In My Bubble

Tonight I curled up with a glass of wine, Eye of The Storm- my soon-to-be-released book and entered my bubble. The place nothing else exists excepts the characters in my book. The place where I'm an onlooker following my characters directions.

The book is ready for ebook upload, except for one small dilemma that I'm looking for your help with. I'm still working on the blurb.

Here's what I have...

A disturbance at her neighbor's house piques Eilida’s curiosity. What she discovers is so shocking it sends her running through the mountainous woods during a thunderstorm. She slips on the wet ground, plummets down Mount Wilde, and slams into a large boulder beside River Freedom. Eilida is transported to Lyden, where Sunshine, a receptionist at the local paper becomes engrossed in her story. The further Sunshine delves into Eilida’s life the more entangled their lives become. Paranormal events, frightening dreams, and terror filled memories draw the women together into an unthinkable web of horror.

You the audience are the experts. Would you buy this book? I'm asking for your feedback and will appreciate all of it.

Here is a blurb:

Meet Sunshine's Ghost...

The bedroom I stayed in had a twin bed with starched flat sheets that felt cold and inflexible against my back. Unable to sleep, I moseyed into the kitchen for a drink. Everyone else was asleep and an ambiguous silence fell through the air and surrounded me. I felt like I was in a dream lurking around a haunted home. With every step I expected a poltergeist to sail down from the ceiling and take charge of my body or find a zombie hunkered in a corner eating Jerry’s flesh. 

In the kitchen I rummaged through his refrigerator watching behind my back the entire time. The contents inside were cataloged into groups, and unopened like he never ate. His cabinets were the same, all labels facing out and nothing out of place, creepy. A breeze against my back told me I wasn't alone. I turned slowly and my ghost sat at the table, her head down and dark hair flowing long and twisted. 

I’m not scared; I’m not scared I chanted to myself as I moved towards her. I’m not scared, I’m not scared, and she was now in front of me. Anxiety cropped up within the pit of my stomach and crested. I took a deep breath and slowly, gingerly raised my hand to touch her. If she was a ghost my hand would go through. If she was something more than that I probably wouldn't live to know what. My hand glided towards her, ever so close, dangling beside her bent-in shoulders.