31 Days of Halloween Tales - Burial

A little Drabble entitled:

Burial

He buried her tiny body in the small patch of soft dirt by the concrete wall and erected a monument above her with stones she had collected herself. 

It didn't matter that it wasn't much, he was the only one who knew she was there.

31 Days of Halloween Tales - Invisible Whispers

A little tale entitled:

Invisible Whispers

"He's not imaginary, he's real!!

"Thomas, there is no one here in this room but you."

Thomas turned away from his mom and buried his face in his pillow. Why didn't she believe him?

Kristin touched her son's head, and try to smooth the out of control cowlick from his dark hair.  He needed to stop this, his step-father got so angry when Thomas made stuff up.

"Tomorrow night is Halloween, Thomas. If you want to go Trick or Treating you shouldn't say anything to Rick about Freddie, okay? We don't want him getting upset again."

 Thomas fingered the bruises on his wrist and the round circle of the cigarette burn on his arm. No, he wouldn't mention Freddie. He and his mother were both still recovering from the last time Rick got "upset." And besides, Freddie had told him the same thing.

Freddie showed up three days earlier when Thomas was sick and running a high fever and hadn't left when the fever did. He told Thomas he couldn't leave until it was over. Whatever "it" was. Thomas didn't know what he meant by that exactly, but he was more than a little afraid.

Thomas pulled the covers up around his neck, closed his eyes and tried to pretend not to hear Freddie whispering in his ear.

*****

"Mrs. Shine, did you see what happened?"

Detective Garcia wasn't sure the woman was going to be able to answer the question but he had to ask her anyway.

The woman gazed back at him with the all too familiar deer in the headlights look that the Detective saw often enough to realize she wouldn't be much help just yet.  He could come back to her later. After she had a little time.

"Officer Reese, can you please sit with Mrs. Shine until I can get a statement? Maybe get her a cup of tea or something?'

He watched Officer Penny Reese whisper to the woman and then gather her up as they both headed towards the kitchen. It would give her something to do for a few minutes, get her mind working and then he could try questioning her again.

The little boy was another matter. He seemed very willing to talk but most of what he said didn't make much sense.

"Now Thomas. Tell me again about Freddie and why you think he did this."

Thomas gazed out the window to the tree in the backyard where until a few minutes ago, Rick had been hanging, the rope from Thomas' tire swing wrapped carefully around his neck.

He thought it was alright to tell the police about his friend. Freddie was gone now anyway and the whispering had stopped.

"Freddie told me he would take care of Rick, that he would never hurt me or  my mother again."

Detective Garcia stared down at Thomas searching his face for the tell-tale signs of a lie but saw nothing more than honest innocence.

"What else did Freddie say to you, Thomas?

Thomas smiled slightly, shook his head and whispered, "Nothing."

Thomas turned his gaze back towards the window and away from the detective, somethings were best kept to himself.

There had been more of course, much more. Freddie had plenty to say. But like the vision of the man hanging from the tree, much of the whisperings of Freddie had disappeared into the child's memory and it was already getting difficult for Thomas to remember any of it at all.

31 Days of Halloween Tales - Mother Knows Best

A little tale on this chilly morning entitled:

Mother Knows Best

The car coughed and sputtered then finally issued its last dying breath. Silence.

Mary looked at the gauges on the dash hoping to see something she had missed but the flashing red lights had died along with the car.

She turned the key again hoping for something, anything, but received only the grinding of the ignition as it searched for fuel.

The car was out of gas.

Mary searched the roadway for a sign of another car, for headlights cutting through the blinding snow but could see nothing but blackness.

She had decided to take the back way home from her mother’s house, it was about four miles shorter and much less traffic than the interstate, a fact that seemed like a good thing four hours ago.

When she left New London for Boston this morning she thought she was quite prepared for the trip back home. One night with her know-it-all mom was all she could bear and besides she wanted to be home for Halloween.  She had forgotten to plug her cell in before she went to bed but it was still about fifty percent in the green so she figured that she could make the two and a half hour trip home without a problem.

She also hadn’t stopped to fill the car before she left as she planned on filling up at one of the cheaper stations that she could hit once she crossed the state line back into Massachusetts.

She thought she was ready for everything but the one thing Mary hadn’t prepared was the weather.

What was it exactly that her had mother said to her while they were having breakfast?

“Nor’easters are unpredictable, Mary. You should stay.”

“It doesn’t snow in October and certainly not on Halloween,” she had snapped back at her mother.

Mary hadn’t listened to her mother’s warning and as it turned out, she had been wrong on both counts. The storm arrived hours earlier than predicted and after she had to slow to a crawl because she couldn’t see in the driving snow, and eventually had to stop driving altogether, she found herself stranded still miles from home with no cell service and no gas in the midst of a killer Nor’easter.

“The Perfect Storm,” she had heard someone call it on the radio just before the car died. It didn’t seem perfect to her at all.

Soon the temperature inside the automobile would drop and she, would die right along with her car.

Why hadn’t she filled the car? Charged her phone?

She was sleepy. At least sleep was predictable. Like waking up. And dying.

She curled herself up into a ball and closed her eyes.

At least she wouldn't have to hear "I told you so."

31 Days of Halloween Tales - Star Light Star Bright

Be careful what you wish for… you just might get it…

Star Light, Star Bright

Star light, star bright

The first star I see tonight,

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Get the wish I wish tonight…

 Harper watched her brothers arguing over the ancient tire swing in the back yard and contemplated the scene before her. Josh would win the battle of course, he was younger, true, but he was meaner and bigger than his older brother James.

And it was obvious that she would have no chance of using the swing herself, not with those two.

"We don't have time to play tag this afternoon, Josh. Ma's gonna be calling us for dinner and I want a turn on the swing before she does."

Pretending he didn’t hear his brother, Joshua still refused to relinquish the rotted Firestone and swung himself higher, narrowly missing kicking his brother in the head.

James scowled but knew better than to try and force his brother from the swing. For one, Josh was bigger than him, but more than that, he was younger and his mother would always take the younger siblings side over his. He was the eldest and was supposed to behave like it.

He hated being the oldest and he hated his younger siblings. He was an only child for two years before Josh was born and then his sister came three years later. Now, he was a babysitter and was constantly being told to “keep an eye” on his brother and sister.  In addition to that, he now had to share everything he owned with them.

"Boys are so stupid, always fighting," Harper grumbled as she jumped off the steps and headed towards the woods behind the house. It was quiet there at least and no one would even notice she was gone.

And true enough, her brothers never noticed her leaving.

******

The blue afternoon sky had given way to the blackness of night, and the tire swing had long since been forgotten. James and Josh stood at the kitchen window, peering out into the darkness, waiting for some word, never anticipating the worse.

Josh was grinning at his older brother. "You'll be in trouble if she hurt herself. You were supposed to be watching her."

James glared at his brother wondering if it was possible to be that dumb. He had let their four year old sister wander off on her own when he was supposed to be keeping an eye on her and his stupid brother’s only thought was that James was going to be punished.

"Josh…" 

James shook his head. No point in continuing, his brother would never understand. He turned back towards the windows and the night that lay heavy and wet beyond the glass and wondered if it was possible for his sister to simply vanish because of a wish he made on a star.

And if it would work again.

31 Days of Halloween Tales - Hell's Full

Ready for a little zombie action this Saturday morning? A little tale entitled:

Hell's Full

"When there’s no room left in hell, the dead will walk the earth."

The quote drifted into my mind, some old line from some old movie. I couldn't remember what movie or when I had heard it even.  Could be I was just becoming forgetful at my age but more likely it was fear that was choking me and making me forget.

"Glenn.. What are they?"

I knew the answer, so did she but maybe she wanted someone else to say it, to hear it out loud so it wouldn't sound quite so insane as it did inside her head.

"Zombies, Rebekkah." I stopped and let the words sit in the room like an unwanted visitor. "Zombies. Or at least what we know as zombies."

She started crying then, I knew she would. Becky had been a crier since high school and fifty-eight years hadn't changed that about her. I put my arm around her, the one arm that remained, and pulled her next to me. She would be covered in blood, my blood, but I hoped she wouldn't mind.

And besides, the bloodstains on her clothes would be the least of her worries before long.

"Listen to me Becky, I am not going to make it out of here. You know that."

"Whaaaat?" The sobbing stopped momentarily as she looked at me for the first time since this whole thing started.  She was in shock or at least appeared to be but I am no doctor, just a writer. A writer with one arm. Useless. There would be no more typing for me and I wasn't into giving dictation. My writing had been shit the last year anyway. Maybe this was for the best.

"I've lost a lot of blood, Becky." She glanced at the stump where my arm used to be as if she just noticed it now. Her eyes grew wide and her fair skin paled even further.  I thought she might faint then but the tough Irish genes in her took over and she simply nodded.  That was better. She was getting it.

"Can we get out of here Glenn? Get you to a hospital?

"It wouldn't matter, Beck. The poison or venom or whatever the fuck it is is already in my body."  The realization hit me then, too. The truth. Better to say it out loud and give it up to the gods. "I am going to die and probably pretty soon."

