N.E. White's Blog, page 18

A Day of Gratitude

I don’t normally post things on holidays or anniversaries. I figure, there are plenty of other folks doing that, no need for me to join the fray.

But today, I wanted to for two reasons:

I saw some silly statement that alluded atheists have nothing to be thankful for because we don’t have a god to thank, and
Emmie’s post on the Jewish Holocaust and the Syrian refugees.

The first is just dumbfounding.

Honestly, I can’t think of what the folks who are spreading this around are thinking.

Thanksgiving, to me, is one of the more secular of the holidays. As I understand it, the day is set aside to be thankful for the things in your life.

I give thanks to my husband for supporting me in all my endeavors. I give thanks to my dog, who has been my constant companion for the past sixteen years. I give thanks to my mother for being there when I need her to offer advice and acceptance. I give thanks to my clients and co-workers for putting up with me.

And I give thanks to you – for taking the time to read my blog. Thank you!

How can I not be thankful? There are many people in my life deserving of my gratitude. And on this day, I offer them a special, and most sincere, thank you.

The second concerns Emmie Mear’s post titled “History Teaches Those Willing to Listen“. Published earlier this week, there’s a lot in that post to unpack. Pour yourself a glass of wine and get ready for a long post. But please, go read it. I’ll wait.

It has taken me some time to internalize Emmie’s post. At first, I thought Emmie was being a little much. I mean, most of her post is about her experiences visiting Poland. Granted, I’ve never visited that country nor have I seen Auschwitz, Majdanek, or Birkenau, so I don’t know how places like that can affect a person. But to correlate the Jewish Holocaust, one of the most appalling chapters in world history, to the current plight of the Syrian refugees (another appalling chapter, but really not quite on the same scale) might be a little bit…over-reactionary?

I’ve followed the Syrian catastrophe for some time. Earlier this year, when Google made an effort to gather support for the refugees. I did my part by donating what I could. At the time, it seemed like a no brainer. I give money to support a lot of terrible events that happen around the world, this didn’t seem all that different. I figured, once we all became aware of the problem, surely, something would be done.

But the Syrian conflict, like most things, is a lot more complicated than that. As the months went by, the fighting intensified. And as the relentless bombing continues, it is clear that many Syrians will never be able to go home.

Because it is no longer there.

Like the displaced persons of World War II (included Armenians, Poles, Latvians, Lithuanians, Estonians, Yugoslavs, Jews, Greeks, Russians, Ukrainians, and Czechoslovaks), the Syrians refugees find themselves at the mercy of the world. Will we help them? Or turn our backs on them as we did in the 1940s?

In this time of thanks, and honestly, gluttony, take a moment to think of the folks in this world who do not have much to be thankful for; who’ve been forced from their homes and are unable to find a country or place that will keep them safe. Be thankful you are not them.

And then do something about it.

Until next time, thank you.

Filed under: Life Tagged: Thanksgiving

Anchimayen and other legends

Since I haven’t produced much this year, for the month of October, I was determined to enter something in the micro, flash, and short story contests over on SFFWorld.com’s writing forum. I managed to write the first two and entered an old story for the third. Woohoo! But what I wanted to talk about today is the first of those contests – the micro story.

Remember those? I wrote a post about it earlier this year. Basically, micro-fiction is a story in 100 words. Not an easy feat, but it’s such a short challenge, you can’t help but try. Well…at least, I can’t.

Anyway, uncommon celestial events was October’s micro story contest theme. The theme was inspired by September’s Blood Moon. I struggled to find a story about some odd astronomical event that didn’t involve the moon crashing into Earth. Or had to do with the moon at all. The theme was any celestial event, not necessarily the moon. So I didn’t want to go for the obvious.

Not that the stories that did go for the obvious were not good stories.

Were there too many ‘not’s in that last sentence?

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that there are some very good entries that featured the moon (or something similar). Believe me, they are all much more inventive than anything I would have come up with. The sad fact is, if I had went for a moon story, I would have probably come up with something cliché.

What to do?

