Forewarned by Tracey S. Phillips
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Forewarned
For 15-year-old Daphne Ann Post, the summer of 1976 at Lake Carlson should be filled with new friendships and carefree late-night parties. But something darker lurks beneath the surface—her chilling premonition that someone is going to drown.
Wishing she could escape the shadow of her fractured family and her mother’s too-soon rebound relationship, Daphne reluctantly heads to the family lake house in Northern Indiana. The tension with her mother is thick—especially when Daphne is the only one who knows her mom’s boyfriend is hiding a dangerous secret. But Daphne’s burden is far heavier than family drama. She harbors an unsettling gift—an ability to know the hidden truths of anyone she touches.
Last year that same intuition failed her when her best friend ignored Daphne’s warning before a tragic accident. Now everyone at school blames Daphne for what happened. Haunted by guilt, Daphne is determined to keep her ability a secret.
When she meets the Vaughans—cool, popular, and effortlessly perfect next-door neighbors—Daphne is drawn into their world, seduced by the thrill of fitting in. Over the summer, whispers of danger from the lake grow louder. Her intuition screams someone will die, and not even the haze of weed can numb her fear.
The clock is ticking. Daphne knows that to save a life, she’ll have to confront her darkest secret and risk losing everything she’s worked so hard for. Can she stop the inevitable without exposing her truth? Or will the lake claim a victim—this time, someone she loves?
Praise for Forewarned:
“Readers of authors Jess Lourey and William Kent Krueger should enjoy this atmospheric mystery featuring a young protagonist.”
~ Christine DeSmet, mystery author, writing coach/developmental editor
“Even though the fabulous storytelling hints at the terrible thing that’s coming, you still won’t be ready for the heart pounding finish. Simply terrific!!”
~ Valerie Biel, award-winning author of Beyond the Cemetery Gate
“The summer of 1976 setting comes alive, nostalgic in its innocence and heartbreakingly accurate in its crumbling family values, sucking the reader in and never letting go.”
~ Sharon Lynn, Award-winning author of A Cotswold Crimes Mystery series
“Tragic, troubling, and immersive, this deep dive into the choices we make left me roiling long after I turned the final page.”
~ Silvia Acevedo, award-winning author, The Haunted States of America
“The stakes are high and menacing in Phillips’s impeccably paced and vividly imagined paranormal thriller.”
~ Robert Gwaltney, award-winning author of The Cicada Tree
Forewarned Bonus Content:
Unlock the ultimate reading experience with the Bonus content of this Amazon Music Playlist to accompany Tracey S. Phillips’ Forewarned!
Book Details:
Genre: YA Paranormal Suspense
Published by: Three Elements Publishing
Publication Date: August 1, 2025
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 979-8-9908191-1-5
To purchase your copy of Forewarned click any of the following links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub
Read an excerpt of Forewarned:
A Monotone Song
Carlson, Indiana; June 4, 1976: Daphne Ann Post
“Who’s gonna see the lake first?” My mom sang the monotone song ending on a mystery note with a minor third. It conjured the kind of anticipation and excitement I felt watching scary movies. And this time it triggered a new dark melody. I heard it in the sinister thrum of the car’s engine and in the wind roaring through the windows.
Nothing seemed to have changed along East Lake Shore Drive. The winding narrow road that led to Nana’s cottage in Carlson, Indiana was treelined on the lakeside, farmland on the other. Lush greenery and sprouting corn grew beneath cloud-specked Indiana sky as far as the eye could see. On the breeze, faint smells of cornflowers, manure from nearby farmland, and lakeweed.
Wind from the open car window blew my short haircut, styled like the Olympic ice skater Dorothy Hammill, in every direction. I searched between the trees for the telltale reflection of the sun on the lake. I wanted something happy to cheer me up. Today was my fifteenth birthday.
“Who’s gonna see the lake first?” my mom repeated.
“It’s right there, Marianne.” I’d been calling my mom by her first name since she divorced my dad last year.
“I saw it!” announced my younger brother Brandon. “I saw the lake first!” Brandon was nine and a half. He was born when I was five, and from the moment he could walk, Marianne and Dad expected me to help look after him. Most days it took all three of us to keep track of him.
“Why are you still calling me that, Daphne?” Marianne asked.
I shrugged. The only way I knew how to deal with my rage about the recent divorce was to disassociate from her. To pretend she was just a friend. To call her Marianne.
Despite knowing I’d be expected to babysit my brother and two younger cousins, I usually felt excited about our yearly summer trip. But this year, I resented Marianne for pulling me away. I wanted to celebrate my birthday with Dad. I wanted to start driver’s ed. I wanted to be with my friends.
Who was I kidding? I didn’t have any friends. Not after Ruth turned everyone against me.
Icy dread laced with a sense of danger crept up my arms. Not my typical reaction to approaching the lake for the summer. I loved to water-ski, and I was good at it. I loved to lie on the dock and listen to the water lap against the pillars. I loved the musty, mildewy smell of the cottage. I loved searching for fossils and beads in the clear shallow water.
This chill skittering from my elbows to my hairline evoked a sense of déjà vu. It reminded me of the day my best friend Ruth stopped being my friend.
It’s all your fault, Ruth had said. I’d believed it. My stomach flipped and I wanted to throw up. Ruth made me feel so guilty.
Marianne said, “When we get there, I need help unloading the car before you can play with your cousins.” She glanced in the rearview mirror at Brandon in the back seat. After the divorce, my mom changed her look and started dating again. Today she wore a paisley lace-up top and bell-bottom jeans. Her new shag haircut showed off bright green eyes and long hoop earrings accentuated her high cheekbones.
I looked nothing like my mother.
Between the trees the lake glittered as if sprinkled with shards of broken glass. Lavish summer homes with three- and four-car garages lined the shore. Some, newly remodeled, towered above the rest with third-story additions. Others behind the trees were unpretentious cabins, blending in with the forested shore. An adjacent golf course with green carpet-covered hills smelled like fresh-mowed grass.
Trespassing on the golf course was forbidden. I imagined what it would be like to run on the soft grassy hills in bare feet. I wanted to sit in the gazebo high on the hill on the far side of the fairway. Though I’d never been there, I imagined it had a wonderful view of the lake.
As we drew closer to our cottage, the prickles had fled my arms to reside in my scalp. I tried to ignore the sensation and the feeling of dread. The last time I had feelings like this, my friend Ruth almost died. It happened when I touched her. She had welcomed me into her house, and she’d hugged me. The warning had become so clear in my mind—like the developing image of a Polaroid picture—that I had to tell Ruth. I pleaded with her and tried to stop her from skating on the ice.
Now I wished I’d never said anything. Because maybe then it never would have happened. Maybe if I hadn’t told Ruth, we would still be friends. My cheeks heated with shame and embarrassment, and I turned my face to the open window.
Weirdo. Freak. It was all my fault.
The road wound down a steep hill. At the bottom on the left, our sky-blue Victorian cottage, with its peaked roof and scroll details, was the oldest home on the lake. White window trim popped against the pale blue siding and dark gray shingles. Mowed grass full of pink clover and rows of orange and yellow lilies blooming along the sidewalk led to the familiar screened porch. Gabled windows and a spire on the crest of the roof gave it charm like no other house on the lake.
Duke, our half golden retriever, half collie mutt, knew this road as well as we did. He stuck his long nose out the back window of the Volkswagen bus and the wind blew back his floppy ears. When he snorted into the wind, Brandon cried out, “Gross. Duke blew snot all over my face.” He wiped his face on his shirt sleeve.
“Look, your cousins are already here.” Marianne pulled into the carport, where Auntie Beth and my cousins were unloading their station wagon.
We piled out of the VW bus, and Duke led the way.
“I’m going to play with Sammy,” Brandon said.
“No, you’re not. You need to help unload the car first,” Marianne said.
Brandon opened a white-painted wrought iron gate leading to the yard and ran to Sammy. The two boys body-slammed each other in a frenetic hug, Brandon’s wild blond hair contrasting with Sammy’s neat brown military cut. They chattered and ran toward the lake with Duke at their heels.
“Brandon, what did I say?” Marianne called.
“Happy fifteenth birthday, Daphne.” Auntie Beth pulled a suitcase from the back seat and set it on the driveway. A brown-leather barrette held back her long red hair. She wore a light-orange flower-print T-shirt and overalls. She gave me a warm hug.
“Thanks,” I said. She reminded me that I’d rather be with my dad.
“You’ve grown six inches since I saw you.” Auntie Beth was exaggerating but not by much. I’d grown taller than Marianne this spring. Now I could see the top of my aunt’s head too.
“She’s growing up before our eyes.” Marianne sparkled with something like pride. I chose to ignore it.
My aunt picked up a laundry basket full of bedding and headed toward the house. “Aubenaubee Lodge is open, so come on inside.” Years ago, Nana had named the house after Aubenaubee Creek that ran beside it and into the lake.
