Gun City Bohemian by Phil Williams Spotlight!!

Phil Williams kindly asking Fang Freakin Tastic to do a quick spotlight post of his book Gun City Bohemian and we were more than glad to throw this up for our readers.  Okay be warned that the excerpt is a little creepy, it reminds me of this story when I was a young girl and told stories at Girl Scout Camp.


There was this story about this girl who had a dog who would lick her hand when she was scared.  One night she heard a dripping noise and was scared so she put her hand down and her dog licked it.  This repeated over many times as she walked around the house trying to find what was causing the dripping sound.  Every room that did not hold the sound she was get more nervous and have her dog lick her hand.  Well finally she went to the bathroom and opened up the curtain….


Do you know the rest of this story?  I wonder how the excerpt ends as well.


Gun City Bohemian

By: Phil Williams
Genres: Fantasy Romance, Paranormal Romance, Urban
Pages: 269
Publisher: Rumian Publishing
Published on: November 20, 2014
Gun City Bohemian by Phil Williams Spotlight!!

Will Carter toils through books and beer without really knowing why. A student without purpose, he shelters from life in inebriation. And occasionally sees things that aren’t really there.

Lisa Shelling barely stops working, dedicated to an education that will better people's lives. She doesn't have much time for socialising, fun or imagining the unreal.

Neither could have imagined the impact their meeting would have - on themselves, their friends, the city around them and reality itself.

Gun City Bohemian is an urban fantasy where the power of two people's love causes art, fallen angels and amateur journalism to collide. An endearing tale of romance and dark humour that pits the carefree nature of student lives against the horrors of adult responsibility and rising Hell.


Barnes & Noble



Excerpt from Book:
One night, waking in Carter’s casual embrace, Shelling heard the dripping. She lay still for a moment, eyes open looking at the odd shapes of one of Carter’s paintings, almost entirely hidden by the dark of night. Waking in the middle of the night was not currently an annoyance, now that she was cuddled to her man, and she snuggled into him for a moment, content. Drip. She closed her eyes. Drip. She opened them again. It continued, at a regular interval. A loud plop.

After a few minutes of waiting for it, Shelling could not draw her attention away from the drip, and eventually moved Carter’s arm off her and sat up with a frown. Drip. It was loud, reverberating from a direction she couldn’t quite place. Carter stirred with a grumble, rolling onto his other side. Shelling felt the bed shake slightly as he tensed. She turned to him, craning over his body to see his eyes wide open. Drip.

Shelling leant over Carter and placed a hand on his shoulder. He whispered, almost under his breath, “Not again.”

“Where’s that coming from?” Shelling asked quietly, and he sat up next to her, tossing the duvet back. He did not look at her, staring straight ahead.

“You can hear it too?” he asked.

“Of course,” she whispered. “Is it the shower?”

“No. It’s something else. I’ll have a look.”

He shifted over the bed and clambered to his feet. She turned on the spot, watching him attentively. He never looked at her, focusing on something that seemed to be elsewhere. He stopped in the middle of the floor and waited. Drip. He snapped his head from one direction to another, trying to pinpoint the noise. Drip. He opened the door and headed out into the corridor. Shelling stayed put, watching silently as he approached the bathroom. The dripping sped up. It grew louder. Drip drip drip. Still from an undefined direction. Carter hesitated at the door, resting against the handle. He leant his head to one side. Listened. As he drew closer to the door, the dripping sped up again. With a shake of his head, he tore the door open and looked in. He took a step back, staring through the room.

He stepped in.

She listened carefully.


He returned to the corridor and looked at her, his eyes bulging white bulbs in the vague moonlight that filtered in through the washroom window. He dragged himself back into the room. The dripping had stopped. He climbed back into bed and dragged her down with him. He held her a little tighter than before as he whispered into her ear, “It’s nothing.”

She rested back into his embrace. From the look on his face and the tension in his grip, it did not feel like nothing. Was she starting to hear the unreal things he saw in the shadows?

But the dripping had stopped.


About Phil Williams

Born and raised in the South East of the England, I spread my wings about 6 years ago and lived variously across the world - Russia, the UAE, Czech Republic. And visited a wealth of the rest of the world. It's been a long and winding road with no particular destination. Just writing along the way.



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