Reyna Favis's Blog, page 2

ANOTHER STORY TIME WITH THE INTROVERT: EXCERPT FROM SOUL SCENT

A scene from the second book in the Zackie Story series, SOUL SCENT…

“Can you tell me about the baby?”

Cam lifted a shoulder and then stared at the bottle in his hands. “Not much to tell, really. It was 1975 and I was working a job in Kings Worthy.” Glancing at me, he elaborated. “That’s in England. It’s a very old place. It was listed in the Domesday Book – you know, the survey taken in 1066?”

I bristled a little. “By William the Conqueror after the Norman Conquest. I know. I was a history major, remember?”

Nodding, Cam took up the story again. “Anyway, I was busy trying to lay the ghost of a Victorian clergyman who had taken up residence in the old church. At the same time, there was an archaeological dig taking place in the churchyard. They were interested in the old Anglo-Saxon burials and they eventually unearthed the skeletal remains of a young woman.” He took another drink and affected nonchalance as he continued the story. “Lying between the long bones of her legs, they found the skull of a full-term infant, but the fetal leg bones were still clearly within her pelvic cavity.”

“A coffin birth?” My eyes went wide at this thought.

Cam nodded again. “It happens. A pregnant woman dies and is buried and because of pressure from the gases that build up during decomposition, the dead fetus is expelled from the equally dead mother.” Looking down at his hands again, Cam picked at the label on the bottle. “Anyway, shortly after this find, the cries of a baby could be heard coming from the graveyard. It so disturbed the archaeological team that no one wanted to dig anymore and the work came to a grinding halt.”

“And did it also disturb you? Cam, I can tell this is difficult to talk about.”

Cam rolled his eyes and exhaled deeply, his words were clipped. “Yes, right. It bothered me a great deal. The baby was an innocent and completely blameless, yet she was left to suffer horribly for centuries.”

“But wasn’t the mother with the baby? How did you finally help her to move on?”

“I went into the churchyard with Zackie late one night to find the baby. The mother was nowhere to be found, so I assume she crossed over shortly after her death.”

“She left the baby?” My mouth hung open, aghast at the thought of just taking off and leaving an infant. “She probably didn’t know the baby remained. In her time, the belief was that unbaptized infants went to Limbo, so in all likelihood, she died assuming that the baby would find its way and be taken care of.” Cam shrugged again. “Who knows? All I know is that earthbound souls of infants are a rarity, so most of the time, they move on with no difficulties. Something went wrong for this one.” Cam frowned as he stared into the middle distance for a beat. “But, you know, as soon as she saw Zackie, she quieted and stopped crying. Getting her to go through the portal was a breeze compared to the clergyman. I had to work another two weeks before the clergyman moved on.”

Copyright © 2017 by Reyna Favis

Photo credit: Daderot, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

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If you would like to comment on anything in these posts, I would be delighted to hear from you. Please visit my author’s website to learn more about progress with the Zackie Story series, author appearances, or to send me a message, etc. Or if you prefer, you can also find me on Facebook (at least until another social media platform emerges that will actually safeguard user privacy). Feel free to friend me and send me a message so I’ll know you’re not just a bot.

Soul Search, Soul Scent, and Soul Sign, novels of supernatural suspense, have been described as Marley & Me meets The Sixth Sense. Readers have praised these novels for the very human stories behind the hauntings that create unexpected plot twists, drama, and even moments of humor. The Zackie Stories are available for purchase as ebook, audiobook, and paperback on Amazon and Audible, and free on Kindle Unlimited.

If you enjoy the Zackie stories, please, please consider leaving a short review on Amazon and/or Goodreads and/or Bookbub. Your review makes a difference and is incredibly valuable, drawing in other readers and providing access to promotional opportunities that require a specific number of reviews to engage. I’ll be your best friend forever if you write a review.

If you would like to subscribe to this blog, click on the three bars at the upper right. The next full post will be available on or before the last day of the month.

Another Story Time with the Introvert: Excerpt from SOUL SEARCH

An expanded scene from the first book in the Zackie Story series, SOUL SEARCH…

I found my new mentor sitting with Zackie on the stone wall outside the old Methodist church. Zackie stared at me, her long hound face dominated by a pair of bored eyes. Cam held her lead loosely in his hand, barely in compliance with the leash laws. In contrast to my mood, they looked relaxed and comfortable beneath the budding branches of an old oak tree. The soft, filtered light made silver highlights in Cam’s unruly, gray mop and warmed the russet color in Zackie’s coat. It was late afternoon and I had timed my arrival in Hope Township to make sure they would get there first. Hospitals, cemeteries, and historic buildings are places I avoid. There are too many dead, and I can easily be overwhelmed.

Cam looked me over. “Ready, Fia?”

“Sure.” With no real conviction, I threw down the challenge. “Bring it on.”

Cam nudged Zackie, a grin spreading across his face. “The young lady says she’s ready. Shall we find out?” Doing a fair imitation of the voice of authority from Incident Command, Cam launched into my first lesson with his cut-glass British accent. “Listen up! Our subject is a Caucasian female. The Point Last Scene was on the steps of that church. She was wearing a bridal gown and was weeping copiously.”

I rolled my eyes and flipped my hair back, desperate to appear nonchalant. “What do you want me to do?”

“Go to the church steps and see if you can draw her to you. When she comes, I want you to hold very still and to resist the urge to push her away or silence her. It’s natural to want to avoid the flood of negative emotions that may come, but again, resist the impulse. Look at her closely and allow yourself to take in whatever impressions may come.”