There was no wailing this time from my pretty redheaded wife. That was good. Maybe she finally understood.

"Get the gun out of the safe, Beck. Do it now."

She wanted to argue, she opened her mouth to say something but shut it with an audible snap instead. She bent over next to the bed, and I heard the heavy clank as the lid to the metal safe popped open, then the click of the clip sliding in and a bullet being chambered. Good.

When I saw her face appear over me she was crying again but her eyes were clear and focused.

"I love you, Becky. Always remember that."

"I love you, Glenn. Forever and a day, remember?"

"Forever and a day, babe. Now don't wait. Okay?"

"Okay, babe. I won't."

The shot rang through the room and suddenly I was falling. There was no pain any longer, just a sweet peaceful calm as if I was slowly drifting into a deep sleep. It was okay. This was okay.

Somewhere in the distance I heard Becky once last time.

"Forever and a day, babe."

Another shot ripped through the silence in the room and I realized I was no longer alone. 

Becky's small hand was suddenly clasped in mine and we fell the rest of the way together, as one.

31 Days of Halloween Tales - What's In a Name??

Another little short story entitled :

What's In a Name??

"Jesus!"

"It's just thunder, scaredy-cat."

"There was lightening too. Don't forget the lightening."

"Okay, so there is lightening too. But at least we're inside."

"We're on an island made of rock in the middle of the ocean inside of a ten story lighting rod of a lighthouse."

"The light keepers did it all time, Bob."

"And they died all the time, Claire."

"And we're not in the middle of the ocean, we're a short walk to the main land."

"Over slippery wet rocks. If we die I am going to blame you. This was your idea. To come out here on Halloween."

"Well, that is when you can see the ghost. Captain Joseph Barnsworth. They say he comes back every year on Halloween looking for his daughter, Sarah that was swept out to sea in that perfect storm."

"The movie with George Clooney?"

"Same storm, different story though."

"That was a good movie. What was the movie about the ghost? With what's-his-name?"

"Ghost?"

"Yeah, it was about a ghost but I can't remember the name of it."

"Are you thinking of the movie with Patrick Swayze?"

"YES! That's it! Do you remember the name of it?"

"The name of the movie is Ghost, Bob."

"Ghost? Just Ghost? That doesn't sound right."

"I'm pretty sure that is the name. I would check Google on my phone but I don't have a signal out here in nowhere land."

"Wasn't that a Beatles' song? Nowhere Land?"

"I think you're thinking of Nowhere Man."

"Oh yes, you're right. Nowhere man please listen. You don't know what you’re missing. It's getting cold."

"Getting? I would say we are ten degrees past getting."

"Do you want my coat?"

"Not yet."

"What's that smell?"

"I don't know, it smells like smoke sort of but not quite. A pipe maybe?"

"I think maybe you're right. Or a cigar?"

"No, that's a pipe, I'm pretty sure. It even smells sort of familiar."

"Who do you know that smokes a pipe?'

"No one that I can think of but that is definitely familiar to me."

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That."

"I don't hear anything except my teeth chattering."

"I heard something."

"It's just the wind I think."

"It sounded like a voice calling."

"I didn't hear anything."

"Listen. Outside."

"I hear thunder rolling."

"No, a voice."

"How can you hear a voice in this storm?"

"There! Did you hear that? Claire? "

"I heard something. It sounded like someone calling my name."

"Claire?"

"No, Sarah. My real name."

"Since when is Sarah your real name?"

"Since you brought me back home."

31 Days of Halloween Tales - String 'em Up

October is finally here!

And with it comes forth my 31 days of Halloween stories. :)

My first one is a little short story entitled:

STRING 'EM UP

"We should go home now, Eddie. We're already late."

Edward looked at his younger brother and scowled. Teddy could be such a baby at times. They were only a few minutes late and Mom wouldn't probably even notice.

"One more house, Teddy. Okay? Then we'll go home?"

Teddy looked up at his brother trying to see if he meant it this time. It had been the same for the last six houses and he was tired of playing the game.

"I pick the house though, Eddie."

Before Edward could argue, Teddy walked up the street and headed towards the last house on the left.

Devlin Manor was known among the kids in the neighborhood as the Haunted House. An ancient Victorian that had long since been deserted and left to rot.  There were seven chimneys that you could count from the street with the possibility of more in the back.

Teddy was terrified of the old Victorian but wasn't going to let his brother know it.

As far as Teddy knew there was no electricity in the house but late at night, when he couldn't sleep, he would stare at the old house from his bedroom window upstairs and would see lights on in there just the same.  Not real electric lights though, these were more of the glowing type. And they moved.