“Happy birthday.” Margot, who was twelve, brushed a lock of straight, walnut-brown hair away from her face. “It never feels like summer until we get here.” Her awkward, open-mouth smile revealed a flash of silver from the metal in her mouth.
“You got braces!” I said, “let me see.”
Margot showed them off with a grin more like a grimace. “They hurt and I have headgear.”
“Look what I got.” I tossed my head and pointed to two new, gold-post earrings. Marianne had finally let me pierce my ears.
“I know everyone does it, but I don’t want mine pierced.” Margot held a small gray-blue suitcase. “Did you bring your Breyer horses? Misty of Chincoteague and her foal?”
“Yeah. The two you like best.” I smiled.
“Dad got me a new Breyer horse. She’s a bay with a long mane and tail. I can’t wait to show you.” Margot was on the cusp of putting childish games away, but for some reason she wasn’t quite ready to.
Marianne opened the tailgate of the VW bus and handed me my suitcase. “The house is unlocked. Take your things up to your room and come help with the rest, please. I’ve no doubt the boys aren’t coming back.”
“Okay.” I longed to see the familiar cottage. It reminded me of happier days when my parents still loved each other. Days filled with summer sports and sunshine. Lately, the only activity that gave me joy was playing the piano. “Did Nana tune the piano this spring?”
“I asked Nana about it,” Marianne said. “That old console has seen better days. The technician said it needs too much work.”
My hopes to improve the Chopin Étude crumbled. “How will I practice?”
“There will be other things to do, Daph. You’ll be so busy you won’t even miss it.”
“You don’t know anything!” I pushed open the wrought iron gate and slammed it. This summer was quickly becoming the worst ever. It was Marianne’s fault. No Dad, no friends, and now, no piano. Life sucked.
I passed the little house attached to the back of the carport on the way to our big Victorian cottage and looked over my left shoulder. The neighbor’s house was still dark. The summer renters hadn’t arrived yet. But from the black windows, in the quiet stillness, I heard whispered warnings, and I knew, I just knew, someone in that house would die this summer.
***
Excerpt from Forewarned by Tracey S. Phillips. Copyright 2025 by Tracey S. Phillips. Reproduced with permission from Tracey S. Phillips. All rights reserved.
Guest Post From Forewarned Author Tracey S. Phillips
I’m a writer of multiple genres. I write crime fiction staring Morgan Jewell, an Indianapolis homicide detective. I write dark, spicy Romantic suspense with a protagonist who tombstones (dives from high cliffs). And now I write historical paranormal suspense staring a fifteen year old girl in 1976. I am a serial artist. My creative process strikes when I am inspired. That inspiration could come from nature, an experience or a memory. Then I might be drawn to make an image in paper and pen, or it could be the stirrings of a new book. Sometimes I’m motivated to plant new flowers in my garden, rearrange furniture, put a new tablecloth on the dining table. It’s all creativity at heart. And making/writing/drawing things is what I do.
The inspiration for Forewarned came while I was in the middle of writing the third book in my romance series. The character, Daphne, sat down beside me and told me she had a story to tell. I had to stop one creative bus, file away the first half of the third book in my series, and start up another bus—a VW bus from the 1970’s—to write Forewarned.
Daphne Ann Post has the ability to foresee some people’s futures. Her book is set in the 1970’s in the real world and she is spending the summer in her family’s lake house in the fictional Indiana town of Carlson. When she arrives, she know someone in the house next door will drown.
Much of Daphne’s story is familiar to me. I was 15 in the 70’s too. My parents were divorced. My mom was an artist. No, she never dated a drug dealer, but some of the guys she brought home…sheesh. I guess it was a seventies thing. And my family had a summer house on a lake too. The room I usually slept in had a spooky closet which—I will testify in court—had a ghost in it. Like Daphne, I play classical piano. Where Daphne and I separate…you guessed it. I am not psychic.
Daphne has special abilities which make her feel like a freak. When she touches someone, she get’s visual impressions of their home life, their past, and sometimes, their future. She often senses their darker sides. By the end of book one, she will also see ghosts. As the series progresses, I want her to refine those abilities and learn to trust the adults in her life. I want her to learn to use her sixth sense to help people.
Though I don’t consider myself psychic, I’ve always been sensitive to the other side. I’ve had experiences that would make the hair stand up on the back of your neck. So writing Daphne’s character wasn’t that much of a stretch for me. Also, I’m extremely curious about the other side. I ask questions and I want to learn about what goes bump in the night. I’ve visited with psychics and palm readers. I’ve seen ghosts and spoken to them.