Dubious about what I would learn from this, I followed the stone wall to the steps leading into the church. The dark red doors sat below an arched transom and made a nice contrast with the white clapboards and gray stone foundation. This would be a great place for wedding pictures. Gazing up, the steeple centered perfectly over the doors and the arched windows to either side provided a graceful symmetry. The overall effect gave the building a sense of strength and dignity. A small plaque affixed to the church’s wall indicated that this was Saint John’s Methodist Church. Built in 1876 in the Gothic Revival style, the structure had recently been added to the National Registry of Historic Places. The venerable, old church made me feel small and unprepared for what lay ahead.

I did as Cam said and I drew a deep breath, relaxing and opening myself up to her presence. This was contrary to every impulse I felt, but I forced myself to be still and to unclench my fists. I was not here for a fight. Cam would back me up if anything happened. I took another deep breath and then I felt it—a light breeze, scented with roses. The bride shimmered as she manifested, carrying a large bouquet of the red flowers. Her white gown was loose and unfitted, with a low waist and a hemline that ended at her knees. As she reached to adjust her tight-fitting Cloche hat, the beads and sequins covering her entire ensemble caught the light and glittered. She was the picture of a 1920s flapper bride.

Cam paced slowly along the stone wall. “What are you getting?”

My jaw dropped as I took in the sensations. “Joy. I’m getting joy. She is incredibly happy….” The bride wept, but these were not the tears of despair I expected.

“And there you have your first lesson. They are not always distraught or in torment. This one is reliving a happy moment that led to an even happier life. Let her go now.”

I looked at him and frowned. “Aren’t we expected to do something for her? Not just leave her like this?”

“No, let her go. She’ll move along in her own time.” I did as he suggested and let my concentration wander, wishing the bride well as she dissolved into her history. This was certainly a first for me and a true revelation.

As I stood there with a goofy grin plastered on my face, a film crew burst through the church doors and clambered on to the landing leading up to the entryway. Their cameras were trained on a man dressed in a black long-coat and white poet shirt. Large silver buttons decorated the length on either side of the coat, but the suggestion of vintage military styling was spoiled by the addition of jeans and high-top sneakers. Heavy eyeliner accented gray eyes and his long blond hair was swept back in a ponytail. I resisted the impulse to laugh at this walking affectation.

“I know you can hear me.” The man paused for dramatic effect. “You and I both know that he was right to leave you at the altar. You weren’t good enough for him, after all. Or maybe he preferred a younger woman or a prettier woman?”

I hastily moved out of the way. Not my monkeys, not my circus. Joining Cam and Zackie by the wall, I was a safe enough distance from the spectacle.  “What the hell is going on?”

 Cam’s lip curled in distaste. “This particular hell is an idiot trying to provoke a spirit. He’s taunting our weeping bride.”

I slowly shook my head. “Why would anyone want to do that?” The thought rattled around like a ball in a pachinko machine, and I came to the conclusion that Cam was right. The guy was an idiot. I spent a great deal of time trying to avoid notice. It made no sense to me why a person would try to force the attention of the dead by pissing them off.

“He’s trying to get something on film for his show,” Cam explained. “If he succeeds in enraging a spirit, he might get something physically revealing of a presence. Depending on personality, things might be thrown, a person might be shoved or struck….  He won’t get that kind of reaction from our bride, but I’m sure you’ve seen this type of behavior in other circumstances.”

I nodded as we watched the man continue his capering. I was all too familiar with the violence of poltergeist activity. “So, I enrage spirits?”

“More like frustrate them. They’re expecting a deeper level of understanding from you.”

“Really?” I thought back to the spirit of the boy that started my apprenticeship and realized that none of the information Cam had revealed about him had percolated to my senses. “How do I get to that deeper level?” I looked at him earnestly. “Is it something you can teach me?”

“In time. But at the moment, I’d say that we’ll have to abort our lesson plan for the day.”

“If this guy is trying to rile things up, shouldn’t we stick around? In case we need to do something to calm things down?”

“Do you see the bride anymore? I certainly don’t see her. We really have no need to stay here. I say we let the idiot carry on playing the fool and let nothing happen for the cameras.”

I looked at Cam and narrowed my eyes. “Oh ye of little faith!  He’ll either make something happen or someone will do something off-camera.”

“Perhaps you’re right…  Care to place a small wager on the outcome? I say there will be no shenanigans now, but later, they will add special effects.”

I grinned at him. “You’re on. Winner gets ice cream.” I turned back to look carefully for any evidence of shenanigans. “We’ll have to figure out when the show will air.”

The antics of the man now became a spectator sport, and we avidly watched the action unfold.  He stalked theatrically in front of the church, proclaiming all the while the failings of the bride spirit. Synchronized with the panning of the cameras, Zackie’s muzzle pointed first left and then right as the man paced back and forth. Eventually, to make her disdain plain to all, she sneezed mightily in his direction and began to circle before lying down for a nap. Just as she was really getting comfortable, the man bounded down the steps and proceeded to the far side of the church to enter an old graveyard. Forcing Zackie to her feet, we moved along the edge of the stone wall to keep the man in sight. A wrought iron gate stood in front of the cemetery. It was elaborate in the Victorian style and bore the words ‘Moravian Cemetery Hope, NJ’ in a twisted metal banner at the top.

