Holiday Leftovers

“Such a lovely place you have here, Alton. You and Sylvia have outdone yourselves in decorating. Why haven’t you invited us over sooner?” Alton’s mother, Judith, said as she let her white glove slide along the furniture.

Alton picked up his mother’s gloved hand and kissed the back of it as Sylvia looked on. “It wasn’t time. It was all we could do to be ready for the holidays.”

As he released Judith’s hand, Sylvia took it and led her into a very formal living room where an eight-foot tree spanned an entire wall. Decorated beautifully in blood reds, creams, and gold, its still, clear lights gave off a soft glow. Judith was drawn to it instantly and began touching the ornaments one by one, a gasp of delight at the macabre leaving her breathless. She pulled one such ornament off the tree and examined it. A smile lit her somber face as she sniffed the crusted blood on the end of the finger. It wore a diamond set in white gold on its center. She turned it and twisted it, delighting in the small prisms of the caught light flickering on the walls around her.

“This is delightful,” she said, licking another appendage after removing it from the tree. “Oh! And fresh, too!”

“Yes,” Sylvia quipped, “and so much better than chocolate!” She removed another ornament from the tree and handed it to Judith before leading her away. “You must see the cellar. It’s to die for!”

A secret smile passed between Sylvia and Alton as they led Judith forward through a small but thick wooden door at the end of a dark hallway. Everything in their house was dark, much like the haunted mansion they were trying to replicate. They had even gone to the trouble of installing stone walls over the regular ones, making it look more like a European castle than anyone expected. Almost every room had a different theme, though the color scheme remained the same. Everything was black and crimson, with either silver or gold accents. Judith’s eyes shone as she passed each room. She was proud of what her son had accomplished.

Going through the door led down another hallway, this one even darker and built entirely of stone, unlike the other parts of the house. It was cold, too, adding to the illusion of creepiness that taunted Judith as she walked. Her smile never left her face as her excitement grew. A tasty aroma filled the air and knew she was in for a treat. Her lips began tingling in anticipation. Her eye teeth began lengthening hastily. Impatience clouded her face as they came to another door. Sylvia brought out a large key chain bearing only one large antique black key. It fitted the lock and turned easily enough, and the door opened with a groan. The space beyond the door was dark, but Sylvia lit a lamp. With a large sweeping gesture, Alton invited Judith to proceed.

“Mother, please, a countess always goes first,” he said. She patted his cheek as she passed. Her nostrils flared rapidly, her sinuses overwhelmed with all the scents. Her eyes closed even as her lips moved further upwards until her fangs touched her bottom lips.

Sylvia pulled a small curtain aside, revealing the cool metal bars of a cage. Trapped within it were several people of various ages and sizes, all wearing the same look of fright on their faces. She grinned wickedly as she moved toward the lock, the single black key in hand. Judith moved closer instinctively.

“Our holiday leftovers,” Alton said, his own fangs leaving small droplets of blood along his bottom lip.

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For the Scriptic.org prompt exchange this week, Diane gave me this prompt: Holiday leftovers.

I gave trencher this prompt: be a snowflake.

I always appreciate and welcome your feedback. Please share your thoughts in a comment.

Thanks for stopping in and Happy New Year!

A Hard Bargain

The doctor was afraid. Father B. L. Zebub stood in the room, demanding the child.

“Please, you must give her to me. Her father already gave me her soul. She is mine now.”

The doctor resisted, even as he trembled.

“I will not. I‘ve never met this child’s father. Why would I turn her over to you just because you demand it? I need to see some ID , please, and her mother will have to agree before you can take her.”

The priest stared into the doctor’s face. He took in his perfectly white jacket, with his perfectly white name tag attached to the pocket positioned perfectly over his heart. “Fred Johnson, MD.” the placard read. The priest laughed. Fred Johnson came from a long line of sinners. This would be a piece of cake.