Last year my husband and I mapped out a trip to haunted locations around the Midwest. The trip coincided with the Bouchercon Mystery Conference in Nashville, Tennessee. Some of our destinations included Indianapolis, Bloomington, Indiana, Nashville and Bowling Green, Kentucky. Along the way, we stopped at haunted sites, houses and graveyards.
While in Indiana, we drove to the famous haunted bridge in Avon Indiana. The 120 year old bridge is a short drive from Indy located in Washington Township Park. We walked under the bridge and could see small orange and green stalagmites forming on the underside. The story is that one man working on the bridge (in 1906) fell into the wet concrete and drowned. Some say you could even see his saw blade sticking out. When the train rumbles by, you can hear him moan. Hubby and I didn’t see a saw blade, and we weren’t lucky enough to have a train pass by while we stood beneath the bridge. And even though the bridge came with plenty of lore and stories, I didn’t even get a tingle of the supernatural.
One of the most interesting places we visited in Indiana was The Hannah House of Indianapolis. Considered one of the most haunted places in the city, Hannah House rents rooms for the night, hosts paranormal investigations and allows you to conduct seances. The house wasn’t open when we visited, but I really got the creeps walking around the property. The haunted history is, after making his money in the Gold Rush, Alexander Hannah built the house around 1858. He lived there with his wife who became pregnant with their only child. The baby was stillborn.
Though there’s no evidence to support this claim, Alex was said to be involved with the Underground Railroad. When someone knocked over a lantern in his cellar, several people died. Rather than get caught assisting slaves, Alexander supposedly buried the victims’ bodies on the property. I haven’t read about anyone investigating the truth of the story, nor have I found out if anyone used GPR to locate the bones of the victims. However if the story is true, no wonder their ghosts still wander the grounds. I want to return to the Hannah House to do a paranormal investigation of my own. Weirdly, I took several close up photos of the second story windows that day. When I went to retrieve them they are not on my phone. The photos were gone just like a ghost in the wind. And I guarantee Hannah House will make an appearance in the next Daphne Post book.
In Kentucky, we stopped for a couple days in Mammoth Park. A National Park, it contains the longest cave system in the world, and some say it’s haunted as well. With over 400 miles of caves, we were sure to set up a tour of this amazing place. It is definitely a little creepy going down in the dark bowels of the earth with total strangers.
Above ground, there are 4 historic cemeteries where residents of the area are buried. The Old Guide’s Cemetery houses the remains of one of the earliest cave tour guides. One of the most famous guides, Stephen Bishop, was a slave when he first began giving tours. When he became a free man, he still gave tours of the caves. His legacy is that his stories and history are still told today.
One last stop we made on this trip was the Indiana Medical History Museum. This building was once part of the Indiana Central State Hospital for the insane. The facility we toured was once the lab where doctors did autopsies and studied deceased people’s brains. The hospital was closed in 1968 when updates to medicine and technology improved greatly, and a modern hospital was opened in downtown Indianapolis. If you’re in the Indianapolis area, or writing historical fiction, I highly recommend a tour of the Medical History Museum. For those with weak stomachs, you may want to skip the first room where brain slices from back in the day still float in liquid containers for all to observe.
My favorite was the herbal garden. Organized with varieties of medicinal plants and herbs, this gave me all kinds if inspiration for my garden next year. It was also a good reminder of how many poisonous naturally plants there are growing in my garden.
Each time I travel, I plan to tour local cemeteries and haunted sites. The places where restless souls linger. Because I believe some people either can’t or won’t move on. They are attached to the places where they died. Or they’re just not ready to go wherever you believe souls go.
In Forewarned I touch on the topics of afterlife, death, and spirits lingering. I hope to eventually write more Daphne Ann Post books. But for now, as a serial artist, I’m editing the next Morgan Jewell book—Mother of Secrets, coming in 2026. And next year I’ll also publish another paranormal book, a stand alone called Safe Keeping.
I go where the inspiration takes me! I hope to take you along on my story journey too.
Forewarned Author Tracey S. Phillips
Award winning author, Tracey S. Phillips has played the piano since age three. She considers herself a serial artist who is an avid gardener, musician, piano teacher, artist, and author. She writes psychological thrillers and romantic suspense. BEST KEPT SECRETS won a Hugh Holton Award and she is a two-time finalist for the Claymore Award. In 2020 she created Blackbird Writers, a community of like-minded mystery authors. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband and like some of her characters, she occasionally speaks with spirits on the other side.
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Visit all the Stops on the Forewarned Tour!
Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor
Holy cow! What a great guest post! Especially after reading this book myself! I would love to go on a haunted tour! Yes, please!
I would go with you, Wendy!