Teddy reached the edge of the property and stepped gently onto the dead grass, even his small Keds made a crunching sound on the frosty ground and he didn't want to wake whatever was in there.

He slid his hand into his jacket pocket to make sure it was still there. Yes, it was there. He could do what he came to do.

Teddy turned around but didn't see Ed anywhere. Not even on the street. It didn't matter though, he would do it alone if he had to. In fact, maybe alone was even better.

He slipped his hand back into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the cold metal.  It was time. 

Teddy held his breath as he pulled the steel from his pocket. He looked for his brother one last time before he started shooting.

                                                                  *****

When Mrs. Johnson stepped out of her front door the next morning the sight before her stopped her cold. How could this have happened in this quiet neighborhood?

Across the street, the old Devlin Manor stood perfectly still as it had every morning for over two hundred years. She thought it was a gorgeous building, majestic and proud and she loved the mystery of the house and what it meant to the neighborhood.

But this morning, Devlin Manor had been changed.

In the bright early morning sunshine of the first day in November, Mrs. Johnson could clearly see that the ancient Victorian, was now covered in yards and yards of bright pink Silly String. 

31 Days of Halloween Tales!!!

October is nearly here!!! My favorite time of year!!!

So, I know several television networks pick up and run with the Halloween Horror theme for the month of October and I try to personally watch as many horror movies as I can in that short time.

This year I thought I would also get in on the fun and do my own version of 31 Days of Halloween by writing and posting 31 stories about Halloween during the month of October. One story for each day!

They might be short, like flash fiction short, and they might run into the thousands of words as I've been known to get mighty long winded at times. I can't promise they will be award winning but I can promise they will be original and new.

So curl up in your favorite chair with your favorite hot beverage and enjoy a little bit of Halloween fun on me.

I'll see you in October!!

Taking Some Time...

Wow! Life got extremely busy of all a sudden!

I am taking some time away from the blogging life until the end of June ~ there are babies to care for, weddings to plan, and a cross-country trip to look forward to very soon!

Look for me to return in July!

Have a wonderful May and June everyone and keep on reading and writing!

Cindy

Wednesday Is For Writers...

Shake it off… Shake it off…

Bad reviews getting you down in the dumps??

Let's face it, nothing hurts a writer as much as a bad book review. 

We pour our heart, blood, and soul out into our work and someone comes along and diminishes our sense of worth with just a few harsh words. We are crushed, defeated and sometimes really pissed off,  lashing out at the naysayer with a vengeance. 

Sometimes the bad reviews may be warranted and the criticism is just. And these reviews we must strive to learn from and make our writing better.

And sometimes the nasty review is nothing more than the ugliness that the anonymity of the internet provides. 

We've all been there, done that, and have the battle scars to prove it so this week I am sharing some of my favorite quotes that remind me there is life beyond the Haters.

Haters gonna hate after all… Thanks, Taylor.

The loudest boos come from the cheapest seats.

                                                       

                                                                 - Babe Ruth

Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising every time we fall.
                                                                 
                                                                - Confucius

You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you.
                                                                 - Walt Disney

The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s a very mean and

nasty place and I don’t care how tough you are it will beat you to

your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me,

or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t about how hard ya

hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.

                                                             – Rocky Balboa


Remind thyself, in the darkest moments, that every failure is only a step toward success, every detection of what is false directs you toward what is true, every trial exhausts some tempting form of error, and every adversity will only hide, for a time, your path to peace and fulfillment.

             

                                                              – Og Mandino

Wednesday is for Writers...

Sorry I missed last week folks. It was an insane day complete with router burnout!

So, we are back this week with a couple of my favorite posts regarding promotion of your hard work, i.e. your novel!!! 

In an online world that now includes overly public platforms such as Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, etc., we often find ourselves drowning in options for self-promotion that may or may not be worth spending what precious little time we have remaining to us on this earth.

That being said, here are a couple of authors that are willing to throw you a life raft and help you save your publishing career, as well as your self respect.

Enjoy, have a giggle or two, then go forth and prosper!!


Chuck Wendig ~ Terribleminds
10 Commandments of Authorial Self-Promotion

"It is time to speak about the sticky subject of self-promotion. You’re a writer. You’ve written a book and somebody — you, a big publisher, a small publisher, some spider-eating alley hobo — has published it. And now you want to know how you promote the book so that the world can fling money at your face in order to greedily consume your unrefined genius. But it’s not easy. You don’t know what works. What makes sense. You don’t want to just stand on a street corner barking at passersby and hitting children with your book. But you also recognize that you’re just one little person, not some massive beast of marketing and advertising, hissing gouts of pixelated steam and vacuuming up potential buyers into the hypno-chamber that is your belly.