While we watched the man slap at the gravestone of what was undoubtedly the bride spirit, Zackie suddenly stiffened and stared intently at something in the nearest corner of the cemetery. Her alert drew our attention to the figure of a man who sat hunched on the ground. I took in a sharp breath and froze, fearful that all hell was about to break loose if the dead man saw me. Around him were roughly three rows of what looked like a path of footstones. The figure had his arms tightly wrapped around his torso. He rocked to and fro with his head bowed, unaware of the idiot man ranting to his camera crew.

“Don’t worry,” Cam murmured. “Zackie will shield us from notice until we’re ready to make our move. What you need to understand is that these spirits are like drowning people. They have no intent to do you harm, but once they notice people like us, they will latch on in their panic and desperation. They can drag you under if you are not prepared.”

While the idiot droned on, we dared not approach this spirit and draw attention to ourselves. Our difficulties were increased by the prospect of bringing a dog into the cemetery, so it appeared our best option was to wait this whole thing out. The sun was close to setting, and the deepening shadows might afford us the ability to enter the graveyard unnoticed—if only the film crew would leave.

I groaned quietly as the idiot man asked his crew to hand him a spirit box, so he could try to hear what the ghost had to say. This was going to go on forever. As usual, dinner time was approaching, and it seemed likely that I would miss another meal. My stomach growled in protest.

Cam chuckled and tried to distract me by asking what I noticed about the dead man.  I looked carefully and reported was I saw, drawing on my undergrad degree in history that everyone said I’d never use. The spirit’s coat was dark blue, and he had a white stock around his neck. I could see buckles on his shoes and dark stockings that met his breeches slightly below the knee. Aside from clothing that placed him in the eighteenth century, I saw nothing from my vantage point that offered any additional clues.

As I shifted my gaze back to the idiot, I noticed him watching us as he fiddled with the spirit box. As amusing as it was for me to see a ghost hunter oblivious to what must be his heart’s desire, I felt a bit of sympathy for him. The spirit box emitted nothing but static. You would think that maybe a word or two from radio broadcasts might leak through. That would at least give him something to substantiate communication with the bride spirit. Luck was just not with him this day.

Eventually, the idiot turned off the spirit box and faced the cameras squarely. “While we tried everything at our disposal to make contact with the ghost of the bride, we failed to find evidence that she is here.” Turning to show his good side to the camera, he continued. “We will carefully review our tapes and recordings to see if we captured anything that can only be detected by electronic devices. Sometimes, this is the way investigations go, and you just have to roll with the punches.” At this, he made a slashing motion across his throat and the operators shut down the cameras. Cam waggled his shaggy eyebrows at me, since it appeared that he would win the bet.

The idiot and the crew packed up their belongings and headed to the parking lot on the far side of the church. Cam and I lounged on the stone wall as we waited for their cars to depart. As night embraced the graveyard, Zackie kept watch on the spirit. She had the attitude of a herding dog, relaxing on her side while maintaining an air of alert surveillance.  When the last car pulled out on to High Street, Zackie got to her feet and began leading us to the dead man.

As we approached, I recognized the path of footstones as tombstones that lay flat to the ground. Dates of death ranged from the mid seventeen hundreds to the early eighteen hundreds. Each of the stones was numbered, beginning with the number one in 1768. Apparently, the Moravians were an extraordinarily orderly people with a penchant for good record keeping.    

  Trusting that things would be different for me with Zackie and Cam present, I followed them to the man, but my gut felt tight. I steeled myself and tried to remain calm. Our man sat beside a tombstone that read “John Lewis Luckenbach, born Jan. 27, 1758 in Germany, departed this life March 4, 1799.”  The man raised his eyes and gazed balefully at us. His face was a mass of raised and crusted reddish-purple sores. Tears streaked down his cheeks from swollen eyes.

Cam approached and knelt near the spirit. “John, why do you stay here?” I heard a mumbled response. His tongue was swollen, and he was sobbing. It was difficult to understand him. Cam glanced at me. I was squinting hard and cupping my ear, trying hard to understand. “Do not listen with your ears. Not all of them will speak, but you must hear them, nonetheless. Look into his eyes and feel his words.”

I swallowed my unease and concentrated on going beyond my revulsion for the man’s appearance. Taking a deep breath and relaxing, my mind began to focus as I held John Luckenbach’s gaze. “Smallpox,” I said. “He died of smallpox. He suffered fevers and could not keep his meals down. His body ached horribly… But this death is not the source of his suffering.” I held my breath and tried to go deeper, to get to the cause, but I began to feel feverish. Nausea was making my stomach roil. “I can’t… I can’t anymore!” My tongue swelled and my skin felt like it was on fire. Looking at my hands, I saw pus-filled boils erupting from my skin. “Cam!  Cam, help me!” I stared in horror at the lesions and was close to screaming when Zackie jumped up and slammed her front paws into my chest. I was knocked a few steps backwards but managed to keep my feet under me. That broke the spell. Panting and rubbing my chest, I slowly returned to myself.

“Remember what I said about them dragging you under?” Cam examined my hands for the pustules. “You need to maintain your sense of self when you have discourse with them. The experience of dying is extremely powerful, and it can overwhelm. Accept the experience, but let it wash over you. Do not internalize it. Hold on to your reality. Can you do that?”

I gasped and rubbed my hands, trying to make them feel clean again. “I don’t know… I don’t know if I can do this!”

“Look, this won’t come all at once. It’s going to take time and you will need to take things a little farther during each attempt. You did well this first time.” Cam looked closely at my face. “Are you ready to finish this?”

