THE HAUNTING OF EMILY GRACE
by Elena Taylor
May 25 - June 19, 2026
Virtual Book Tour
Synopsis:
An eerie suspense novel, in which a grieving woman takes a job at an isolated mansion only to become wrapped up in the curse that seems to have befallen its eccentric owner.
Emily Grace has endured the worst loss imaginable. But can she survive a remote manor haunted by more than just memories . . .?
Locals believe the house is cursed, but their warnings go unheeded as Emily Grace works to rebuild her life. After what she’s been through, nothing can scare her—except perhaps the attention of a handsome man offering more than friendship. And yet, there’s something strange about this solitary fortress. Accidents. Mishaps. Ghostly whispers through the surrounding forest, footsteps when she’s completely alone . . .
Is there truly a curse or is the ethereal specter in the window an omen of something more sinister?
This spooky standalone from phenomenal crime author Elena Taylor will have readers sleeping with the light on for weeks! With vibes of Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, fans of Riley Sager and thrillers with light horror elements will love The Haunting of Emily Grace!
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Praise for The Haunting of Emily Grace:
"Taylor doesn’t just conjure suspense—she dissects it, peeling back the fragile layers of identity, memory, and trust until nothing feels safe. The Haunting of Emily Grace is deeply unsettling in all the best ways."
~ Carter Wilson, bestselling author of Tell Me What You Did
"Beautifully evocative and atmospheric, The Haunting of Emily Grace is a one-sitting read. I couldn't put it down."
~ Lisa Hall, bestselling author of suspense
"gut-tightening suspense"
~ Edward J Leahy, author of the Dan Brady and Kim Brady mysteries
The Haunting of Emily Grace Trailer:
Book Details:
Genre: Suspense with a touch of light paranormal/horror
Published by: Severn House
Publication Date: May 21, 2026
Number of Pages: 288 pages
ISBN: 9781448318889 (ISBN10: 1448318882), Paperback
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Severn House
Read an excerpt:
ONE
Over the Water
Grief is a scab that I can’t stop picking at, no matter how hard I try. It pokes at me now as I sit in my truck on the deserted ferry dock, surrounded by dense morning fog and waiting for the boat to take me across an expanse of dark water to a house rumored to be cursed.
My fingers trace a photograph taped to my dashboard. My hand trembles, likely from an empty stomach or sleeplessness, as both are constant companions. But I outline the beloved face, forever frozen, like a precious object in amber. Lost to me in the real world, calling to me from the next.
The ferry slides into the dock in front of me with a bump against the pilings. A lone figure moves across the empty deck, while an old, grizzled seaman stays inside the tiny wheelhouse. One captain and one first mate.
Tying the ferry off with ropes thicker than my arm, the mate’s actions are practiced and steady. He lowers a ramp and waves me forward. Ever so slowly, I roll across the water, fighting against holding my breath—the superstition I’ve clung to my entire life every time I cross a bridge. The thirty-minute sail to Salish Island, and tiny Monk’s Rock where my new job awaits, won’t allow me the indulgence, so I might as well continue to breathe despite my need to cling to anything, even a silly belief, to keep me safe.
After parking the truck as the mate directs, I wait as he shoves bright orange chock blocks around all four wheels, as if, without a barrier, my vehicle might drive itself into the sea.
I open my door a crack; our eyes meet. “Can I get out?”
“Of course.”
The first mate is rugged, with an air of confidence like he’d be good in a crisis. Smooth skin on his cheeks. Bright, inquisitive eyes. Broad shoulders visible under the bulky uniform of dark green waterproof overalls and a yellow slicker.
He holds out his hand as I step out. “Careful. Parts of the deck can be slippery when it’s this wet.”
Electricity flies between our fingers, and I pull away as if he poses a threat. I don’t want to feel desire. Intimacy is dangerous. But what does it mean that I’m looking at men again?
He gives me an odd look. “We’ll be underway in a few minutes.” He walks back to the ramp, where two men unload a battered white cargo van. The three of them quickly stack boxes to one side, lashing them in place. No doubt provisions for an island that’s home to five hundred hearty souls—and me. At least for the time it takes to complete the finish carpentry in one enormous house.
I’d once been a very good carpenter. Before my life exploded into hospitals and medical visits, overwhelming helplessness and all the endless paperwork connected to dying. Since then, I’ve done a poor job of putting myself back together. The rough pieces of grownup life refusing to fit a new pattern now that I’m alone.
My mentor Bill Thomlinson had started this project less than a week ago but fell and broke his leg in multiple places. After he came through the surgery, metal pins in place, he convinced the homeowner to take a chance on me.
“You need this,” he said to me over the phone, his voice surprisingly strong for someone coming out of anesthesia. “I’m done watching you flail. This job can save you. Don’t let me down.”
Now I stand on the deck of a private ferry while the engines roar out a steady vibration under my feet, and wonder if I’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake.
