Kathleen J. Shields's Blog, page 13

The Night the Fog Rolled in – a short story

With Halloween among us and a recent discovery made, I decided to share this short story with my followers.  I wrote this story for a creative writing class in High School in 1992. My mom helped me edit it and I didn’t change a thing. I hope you all enjoy reading it.  If you enjoy it, please write me a comment and share it with your friends. It took a long time to make it out to you.

 

 

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The Night the Fog Rolled In a short story by Kathleen J. Shields circa 1992

The Night The Fog Rolled In

 

 

   As the sun slowly descended over the waters of Sleepy Bay, an eerie fog rose from the ground and began to advance into the little town.

   I was sitting under a large oak tree, leaning against the trunk reading my book, when all of a sudden I heard an earth-shattering scream in the distance.  I quickly rose to my feet, dropped my book on the ground, and ran to help.  When I arrived at the scene a crowd of people had already collected, blocking my view of what it was that called us there.  I nudged my way through the sardine packed crowd.  Upon arriving at the front I, too, saw what had captivated the attention of everyone here: the body of an old woman known as Mrs. Borish.

   What terrified everyone was that Mrs. Borish was sitting in a chair on the porch of her house, missing the most distinctive part of her body – her head.  As the police arrived and took charge by taping off the crime scene, inspecting the area and calling for backup, they began to interrogate the crowd with questions.

   “Did anyone see what happened?  Was there anybody suspicious in the area?”

   Nobody saw a thing.  Within minutes the backup arrived and began to herd the people away from the scene.

   “Nothing to see here.  You should all go home.”

   Suddenly, one of the younger officers spoke up drawing everyone’s attention his way.  “Captain,” he said, “you should take a look at this!”

   The repartee intrigued the townspeople, especially one nosy little girl named Prattle.  Prattle sneaked through the crowd, crossed under the police line undetected, and overheard the conversation between the young officer and the police captain.  Once she mentally collected this information, she scurried across the crime scene to her mother’s side and told her mother what she had heard.  She was loud enough for the entire town to hear; “The killer took old Mrs. Borish’s head and said if we want it back it’ll be at the high school auditorium at eight o’clock!”

   People murmured amongst themselves, repeating what they had heard her say.  Soon outrage and fears were thunderously voiced among the spectators.  One police officer had to grab the bullhorn and shout for calm to gain their attention.  Once silence permeated the group, the police captain spoke.  “First of all, what you heard is true; however, I would highly suggest that everyone go home and stay there.  If there is a criminal chopping off heads, the safest place will be in your homes behind locked doors and out of harm’s way.”

   The humming amongst the townspeople began in earnest, as they digested the news they had heard.  Suddenly, a young woman from down the street came running up to the scene, hollering for the police captain.  The crowd hushed and moved aside to let her pass.

   “Captain, captain!  Your radio – turn it on!  The murderer is on Channel 89 making his demands!”

   In a nearby squad car, the officer sitting behind the steering wheel reached over to turn the police band radio to the appropriate channel and connect it to the speaker on the top of his car for broadcasting.  The voice was heard saying, “… and if you don’t want any more headless people in this town, I suggest everyone meet at the high school auditorium no later than eight o’clock or else everyone will be killed!  If you don’t think I can do it, let me just tell you this – I’ve got this town wired!  Leave your children at home and they will die!  Men – if you leave your wives at home they, too, will die!  I want the attention of the entire town or else!”

   The anonymous voice wickedly laughed until the transmission was abruptly cut off, leaving the static of the empty channel to hiss over the car’s speaker.  Anguished cries and moans rose from the witnesses into fears of great anxiety. 

   Prattle yelled again, “Look, Mommy!”  She pointed to the headless body and her mother gasped at what she saw.  Everyone watched as the headless corpse seemed to glow like a star, and then a ghostly image seemed to float from the body into the twilight sky.  The spirit spoke to the crowd saying, “I will avenge my death!”

   Moments flew like seconds when suddenly someone at the rear of the crowd noticed the time on his wristwatch.  “It’s 7:45!” he hollered for all to hear.

   The police captain, after collecting his thoughts from witnessing this strange phenomenon, loudly spoke up in a gruff voice.  “Okay everybody.  You heard the man.  We’ve got ten minutes to get to the high school auditorium – let’s get moving!”

   The confused crowd milled together and then seemed to move like a herd towards the school grounds.  An eerie silence pervaded the awkward twilight as a thick fog swept into the town.  The fog played at the areas surrounding the moving crowd as if leaving a path for the group to follow.  No one dared to step into the fog; no one thought about going home.  Only the shuffling footsteps could be heard in their nervous walk to the meeting area.  Only the ear-piercing scream that brought everyone forth at the beginning of this strange assemblage, and the threatening voice they heard on the squad car’s speaker propelled this crowd to the school.

   Upon reaching the school auditorium doors, the transfixed crowd began to enter and gasped upon the vision, which awaited them.  A projected sign lit up the red curtains on the stage with large black lettering that simply stated, “Please Sit Down.”  People collected in groups, sitting uneasily in the chairs.  Others checked their watches.  In the distance the town clock struck eight times to signal the hour.  Everyone hushed.