“You have to lead. I’m done.” But I squared my shoulders and stepped in closer.

Cam nodded and returned to kneel near the spirit. “John, tell me what happened. Why do you weep?” As John Luckenbach raised his hands in explanation or supplication, it was clear that there were no hands. The spirit garbled something through his swollen tongue, and I caught the word “Lenape.”  The sobbing and rocking started again in earnest, and Zackie sat down directly in front of the spirit. Putting her muzzle into his pocked face, she licked his tears and he clung to her. Cam stared intently at this scene. “He feels guilty for the death of others.” He nodded his head and then continued. “The Moravians sent missionaries to the Lenni-Lenape, the tribes that lived along the Delaware. John was among those who were chosen to go. He fell sick during the mission. Many from the tribe died from smallpox afterwards.” Cam frowned and now shook his head. “John feels that he is responsible for killing them.”

I stared at the spirit’s coat sleeves. “Why does he have no hands?”

“What becomes of someone who has no hands?”

“They can’t touch? They lose the ability to do things? They need help from others?” I had no idea what the right answer might be. “Could he have lost his hands to amputation, maybe from infection?” This didn’t really answer the question but might account for missing body parts. 

“All possibilities.” Tilting his head, Cam thought for a moment. “In the context of this particular case, I would say that John feels helpless to make things right. The emotion is translated to his spirit body.”  Turning back to the spirit, Cam queried him. “Do you hold the one who made you ill responsible for your death?”

The spirit vehemently shook his head no and he conveyed the words, “God’s will.” Zackie laid her head on his shoulder and it looked like he took strength from her touch. The spirit sighed and leaned into her body, wrapping his arms around her.

“Watch his hands,” Cam muttered to me. As the spirit of John Luckenbach seemed to calm and the tears ceased to flow, I saw a faint glow where the hands should be. We stood quietly and after a few minutes, the glow became brighter, and hands emerged from the light.

“You’re ready, then?” Cam looked closely at the spirit for confirmation. “Stand and follow Zackie. She will take you home.” I saw the spirit rise and take hold of Zackie’s collar. As the dog led the spirit away from the grave, Cam said to me, “They need to move quickly now, before he relapses back into his former state of mind. Shield your eyes. Do not look into the place Zackie goes.” Turning away towards the church, I remembered the last time this happened, and I hoped not to be blinded again.

A massive flash of light erupted behind me and I covered my eyes. From the open portal, the warm, sweet scent of freshly baked apple pie wafted out and made my mouth water. The sounds of a crackling fire mingled with the rhythmic creak of a rocking chair and a woman’s low, soothing voice singing in German.  Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf… I’d never learned the language, but I had learned Cam’s lesson, and I reached with my heart to hear the words of the lullaby.

Sleep my child, sleep

Your father tends the sheep,

Your mother shakes the apple tree,

As falls down a dream for thee

Sleep my child, sleep

John gasped with delight. “Mama?”

The tags on Zackie’s collar jingled as they stepped forward together.

Copyright © 2016 by Reyna Favis

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If you would like to comment on anything in these posts, I would be delighted to hear from you. Please visit my author’s website to learn more about progress with the Zackie Story series, author appearances, or to send me a message, etc. Or if you prefer, you can also find me on Facebook (at least until another social media platform emerges that will actually safeguard user privacy). Feel free to friend me and send me a message so I’ll know you’re not just a bot.

Soul Search, Soul Scent, and Soul Sign, novels of supernatural suspense, have been described as Marley & Me meets The Sixth Sense. Readers have praised these novels for the very human stories behind the hauntings that create unexpected plot twists, drama, and even moments of humor. The Zackie Stories are available for purchase as ebook, audiobook, and paperback on Amazon and Audible, and free on Kindle Unlimited.

If you enjoy the Zackie stories, please, please consider leaving a short review on Amazon and/or Goodreads and/or Bookbub. Your review makes a difference and is incredibly valuable, drawing in other readers and providing access to promotional opportunities that require a specific number of reviews to engage. I’ll be your best friend forever if you write a review.

If you would like to subscribe to this blog, click on the three bars at the upper right. The next full post will be available on or before the last day of the month.

Introvert Declares Mojo the Worst Dog Ever

The story of how kitten Mojo came into our lives was told in an earlier post. From a scrawny, one-week old, abandoned kitten who needed to be fed by syringe, he has grown into a 14 pound monster who is more dog than cat. As a cat, he has many strange behaviors; as a dog, he leaves much to be desired.

Mojo goes from kitten to cat

Mojo has always been feisty. He probably would not have survived otherwise. It is likely that he is from feral stock and was born knowing how to kick and claw his way through life.

When Mojo was only barely a handful of kitten, I began introducing him to the resident critters. His first home was a plastic box with a soft towel to snuggle in, a microwave heating pad (made special for neonate animals) to help him maintain body temperature, and a stuffed animal to simulate kitten siblings. The box sat on the kitchen counter near the kitten milk supplies and was topped with a metal grate to pre-empt any bad ideas from our dogs and cats. The dogs would gather round every two hours during feedings, and I’d let them take a sniff to get them used to the kitten’s scent. The dogs also learned that this new bit of fluff was MINE and nothing had better happen to him. The cats, Butters and Dewy, would quietly creep up to the box, peer in, and hiss. They were likewise informed that I was the owner of this little intruder and we were all going to get along someday.