“No, that’s not how it works. You will give me this child, because you want to save your own soul. I know all about you and Nurse Scribe and that little vacant office at the end of the hall. It shouldn’t be too hard for your wife to find out. And you know if that happens, she will take you for everything you own. Won’t she?”

The sinister smile on the priest’s face disgusted the doctor as much as his words shocked him.

“Who..Who are you?” The doctor trembled.

“You know who I am.”

The doctor’s eyes widened in horror as he began to understand. He saw the long table crowded with empty chairs. He saw his lawyer on one end, a great beast of man, and he saw his wife, dark circles around her eyes, and her lawyer on the opposite end. A tow truck appeared on the street outside the window and began hitching up to his Mercedes. His lovely home in the suburbs wore a For Sale sign in the front yard.

“Ok, fine, but hurry before her mother returns.”

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I’m taking a short break from my NaNo project to answer the Master Class prompt hosted by Sinistral Scribblings. I got to choose the first line this week, and it comes from Anne Rice’s The Witching Hour: “The doctor was afraid.”

I always welcome your feedback. I don’t know if this piece will ever make it into the story, but all three of these characters (the doctor, the child, the priest) are in my NaNo novel at some point. Please share your thoughts in a comment.

Did you know that voting is open again over at America’s Next Author where my story “Gloria” is in the running to win? I could really, really use some reviews too, so won’t you please pop on over and take a moment to vote, read, and review my story?

Thanks for stopping in!

Next Big Thing

Have you seen The Next Big Thing? It’s a meme going around and it seems to be a lot of fun. My friend, the Jester Queen, tagged me and you get to hear all about my Next Big Thing!

Of course, I am still competing in that America’s Next Author where my story “Gloria” is hanging in in 35^th place. I could start at the top for Round 5 if y’all would stop on by and share your thoughts on that story like you do here on the blog. It only takes a minute, and you can hit the snazzy “Vote” button and tweet about it too, while you are there. And you can like it on Facebook too.

So now, on to the meme. As y’all know I am doing NaNoWriMo again this year, and while I have a few works in progress, I figured you might be most interested in what my project is for NaNo since I’ve been most mysterious and haven’t shared a single word with you about it. There’s a widget in my sidebar that will keep you up-to-date on my progress, and I can tell you that my characters have already made some changes to the story that I just can’t wait to see how it all ends up.

Without further ramblings….

What is the title of your work in progress?

1,000 Ways to Die

Where did the idea come from for the book?

I think it hit me as I was driving through the deadliest stretch of highway near my home. This particular day there were 3 dead deer, a raccoon, a possum, and something so far gone it was no longer recognizable. Could it be coincidence that a “resort” (think camping resort) lies just across the highway?

What genre does your book fall under?

Someone told me it was horror, so I went with that. (no surprise there, eh?)

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Ask me again when I finish writing it, though I think Denzel Washington would make an awesome evil priest.

What is a one sentence synopsis of the book?

Devastated at the potential loss of his wife and child during childbirth, Brennan makes a vow with the devil to take on the next 1,000 deaths, and his guaranteed soul, as long as they both survive.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

I plan to send it to publishers. I want royalties man!

How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

It’s my NaNoWriMo project. Ask me again in 30 days. It might take longer.

What other books would you compare this to in your genre?

I haven’t found another book like mine. There’s books about selling your soul for power (Faust) and there are probably some books that have characters flashing into other bodies, but I don’t think there is one quite like mine to compare to.

Who or What inspired you to write the book?

My muse. She never shuts up. Also? Apparently she has a thing for road kill.

What else might pique readers interest?

Brennan’s demonic hellmate.

You already want to know more, don’t you? Well, you’ll just have to wait for the book to come out.

And now, I must tag 2 other fabulous writers so I’m passing the torch to 2 of my fellow NaNoWriMoans:

The beautiful and talented Chelle of A Writer Is Born;

and one of my newest followers, Sean J. of Bluenotebacker’s Bytes.

I can’t wait to hear all about their books!

To all of you doing NaNo this year, good luck! You can do it!!