When faced with a theme and a blank page, I often just start typing. I start by typing the theme, how many words I need for the story, and then I’ll try sentences that describe the main character or a character. For example: during the storm of the century, a father finds out his son isn’t really his. Or: when a star crashes into her backyard, a young, imperfect woman struggles to find her place in a perfect world. Or whatever comes to mind. I just start typing and hope a character starts talking to me. If I’m lucky, the character’s story stays in line with the theme. Sometimes, that doesn’t happen. Or worse still, sometimes a character doesn’t come along to tell their story.

That’s when I get stumped and turn to…

The Internet

I know, it’s terrible, but truly, the internet can be a great source of inspiration when your personal story machine fails.

Which is how I found out about anchimayen.

While perusing the possible odd things that happen in the sky, I came across a short entry on Wikipedia about an old Mapuche myth involving ball lightning.

In case you don’t know, Mapuche are an indigenous culture on the southern tip of South American (Chile and Argentina). And like all cultures, they harbor stories that attempt to explain the horrific loss of a child and bright lights in the sky.

The myth spoke to me and I wrote a quick little story. It’s not that great (copied below), but I submitted it to the contest.

The feedback was illuminating. A few thanked me for alerting them to a concept they had never heard of. It occurred to me that there are countless South American myths and folklore stories that we essentially ignore over the tragedies of the Greeks and Romans. It made me think of some of the great stories out there that have plied Central and Southern American history to tell great stories.

So, I thought I would too.

Every now and then, I’ll alert you to an inspiring creature or parable from places high and low from the Americas that most of us don’t even know exist. From the plateaus of the Andes to the dense, humid jungles of the Amazon, prepare to be educated, amazed, and inspired.

Quidel’s Storm

By. N. E. White

The anchimayen hovered above Quidel. Shielding her eyes from its actinic light, Quidel glimpsed the silhouette of a child.

From its center, a voice pulsed. “Why have you summoned me?”

Quidel’s breath caught at the sound of her dead child’s voice.

“It’s time, my daughter,” Quidel managed.

“My time is over,” the anchimayen responded.

“I have given you more,” Quidel whispered. “Together, we shall claim our vengeance.”

The anchimayen swelled. It tested its power, sending arcs of lightning to strike mountain tops.

And then it ignited the skies.

Filed under: A Grand Notion, American Stories Tagged: anchimayen, indigenous cultures, mapuche, South America

Ecotour

Yes, you read that right. An ecotour: part blog tour, part ecotone, and all about a virtual journey around this here blog-o-sphere. Are you ready?

I’m co-conspirator, oh, I mean, co-editor of Ecotones. We’ve asked all our authors a series of questions. So many now that I wonder when they’ll start to mutiny! But what I really wanted to know was what made them decide to write for this anthology, an anthology about borderlines, borderlands, and ecotones. I mean, just what are ecotones?

Today, I am happy to introduce Victor G. Espinosa, a contributing author to Ecotones. He’s here to tell us why he wrote and submitted his story, The First Feast.

Don’t be shy! If you have any questions for Victor, please do so in the comment section below.

The first thing I read about ecotones was the definition posted at the top of the contest requirements:

An ecotone is a transition area between two biomes. It is where two communities meet and integrate. It may be narrow or wide, and it may be local (the zone between a field and forest) or regional (the transition between forest and grassland ecosystems).

What stood out to  me about the definition was the “communities” part. Though my mind swirled around some ideas of Sci-Fi worlds in the middle of unknown changes or a rare ecosystem undergoing a violent metamorphosis, I thought the idea of having two societies or peoples coming together was a little more interesting.

So I thought about what two societies I would pose against each other. My mind has been stuck on the classic fantasy trope of humans vs elves and the friction between their two races for some time now, so I examined that relationship more. What if these two races interacted in a way that wasn’t what most people have read before? What if these two cultures came together, blended, and created a unique ecotone?

I adopted a lot of lore and world history from the universe of my own stories, but expanded upon it and created the Sacred city of Ashern. A city that sees a one-of-a-kind celebration where humans and elves come together to enjoy each other’s company and celebrate their cultures. Normally the humans stay in their towns and stone cities, while the elves prefer their woodlands and forest sanctuaries. But once a year the two races come together at this city, smack dab in between these two communities or biomes, and celebrate what their unity can produce; a deep friendship that borders on family and a unique culture that can only come from two totally separate races. I also threw in some conflict and romance for good measure.

I wrote the story originally to help me understand the history of the worlds in my own books and entered it into the anthology contest just to see how it would stand up against other authors. I was absolutely thrilled when it was accepted, and honored to be among many other prestigious authors. SFFWorld.com and their community has been a big help in my writing career with constant inspiration and encouragement, so I am really excited to be a part of their anthology. I’m more excited, however, to read the other stories accepted. There are some real professionals in there!

Want to read Victor’s human and elf experiment? Want 13 other great, ecotoned stories from professional and amatuer writers from around the globe?

Then look no further and go back our Kickstarter campaign!

You’ll get Victor’s story and much more.

Also, please take a moment to visit any one of these locations on our Ecotour:

Climate Fiction Update, It’s now Eco-Fiction – Claude Nougat
Eco-Fiction

Thanks for reading!

© 2015 N. E. White / Victor G. Espinosa

 

 

Filed under: A Grand Notion Tagged: anthology, Ecotones, ecotour, kickstarter, Short Stories, victor g espinosa

Book Cover-Wu

If you follow my blog, the last time I touched on the subject of creating your own book cover, I advised to use a professional graphic artist. For yours truly, I’ll stick to that advice.

If you are anything like me, at some point, we’ll say “that’s good enough”, when it is not. It’s easy for us to fall short of the vision in our head when to reach it means buying new software or learning and mastering techniques that could take weeks. In that case, I have no qualms paying someone else who has invested the time and money to perfect their book cover-wu.

But maybe you already have book cover-wu? Maybe you are…

Andrew Leon Hudson
Cool cover (and good stories, too)

Andrew impressed me with his e-book cover skills when he started to self-publish his short stories earlier this year. He created a striking style that both lent itself to his subject and “branded” his look. He kept the design simple, but he married memorable images with unique fonts to create something that works well.

As this year’s editor of the SFFWorld.com’s anthology, Andrew decided to use his own skills to develop an e-book cover for Ecotones. He did all the accompany web graphics as well. And, frankly, I started to get envious! Surely, I could do that.

Well, maybe not.

But first, I thought it best to extract some book cover-wu from Andrew…

Recently (or not so recently), what book cover made you do a double take? Why did it catch your attention?

The cover of Keith Ridgway’s strange police procedural novel Hawthorne and Child is very unusual, which is fitting given the book itself. The artist, Tom Darracott, obviously has a mode because his cover for Han Kang’s The Vegetarian (which I’ve not read) manages to be even stranger – both of them are full of engrossing, vaguely unsettling detail. But, seeing as my focus is scifi right now, I’d have to say that the cover star of The Other – by Matthew Hughes, one of our anthology’s participants – has a sort of beguiling meatiness to him… I bought the book mostly because of the look in his eye, and had absolutely no regrets.

What made you think you could try your hand at your own covers?

It was more a case of having little choice to begin with. My first, rather ill-fated novel was published by a small press who (they claimed) provided covers in-house to the authors’ specifications; but after a month of to-ing and fro-ing it started to dawn on me that what I was being sent were not the roughest of rough drafts but the closest they could come to what I had described (graffiti on a brick wall, basically). So I dusted off my Photoshop CD, reinstalled it and started tinkering. In the end I shared the credit on the cover art, but the publisher closed down less than a year later and the book entered limbo. Still, I learned enough then to try something simpler when I started self-publishing later that year.

Do you create all your book covers in Photoshop? Or do you use InDesign? (or whatever it is called now)

I use a creaking old copy of Photoshop on a creaking old computer barely capable of running even that. I dream of having the idle cash to buy a sleek and shining media-crunching device and the joys of an annual subscription to whatever magic the latest new Photoshop can work.

I’ve only created one wholly original cover to date, meaning “with my own art”; most of the time I turn to Flickr and similar sites, where there are artists and photographers embracing Creative Commons licensing. This allows me to find non-standard material away from commercial image banks (which I can’t really afford to use at the moment anyway), and in return I can point readers back towards the people whose generosity with their work allows me to dress up mine. And in this case, not just my work but that of thirteen other writers too.

Click on it for high-resolution version

What do you like most about your Ecotones cover?

This is my most ambitious cover to date, and I’m tearfully proud of how it’s come out. I’m not sure if there’s a specific thing I like above all others. I had in mind a sort of pseudo-movie poster look, and I think that is more or less how it ended up. It was going to be black-and-white right up to the last minute, but pro-colour feedback from the anthology’s contributors made me go back and play around some more. I’m glad I did, it’s much stronger for it.

What do you like least?

…thanks for asking. I’m a bit sad that the trees lost their fine detail. I wanted a very high contrast, but the branches sort of clumped together a bit under my image manipulating. However, it’s only been a year (almost exactly) since I started designing covers in earnest, so hopefully I’ll continue to improve. I certainly feel like I can do more each time I come to it.

What advice would you give to indie writers considering doing their own covers?

The Creative Commons thing, definitely. I’m yet to find anyone who uses CC licenses who isn’t pleased to hear that their work is being reused creatively – that’s the point, after all – so it’s second tier rewarding just to be able to send someone that email. And because there’s so much stuff out there, the chances of you seeing another book wearing the same dress is microscopic.

Erm, what else… “learn to use layers”. Actually, YouTube has some awesome tutorials, very much worth hunting for experts to learn from (Phlearn Photoshop is one of my go-to channels). Most of all, I guess I’d say the same thing I’d say about writing: save everything, and save redundantly. You never know when your next edit is going to screw the whole thing up, so it’s always nice to have a VersionB document waiting for you…

There you have it. Some book cover-wu to mull over while you write your next best seller.

Until later, learn some Photoshop and make sure to subscribe to Ecotones so you’ll know when its Kickstarter campaign starts!

 

 

Filed under: Book Covers Tagged: Andrew Leon Hudson, Book cover, cover, ebook cover, Ecotones

nanoNaNoNANO

Holy crap. Is it that time of year again?

On Sunday, November 1st, 2015, keyboards across the world will be set ablaze.

Or maybe not. It may end up looking a lot like the above – an old notebook and a pencil on some nondescript desk. Of course, that desk could be in a little cabana at a swank seaside resort. Or maybe the dusty corner of your bedroom. Or maybe on a space station. Where ever it might be, are you ready to write?

Don’t know what I’m talking about?

Get yer butt over to the National Novel Writing Month website!

Every November, a crazy group of novelist make a commitment to write 50,000 words. That’s roughly 1,667 words a day.

Doesn’t sound like much, eh?

Try doing it for 30 days straight! It’s not easy. Many have failed (I have). But we keep trying.

Why?

I ask myself the same question every year.

Sometimes, I do it to try to prove that though I take this writing thing less than seriously, it would be cool to see if I can churn out that many words a day consistently. Other times, I just want to use the collective writerly energy to finish a project I’ve allowed to languish. And then there’s just that it is nice to write alone with thousands of people. Just knowing there are others out there struggling to get their stories out, somehow makes my burden easier.

Are you doing NaNoWriMo this year? If so, why?

Filed under: Wednesday Writer Tagged: 2015, NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month

Beyond the Horizon

h/t Pied Type

Filed under: Life Tagged: beyond the horizon, inspiration, planetary science, video

Writing Update #6

Actually, over the years, I have no idea how many writing updates I’ve bombarded you all with. It’s probably closer to sixty than six, but who’s counting?

This past summer, work had taken me to Ethiopia (twice), Kenya, and Chile. While I got to meet new people and learn about different cultures, traveling definitely disrupted my writing routine. Not that I had a very strict writing routine to begin with, mind you. I’m one of those writers who has to be “in the mood” to write. So for me, writing anything of length happens in big, weekend spurts – if at all. Sometimes I manage to write something during the work week, but that’s rare.

Regardless, I had ambitions of writing some while I was away. I mean, I was (more or less) trapped in a hotel room for weeks on end trying desperately to sleep when it was dark outside (and not during our conference meetings).

But take note, I was desperately trying to sleep.

Travelling abroad had horrendous effects on my sleeping patterns. Essentially, I didn’t get any. And apparently, sleep deprivation does not inspire me to write.

My new story count for this year is woefully low. I think I have two new stories that I can confidently say are done. One I posted here, and the other is in revision mode. I’m disappointed, but maybe I’ll write like a fiend for the rest of the year. We’ll see.

Upcoming Deadline

Whether or not I have anything to peddle to the world, you might. So I thought I would alert you to Angry Robot Books’ upcoming open door submission period. If you subscribe to my newsletter, you’ve already seen this. But if you haven’t…

Each year, or rather, each year the editors at Angry Robot decide to bare their eyeballs, Angry Robot opens their virtual doors (not their real ones!) to aspiring writers around the world. If you are unrepresented by an agent, this is your chance to get published.

And it truly is a good chance. You should take it. My writing buddy, Pete McLean did so a year and a half ago, and now his debut novel, Drake, will be hitting the virtual streets in January 2016! You can even pre-order the book on Amazon.

Isn’t that amazing!

I know, it doesn’t seem all that amazing to you. As far as you know, it’s just another book about to be released into the wilds.

But know it has taken years for this to come to fruition.

Back in 2012, I released a little anthology called The End – Visions of Apocalypse. Remember that? Well, one of the stories in that collection was written by Pete McLean. Oh, and guess what? It featured a drunken protagonist named Drake and his fiery side-kick, The Burned Man. Folks loved that story! So much so, Pete decided Drake’s tale had to be told in full. Over the subsequent months, Pete wrote a novel. I beta read Drake a year and a half ago. And while I read, I knew it was a winner. When Pete saw Angry Robot’s open submission call, he sent in Drake. And now it’s gonna be published.

Yes, it may seem like a long shot, and the odds are against you, but they have to pick someone’s book, don’t they? Why not yours?

Angry Robot’s 2015/2016 Open Doors Submission Period:

Begins: December 1st, 2015

Ends: January 31st, 2016

Until next time, check out their submission guidelines and prepare your manuscripts!

Filed under: Monday Minutes Tagged: Angry Robot, Angry Robot Books, open door, writing update

Where Sci-Fi Meets Fantasy

N. E. White:

Just a quick note to let you all know we’ve (mostly) completed our fourth anthology. Click through to Andrew’s post to read more.

Originally posted on :

That was a busy summer, wasn’t it? I feel like I never stopped. When I finally went on holiday I still had work on the back of my mind. I was planning on releasing another little ebook right about now, but I couldn’t even find the time for that — and self-publishing little ebooks is basically my only job (if by “job” you mean “the thing that you do the most but which pays the least”, anyway).

There’s a reason for that failure, though, and I think it’s going to be a giant win.

I’ve been a member of the forums of SFFWorld.com for several years, mostly hanging around the writers sub-forum, and since 2012 we’ve been putting out a yearly anthology of members’ work. Editor N. E. White started the ball rolling with The End, a timely collection of apocalyptic tales (given that the world ended that year…

View original 565 more words

Filed under: writing

Feed the Beast

Happy Monday,

It’s been awhile since I posted some links, so…why not?

Politics

With all the Republican presidential debates, political bias is getting thick enough to gag on. Are you forming your political opinions based on facts or feelings? Check out this political bias quiz and let me know if you scored better than I did (27%, the lower the number the better). H/T Cubik Rube.

Characters

Are you a fan of George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series? Then head on over to Rinn Read’s latest post on Femme Fatales and decide which of Martin’s complex female characters are your favorites. Or do you think Martin does them all a disservice?

For what it is worth, Arya Stark rocks and I would pick Brienne of Tarth to be on my team any day.

Validation

It’s always nice to come across something that just reminds you it is okay to be you. Click through here and no need to thank me.

That’s it from my feeds. What links have you been following lately?

 

 

 

 

 

Filed under: Monday Minutes Tagged: feed the beast, links

The Demon in the Door

Door at Datong by retireediary

 

The Demon in the Door

By N. E. White​

The demon in the door screamed when Dohn poked its eye.

A shudder ran through the house and a heartbeat later, Dohn heard her mother echo the demon’s pain.

She stormed into the foyer, a hand cupped over one eye. She yanked the stick from Dohn’s hand and held it aloft, ready to strike.

“Why did you do that?” she demanded.

Dohn forced her gaze to meet the demon’s.

It squirmed in its perch in the center of the open door. Unlike her mother, it did not have a hand to cover its wound nor could it attack as it was trapped, held by blood, magic, and dark deeds. A thick, yellowish substance oozed from the small puncture Dohn had inflicted. It stank of lies and deceit.

Someone passed by on the street outside, dragging a pullcart behind them. They peered in, but did not break their stride.

“It let Master Wu in,” Dohn said.

Her mother slammed the door shut, putting the demon’s face out in the street. There was a pattern of ten bolts on the inside, securing the demon in place. Dohn always thought of those bolts as the demon’s butt. She stared at it while her mother lectured.

“I invited Master Wu,” her mother said. “The demon was doing as it was told. Never touch it again. And you be nice to Master Wu. Who else will take an ugly girl like you in marriage?”

Dohn shifted her gaze to the floor, the slimy feel of Master Wu’s breath still on her neck. She wanted to ask why she had to be married at all. Had not her mother done well after their father abandoned them, single-handedly managing to secure a home with a demon of its own? But she kept her mouth shut for to answer thus would result in a worse beating.

Hunching her shoulders and closing her eyes, Dohn waited for the blows. When they came, Dohn silently vowed she would never marry.

The next day, as Dohn dressed to hawk her mother’s wares, to earn the money that sent her brothers to boarding school, the demon whispered in her ear.

At first, she thought it only the wind, pushing through the inner courtyard and out a gap between her window sill and wall. But it came again.

“Come and look,” it said.

Dohn knew she should ignore the door. Yesterday it had lured her to the foyer in much the same way, to be caught in Master Wu’s groping hands, the demon looking on with hunger in its wooden eyes.

But the whispers followed her to the hot kitchen and into the back rooms where square linen bundles lined a wall, ready for Dohn to wrap the pastries she would sell. She should have stayed in that room, preparing for the day, but the demon’s voice bored into her head until she thought the very walls spoke to her.

“What do you want?” she asked when she opened the front door to face the demon.

The morning dawn had yet to lighten the world and darkness shrouded the street beyond. She could just make out the edge of the cobbled lane. Something moved in the shadows. Dohn squinted and would have retreated, but the demon spoke.

“Master Wu does not intend to marry you,” it said.

It’s voice emanated in her head, even though its lips moved with the susurrus of wood scraping. Though the rest of the door was bolted iron, the demon itself was made of wood the color of blood.

Ugly or not, she did not care if Master Wu did not want to marry her.

“So what?” she answered.

“Ha!” the demon barked in her mind. “Do not pretend to not care, daughter. Your mother cares. And she will do everything in her power to get rid of you.”

“Get rid of me?”

“Don’t you see?” it said. “She knows you better than yourself, little one. She knows you are capable of her same deeds.”

“I will not marry Master Wu,” she said.

“Then he will have his way with you and pay your mother a chicken, maybe two.”

Dohn said nothing, thinking back to the days immediately after their father left and the drunken men who visited her mother’s bedroom late at night.

“Then someone else will come,” it said. “Maybe Master Quin whose wife passed on twenty years ago. Or maybe a visiting businessman. Or maybe the king’s soldiers on their way to the Wudji mountains.”

“Where are you going?” Dohn’s mother said.

Dohn jumped and slammed the door shut.

“Do you think you can leave?” her mother added. “You wouldn’t survive long. You’ll starve and be stolen by bandits and made into their whore. Is that what you want? To be a whore?”

Dohn wanted to ask if that was what she hoped to make of her, but silence, Dohn had found, served better than words.

“Go wrap the bread,” her mother finally said.

The next day, after hours of trudging along the main highway, waving her parcels and shouting prices into the dusty air, Dohn came to stand before the door. When she placed her hand on the handle the demon whispered in her mind.

“There’s someone waiting for you,” it said.

Against Dohn’s better judgment, she asked, “Who?”

“Not Master Wu,” it said. “Another man. He said he wanted you with the grime and scents of the road still on you.”

Dohn scowled at the demon. Her hand slid off the handle and she glanced to each side.

Some neighbors swept their thresholds, others hurried to finish late afternoon errands, and several stood in knots trading gossip. An old man caught her gaze, winked, and then wiggled his eyebrows.

“What should I do?” she whispered back to the door.

The next day, long before first light, before even her mother would rise to stoke the bread oven, Dohn snuck into her mother’s room. The kitchen knife’s handle felt hot in her hand, as if it would scorch her skin.

She stood in the dark and thought of the previous day. After the demon outlined its plan, Dohn had indeed walked into a home with a strange man in it. But he paid no attention to Dohn. He and her mother haggled over the price of flour before he left promising to deliver next week’s bags himself. He had patted her head when he left, but nothing more.

Was the demon lying?

Her mother snorted and rolled away.

Dohn jumped back, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle an involuntary gasp.

Did it matter if it lied?

Her mother wanted her to marry Master Wu. His first wife still lived. If Dohn went to his household, she would be no more than a slave, answering to his senior wife along with carrying the weight of servicing him until the day she died – for free.

The demon’s voice echoed, “If not Master Wu, someone else…”

Walking to the other side of the bed, Dohn twisted the knife in her hand.

It was not a large knife, but it did not need to be for this work.

As the demon had instructed, she plunged the blade beneath her mother’s chin, angling back and against her spine.

Her mother clutched at her throat, a wet strangled sound erupted from her. She batted at Dohn, but she held the knife firm. When her mother’s movements stilled, and all her blood soaked the bed red, Dohn made the other cuts the demon required.

When Dohn presented her mother’s heart to the demon, the streets were black and empty.

The soft sounds of bats coming in to roost for the day fluttered above her and a shiver went up her spine when a breeze chased them beneath the roof.

“You did well, child,” the demon said.

Its short tongue padded its lips in anticipation of its bloody meal.

“Hold it nearer, child,” it said. “Closer…”

Dohn lent in but kept her mother’s heart out of the demon’s reach.

“Where would you go, Demon?” Dohn asked. “You’ll only get caught again.”

The demon spat splinters and howled in Dohn’s mind.

“Bitch!” it said. “Do not betray me. Give me the heart!”

The demon shook the house. A light flared in a neighbor’s house and sleeping doves cooed in alarm.

Dohn shook her head from side to side.

“No, demon,” she said, and took a bite from her mother’s heart. It tasted of rot and greed, and she nearly gagged.

The demon cursed, and strained to leave the door, but the ancient ties made of stolen lives held strong.

Forcing her mother’s flesh down, Dohn showed the demon her crimson-stained teeth.

“You are mine to control now,” Dohn added. “And this is my house.”

* * *​

A week later, the flour man arrived with his bags of milled grain.

The demon did not let him enter, instead making him wait outside in the dust and stench of the street. When the lady of the house finally cracked the door open, the flour merchant started at the sight of the girl. She wore a black, silk dress. The fabric hugged her thin hips and budding breasts. Heat flooded his neck as evil thoughts ran through his mind.

“Where’s your mother, child,” he said.

“She has left the city, following the path of a wandering minstrel,” the girl said, her voice much too loud.

A passing neighbor turned towards them, then looked away when the girl’s dark gaze met theirs.

“We had a deal,” the merchant said. “I expect my full price for this flour.”

The girl looked at the bags with disdain and then cocked her head to one side. Opening the door wide, she offered an innocent smile.

“Of course,” she said. “I will honor my mother’s wishes.”

 

Filed under: Friday Fiction Tagged: fiction, short story, The Demon in the Door