Lucid

In 1968, Adrian Roy brutally murdered his young niece, Elspeth. In an act of unspeakable cruelty, he dosed her with LSD beforehand. Her body died, but something in the entheogenic drug propelled her soul into the land of sleep. She became a dream. Meanwhile, in modern-day Cardiff, Oliver Ryan is unable to get a girlfriend. At the age of thirty-two he still wets the bed. Every few weeks he receives a visitation whilst his body is held prisoner by sleep paralysis. These nightmares mean that, for Ollie, his dreams are more real than his waking life. Whilst asleep he meets a woman in the Church of Shattered Hopes, where everybody cries blood. On waking, he thinks no more about it. Until he meets her again... and again... Just as we sleep each night and wake in Dream, dreams can wake in our world too. With the help of his cousin Jen, the Welsh Shaman Eirian, and Amanda, an academic with an intelligent laugh, it is time to find Adrian Roy and enact a fitting revenge. Publisher comments This story is a brave journey into the world of drugs and shamanistic magic. It will appeal to those of you who have a love for the darker recesses and mysterious corners of the human mind. Is it possible for a person to travel through the veil of death and be held in a realm of dreams? Is it a warning to those who use drugs to access parts of their mind which crumble under the onslaught of the spiritual world we cannot see or understand without training? Is it a journey into cruelty and death, where one man must face his cynicism and fear to save a soul who is being devoured by the darkness? This is part physiological thriller and part ghost story, with hauntings in the our world and the dream world which threaten to tear reality apart. A story with some great twists and turns, forcing you to consider the consequences of drugs and belief. Review quote... A journey through the chaos of LSD and the magic of dreams. We've never read anything like this, the combination of the spiritual and the murderous is incredible... www.book-reviewer.com