 

A Cry in the Night

This is the room of the wolfmother wallpaper. It’s peeling in corners, as old as the house around it. And like the house, the room and its secrets have been abandoned, its overgrown yard a trap for stray baseballs smacked from the vacant lot across the street. No one remembers who lived there anymore.

The house remembers though.

On moonless nights, the sound of a baby’s crying comes from within. The cry would carry through the night, leaving neighbors shivering in their beds. The cry is shrill, urgent, and unchanging in its pitch, unnerving even the strongest of hearts. No one understands it. No one can escape it.

No one is brave enough to find it.

The wolfmother slides from the wall, a silent figure crawling through time and space. She creeps on all fours up the decrepit staircase, her watchful eye on the dangling chandelier as she passes underneath it. Louder comes the cry that urges her up the steps, regard for her own safety forgotten. She stops at on the top stair, judging the distance of the hole between stair and floor, balancing her weight as she leaps. She lands harder than she means to, her hind feet breaking more of the flooring away. She dismisses the thought that she might not return, as the cry fills the air again. She steps forward, following the scent only she can detect.

Down the long dust-coated hall she runs, paying no mind to the gray walls on either side of her. To the left she turns, the increasing volume of the cries guiding  her. At the end she climbs, her forepaws scratching against the wall. Another cry, more urgent now, vibrates under her touch. She turns, running back the way she came. She circles in the open hallway, gathering all her strength and runs, her speed never decreasing, until crash! The wall crumbles down around her stunned body laid out on the floor.

The wolfmother rises to a sit, shakes her mane, and startles as another cry cuts through the air. She knows she is close now and stands, her legs wobbling, still woozy from the crash, her nose in the air. She waits with nostrils flaring, and then takes off when she catches the scent. There, in the corner, hidden in shadow, she finds the crib, and within it, the babe. Its mouth is open, its scream silent, its eyes frozen. She nudges her nose through the bars, opens her mouth, and gives it a gentle lick. The babe reaches out, touches her nose. It raises on its legs, and climbs from the crib onto her back. It pulls her fur savagely and she howls, adding a chill to the night the neighbors will never forget.

A crack of light appears in the window, telling her the night is almost over. She must hurry back to the wall now, taking her new child with her, until the next phase of the moon arrives.

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This is my entry for this week’s Master Class, hosted by Sinistral Scribblings. 300 -500 words, using the opening line from Skinny Legs and All by Tim Robbins, to craft your story by. “This is the room of the wolfmother wallpaper.”

I welcome your feedback. Please share your thoughts in a comment.

Don’t forget to read, rate, review, VOTE, and click the social media icons to help me be America’s Next Author. I’m currently at 19. With your help I can do this. Take a moment and vote for my friends, too? Lance, Cameron, Jester Queen.

Thanks for stopping in!

Cat-Eyed Moon

Each month, on the night of the cat-eyed moon, you can hear the woodwinds play. If you happen to live in a cabin across from the hills, you might even see them dancing. Beware being caught watching, though, or they will forever haunt your soul.

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  For those that are uninitiated, the 55 Word Challenge is a contest to write a story in 55 words or less. The challenge begins at noon Eastern time every Wednesday and ends at noon Thursday. The story is based on one of three photo prompts and can be written in any genre you choose. I used all 3 and I come in with 45 words.

What do you think? Did I write you a story? Please feel free to share your thoughts in a comment. I always love hearing from you!

Also, if you are new here, you should know that I am one of many authors competing to become America’s Next Author. Like American Idol, there is a new nominee every week, secured in place by your votes, social media shares, ratings, and reviews. Please take a moment (you don’t even need to create an account) and stop by my author page and VOTE, then use the social media icons (inLinked, Twitter, and FB likes) underneath to spread the word. I’d really appreciate it if you left a review, too. While you are there, take a moment to stop by my friends’ Lance, Cameron, and Jester Queen pages as well and vote. Thanks!

Thanks for stopping in!