What do you do? How far can you go? What should you say?"



Kristen Lamb's Blog
Selling & Social Media, DON'T Be a Personal Space Invader

"We writers are kinda weird…okay, a LOT weird. We can drift to extremes if we aren’t vigilant. Either we are the non-stop All-Writing-All-The-Time Channel or we’re afraid to mention we have ever read let alone written a book lest we offend anyone. I get it. I struggle, too. We are artists and “selling” feels…ookey.

Yes, ookey is a word.

Marketing feels especially weird in The Digital Age. But why? Also, why is the ROI (Return on Investment) so dismal with traditional marketing tactics? Facebook ads are a notorious waste of money and I doubt the guy who programmed his Twitter to mention his new book five times an hour has seen a massive uptick in sales.


Perhaps death threats, but not sales."

Wednesday is for Writers...

Daily Word Goals…yay or nay??


I recently read an article by James Clear regarding the difference between setting goals and simply having a process or plan in place that would ultimately achieve your goal. It is an interesting theory and worth the read.

I am participating in Camp Nanowrimo this month. It is a little more laid back and relaxed than the regular Nanowrimo in November and usually helps me get the cobwebs out if I am struggling to get something written.

I want to write 25,000 words this month and finish up a novel that I have been working on for nearly two years.  While this is lower than my normal word goal of two thousand words a day, it is still a hefty sum of words to put out there. Honestly, it is about eight hundred and thirty four words a day which in all truthfulness, should be very doable. Unfortunately procrastination is my middle name and eating chocolate instead of writing is my favorite game.

So tell me, have I stopped worrying about my ultimate goal and just set a process in place of writing eight hundred and thirty four words a day? Or have I simply traded one goal for another? I have no idea but I have stopped eating as a way to procrastinate.

I love Chuck Wendig's Blog, "Terribleminds" He talks about writing, he talks about his family, he talks about his books. I happen to believe that he is a genius when it comes to cutting through the crap of what makes a writer, well, a writer. He gets to the heart of what it takes to put out a novel without blowing smoke up your arse.

I keep him in my Feedly feed.

His blog post, succinctly entitled,  "How To Push Past the Bullshit and Write That Goddamn Novel: A Very Simple No-Fuckery Writing Plan to Get Shit Done" is a wake-up call. Read it and then do it.

And for all of us whiners out there complaining about low word counts on any given day, his blog post, Counting Words is a kick in the pants. And a smack upside the head just when you need one.

His recommendation? "Shut up and write."

Good advice.

Wednesday is for Writers...

Rejection.

One of the worse feelings for a writer. Thinking that your work isn't good enough. Wondering what you could have done better.

Everyone who has ever been a writer has been rejected from one place or another. This is one of those times when one thinks to ones self - I wouldn't belong to any club that would have me as a member. However, as it turns out, this particular group also happens to have the best and the brightest of writers, living or dead.

I have writer friends who become fatalistically discouraged after receiving their latest (and of course, most devastating) rejection notice. There are no words that can console and no opinions that matter at the moment other than that one editor or publisher who didn't find their work a good fit. Their writing careers are over, its time to hang it up and go back to work in the lucrative world of the service folk.

They have been weighed and measured and have absolutely been found wanting. 

At least at the moment, and at least in their own mind.

I don't know why as both readers and writers we can't seem to fathom that people (even publishers, editors, fans, and agents) have different tastes. I, for one, don't care for Science Fiction or Romances. I don't know why exactly, even the most well written story is simply not my cup of tea. Start talking about aliens or space ships or bodice ripping men and I look elsewhere for my entertainment.

I like horror, and detective and legal dramas. I like Agatha Christie and Shirley Jackson. Stephen King and Michael Connelly. John Grisham and Scott Turow. Dean Koontz and the late and great Terry Pratchett.

Why would we believe that anyone else would NOT have a preference? So you don't like my story, yes I am a little hurt and slightly disappointed. But there has never been a writer that could please everyone. Not in this life and not in the next. Nor it is ever going to happen either.

We all have different tastes.  That is why there is chocolate ice cream, vanilla ice cream, and ice cream sandwiches. Almond Joys and Mounds. Dark and Milk chocolate. There is no One-size-fits-all when it comes to what we enjoy. Not in our desserts, and certainly not in our libraries.

So fellow writers, take your rejections for what they are worth and learn from them what you may.

Tomorrow is another day after all.