glowed. I watched the edge of the horizon start to bleed into soft pinks, oranges, and purples that promised a brilliant sunrise.

In late August in Sarnia, Ontario, if you wanted to look for beach glass, it was best to rise with the sun. Come midmorning, the beach was usually speckled with families on vacation, locals enjoying the summer, or tourists. Quite frankly, I wanted to avoid them all.  I walked down the street that connected to the public beach parking lot while adjusting my backpack straps and listening to the tempo of my footfalls on the sidewalk.

Left, right, left, right. The comfortably cool breeze teased ideas of autumn, but I knew we were in for another couple months of plus thirty with high humidity days. Thankfully, at six A.M. it was twenty degrees and the perfect temperature. I pulled back my auburn hair and allowed myself a moment, sighing into the quiet. All while I repeated my daily mantra in my head:

 You are here, today, in this moment.

 A year ago, I couldn’t walk more than ten minutes. Being diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, and then later with fibromyalgia at twenty seven, I often thought it was like being dragged into the undertow with no immediate way back to the surface while simultaneously being set on fire. 

Going through months of denial, losing my friends who didn’t have the space to understand invisible chronic illnesses, having to stop working at my career . . . I literally had a funeral for my past life—it was ripped away so suddenly, so irrevocably harsh. I think drowning while on fire was a pretty accurate description of the sensations rampaging through my body and within my life.

After finding a sliver of peace knowing there was no way back to that life, to that version of Kinsley Matthews, I started to climb the mountain. I had to find a way to coexist with the monster that had decided to live with me. I had no choice other than to fight.  For me, the first step to climbing that mountain came in the form of walking. It was methodical—the steadiness of it—and searching for beach glass had at first been a challenge.

I searched for those beautiful pieces of glass as if they were a lifeline when my body screamed that I couldn’t do the walk, that I had to give up, or else I would collapse or throw up. Next came the pain, the sweeping kiss of it, the overwhelming consumption until I felt delirious. It sunk its claws so firmly in me that the rest of the day would pass in flickers. But each morning, I went a little farther, a little longer. I relished the sweat and each gritting step because they meant I was alive, that I was fighting. This tyrant of a disease wouldn’t take everything.

 Three hundred sixty-five days later, I welcomed the challenge rather than how I used to dread it. The flare reaction of my body slowly started to ebb too, like I was chiseling out a form of myself, cold-pressed and molded from my experiences, but still me.  Today, I crossed the empty parking lot that led to the beach, popping my earbuds in. They connected to my phone, and I pressed shuffle on my playlist.

 Brad Arnold’s voice from 3 Doors Down flooded my senses. As soon as my runners hit the sand and my calves ignited, I fell into a well of blissful routine. This was predictable. Cathartic. This walk was my choice, in my control, when most things about my body were not anymore. My pain rippled, wanting to cascade down on me, but I roared back at it internally.

Like hell was it going to take this from me. The endlessness of the sky brushed Lake Huron, the still turquoise waters resembling a mirror. The beach was empty, and I made my way to the shore, eager to find the smooth edges of the green, white, and blue beach glass hidden within the pale golden sands.

 Sweat trickled down the back of my neck, making course for my spine. My skin felt tight and swollen, and a flush swept over my cheeks.  Just one more minute. I sat in the sand with the pier behind me. The 

gentle ripples of the lake’s waves broke on the shore and lapped at the tips of my shoes. I looked at my haul today: eight pieces of bright green glass, one clear white, and one amber. I smiled as I secured the Ziploc bag before I slipped it into my leggings pocket. It was almost seven, and the heat of the day had started to roll out. By eight, I would be sipping my coffee under blissful AC in my apartment if I got moving.

 As I stood, a light glinted in my vision from within the waters, so blinding I startled. Squinting, I took a step forward, trying to locate what the hell it was. The water was relatively calm, so I could see clearly down to the bottom of the white sand. A few smooth rocks pebbled the bottom of the shore, but there, at almost arm’s length away, sat probably the biggest piece of beach glass I had ever seen.

 It was a deep olive-green swirled with amber, about the size of my fist and decently thick. I waded into the water, not worried about my shoes. The heat had already started, and with a twenty-minute walk back, they would be dry. The sun reflected off the glass again, and I picked it up. 

Droplets of water ran over my skin, plunking delicately back into the lake. Warm golden light stretched across my palm, and I couldn’t easily look away. I was the moth drifting toward the light, and the glass was the burning flame. A dull ringing filled my ears as my fingers flexed more tightly around the glass’s round edges.

For a chance to win one of two copies of The Exchange and Other Calamities by Mallory McCartney, simply answer the question below and email your answer to jimmcleod@gnofhorror.com

What is your least favourite form of exercise?

The giveaway is open to residents of the UK and US!

Mallory McCartney

Mallory McCartney currently lives in Sarnia, Ontario with her husband, their dachshunds Link, and Leonard and their sphynx cats Luna, Legolas, Ivy and Lily. When she isn’t working on her next novel or reading, she can be found day dreaming about fantasy worlds or bingeing her favorite horror movies.

Further Reading

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The passionate team behind The Ginger Nuts of Horror delivers thoughtful critiques and recommendations that delve into the nuances of storytelling, character development, and atmospheric tension. Whether you’re looking for hidden gems to stream on a dark and stormy night or want to explore the work of up-and-coming horror filmmakers, this page is packed with content that will ignite your imagination and keep you on the edge of your seat.

So grab your favorite horror-themed snacks, settle into a cozy spot, and immerse yourself in the chilling world of horror literature and film. Head over to The Ginger Nuts of Horror and embark on a journey through the eerie and the extraordinary—it’s an adventure you won’t soon forget!