As he grew, Mojo was transferred to a dog crate with a litter box and toys. The cats would walk by, stare through the bars, and hiss. The dogs would snuffle and let the kitten grab at their noses as they made fruitless attempts to reach the kitten food. The kitten was brought out a few times a day to run around in a room behind a closed door, so he could begin coordinating all his growing cat parts. Mojo soon learned how to pounce, leap, and climb. When we were convinced he was up to it, we began letting one dog at a time into the room to watch the play and nose the kitten. The cats remained unenthusiastic about the kitten and didn’t see the need to participate in any supervised play. Eventually, the door remained open during Mojo’s excursions. The dogs would visit. George the Cocker Spaniel was accepting of the kitten and became less and less interested. Zackie-O the Plott Hound started to mother Mojo and began tutoring him in misbehavior (see video below). The cats would walk by, check to see what the kitten was doing, and stand outside the room just long enough to hiss.

Mojo joins the cats

Mojo eventually outgrew the dog crate and his ever-expanding energy level demanded greater freedom. This was about when his feral roots began to show. Between being raised by a dog and having feral ancestry, Mojo was fearless as he made his way among the hissing cats. Butters and Dewy are both around 15 pounds and Mojo must have been only one-third of that when he muscled his way into the cat domain in our partially finished basement. I can only think he avoided a territorial squabble by confusing the older cats with his odd behavior.

To this day, Mojo performs dog play-bows to entice dog, human, or cat to play with him and he opens his mouth to mimic an excited dog pant when he’s happy and enthusiastic. But the tail wagging is a thing of mystery. Maybe there is something subtle that I’m missing, but it seems he uses the tail wag in both the traditional cat way (tail movement indicates irritation) and dog way (tail movement indicates happy excitement). Woe be to you if you misinterpret what Mojo means with his tail movement. [N.B. I have watched his ears for clarification. Mojo is either mercurial in his temperament and switches rapidly between playful and pissed, or I didn’t read the tail right from the start and he adds an exclamation point with the ears right before he strikes.]

Mojo resists most training

Once Mojo reached a state of independence, Zackie-O let him go his own way and gave him less attention. Puppy Angus (see picture at beginning) became Mojo’s special friend. Angus is currently 80ish pounds, has enormous feet, and forearms like Popeye the Sailor Man. Mojo likes to wrestle with him. I let them go at it until someone either yelps or yowls. They both learn interspecies manners this way and I intervene before anyone causes me vet bills.

We keep a semblance of order in the house because Butters and Dewy are the quintessential cats, completely uninterested in what humans or dogs do, and also because dogs in the house learn obedience commands. While Butters and Dewy need no additional training, Zackie-O earned her Canine Good Citizen (CGC) years ago, and Angus is working toward his. Both dogs are pretty good at coming when called, crating, sitting, lying down, getting on and off things, and staying on command. Zackie-O knows “give,” “leave it,” and “drop it;” Angus knows “give,” “leave it,” and is working on “drop it.” Both dogs have good door manners and know not to drag us on our bellies when we walk them. But because they are both trained as trailing dogs to find lost people, we don’t enforce the perfect loose lead, stay-at-my-side walking. They learn “easy” to slow them if they get the idea that today is the day they will drag the human on his/her belly.

Mojo has learned to come when called, to fetch (neither of the dogs do that) and a limited form of “leave it.” But he’s learned no commands for sit, down, off, stay, stop making me bleed, or get in your crate. He is high drive, so it is unfortunate that CARCA doesn’t really exist, because locating and digging people out of avalanches might help take the edge off. Unlike the dogs, Mojo tries to shoot out any open door leading to the outside. By hiding under Angus, he did succeed in escaping unnoticed once. Fortunately, the weather was hideous and cold. When I heard a cat meowing with the timber that tells me he really, really wants something, I thought a cat was upstairs and unwilling to run the dog gauntlet to make it to the basement. As I opened the backdoor to let the dogs out and give the unhappy cat a chance to migrate, I found Mojo outside, screaming to be let in. You would think that this would have taught him a lesson, but a few days later he met us at the side door as we brought the dogs back from a walk. Leaping from the dryer, he shot through the door and galloped down the driveway. We caught him before he made it too far.

So, I think I’ve made my case that Mojo is pretty much the worst dog ever. I have given up hope that he will some day pass his CGC. Despite his inclination toward engaging in a little bit of the old ultra violence, I can’t train him in protection because that requires extensive obedience training. I do hold out hope that he will naturally protect the house when we are out, simply because it would amuse him to put someone’s head through a cat blender. I pity the thief who thinks the dogs are the worst threat in this house.

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If you would like to comment on anything in these posts, I would be delighted to hear from you. Please visit my author’s website to learn more about progress with the Zackie Story series, author appearances, or to send me a message, etc. Or if you prefer, you can also find me on Facebook (at least until another social media platform emerges that will actually safeguard user privacy). Feel free to friend me and send me a message so I’ll know you’re not just a bot.

Soul Search, Soul Scent, and Soul Sign, novels of supernatural suspense, have been described as Marley & Me meets The Sixth Sense. Readers have praised these novels for the very human stories behind the hauntings that create unexpected plot twists, drama, and even moments of humor. The Zackie Stories are available for purchase as ebook, audiobook, and paperback on Amazon and Audible, and free on Kindle Unlimited.

If you enjoy the Zackie stories, please, please consider leaving a short review on Amazon and/or Goodreads and/or Bookbub. Your review makes a difference and is incredibly valuable, drawing in other readers and providing access to promotional opportunities that require a specific number of reviews to engage. I’ll be your best friend forever if you write a review.

