Change of Season by A.C. Dillon – Except & Giveaway

Author A.C. Dillon

You can thank A.C.’s first grade teacher for the interest in writing fiction.  It was her casual comment on a mandatory daily journal, wherein she noted A.C.’s flair for storytelling, that planted the notion of writing full-length novels, poetry and short stories in an already overactive mind.

A.C. went to work quickly, burning through reams of paper with an ever-scribbling pen before turning to computers at age 14.  The boreal world rejoiced, and A.C.’s range of writing grew from simplistic children’s tales rooted in wish to horror stories, thrillers, and psychological studies of damaged men and women thrown together by circumstance.

(Oh yes, and there was that novel-length X-Files fanfiction… but no one else ever read it so luckily, it doesn’t count.)

A.C. Dillon’s first published work is a natural evolution of over twenty years of reading and writing literature, and is characterized by the core elements existing fans have come to love:  complex, relatable characters; witty dialogue; and an immersive narrative.

Between insomnia-fueled writing sessions, Dillon is an ardent animal lover who debates politics, obsessively collects music, and endlessly re-watches one of the most underrated films of all time:  Empire Records.

Change of Season

Sixteen-year-old Autumn Brody has enrolled at Casteel Preparatory Academy, a prestigious boarding school with a focus on the arts, for her grade eleven year but the move isn’t recreational.  Her choice was made in a desperate bid for the survival of herself and her family, who remain oblivious to the looming threat against them.  In her self-imposed exile, Autumn must remain invisible – “a Chbosky wallflower” – or more blood will cling to her hands.
Forced into a behavioural reform program at the Academy by her frantic parents, Autumn refuses to whisper of the ghosts haunting her.  But the troubled young woman soon finds that there are more reasons to fear the night than she ever dared imagine.  A student cries out in anguish through the walls, rousing her from restless slumber.  Mysterious messages seem to land near her feet – messages from a supposedly dead girl that Autumn sees darting into darkened service corridors.  And yet, the reclusive Film student she literally runs into might just be the gravest danger of all.
As past bleeds into present, Autumn uncovers truths long buried behind the door of room 308.  Secrets that someone will kill to keep silent – someone who stalks Autumn’s every move, patiently waiting to strike…
“Ten months.  Two hundred and ninety-nine days.  Seven thousand, one hundred and seventy-six hours.  Four hundred and thirty thousand, five hundred and sixty minutes.  Perhaps not as melodic as Larson’s rock musical anthem, but it is how I will measure a year at Casteel… I will measure in time, because it is my only constant between the old Autumn and the now Autumn.  I will measure by changes of season.”


“Curiouser and curiouser, indeed,” she mumbled, rolling and rising to her feet.  “Down the rabbit hole, then.”
Yanking her hair into a messy knot at the nape of her neck, she slid into her worn black hoodie and grabbed her cell phone and flashlight.  If nothing else, walking the tunnels would burn the restless energy coursing her caffeinated veins.  Besides, what would Miraj do?
She’d see just how far the tunnels went, Autumn knew.  Of course, she’d seek that knowledge to exploit it for partying or pranks, but motive was irrelevant.
A waxing moon overhead lit the campus just enough that Autumn was able to cut through the trees and dart around buildings with ease, shadows clinging to her frame.  The air was warm for October – thank you, global warming – and the grassy earth yielded softly beneath her sneakers.  The residences were dark, save the tell-tale glow of a TV or computer in a few rooms, all of the obedient children were nestled in their beds, oblivious to the history beneath their sweetly dreaming bodies.  With a jerk, she opened her side door to the theatre, descending quickly to the dusty cement.
Her light on, she shone it each way, biting her lip as she debated strategy.  Each core tunnel extended beyond the reach of the jaundiced beam.  Exploring the entirety of the networked paths would be impossible tonight.  Which way?
Evil goes left.  So, right then.

Tour Giveaway
12 Ebooks of Change of Season
Enter here: