Shea McGee's Blog

Writing Through “The Fog”

Happy Friday to all, and to all a happy Friday.

The world has been in deep turmoil, and has been since January if we’re being honest. Several factors play a role in this. And just as the world is in turmoil, so was my brain. Probably not as deadly, but turmoil nonetheless is still the ailment.

I have been waking up in the middle of the night or early morning, and felt the need to write, but never reached for my notebook or my laptop. I just lay there, as if paralyzed. Unmoved. My mornings have been like this for quite some time, where I wake up and just lie there OR *gasp* reach for my phone to do the “doom scrolling” we’ve all come to be so fond of lately. I can admit, I have been giving my phone way too much of my time. Screen time is UP, and reading and writing time is extremely low. However, something changed recently. A catalyst that shifted the inactivity for me. Not sure when the “click” happened, because I’m just taking this all day by day, but it just did.

I admitted to myself that something was amiss and that I really needed to figure out what it was that was bringing me to this place of inaction, unhappiness, a quietness that is not rooted in peace. Trying to find my joy again without the need for outside forces, I decided to take an assessment. One that would tell me if what I was feeling mentally was what I thought it might be. With the results of said assessment, I made a doctor’s appointment. I wanted to get free or as free as one can be.

Moving through my days with significant dissatisfaction because I wanted to write, but just couldn’t find the energy. I wanted to read, but my brain just wasn’t having it. I wanted to do the things that I found great joy in, but my mind had this thick fog lying over it; the vision was not there. The assessment helped me understand that I, in fact, may be severely depressed and experiencing some anxiety as well. Debilitating depression? I shall soon find out!

For now, I know what it may be. It helps me understand why I’m feeling what I’m feeling and how I can best move forward. Making the appointment to see my doctor is one step of many for me to try to get some semblance of that part of me back. Also, getting back to the gym. Mainly, really focusing on getting back to me and not looking for joy in distractions or in other people. My happiness used to always stem from self-fulfillment, but I lost a lot of that along the way through the years. And it’s no one’s fault, not even mine really. But it is my responsibility to make the changes to at least work through it, even if I will have to deal with it for the rest of my life.

I know I’m not alone in this, especially as a writer. I feel like many writers are like me, going through the same thing, and possibly beating themselves up for it, too.

For now, I am moving forward as best as I can while I wait for definitive answers. No more speculations, concrete answers, so I know how best to approach this and give myself space to get back to what I like by making realistic goals for myself. I have tried before and failed MANY times in the past 4 years I’ve been feeling like this. I don’t want to do that this time, especially since my desire has grown to finish my third book. I hope that by sharing this, more writers who are going through the same thing know we’re in this together and we’re not defeated. That there’s so much still to look forward to, and that the fire inside doesn’t go away. It may come to an ember, but air will soon breathe life into it to help it grow again to its full, fiery self.

The Burn OUT is REAL!

Hello.

Is it me you’re looking for?

Even if it wasn’t, you’ve found me anyway. So hello! Welcome back to my channel!

Just kidding, I am so sorry for starting off this post that way. Lack of sleep has me loopy, so please forgive the madness that’s coming out of me at this time. With that being said, let me truly begin again.

It is almost 2:30 in the morning for me, and my brain told me, “Since we’re awake at this time, we should do something worthwhile and productive.” This was the something that’s worthwhile to produce (don’t mind this sentence, please). Especially since I hadn’t been on my own blog in quite some time. Last year was my last post. It’s shameful, I will admit it, because I thought last year was going to be my year. Then I thought this year was going to be my year. It is now August, quickly heading into September already, and I have decided I will stop saying “THIS year is going to be MY year!” I will no longer say that because it’s doing the opposite of what I want it to do. It’s having the opposite effect, and I can’t keep that up!

To say that last year was a trying time…last year is nothing like this year! This year has really been a trying time for me. I began something wonderful last year (my horror review website, The S Reaction), and this year it has been such a challenge to even just find the willpower to post, let alone review anything. It was not without trying, but with so much that has taken place, it’s been difficult getting to the things that I love and want to focus on creating. I have been writing my third book, The Sorceress, for more than a couple of years now. For me, that is way longer than it took me to start and complete my first book. I know we shouldn’t focus on the negatives, but I have to acknowledge that it is really doing me in. And it’s not because I don’t want to finish it, it’s because I feel like there’s a part of me that loves writing and being creative that has been “taken” from me, snuffed out. And trying to get that back has been difficult. I always find myself in between two places mentally: really high or really low. And it’s been really low as of late. I hate to even think about it, but that’s what it’s been like for me as a writer.

Being creative was something I took great pride in. My writing was something that I loved sharing. It’s the part of me that I really love to share with others. I keep so much to myself that writing is my way of showing people a part of me that I truly hold dear. It’s the one way that I can express myself that feels good to me, and I want others to feel good, too. I really do mourn the time lost, not knowing when I’ll be back on the “good foot”, so to speak. But I really want to be better and do better.

I’m checking in because this is a form of word vomiting I like. Another way for me to share something I’m really struggling with and that makes me feel incredibly vulnerable. I am really trying to get back to my creative self, it’s where I found immense joy. I’m hoping the words come back to me and I can finish what I started. I hate to have my work lingering in the dark backroom of my mind, waiting on me to get…better? I know it begs to be free, to be complete and whole. Maybe I’m the one who needs to be complete and whole before it can be? Hm. That is a thought. Fancy that! A light revelation.

That all being said, I feel so much better about touching base, getting these words out. I hate feeling sorry for myself. Even though I’m in a tough spot right now, I know things will improve (they have to). I’m of the belief that writing is my therapy. Writing is how I feel better. Even if it makes me look crazy to be admitting all of this, I have to. As a writer, this feels good to me. Admitting that writing hasn’t been coming so easily. In the past few years, writing has been harder for me to do. But I know writing is also my freedom. If I can get through these cloudy skies, I can find my way back home–back to myself, back to what I love and know.

The Soreress may not be completed just yet, and I can’t set a deadline right now, but maybe I should give myself a chance to take it a sentence at a time. Five minutes a day. Little by little.

And MAYBE not abandon my blog either! I’ll make a note of it. Checking in is necessary. But like I said, little by little.

‘The Sorceress’: Progress? Or regress?

I hate not knowing how to start things. I’m pretty sure my brain is fried from the months prior, holidays taking up a lot of space mentally! A mental cleanse is needed–BIG TIME!

That being said, welcome back to my neck of the woods. I’ve been mulling over how best to greet readers and sometimes I think I do a great job, and other times I feel like today: I don’t know what to say! The words are there, they just get stuck sometimes is all. Yet, here am I, and here you are! I try not to chase my words too much because that frustrates me. I used to joke about how after I had my first son he took my brains and my strength, but that was before I had my second child! I really feel like my brain has gotten a chunk taken out of it, it’s ridiculous! But reading is curing that, a lot of reading and trying to get back into writing a lot more. A lot!

I’ve been a fan of reading fictional works, but I have been flirting with the thought of reading non-fictional pieces as well. It’s my mission as a writer to stick to reading as a whole. That means reading everything, not just things I’m comfortable or familiar with. It’s not too much of a challenge, but I know I will have to dedicate time and make sure to manage my time wisely.

As for WRITING, I have had my latest work ‘The Sorceress’ on the back burner for way too long. It’s taking me longer to get back to it and it’s not something I’m especially proud of. I know I am struggling with it because of my own personal dealings/failings, but I know it’s something I want to focus on and give it the best that I’ve got. The passion is still there, and it was renewed towards the end of last month, but trying to make sure I create the space for it is what’s the pickle for me. I used to be able to write for at least two hours, cranking out 1,000 or so words in that span of time. Nowadays I’m lucky if I can manage a blog post! It sounds really bad, but I’m hoping to show myself that if I can stay consistent with my blog like I used to be, then I can certainly crank out at least 100 words a day for ‘The Sorceress’.

‘The Sorceress’ is supposed to be the third and final book in my Makaela Williams series, and the longest as well. The first two seemed to have come so easily into existence for me, however, I had A LOT happen in the midst of writing ‘The Sorceress’ that it’s almost impossible for me to reconcile the idea of possibly never finishing it.

But I’m not giving up on my characters or the story. I refuse to.

I have chosen to make sure that I hold myself accountable now that I’m a little more clear-headed. Depression, PPD, and all of the things that came with those two things are subsiding and I feel a lot better. Focus is coming back sharper and I have a plan. I have a genuine plan. I’m excited for what this year has in store, and I’m just really looking forward to bringing things to life in the right time. Whether that’s in the early portions of this year or even the latter portions of this year. Whatever time, it’ll be this year and it’ll be everything! I just really hope I can keep you all interested. The real me is boring, but the me that creates? She’s pretty amazing!

Short Story Time: “In A Heartbeat”

Happy Friday and good morning from my side of the world (SoCal to be somewhat exact)!

Mercurial is in retrofit so things are a bit wacky (internet at my home is out, power is out…very peculiar), but I’ve been feeling…hopeful. Strangely enough. Slowly, creativity is starting to seep back into my veins little by little, my youngest is starting to get a bit more “independent” meaning he can go run around so I can do a little more, and my oldest is trying to be independent but he’s going to take a bit more work.

All of that being said, I’ve been working on my third book again (HURRAY! FINALLY!), and I’m really looking forward to getting back in the world I created with Makaela and her special events taking place. However, I’m letting it breathe just a bit more before I actually start adding to ‘The Sorceress’ because it’s been a work in progress for a long time, some years now. I want to make sure I do the story right, or the way I would like for it to be done.

While I let that rest, I’m going to share a story I wrote earlier this year and I thought, “This is actually pretty good.” I wrote it when I didn’t think I had anything really left in me, but I was wrong! It takes place just before and in the event of an undead outbreak that changes the main characters’ lives. With my love for all things undead, I found it fitting to create this story from the inspiration the genre gives me, and then share it with you all.

I hope you enjoy it!

‘In A Heartbeat’

“Melvin…Melvin…”

“What, Darla?” Melvin whispered as they both leaned against the door of the house. They could hear nails scratching, fists pounding, and moans growing outside of the door, trying to get to them. Trying to get to their flesh.

“I’m hurt.” Darla answered back in a whisper.

“We’ll deal with it when we can get these damn things off of our backs.”

“No, Melvin…I’m hurt hurt.”

Melvin turned his head to look at his wife, questioning with his eyes. She met his eyes and answered. She tried not to cry but she could feel them threatening to come to the surface. She looked away and stared hard at the wall ahead of them in this house they ran into for shelter. A lopsided photo hanging on the wall held her gaze. She concentrated on that photo of a family of five—a mother, a father, two boys, and a girl. They all smiled. No one looked unhappy, unloved, uncared for. No one’s eyes were dead or gave anything away to unhappiness. She wondered if they were holding onto each other when the world went to shit. She wondered if they all died together, died all together in one another’s arms. She looked over at her husband and wondered if she was going to die in his arms or if he wouldn’t be able to do it, grant her that final act of mercy. Or would he die in her arms with her teeth at his throat? She didn’t want to know.

“Darla, listen. We need to barricade this door. You stay here, brace it, and I’ll move that couch over here so we can hold up here. Night is coming and we can’t be outside,” Melvin advised.

Darla nodded and held a wider stance so she could take it on. They had broken the lock in their attempt to bust in to get away, leaving them a little vulnerable. When she gave Melvin the go-ahead, he rushed to the couch, moving it with his body to the door. Inch by inch, he got it in Darla’s place as she helped secure the couch in front of the door. They searched for more heavy objects to put on top of the couch to make it harder to move. They quickly learned that these things outside—the dead things—were hell to deal with in a large group. Once they piled up together, they could do damage. Darla and Melvin learned this quickly and not without plenty of casualties.

30 Days Ago

“Guess who got the partnership,” Darla called Melvin on her way out of her office.

“Was it Gil?” Melvin guessed.
“Very funny, Mel, but no.” Darla smiled, hearing Melvin’s smirk on the other end of her cell phone.

“Congratulations, baby. I knew they wouldn’t go with someone else, plus you’ve been with that firm for years! I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Darla accepted as she got to the parking garage of the building. “I was really thinking they were going to go with Gil though, I really did.”

“Yeah, but those last few cases? You really killed those. Back-to-back wins,” Melvin grunted.

“Are you in the middle of work, babe? I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, I’m just wrapping up some piping here, that’s all. I’m glad you called me and told me.”

“I know, but I should’ve known you were busy.”

“Baby, it’s fine,” Melvin chuckled. “Listen, I’m glad you called. Let’s celebrate tonight, okay? I’ll be leaving here in about 30 minutes. I can meet you at the house and we can freshen up, get in some fine dining tonight…maybe a little sha-boing-boing later on if you catch my drift.”

“Yeah, yeah, I catch your drift, nasty,” Darla blushed. “I’m in the car right now, I’m heading home and I’ll see you when you get there.”

“I love you, congratulations again. I can’t say it enough.”

“Thank you, baby. See you in a bit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Their celebration lasted into the late hours of the night, Darla nearly missing the alarm for work the next morning. She cussed herself out for not leaving the celebration for when they would both be off of work for the weekend. A ping sounded from her phone, a notification from the local news, and then national news showed across the screen. Cases of a mysterious illness claiming lives woke her up quickly. She went into the national news notification to get a better read. What she read worried her, but she wasn’t sure if it was real. She confirmed by doing more reading, doing a search for the keywords. More news articles from a few hours before confirmed what she read. People were getting sick, people were dying, then people were reanimating and killing. It sounded like a page from a novel or a still from a movie, but it was neither. It was happening in real-time.

She blindly reached for Melvin, trying to shake him awake. He barely budged until she pushed him some more. “Melvin, you gotta wake up right now!”

A text from her associate at work came up: 

“Judy, Mark, and Gil are out sick. Please come in,

this meeting can’t be postponed to another day.”

“Baby, wake up. Something bad is happening,” Darla warned Melvin as he finally turned over in their bed.

“What’s wrong?” Sleep was still thick in his voice.

“Look at this, read this!” Darla handed her phone over to Melvin, leaving it on the news article she had read just a few moments before.

She watched him as he palmed her phone and his eyes scanned the article. When his brows reacted, she knew he was reading exactly what she had read and thinking the same thing she was.

“This is real?” He asked her.

Darla nodded. “It’s not the only article saying that either. There are many articles around the same time saying the same thing.”

“This is serious shit then. I mean, it’s serious but it’s surreal.”

“We’ve got to get the hell out of here, Mel. We can’t stay here in the city. It’s only going to get worse if we know anything about dead people coming back from movies we’ve watched.”

“Let’s go then!” Melvin rushed out of their bed and went straight to their closet. They both dressed quickly and immediately set to work gathering water, sleeping bags (they had them saved for camping but never got around to it), and non-perishable foods. They put them all into Darla’s car. Melvin made sure to grab weapons and ammo.

“Gas is going to be hard to come by. How are we on gas?” Darla asked.

“Since we’re taking your car, and it’s more compact, it looks like we’ll be okay for a while. We’re just trying to get the hell out of here. My work truck is heavy duty but isn’t too nice on gas.”

“I can’t believe we’re this calm right now…we shouldn’t be this calm. I can’t even respond to my work! I can’t believe this is real,” Darla finally let it all hit her. “I don’t know how we’re going to do this, Melvin. We leave and then what?”

“We leave. That’s the first step,” Melvin hugged his wife. “We leave. Fuck our jobs. They can’t save us. We gotta survive now.”

“Survive? In a world like this? Survive for what?” Darla began to cry, holding onto Melvin.

“I…I don’t know. Survive for each other,” Melvin told Darla, holding her tighter.

# # # # # # # # # # #

A month later, two cars later, five people they were in a group with dying later, Darla and Melvin fought their way through a hellish scene of decaying beings clawing at them. Teeth gnashed and yawned at them as Melvin and Darla crushed weakened skulls, thick matter oozing from the impacted area. Darla had mastered the use of a claw hammer they recovered from a body that wasn’t going to be getting up. Melvin used a sledgehammer most of the way but ended up sticking with a machete he foraged from a local hardware store. It did the job. He sliced through mushed muscles more easily and split craniums a little better. They both fought back to back, keeping their eyes open for anywhere they could escape to. Darla was so scared in the beginning, concerned she’d only drag Melvin down, but he made her stronger. He got her to believe she could really survive.

When the dead in their path began to thin out, Darla’s eyes caught the house they needed to get to, a possible safe haven for at least a night. She tried to get Melvin’s attention, nudging him with her shoulder. Instead, she left herself open. Two of the dead dove right for her, piling up against her. One of them grabbed her arm and its grip was unmoving. It held onto her arm for dear life—or death—and she couldn’t shake it. She felt teeth bite down onto her calf as she screamed, stomping on the dead thing she hadn’t noticed before at her feet. She managed to squash the head of that one and finally take out the handsy dead woman with two hits to the skull before it finally went down.

“Darla, what happened?” Melvin asked her but no answer came as another shambling corpse shuffled its way toward him.

“There’s a house ahead of us, we need to head there,” Darla managed to alert Melvin.

“Let’s take out these few and then make a run for it,” Melvin told her.

Darla did her best to ignore the searing pain in her leg and fought on until they made a path for themselves. Creatures dragged their way to them but they ran, Darla falling behind. Melvin reached back for his wife, wrapping his arm around her waist and getting her to wrap her arm around his shoulder as he supported her to that house. It felt like a football field away, but they made it. Melvin tried the knob but the door was locked. He hurriedly used the machete to break the lock on the door, Darla keeping alert. When he got the door open, they hurried inside, huffing and puffing with a few of the things closely behind them. They braced the door and tried to catch their breaths.

“Melvin…Melvin…”

“What Darla?”

“I’m hurt.”

“We’ll deal with it when we can get these damn things off of our backs.”

“No, Melvin…I’m hurt hurt.”

Melvin had moved them to the second level of the house, barricading the hallway with items from the two kids’ rooms, taking the parents’ room for their shelter for the night. They couldn’t hear the dead as closely anymore, the downstairs door seeming to hold. Melvin laid out their sleeping bags, helping Darla lay down on the bed that they placed against the door. She didn’t have a fever like they detailed in the articles when this whole thing started. No sweats, nothing. Her leg still hurt but had stopped bleeding. Melvin sanitized it and patched her up, noting that her leg appeared fine.

“Maybe you’re immune,” Melvin smoothed back the thick, curly hair she loosed from her pointy tail.

She took a deep breath, feeling sleep tugging at her. “If it were only that simple. We didn’t read anything like that on the news.”

“We’ve seen it in action, how quickly people can turn into one of those things. You’re not even burning up.”

Darla thought it was odd, too, but didn’t want to get his hopes up, or hers. She knew the bite was a death sentence. She saw what it could do with her own eyes.

“Darla…if you do turn…”

“You know what to do. Don’t try to be my hero. Be my executioner. I won’t hate you for it.”

“Would you do the same for me?”

Darla sat with his question. She grabbed his hand, laying a tender kiss on it. “In a heartbeat.”

Me, the night owl.

Owl perched in a tree at night under the light of a full moon.When I am… completely myself, entirely alone… or during the night when I cannot sleep, it is on such occasions that my ideas flow best and most abundantly. Whence and how these ideas come I know not nor can I force them. – Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

It’s probably not the smartest nor healthiest thing to do–staying up late at night when you have a school-aged child that you have to take to school in the morning–but it’s literally the best time for me.

I don’t know what it is about the twilight, but it brings out the creativity in me. Ideas flow better, the work seems so much better and more captivating, and the material just springs forth so abundantly! But…it’s taken me some time to get back to this place in my life. I had lost this feeling for quite some time, and it’s painful that it took me so long to get back to this point again.

I found that I was also falling asleep earlier (children will do that to you).

After my oldest had grown to school age, staying up later to get writing done became my most welcomed escape. I also tried not to stay up too late, but if the writing was plentiful, I didn’t stop just because of a pesky thing called time! I had to get my thoughts out, I had to get that scene out of my head and onto the page or onto the laptop. It was a must, it was needed, it was life or death (for the characters, not so much me, thankyouverymuch). Nocturnal musings were my thing!

Then I had my second child. It felt like I was starting over.

It FEELS like I’m starting over, I should say instead. It feels like I lost myself even before the little one came into the picture. My well of stories had run very dry. Not even a trickle was had, and I left it alone because even if I stayed up late, it was me scrolling and scrolling on social media or reading (which isn’t a bad way to spend the late nights). I blame the lockdown we experienced in 2020. I expected that time to be plentiful. I was wrong! It was full of plenty of drinks and food and silly behaviors like impromptu dance parties with my sister (who was also my roommate at the time). I had spurts here and there, but nothing like I had before. So I slowly gave in and gave up.

Late nights became times for wasted moments. Shame.

I look back on it now and I am slightly ashamed, but it wasn’t all wasted time. I actually did find my voice as a writer during that time, especially on social media having met so many amazing creatives online. So there were some really great things that came out of that time. But my nights were no longer filled with written words, exciting prose. That’s the part that really made me beat myself up for so long.

My little one came sometime after, and taking on my motherly duties took up my late nights. Then depression really became apparent. It left no room for characters, no room for dialogues, no room for fantasy. Those moments seemed long gone. I resigned myself to just someone who couldn’t write anymore, I didn’t have it in me. And that maybe I could just use what writing I did have in me to help others instead.

Until recently!

Now that my little one has reached an age where he sleeps through the night and has been for a while now, something has changed in me. Something has shifted, and it’s a welcoming of a self I hadn’t seen in a long time. And she came back in the hours that were between late and too late; my favorite block of time that allows an outpouring of creatures, damsels not in distress, and blood…sex…magic.

I feel that in the absence of some things, the words and worlds of my imagination came back to take their rightful place. And oh, isn’t it joyful!

Stories are back in my life again. Inspiration is coming back to me in spurts, and I find them in the most interesting places now, not just songs like they used to come to me. I ain’t complaining either because this feels right, it feels so good! I know that I’m coming back to that place that I love so well, and it’s coming to me more and more every day. Or should I say, every midnight?

Darkness brings forth the light in me so that I may share it with the world.

In the Land of the Passionless

I’ve been VERY gone for a loooooooong minute.

What kind of writer does that?

And takes the most extended hiatus from their blog???

Me. I did that. And not without much shame either.

I realized and stewed on this realization for quite some time. My last blog post was years ago. Years! However, I have some valid reasons for being away for so long. Let’s get into it, shall we?

I had fallen into a cycle of work, household, mothering, and sleep. I didn’t think I had enough time once I started school, but I found that I couldn’t even do THAT. Everything that I loved doing in my own personal time suffered, and went neglected. I didn’t do it intentionally, but then I decided working was more important because everything was getting more expensive (honestly, growing up in California, I never really envisioned that when it was my turn to start paying bills, it would cost not just money but blood as well), and it never let up.

Then I had another child.

My oldest was a preteen, and he wasn’t coping too well with the fact that I was having another child, so that was tough. Then events before the baby was born really took me out, and I fell into a pit of despair. It was so heavy and so overwhelming that I cried for days, even in between those days of laughter and smiles. I was going through the most intense postpartum period and couldn’t get out of it. It started well before the baby even arrived and carried on up to his first birthday. It was a very hard time for me because I never experienced it with my first child.

Things are still hard, to be honest.

Losing a home, losing a job after gaining a new home and my first car…I felt like I had failed and was failing. I still feel like I’m failing if I’m being for real.

So I decided I can get back to what it is I love now that I don’t have anything really going on.

I will say that I do have so much still going on (finding small work and still doing my motherly duties full time), but nothing that is taking me away from getting back to something I started with full intentions of being consistent. There is now space in me to return to this blog, my blog. I’m making time for myself again.

I have goals, and I know I am better able to meet them if I create micro goals, and focus that way.

I’m so happy to be able to get back into the swing of things. I was in such a dark space, but now I feel like everything is lifting, and I am ready to be more creative, to share that creativity with you all, and get back into the world of writing. I have missed this space, it’s where I know I belong.

Stay tuned, it’s going to get amazing!

Short Story Time (Halloween Style): “If You Love Me…”

Ah, it’s that time again.

That time of year I love so much and that gathers me right on together. The time of year that I celebrate all year round anyway lol. Let’s be frank, Halloween is a lifestyle at this point, and I’m not the only one who thinks so, trust me!

I love October for that one day of year it gives us. It gives people permission to be something they’d normally be without the prying and judging eyes of the rest of the world (I’m NOT talking to you, pedos, murderers, etc.). Sure, people are going to judge anyway but Halloween is that veil that hides the “taboo” and dresses it up, masquerading as a costume when–let’s be honest– it’s what you wanted to do all along!

And like every year, I just continue watching the very thing I know and love so well: horror.

THE HORROR!!!!!

I love it and live for it. Everyone who knows me knows that that’s what I enjoy most often than not. It’s my number one pick.

I know we all would love to be what we think we truly are inside. Underneath it all, we all want to be that person we want, no matter who says what or does what to us. Shed the outer layer of the acceptable skin and get into the one we long to slip into.

Skin deep.

That brings me to the short story of this week. I thought I had shared it before but for some lousy reason, I can’t find it! So consider this a special treat. I’ll be sharing some of my horror-inspired pieces the rest of this month in this month’s short story shares.

This short story is all about a young lady not so sure of herself, but unassumingly finding herself in the most precarious situation. She finds herself when she sheds that outer layer that held her back, and boy…were there consequences!

If You Love Me…

“Do you love me?”

The girl coyly nods. “Of course, I do.”

“I know it’s only been three months, but I already feel like we’re so connected,” the boy says, planting a kiss on her forehead as they lay in the grass and night gathers itself around them. “I just love everything about you and how you are with me. How you treat me. I’ve never had someone like you. I really appreciate you.”

The girl feels her cheeks burn, a chill in the air partially disrupting the heat between them. He notices her shivers and pulls her closer to him as their bodies become aligned, sided by side. He slips his arm around her waist, pulls her into him until they are firmly glued to one another. He sprinkles kisses on her cheek, her other cheek, and then her forehead again. The final kiss he presses against her lips, soft and warm. 

He turns his body pulling her beneath him, his body covering hers as their kissing intensifies. His tongue slips in between her lips, joining with hers as the dance turns them from innocent lovers to a near mating pair.

His hands roam over her body, her feeling his fingertips teasing her arousal over her clothes. She pulls his bottom lip in between hers. He moans, and his hands climb their way inside of her shirt. The feel of his skin on hers jolts her back to her senses as she pulls away from his longing lips.

“Wait, we can’t do this,” she tells him, gently pushing him off of her. He moves, giving her the space she physically asks for.

Frustrated, he sighs. “What’s wrong? I thought you loved me.”

“I do,” the girl snaps. It takes the boy by surprise. She shakes her head, noticing that the night has blanketed them. “Look, I just think we need to go now. I’m sure my mom is worried about me.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “You’re right. I should get you home. Let’s get going.”

The girl reaches for his arm and holds onto him. “Hey, don’t be mad, okay? I just don’t want to do it out here. I want it to be special when we do it. The right way.”

The guy nods, faintly smiling. “I understand. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just got so worked up. You just… you do that to me sometimes. I don’t know what it is about you, but you just bring this deep, animalistic desire out of me. I can’t help it sometimes.”

“I know we’ve come close many times, but I really mean it when I say I want it to mean something when we do finally… when I finally give myself to you. I promise, it’ll mean so much more for us when it does happen,” she reassures him.

He believes her. He helps the girl stand up from the blanket they laid on the grass only a few hours before, folding it. The young man takes the folded blanket and holds it in one arm. The sky darkened, the stars the only light in all of that darkness. The moon was only waxing, not yet full. It was coming, but it was not nearly enough for the couple to use as light. As they made their way back to his truck, he put his free arm around her shoulder. She held onto his waist as they walked back in comfortable silence, back through the wooded area that took them to the dirt road from where they came. It was a short walk, but it left her feeling eager to be free of the surrounding trees. Too many scary movies start this way, she thought to herself as he opened the passenger side door for her.

She slid inside as he closed the door and walked around the vehicle, throwing the blanket into the back of the truck. Once inside, he starts up the engine, the glow from the headlights showing the road ahead that led back to town.

He places his hand on her thigh nearest to his seat. “I’m really glad I met you, Tracy.”

“Ditto, kiddo,” she says with a giggle. He kisses her on her nose before he pulls off into the road, and they make their way back to town. All the while, Tracy watches the bashful waxing moon, happy to escape the night and return to the safety of her home.

————

A week later, Tracy found herself at a party in the very woods she and her love had been. The wooded area didn’t feel so intimidating to Tracy any longer, the beer seeing to that. Her inhibitions were drowned by the alcohol her friends kept feeding to her. She only stopped because she knew if she hadn’t, she was sure to be the party pooper, vomiting everywhere if she was not careful. 

“Where’s your lover boy?” her friends teased.

She rolled her eyes, drunkenly cackling. “He said he was coming. He should be here soon, so leave me alone!”

“We will not,” her friend told her, barely able to form a coherent sentence as they all laughed. They all had too much to drink, and the evening had not gone on long enough yet.

“Look, I don’t want to do this tonight, so let’s just be nice to one another, okay?” Tracy slurred and the ladies all laughed. Tracy joined in.

She looked up, and in between the naked branches of autumn trees, she saw the moon full and high. It glowed over the party, even with the enormous bonfire the party goers started. The flames from the fire kept them warm, and Tracy was feeling terribly hot standing near it. Her clothes made her uncomfortable, pulling at her denim jacket to tie around her waist, leaving her wearing her thin T-shirt. She couldn’t feel the cool winds anymore, just the heat from the fire as she made her way to the group of boys her boyfriend was normally seen with.

“Have you guys seen Brad?” Tracy asked his best friend, Will.

“I text him and he said he’s running late, but that he’ll be here soon.”

Tracy thanked him, feeling her stomach become jumbled in knots. She turns to go back to her friends when a dimly lit path shows itself to her, leading away from the party and the people in it.

Tracy absentmindedly follows the glow of the moon marking this path, wondering if it was real. No one else around her notices, lost in their own entertainment and drunken state. As she walks to whatever mystery was out there, the crunch of dead leaves in the path let her know that she was getting far enough away from the party. She keeps moving forward as thin branches scratch at her face, tug at her shirt. She places her hand in front of her face to ward off anymore of them and hopes she wasn’t being silly, walking out there on her own.

‘Horror movies start like this,’ Tracy tells herself then giggles.

The path was finally widening, no more branches to grab at her to leave marks on her skin. A clearing came into view, the moon’s light shown over it casting an eery glow over the forest floor. Tracy looks up and the moon appears larger than it had back at the party. Goosebumps raise all over her body, Tracy felt her heart begin to race.

“Tracy! Tracy!”

She looks behind her, and there was Brad, jogging towards her. She looks up at the moon again, pleading.

Brad slows down once he reaches her, catching his breath. “Hey, what are you doing out here? Everybody is looking for you.”

Tracy tries to smile. “I just needed a moment to myself.”

Brad grins, pulling her to him. Tracy hesitates, but his warmth feels so good. She rests her head against his chest, hearing his heart beating—loud and strong. She closes her eyes and listens to that rhythm. She wraps her arms around his waist as they sway in the empty space of forest. She nuzzles her face against his chest as her blood hastens in her veins. Her hands clutch his sweater, gripping it. She holds him tightly against her. 

Heat flushes across her cheeks. Brad finally lifts her chin, raises her face to him. “I love you,” he whispers against her lips before meeting them. 

His lips meet hers, sweetly at first, then Tracy proceeds to take control. She kisses him furiously with lips and tongue and teeth. Brad’s hands smooth along her body, groping her, holding her against him. The warmth rises to a fever pitch between them as they make their way to the forest floor. Tracy straddles Brad as he lays on the ground, not caring about the dirt and the leaves sticking to him. He is lost in Tracy’s lips and hands. 

She pulls up his sweater, smoothing her hands along the flatness of his toned stomach, up to his chest, and back to his stomach. She pulls at the button of his pants, tugging at it.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Brad chuckles with a surprised tone.

Tracy leans into Brad and lays rough kisses on him, pushing her tongue inside of his mouth. Brad’s hands pull her down onto him and then rolls her over, placing himself on top. 

“I thought you wanted to wait,” he tells her. “I thought you wanted it to be special and not out in the woods like this.”

Tracy looks past Brad’s face and stares at the pregnant moon. “Tonight is special.”

“Are you sure?”

Tracy reaches up and grabs his face to bring him into her lips again, answering his question. Brad forgets about her protests from a week ago and begins to help Tracy remove her jeans and his, rushing to be inside of Tracy, to be inside of her warmth. He spreads her open and gently lets himself inside as Tracy cries out. Brad wastes no time in completely placing himself in her heat. In her intoxicated state, Tracy does not care about the pain of the first time, drunk with lust and lunar desire. She pulls Brad into her further as he moans and throws his head back. The push and pull, the dance of lovers take place as Brad is thrown into ecstasy. He leans into Tracy and plants sweet kisses on her face, but Tracy aches for more in this first time of joining with someone.

Tracy lifts Brad’s sweater, caressing his skin. She clenches her teeth as a trembling rises from her womb. The trembling makes her grip Brad’s skin and scratch him.

“Ow, Tracy! Don’t scratch too hard!” Brad pauses, thrown from the euphoria from only moments before. He felt the scratch burning and knew it would be blood if he only looked.

Tracy grinds against him, bringing him back to what they were doing, distracting him. Brad forgets about the wound as Tracy finally feels the building of an intense sensation coming over her. She grinds against him faster as Brad tries to slow down. “Stop, stop. I can’t… if you don’t… ohmygod…” Brad breathes hard.

Tracy keeps going. The pressure is mounting, her body trembles and her hands hold onto his sweater. When the release crawls over her skin, she screams. She convulses and Brad lets go, losing his control. Tracy pulls Brad hard on top of her, grabbing his back and keeps him against her as she shakes. The spell of his orgasm dissipates, replaced by fear as Tracy lets out a deep moan. 

“Tracy, let go. Let go!” He tries to break away from her, but it’s fruitless.

Tracy pushes Brad off of her and he lands onto his back. She straddles him and Brad is unable to move as she pins him there. She sheathes him inside of her again as she moves against him, but he is too afraid to give her his hardness. A growl comes from above Brad. A sound reserved for only beasts vibrates along Brad’s being, the sound was coming from Tracy. The hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he struggles to get away but she is strong. Too strong. Stronger than she was earlier.

She growls again and Brad yells out for help. Tracy grabs his throat and Brad struggles to speak, gasping for air. The strength in her hands grow as hair tickles his neck where her hand holds him at bay. Under the light of the moon, Brad’s widened eyes watches as the girl he loved becomes a creature he had only heard tales of. Her moans become ravenous growls escaping from a mouth that was now lengthened. He watches as she transforms on top of him, still unable to speak but her grip loosens only enough to keep him from passing out.

She rides Brad until a sound escapes from her that pierces his ears—high and shrill. She throws her head back and howls, the howling sends Brad into a panic. She reaches skyward, bringing her claws down on Brad, raking into his skin. Brad screams but she brings her claws on him again and again until they reach muscle and bone, opening Brad up. Blood and skin are free as Tracy leans her head above the wounds made, lapping at them until she bites down, tearing flesh from bone. Brad’s lifeless eyes stare at the moon as the beast feeds on him, Tracy cracking ribs and gaining his heart.

2020: The Movie/Book We Didn’t Ask For!

It appears that we’ve been thrusted into the arms of a lover who is relentless with their abuse. Us poor, unsuspecting fools have been getting beat the hell up since late-February, early March with terrible news after terrible news. We have begged this lover to stop and go away but nope; again and again, they continue to show their face, restraining order be damned.

2020 is that lover. 2020 is that strange, strange time we’re going to look back on in tears and anxiety when our grandchildren (if we’re so lucky to see that happen) ask us about it, as history books will definitely have 2020 marked! This year is going to go down as one of the worst years ever in modern history. It’s already the pain in our asses that we swore it wouldn’t be. I know I was one of those people who just knew this year was going to be golden! I just knew it was going to be incredible and it did kind of start off that way. But boy, this plot twist sure did smack me right in the gullet!

In all honesty, I would like to think that it could’ve been much worse than this, but with a horrible virus that had the world in a chokehold (and if I’m being honest it still kind of does, but not so much the world at the moment, just the U.S. because we’re not a community-minded country for some reason even though it says so in our country’s name ‘United’…), it’s hard to see the forest for the trees. If I said that right.

Talking about everything that’s transpired and things that are still taking place with friends, we laughed about how this year is so much like a book– that disastrous, pre-apocalyptic dystopian book that you’re just so taken aback by that you say, “That could never happen, thank God!” Until…

Everything that has taken shape feels so out of space and time. Almost as if we’re literally in a movie and we’re just being written; every move we make, every line we say, who we are inside. It all just doesn’t seem like something we’d ever imagine happening in our time. Well, not to this degree, but it’s just not an event we could have thought of. Not like this.

Then again, I could just be overthinking it.

I will admit, this time has been plenty good for being with my family, spending much more time with my child, and reading and writing as much as I can. I still have quite a bit to be thankful for. It’s been a trying time, and we need some comfort, some reassurance that things are going to get better. I think we have to find that within ourselves at this time because 2020 is truly showing her a** and is not showing any signs of stopping.

2020 is more than halfway done. I can say the same of my third book “The Sorceress” that I am swimming through. More like wading, but it’s coming along. I put the pause on it before this year and had planned to have it done by a decent time until the hammer was brought down. But even so, it’s still no excuse for me. Except it is *smile*.

As we approach the end of 2020, I’m sure we all feel like 2021 is going to be so much better, and here’s hoping because we all said and thought the same of 2020. And look how it did us. Beat us bad! However, let’s take our resilience, take what lesson we can from it, and move into these upcoming latter months of this year with bravery and…masks. And sanitizer.

Short Story Time: Red Moon

Hey! Hey you, how are you? Doing good? Feeling fine? I hope so.

I’ve been on a rather lovely kick lately, and with good reason. All of the reading I’ve been doing has been serving me some good, and not just horror stories either. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t still write some horror, or just something suspenseful in the meantime.

I’ve also been very happy to see meetings with my favorite group of writers is coming back slowly, but surely. It’s nice to check in with people on what they’re doing and have been up to, to hold ourselves and one another accountable because hello, we’re writers! We should be writing! Admittedly, a lot has unfolded in the world that’s stranger than fiction (we even joked that the current events of our country/world and how it sounds more like a work of fiction than real life), so it was understood that a break was warranted. Yet, it also got to a point for us that we felt like things will probably never be “back to normal” any time soon, and that shouldn’t stop us from doing what we love. We had to get back to finding out way and getting back to it.

Writing is still what I love the most–aside from my child, of course.

I’m currently working on two short stories (“By Fire and Light” and “Bela’s Bride”) AND my third and final novel in my Makaela Williams series. I felt the number 3 was a good wrapping up point. I never envisioned having a long standing series, but I may change my mind one day on that…but don’t hold me to it *cackle*. I just wanted to give myself a chance to do a series and I think I underestimated the work and patience that goes into creating a series; all of that world building, making sure it’s properly fleshed out, character-driven, etc. I really didn’t think I could do a novel in the first place, and here I decided to do a damn series, who do I think I am? Silly me!

I have been falling more and more in love with mastering short storytelling because I find it challenging. I was always so long-winded but I also needed to let the story build, to ride the rhythm of the story, to let it breathe. Also, it’s just good fun! I don’t have to commit to it too much lol.

Speaking of a short story…I have one for you guys! This story came about as a flash challenge with my writing group The Inkwell (shout out to them for being so encouraging and always having great critiques). Grant it, it’s not going to be long, it’s not going to give you absolutely everything, but it will tickle your imagination and leave you to wonder…your mind will wander…and I think that’s exactly what I wanted *evil laugh*!

So without further ado, I give to you “Red Moon”.

Red Moon

“Are you going to the party tonight?”

Sandra’s brows bunched up. “What party tonight?”

Monica jabbed Sandra playfully. “The little party Brian and his boys are throwing!.”

“I didn’t hear a thing about this party.”

“Well, I’m telling you now. There’s a party. I’m inviting you. You should GO!”

Sandra shook her head. “I can’t. Internship starts Monday, and I’m using this weekend to get my shit together, like, all the way together!”

“Oh, damn,” Monica’s mouthed opened in an ‘O’. Sandra could sense the sarcasm and responded with a stifled laugh.

“Shut up! You know this is a really big deal for me. Interning for Ralph Lauren is no laughing matter, Mo. I have to be on my p’s and q’s.”

Monica grabbed her purse from Sandra’s bed as she stood, fixing her curly bob and smoothing down her shirt dress.

“I know how much it means to you,” Monica understood. “But, this could be a little night out for you before getting serious about your career! We only graduated, what, two months ago from NYU? Then you’re off to do your fashion stuff.”

“Excuse me, it’s not ‘fashion stuff’, heifah, it’s design! Fashion design! And it is a big deal, thank you for noting that.”

Monica jokingly rolled her eyes. “You know what I meant though. Anyway, you should think about it. For real. You-know-who might be there.”

Sandra’s heart stopped. “I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”

“Stop playing, you know exactly who I’m talking about.”

Sandra did know who she was talking about. And if he was indeed going to be there, she definitely wasn’t going. Keith’s tall, dark, and handsome self was an addiction she had kicked, and meant to stay away from. Monica knew that, but here she was playing devil’s advocate. 

“All the more reason to stay my ass in this house tonight then,” Sandra stood up with Monica as she walked out of her room, Monica following as they made their way to the front door. 

“Think about it, okay? I’ll be waiting by the phone.”

Sandra smiled. “Bitch, no you won’t! Get your lying ass out of here!”

Monica laughed as she stepped through the door, Sandra closing and locking it after her. 

Sandra laid on her bed, going over the forms for the internship with the fashion house of RL, trying to understand the verbiage, feeling confused. It also didn’t help that she had the TV on and would hear bits and pieces of the news, distracting her from fully focusing. The news of the party from Monica also swirled around in her brain, making her feel like Monica was right, and she should definitely go to the party. Those thoughts turned into memories of Keith that then turned into anger. Anger that turned into ‘I should go so he can see how good I look’. Sandra hurriedly signed the documents for the internship, putting those thoughts out of her mind with a shake of her head. Her phone buzzed but she swiped the text notification away. She figured it was Monica anyway, and she’d answer it later. Then she looked at her closet. ‘I know I got the perfect get-back dress in there’…

“Yes!!!! You look so good!” Monica screamed into the night as Sandra came out of her apartment building. And Monica was right, Sandra did look good. Too good, perhaps. She opted to wear a black silk thinly strapped slip that she never got a chance to wear. It hugged her snugly at her hips and thighs, holding her tight in all the right places and clinging in others. Against her smooth, brown skin that shimmered from body oil. Her makeup was a deep purple smokey eye that accentuated her almond-shaped brown eyes. Glossy lips completed the look as she pulled her thick brown hair up into a ponytail. She didn’t want too much skin showing, grabbing a cream cardigan to put on, but wearing it in a way that left her shoulders bare. Her black ankle boots with the stilettos made her calves work, but she knew this was the night Keith would cry once he saw her. Monica confirmed it.

“Oooooooweeeee, look at you! Miss thang came out tonight, are you ready? We’re going to have so much fun!” Monica rushed Sandra to the car as they both scampered in their heels.

“I hope so because I didn’t wear these boots for nothing!”

“Trust me!” Monica said as she got in the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut. “You will have an amazing time tonight, I’ll make sure of it.”

Sandra smiled to herself. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘tonight is going to be amazing indeed.’

Traffic heading to the party was moving at a snail’s pace. Monica was cursing up a storm as nighttime swept in quickly. Sandra leaned back against the passenger seat, taking note of the people in their cars next to theirs. New York streets were always packed, so Sandra wasn’t sure why Monica thought it would be any different tonight. Especially on a weekend. 

“Ugh, this is the shit that makes me so glad I don’t live in the city anymore! I hate this traffic.”

Sandra just went on staring out of the window until boredom made her pull her phone out from her small purse, a notification from Twitter on her screen. Then her phone vibrated. A text from her mom popped up. She unlocked her phone, going to her mom’s text. 

Hey baby, just making sure you have everything you need. I’m so proud of you for getting this internship. You worked so hard. I love you.

Sandra smiled as she replied then began scrolling down to another text that she figured was just Monica that came in earlier that day. The number wasn’t saved to her phone, but since she was bored she decided to give it a read. 

There will be a red full moon tonight, but no matter how beautiful it is, do NOT look at it. No matter where you are, do not look at the moon tonight.

Sandra read it numerous times, wondering if it was a joke. She looked around at the other drivers, wondering if they got the same text as her, but they all appeared to be in blissful ignorance. She gave the text one more look. Then a text from her roommate came in, saying how pretty the moon looked tonight. A notification from her Facebook, then her Twitter, and her Instagram all said the same thing. All of them about the red full moon.

Sandra turned to look at Monica. “Hey, are you getting any of these things about the moon tonight?”

Monica pulled out her phone. Same notifications, but no texts. “We wouldn’t be getting these or caring if we were at that damn party already but noooo, we just had to get stuck in NYC.”

Sandra wasn’t sure why exactly, but she was getting goosebumps all over her body. It was still a warm night by NYC standards, so she knew she wasn’t cold as they prickled along her skin. 

She looked up to see people getting out of their cars. They had passed Times Square, but traffic was still held up long enough for people to get out. And they did. They all were looking up. Every one of them.

“What the fuck are they doing? Get back in your cars, dummies, so we can go!” Monica yelled. 

Sandra’s goosebumps grew to her heart sinking into the pit of her stomach as she watched more people getting out of their cars. The guy next to them got out, staring up at the sky, a look of awe on his aging face. 

Sandra tapped Monica who was in a fit of rage. “Mo…stop and just look for a second.”

Monica finally settled down and took note of what was happening. Confusion spread on her face. 

“It’s the moon, Mo. Don’t look at it.”

“What’s wrong with the moon?” Monica said, quickly poking her head out of the window. There was no time for Sandra to stop her.

Monica stared up, and was stuck. She opened the door to her car, Sandra yelling after her, but powerless to stop her now entranced friend. 

Sandra watched as one by one, more people got out of their cars. Men, women, children, women carrying their babies, pedestrians. They all stared and walked in the same direction.

‘Don’t look, Sandra, don’t look!’ She told herself over and over.

Her phone was buzzing incessantly in her hand as she tried to ignore it but couldn’t. She looked over the notifications. 

All of them were about the moon and how everyone should look at it. Then a text from her mother came through. 

The red full moon looks so beautiful tonight!

Sandra shook her head, still trying hard not to look. Then a loud mechanical noise sounded across the city. One by one, the city lights went out, until Sandra was shrouded in darkness.

Short Story Time!: “John About Town”

Good evening, day, night, morning, afternoon! All of the things!

I hope you all have been doing swell! It’s been quite some time since I had posted a nice short story, so I think today is the best day to do that!

The quarantine/shut down of our country has been making so many creatives…well…less creative. I know I have been greatly affected in that way, but once I realized it shouldn’t stop me from doing what I love, I started to focus on how best to be productive and to use this time wisely. SO as my first written post, I decided to share a short story I wrote some time back. I’m cheating at this point (ha ha), but I wanted to at least have a story that I worked on, is edited, and ready to be read.

No more talking! I present to you a short story about a guy who is just a working man and looks to find his fill in a tavern and finds so much more. I give you, “John About Town”.

John About Town

The old man stared at the wall. A fly had came into his room and decided to make its presence known by flying back and forth, back and forth across the old man’s wall. It didn’t bother getting close to him, though, just scanning the wall with its cracks and yellow stains. The old man hadn’t a thought to move to dispatch of it. Just let it be. Just as it was allowing him to lay in his room, paralyzed by boredom and a certain strain of poverty that was rather severe.

His eyes abandoned the fly for a moment, shooting towards the window where the sky betrayed the feeling in his lonesome room. The sun threatened him with its warm rays blasting into his room, leaving traces of itself across the bed he laid on and spilling onto the floor. The blue sky must not have received the notice that people were slaving away in the town below it, dying for scraps. An itch developed in the back of his neck. He decided against relieving it, instead sitting in the feeling—stewing in it.

His thin, parched lips cracked open, a sigh escaping. “If only I had something to drink. Then this day wouldn’t feel so long.”

The old man gave it some thought to leave his room for a moment, if only to beg for a drink at the local tavern, the only one in the town. When the itching subsided, he laboriously sat up on his thin mattress and threw his legs over the side of it. He decided.

He saw a few of the townspeople on his way to the tavern and ignored them all. He had his sights set on getting that drink. It would help him forget he was poor for a moment. The tavern sat on the edge of town before the gate that kept them all inside. The government said it was for their own good, for their “safety, security”, but the more the days passed, the more it was appearing to be just the opposite. Outside of the gate was a far, far better place, the old man told himself. If he would ever get there, he couldn’t say. They were never allowed past the heavily guarded passage. The man shook his head at the entrance of it as he made his way inside of the tavern owned by a one Malley. Just Malley. No other name.

The patrons inside were pick pockets, ladies of certain standards, knock-around guys, and drunkards. The old man was aiming to become somewhat of the last of those things. He sat at the only free space at the bar, next to a noisome lady. She reeked of alcohol and eggs. It made the man gag, but he wasn’t going to let her deter him from getting what he was after. As soon as his eyes caught Malley’s thick body at the other end of the bar, he grinned while Malley’s face fell. The man could see Malley roll his eyes before making his way over to him, wiping a glass clean, or as clean as it was going to get.

“John, you better not be here for what I think you’re here for,” Malley let him know.

“I’m about to confirm your suspicion. That’s exactly why I’m here,” John, the old man, let him know. “Help me out with a pint. It’s been a rather long day and I am parched.”

“If it’s thirst you mean to quench, you ought to be drinking water. And you’ve been having long days for a good 15 years now. Your tab proves it. Speaking of which—“

John wiped away Malley’s next words. “Pish posh, you know I’ve earned every drink I’ve had in your establishment. Besides, you needn’t worry about my debt, seeing as how you’re at least allowed to live outside of these walls.”

Malley leaned into John. “And what of it is yours, John? Hm?”

John laughed. “Oh come on! My tab? Compared to your new high life? Seems as if you’re doing very well without my meager coins. And don’t you forget, I have helped you many, many times.”

Malley stared down John, eyes steely cold and blue while John’s warm brown met his. John never flinched, hand reaching for the glass Malley sat on the bar as they had spoke. 

“One day…you won’t be able to use that as currency for these drinks I’ve been so kind to extend to you,” Malley pulled back and served John up a pitcher.

“Kind sir, I can pay for your debt,” the lady slurred to John as he poured himself a glass.

John almost ignored her and her ragged clothes and flimsy dark hair. And the staleness of her breath wafting from her parted lips.

He took a heaping gulp of the cold brew, smiling after the swallow. He knew he could count on Malley to give him the cheapest ale in the place, but that was fine. He enjoyed the first glass quickly while pouring more into the glass before he could empty it.

“Sir, I said I can pay for your debt,” the lady spoke again, but this time she leaned closer to John and he tried to distance himself as much as he could.

“Look, I am not interested. Malley knows I’m good for it.”

The woman guffawed at John’s seemingly confident knowledge of Malley’s generosity. “Soon that will run out. And then you’ll have no more brew.”

She pulled out a satchel from somewhere under her dingy cloak and John heard the unmistakable chiming of coins. Lots of them.

“Ma’am, I’m not interested in doing any extra work for you if that’s your proposition. I work hard enough in the mines as it is,” John told her, giving her a view of his thick skinned hands against his dark, shining skin.

“No work, I promise,” the slurring in her voice subsided bit by bit, or John was starting to feel the work of the ale on his system.

John grunted, taking a healthy swig of his glass. “What is it then?”

She pulled something else out of her dirty put-together. Gold flashed in her hand before she fashioned it open, an ancient pocket watch missing its hands; empty and void of personality. Just numbers against an aged face. John took it in as the woman dangled it in between them.

The movement of the watch moving back and forth in the air on the chain reminded him much of the fly in his room. Both catching his eye, holding his attention, yet the more he watched this thing swing to and fro, the more he became entranced.

“What…what did you need of me?” John stammered.

The woman snatched it up just as quickly as she showed it. “Lodging. For the evening. Nothing more.”

John was surprised. “Just lodging?”

“Only lodging. A warm bed for the night. That’s all. I mean to be away from here come morning, but a warm blanket and cot would serve me just right tonight. So what do you say? I square what you owe here and you let me lay my head in your home for the night?”

John didn’t take long to think, taking the woman up on her offer. “As soon as I finish this pitcher, I think I’ll be right for the evening.”

“Wonderful. I’ll get it taken care of and then we’ll be off…once you’re done of course.”

John agreed.

Once in his home, John instructed her to ignore the absence of lounge items such as couches. Instead his living area was composed of near-broken chairs and stools. His kitchen was bare as well with only a coffee pot that barely made coffee, a fridge that went out on him spontaneously, and a light that flickered. He tried to keep his quarters clean, however. He didn’t enjoy critters that used to visit so he did his best leaving no crumbs or any sign of food out. The only food he had were canned or dried. The lady didn’t even care to notice.

“The bed, do you mind? I am quite exhausted. I’ve had a rather long day,” she asked, John finally leading the way and presenting her to the bedroom.

The woman plopped down onto this bed. “I cannot thank you enough. I shall have a great rest this evening.”

John only nodded and prayed she used the bathroom, even if the water pressure was low. He didn’t want her stench on his sheets. He closed the door to give her privacy, taking up a spot on the floor in his living area, passing out before he could remove his shoes.

When John woke, the woman was no longer there, but she did leave a key and a note. It read:

Thank you for your kindness. For this, the key to my castle just outside the gate. You are welcome any time you choose.

With love,

Princess Noalah