If you would like to subscribe to this blog, click on the three bars at the upper right. The next full post will be available on or before the last day of the month.

Story Time with the Introvert

Sit back and enjoy an excerpt from the SOUL SEARCH audiobook, available on Audible. In this clip, we introduce the Psychopomp. Like a seeing-eye dog, Zackie guides lost souls to the afterlife; like a therapy dog, she offers comfort to these souls and the dying. But faithful to a real Plott Hound, this character can be equal parts terrifying and amusing.

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If you would like to comment on anything in these posts, I would be delighted to hear from you. Please visit my author’s website to learn more about progress with the Zackie Story series, author appearances, or to send me a message, etc. Or if you prefer, you can also find me on Facebook (at least until another social media platform emerges that will actually safeguard user privacy). Feel free to friend me and send me a message so I’ll know you’re not just a bot.

Soul Search, Soul Scent, and Soul Sign, novels of supernatural suspense, have been described as Marley & Me meets The Sixth Sense. Readers have praised these novels for the very human stories behind the hauntings that create unexpected plot twists, drama, and even moments of humor. The Zackie Stories are available for purchase as ebook, audiobook, and paperback on Amazon and Audible, and free on Kindle Unlimited.

If you enjoy the Zackie stories, please, please consider leaving a short review on Amazon and/or Goodreads and/or Bookbub. Your review makes a difference and is incredibly valuable, drawing in other readers and providing access to promotional opportunities that require a specific number of reviews to engage. I’ll be your best friend forever if you write a review.

If you would like to subscribe to this blog, click on the three bars at the upper right. The next full post will be available on or before the last day of the month.

Book Review: The Faerie Review on SOUL SEARCH audiobook

A wonderful review for the SOUL SEARCH audiobook from The Faerie Review!

Check It Out: Soul Search

Book review: Two Bluestockings on the SOUL SEARCH audiobook

Two Bluestockings is an amazing book review podcast. Three friends get together to talk about books. Two read (Aarika and Jayna a.k.a. The Two Bluestockings) and one does not (His name is Chad, and he calls himself: The Awkward Red Sock). Together, they drink wine and discuss psychology, symbolism, maddening endings, and the possibility of being crushed by their TBR piles.

These folks were kind enough to review the new audiobook for SOUL SEARCH. I received an email from Jayna just before the review went live and I’ll treasure these words forever. Below is an excerpt:

<< One of my favorite shows to watch is Britain’s Got Talent and its American version. There’s a moment in the show, when Simon is obviously bored with the mediocrity. Then, someone starts to sing. His head comes up, and his eyes say “This is it. This is what I was looking for.” Your book got that reaction from me.

I have been reading books for a long time. To the point that Aarika says I’m hard on everybody. Nobody gets five stars for fiction. Ever. Even my favorite authors. There’s always a minor detail or something that loses a star. You are the first five star fiction review that I have given for this podcast, and you absolutely deserve it. Your writing is phenomenal–to the point that I am sharing it with my friends and bringing it up in conversations. I can’t wait to read the rest of your work. >>

Please visit the Two Bluestockings site for the full review.

Introvert Learns Physics from Puppy

One thing I’ve learned from a lifetime of dogs, the older ones always teach the younger ones all the bad habits. Not once ever have I seen a puppy learn a desirable habit from the resident dog.

Here’s a short laundry list of the current canine wisdom being imparted to the younger generation (Angus) by the older generation (Zackie-O):

Try to eat mulch any time they take you on a walk.
As a result of this bad habit, both dogs carry stuffed animals in their mouths when we walk them. If their mouths are occupied, there is far less consumption of foreign objects. Note that I did not say “no consumption” — they’re clever that way.

One unexpected consequence of this solution is that our dogs have developed strange communication patterns. Instead of barking at the other dogs, they energetically squeak their toys at them. No one in the neighborhood takes our dogs seriously anymore.

Bark LOUDLY to show your enthusiasm. Do it every time they try to feed you (or you think it’s time to feed you) and when it’s time to walk (or you think you ought to be walked).
I believe the motivation behind this one is to train us. Think dog as drill sergeant. In the military, new recruits are constantly yelled at and stressed. The purpose of this is to make sure a soldier can perform under duress. The dogs are trying to make sure that if there’s a natural disaster, or the pandemic worsens, or war breaks out, we’ll still be able to feed and walk them despite the distractions.

Sleep next to the female. Contort her body like a pretzel. It will keep her supple and she will walk you better.
I can attest that I do not walk better after nights when I’m bent and twisted around a dog body. In contrast, they always look like they’re sleeping peacefully and are spry and well-rested the next day.

Here are the weak spots in the fence.
For a while, Zackie-O was determined to find her face on the back of a milk carton. She had been escaping the backyard by executing a commando crawl under the chicken wire at the bottom of the split rail fence. Rich spent several hours staking down some weak areas, but she still found a way to go rampaging through the neighborhood. We eventually turned on the Garmin Astro GPS and put the tracking collar on her. Upon inspection (see picture below), it at first appeared that she’d been leaping the fence, since the point of departure had been staked down and reinforced with stronger chicken wire. Also, there were no disturbances at ground level (thank you SAR man-tracking training) to indicate more commando crawling. We eventually found another weak spot very close to the reinforced spot.

Today, we learned that she’s taught Angus how to force his much larger frame under the fence. I heard a fracas outside and couldn’t find Angus inside. While I was looking for him in all his usual spots, someone rang the doorbell.