Crossing to the rail, I pin my eyes where the horizon must lie out beyond the mist. Clouds above and waves below. Indistinguishable from each other because of the heavy air, thick like smoke. My stomach lurches at the thought of everything that swims underneath my feet and the unknown depth of the sea.
Breathe in . . . breathe out . . . focus on the future. Focus on the work.
All I know about the job ahead of me is that the original carpenter vanished, forcing the owner, Cameron Lang, to bring in someone else, but then Bill ended up with pins in his leg. Given that I haven’t slept in so long that I shouldn’t be trusted with power tools, I hope that whatever the curse is, it doesn’t come in threes.
When I feel like I’m losing my mind, it helps to ground myself with something physical, so I grip the hard, cold rail in my hands. No matter how much ending my life is a viable choice, some small part of me refuses to let death win again.
The fog brightens, and we cross a physical line in space, plunging into a blue so pure it hurts my eyes. I gasp and grip even tighter as the sky separates from the water, which now spreads out below me in an endless black void.
“Not quite got your sea legs?” The first mate watches me with barely disguised curiosity.
Salt spray traces tears down my cheeks. I must look like I’m crying. “I didn’t expect to come out of the fog so abruptly.”
“It does that sometimes. Now you see it, now you don’t. No matter how often we sail through a bank, it always feels like magic.”
“I can imagine.”
He lingers nearby. Maybe there’s little to do once the ferry is underway. Although small talk is beyond my ability, part of me longs to hear his voice again, even if I say things that sound insane.
The temperature drops as we head further out to sea.
We’re soon dodging between uninhabited land masses. “Some of these islands are so low they disappear in high tide.” He gestures to the slopes of land. Rocky outcroppings just under the surface. Dangerous, like unexploded mines in the sand.
Panic rises. The water below us taunts me—my troubles will be over if I simply fall into a watery grave. The voice becomes louder and more insistent that I should do something I can’t take back. To keep my mind off the words in my head, my eyes search for the defiant piece of US rock thrusting out of Canadian waters. If I can make it back to dry land, I can get through another day.
“That’s what you’re looking for.” The first mate’s breath tickles my ear as he comes closer, speaking over the hum of the engines, the slap of water on the hull, and the cry of seagulls. My gaze follows his arm to the far-off outline of Salish Island, where Monk’s Rock perches off the northern-most end, tethered to each other by the narrowest of bridges.
“Take this.” He presses a business card into my hand. “Just in case.” Under his name is a single word, handyman, and a phone number.
“Adrian Han?” I look up, his eyes capturing mine. “I thought you were the first mate.”
“I’m a lot of things.” His words are casual, but something reflects in his expression, an emotion I can’t put my finger on.
“You might realize at some point there’s a project you need help with. Nothing against your skills. Everyone needs another set of hands once in a while.”
“I have a helper.”
“Chuck, yeah. I’ve worked with him before.” His tone is carefully neutral.
My new boss made the arrangements for Chuck to help me with anything that requires two people. Am I going to regret his choice?
“How do you know why I’m here?”
Adrian’s carefree expression returns. “Emily Grace Turner. Carpenter. Here to finish the End of the World.”
It’s a jolt that he knows anything about me when I’ve worked so hard to become invisible. He reads me again, and his tone turns reassuring. “It’s a small town—people talk.” He gestures toward the wood rack that fits over my camper shell and the bumper sticker: Proud Member of the Carpenter’s Union. “Plus, your name was on your ferry registration.”
I chuckle for thinking his words are sinister until a darker emotion, one that looks like fear, crosses his face. “That house—” His lips purse as if he holds something back. “Just call if you need help. Anytime.”
The island takes clearer shape, and Adrian returns to the wheelhouse, his absence palpable, as if a physical hole remains in the air after he’s gone.
He’s taken his fear with him, except for the small part he’s left behind with me.
***
Excerpt from The Haunting of Emily Grace by Elena Taylor. Copyright 2025 by Elena Taylor. Reproduced with permission from Elena Taylor. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Elena Taylor spent several years working in theater as a playwright, director, designer, and educator before turning her storytelling skills to novels. Her first series, the Eddie Shoes Mysteries, written under Elena Hartwell, introduced a quirky mother/daughter crime fighting duo.
With the Sheriff Bet Rivers Mysteries, Elena returned to her dramatic roots to bring readers more serious and atmospheric novels. Located in her beloved Washington State, Elena uses her connection to the environment to produce tense and suspenseful investigations for a lone sheriff in an isolated community. The third in the series, Kill to Keep, launches summer 2026.
The Haunting of Emily Grace is Elena’s first standalone suspense novel.
Her favorite place to be is at Paradise, the property she lives on south of Spokane, Washington, with her equines, dogs, cats, and hubby.
Catch Up With Elena Taylor:
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