Greetings!
I hope you’re all well, and weathering these troubled times with grace and dignity. Yeah, okay, I think most of us are freaking out and flailing around in some way or another. Things are weird. Bad, even. That aside, it is human nature to focus on dreadful things and overlook nice ones — that 9000-year-old reptile brain survival thing that media and algorithms are very good at manipulating. Sadly these days, they have a great deal to work with, god help us.
This is my favorite time of year. Predictably, my writing is full of dark and spooky things, monsters, curses, wicked trees, otherworldly villains and the like, mostly under the banner of high fantasy. But not entirely.
Recently, I broke ranks and wrote a Gothic horror novella about a crossroads bargain, which involves a deal made between a desperate (i.e., stupid) human and an otherworld entity, in the liminal space where two paths meet. Such bargains are tricky and usually result in unpleasant consequences. This one did—a centuries-old curse by the Unseelie Fae, more specifically, a wicked elf with an army and an axe to grind.
Enter Elspet, the unfortunate progeny of this bargain, a sensitive, hyper-vigilant young woman who sees things in the floral patterns of her bedroom wallpaper—including a beautiful elven lord who is the ancient enemy of the aforementioned bastard.
Against the backdrop of an old, neurotic family, a creepy forest bordering the estate, a string of grisly, unexplained deaths and an antagonistic aunt, Elspet lands into a situation that forces her to make a devastating sacrifice that brings her to the threshold of the otherworld…and herself.
For a limited time, A Northward Gaze will be on sale for $0.99 on Amazon.
Read the story for free with Kindle Unlimited.
Be well, stay safe, and Happy Halloween! And remember, even the most ghastly, tragic tales can have a silver lining.
© F.T. McKinstry 2025. All Rights Reserved.








I created the cover art in the usual way. But for some reason, it unsettled me; it wasn’t quite what I was looking for. There were nervous whispers. I brushed them aside, knowing full well how reckless that is.


I started reading these authors roughly around the same time, when I was a kid in the 70s. Tolkien changed my life, I’ll just say that. Among other things, Poe’s short stories and a steady diet of 




Urien of Eyeroth, a Master of the Eye of the Order of Raven, hurried along the winding forest path beneath a sky shrouded in midnight. Restless wind stirred the trees, and the air smelled of rain and moldering leaves. The light from his torch painted the barren forest in shades of his own reflection, black-haired, gray-eyed and pale for want of a touch. He pulled his cloak close, unable to determine which made him more uncomfortable: the dreary woods or the new moon settling onto his heart like a cloud of moths.
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