Neighbor: “Do you own a chocolate lab?”

Me: “Uhhh….” We own a black lab mix, but close enough, I guess. “Yesss… Is that him fomenting a riot?”

Neighbor: “Yes, yes it is. Oh look! There he goes. He just went back under the fence.”

Try to educate them when you can. Especially in physics. They’re quite weak in physics.
The relativistic Doppler effect is the change in frequency (and wavelength) of light, caused by the relative motion of the source and the observer.

Redshift and blueshift describe how light shifts toward shorter or longer wavelengths as objects in space (such as stars or galaxies or rampaging dogs) move closer or farther away from us. When an object moves away from us, the light is shifted to the red end of the spectrum, as its wavelengths get longer.

Angus appeared to be a chocolate lab because he was moving so very quickly away from the observer. The Doppler shift caused his black coat to shift towards the red spectrum as the wavelength increased.

And I bet you thought the lesson would involve Newtonian physics, maybe describing the laws of motion and the effects of gravity during walks with dogs determined to go their own way.

Nope.

Our dogs teach quantum physics. They’re clever that way.

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If you would like to comment on anything in these posts, I would be delighted to hear from you. Please visit my author’s website to learn more about progress with the Zackie Story series, author appearances, or to send me a message, etc. Or if you prefer, you can also find me on Facebook (at least until another social media platform emerges that will actually safeguard user privacy). Feel free to friend me and send me a message so I’ll know you’re not just a bot.

Soul Search, Soul Scent, and Soul Sign, novels of supernatural suspense, have been described as Marley & Me meets The Sixth Sense. Readers have praised these novels for the very human stories behind the hauntings that create unexpected plot twists, drama, and even moments of humor. The Zackie Stories are available for purchase as ebook, audiobook, and paperback on Amazon and are free on Kindle Unlimited.

If you enjoy the Zackie stories, please, please consider leaving a short review on Amazon and/or Goodreads and/or Bookbub. Your review makes a difference and is incredibly valuable, drawing in other readers and providing access to promotional opportunities that require a specific number of reviews to engage. I’ll be your best friend forever if you write a review.

If you would like to subscribe to this blog, click on the three bars at the upper right. The next full post will be available on or before the last day of the month.

Psychopomps in Breton Myths and Folktales: Entering the Afterlife

An engrossing post about Breton psychopomps from ztevetevans, author of the blog “Under the Influence!” Check out zteve’s blog for more folklore and myths from around the world.

Under the influence!

Eugène Delacroix, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Breton Folklore

Breton myths and folktales are often a dark blend of Celtic, pagan and Christian influences that result in magic and wonder mixed with the morbid and macabre. There are many tales, myths and legends concerning everyday and important issues such as love and death.

For all of us, death is the great unknown and people all around the world throughout history have invented many different ways of thinking about the subject. One of the most universal ways of representing death was through the use of personifications. In simple terms this the giving of human characteristics or form to abstract ideas, inanimate objects or something that is not human.

Death itself can be personified in many other ways such as the personification known as the Grim Reaper, but there are many other representations, some as dark, others lighter.

Psychopomps

In many societies…

View original post 1,673 more words

Introvert Halloween Treat: Excerpt from upcoming SOUL SEEK

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Excerpt from the upcoming 4th book in the Zackie Stories series SOUL SEEK
Copyright © 2020 by Reyna Favis

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As Nigel rubbed the white grains between his palms, Zackie lay down near his chair and took on an attitude of waiting. “The spirit’s been doing this a long time, and he can spot any inkling of anger or frustration in people. He’ll grab ya and nurture that bad feeling.” Taking a deep breath, he blew the salt off his palms. A blue light merged with his breath and followed the salt crystals as they spun and tumbled, ultimately forming a vortex that anchored to the ground. The whirling blue expanded upward, stretching and reforming until it took on the shape of a man. Like an umbilical cord, a glowing blue thread stretched from the shadowy figure to Nigel’s chest.

As the light coalesced, a well-built young man of middling height emerged. The unsettled air caught his long mane of wavy red hair, causing the strands to dance and sway around the dripping wounds on his shattered skull. His full beard rippled as his misaligned, broken jaw flexed to spit out teeth from his bleeding mouth. Without warning, he charged at Cam and me. His assault was frustrated by an invisible wall that appeared to be circumscribed by the circle of salt surrounding him.

Bouncing backwards, he glared at us and raised a round wooden shield wrapped in leather and strapped to his forearm. Rhythmically slamming the iron spear in his other hand against the wood, he chanted about all the different ways he wanted to kill us. Naked except for the tattoos that painted his body, the man was more than fierce. He was the definition of feral.

Unmoved by this display, Nigel yawned and waved a hand at the spirit. “Cover your parts man, there’s a lady present.” 

The spirit chanted louder and beat his buckler with increased fervor. Widening his stance in defiance, he turned to face me, making the stunningly bad assumption that I was the weak link. 

“Sweetie, are you cold? You look cold.” I gestured toward his exposed crotch and touched my cheek, feigning a concerned look. “Maybe that spear is too much to live up to.”

The bearded young man choked, eyes widening in shock at my lack of fear…and decorum. By reflex, he lowered his buckler to cover himself. “How dare you, woman!”

Cam huffed a sigh. “I should warn you she dares more than that most days, so watch yourself. Now, tell us who you are before she pulls out a measuring stick.”

“That slattern woman should be beaten with a stick.”

Zackie huffed in amusement, and the man paused, uncertain before continuing.

“I am Domnall, son of Drest.” The young man thrust out his chest as if we were supposed to be impressed. I felt a little bad for belittling his manhood but not enough to muster a maidenly swoon to honor his parentage—especially after he called me a slut.

“And why’d someone beat the stuffing out of you?” Nigel sat back in his chair. Leaning his elbows on the arm rests, he looked ready for a long story.

Domnall’s face reddened, and his lips twisted into a snarl. “I was ambushed by Sigurd Eysteinsson. Sigurd the Mighty,” his voice dripped sarcasm, “took with him twelve men to bring me down.”

Nigel cocked his head. “We-eel, that answers who but not why. So out with it, lad. Why did Sigurd make such an investment in ending your days?”

Domnall raised his chin and smirked. “I had plans to steal Modwen, his daughter and only child. And I would not have needed a sack or rope to get her away. The girl wanted me.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s what they all say.” I crossed my arms. “But let me guess. Her father had already betrothed her to a better man, a man with hu-u-uge—” I paused and dropped my eyes to his hidden crotch “—tracts of land.”

Drawing his legs together, Domnall made a sour face. “I was a suitable husband for Modwen. I had land and wealth. Sigurd would not consider me because—”

The blue thread grew taught and vibrated until it made a buzzing noise. Nigel yanked the thread and shook his head. “Bah! Enough of your lies. You had no riches. Try again.”

The sharp pull on the blue thread caused Domnall to stagger, and he dropped to one knee. Casting a resentful look at Nigel, he regained his feet and walked a tight, frustrated circle in his confines. His lips compressed into a stiff line as if he were holding back the lies. When he finally spoke, he spat out the words. “I had no riches, true enough. But a man has a right to be ambitious. Sigurd had an eye to expand his holdings by marrying off his daughter. Had I lived, I would have gotten Modwen with child, forced the marriage, and claimed her father’s land for my line.”

Cam nodded as if it were perfectly acceptable to use poor Modwen as a pawn in the games of these men. “And you’re angry because your plan was thwarted?”

Domnall stopped his pacing and his face darkened. “Nay, more than that. I was always last to get my due, at the beck and call of men who had more than me. I was as good as any of them, but because of an accident of birth, I had to grovel. I lived and died by their fiat. And I hated it.”

Nigel sighed. “So you want power and authority, yeah?” 

Domnall’s eyes were piercing. “I would know how to rule with might and main—better than those lack-brains who reigned over me.”

“And so you jump from host to host, seeking someone who can dominate others? Was that your plan, then?” The corner of Nigel’s mouth hitched up, but his eyes drew down in weariness. “Easy enough to make you jump to me. A wee Glasgow kiss for young Arran and here you are.”

“Aye, here I am. With you. Think about it. If I were not just your prisoner and you would loosen your hold on me, together we could—”

“No, lad. Best you be on your way and cross over.”

Domnall’s mouth hung open in dismay. “But why should I be forced on to the afterlife while that dog Sigurd—” Zackie’s growl stopped his whining. “Your pardon, Ancient One.” Domnall bowed his head and held his breath until the growling subsided. When he began again, his voice quavered and his eyes darted to Zackie, checking to make no missteps. “Why is the whoreson Sigurd allowed to remain? His conduct with the living is far worse.”

This caught my attention and inquiring minds had to know. “Like what? What’s Sigurd been up to?”

Probably thinking this was a reprieve, Domnall was eager to share. Thumping his chest with the hand holding the spear, he began his sales pitch. “I free the living to do as they are wont. I should be thanked for what I do.” When I rolled my eyes at his self-reported heroics, Domnnall’s words faltered. He was lying and he knew it. “I should be rewarded for my…I deserve…” The blue thread buzzed ominously, and Nigel raised an eyebrow. Domnall pursed his lips and changed his tactics. “Sigurd was evil in life and is evil in death. He will kill Máel again if allowed.”

Cam’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘again?’”

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If you enjoyed this excerpt, SOUL SEARCH (Book 1 in the series) is on sale for $0.99 in the US until Nov. 3, 2020. Click the link to get your ebook copy!
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01LZBO66R

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If you would like to comment on anything in these posts, I would be delighted to hear from you. Please visit my author’s website to learn more about progress with the Zackie Story series, author appearances, or to send me a message, etc. Or if you prefer, you can also find me on Facebook (at least until another social media platform emerges that will actually safeguard user privacy). Feel free to friend me and send me a message so I’ll know you’re not just a bot.

Soul Search, Soul Scent, and Soul Sign, novels of supernatural suspense, have been described as Dean Koontz’s Odd Thomas meets Piers Anthony’s On a Pale Horse. Readers have praised these novels for the very human stories behind the hauntings that create unexpected plot twists, drama, and even moments of humor. The Zackie Stories are available for purchase as ebook, audiobook, and paperback on Amazon and are free on Kindle Unlimited.

If you enjoy the Zackie stories, please, please consider leaving a short review on Amazon and/or Goodreads and/or Bookbub. Your review makes a difference and is incredibly valuable, drawing in other readers and providing access to promotional opportunities that require a specific number of reviews to engage. I’ll be your best friend forever if you write a review.

If you would like to subscribe to this blog, click on the three bars at the upper right. The next full post will be available on or before the last day of the month.

Halloween Sale — SOUL SEARCH $0.99 until Nov 3

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The cold, wet nose beyond the veil.

Now’s your chance to start this series that a reader described as “Snarky. Funny. Unsettling.”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01LZBO66R