   As the eighth peal sounded, Mrs. Borish’s apparition flew in through the window and through the red curtains onto the stage.  Within seconds, the curtain rose to display Mrs. Borish’s severed head sitting on a table.  The head’s eyes were closed and blood seeped and puddled around the severed appendage.  Without warning, the eyes on the head flew open and the mouth screamed, terrifying the townspeople assembled within the auditorium.  People huddled together, crying, screaming with fear.

   The eyes of Mrs. Borish’s severed head surveyed the room, seeming to stare into the very souls of each person sitting there.  Then the head spoke: “Where is he?”

   Only little Prattle spoke up.  In her childish innocence and brave young voice, she asked the head, “Who?”

   “The man with the axe, little girl.”

   A shadow from backstage appeared behind the severed head in silhouette, seeming to hold an axe above his head. 

   In the back of the auditorium, a man quickly stood up and yelled, “He’s behind you!”

   Everyone gasped as they witnessed the head turning around as if to look behind itself at the man who appeared from the curtains.  With a vicious swipe, the silhouetted person smashed the axe near the severed head on the table.  Many in  the auditorium screamed.  The oxygen was sucked out of the room as everyone gasped.

   The man spoke. “Glad you all could make it.”

   Startled by the recognizable voice, everyone looked at each other in confusion.  The silhouetted shadow removed his mask and to everyone’s surprise revealed himself as the husband of the victim, Mrs. Borish. 

   Mr. Borish announced, “Welcome to our play.  It’s called “The Night The Fog Rolled In,” and you are all going to enjoy it.  Now please welcome…” and Mrs. Borish crawled out from under the table and stood before the audience.  Thankfully, her head was where it should be and all were convinced of the trickery of this morbid scene.  As Mr. Borish finished his announcements, he declared boldly; “May the show begin!”

   Soon the actors (the four police officers, the woman with the news report and even little Prattle), were quickly rushing back stage while the curtains were lowered, preparing the stage for the new scene.  As costumes were donned backstage, little Prattle stood before a relieved audience and announced, “We’ve got to change into our costumes now.  The popcorn and drinks will be served shortly.  Oh yeah, hi mom!”  She waved at the crowd as she skipped backstage.

   I sat in my seat in the back row, astounded and relieved as was everyone else in the room.  Amidst chuckles and conversations from the audience, we were all impressed at the outrageous ruse used to successfully coerce us to come see their play.  Relieved people settled into their seats, paying the vendors for popcorn and refreshments.  The bustle and laughter of a crowd ready to be entertained filled the room until the red curtain began to rise.  Everyone hushed, watching the play unfold before them on stage. 

   On the stage was a backdrop of an old vine-covered cottage in the woods.  Little Prattle entered the scene from stage right, wearing a maiden’s dress….

The End

By: Kathleen Shields – 1992

Edited by NAS

 

 

 

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Read “Her Guarded Desire” Free!

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Her Guarded Desire by Kathleen J. Shields

Kristen must make a decision…
Her Bodyguard or Her Boyfriend

Having thought the danger was over and she could finally move on with her life, Kristen was again swept off her feet by her bodyguard Cody; which left Devin, her boyfriend, as the third wheel.

Being uprooted from their lives, Devin tries to make the best of a dangerous situation while growing increasingly jealous of the second guy. Cody, the bodyguard tries desperately to keep it professional all while fighting his own inner conflicts and desires to have her back.

The flames of passion ignite as Kristen contemplates whom she wants, yet when the danger arrives, her men need to work together or they all will perish.

Read the first half of the novel FREE on smashwords today!
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view... visit www.KathleensBooks.com to preorder your own paperback or purchase the full version from Smashwords or Amazon.

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Your imagination may resolve a fight but you may forget to tell the other party.

That is what my horoscope said the other day. It didn’t necessarily correspond to the situations of that day, but it is SO me!

When I was younger, whenever someone upset me, whenever my mom told me to do something I didn’t want to do, whenever things weren’t going right; instead of saying something aloud to them to express what I was feeling (which only would have gotten me in trouble (or more trouble) or started a fight I wasn’t prepared to have) I talked to them in my head.

Alright – no judgments about me – yet!

Sometimes I went into my room and quietly had that conversation I was too afraid to have in person. I’d repeat what they said and then come up with a rebuttal. Then they’d respond and I’d respond back.  Maybe I’m psycho – or maybe I was being smart.  Let’s think about it.

I didn’t get in trouble for talking back.  I didn’t get into fights I wasn’t prepared to have – and better than all of that – whether it took me a few minutes or a few hours to come up with that sassy come back I wanted to say but couldn’t think of fast enough… In my head; I used that comeback immediately and felt good about it. Or, sometimes, that comeback caused the other (me) to retaliate, getting angry.  That made me realize how lucky I was I hadn’t figured it out what to say and reacted to what I was feeling.

Maybe that makes me a scaredy cat.

And maybe…

That’s the reason I write such great conversations.  Conversations that flow so seamlessly it was as if you were listening to them right at that moment. And what is great about those conversations is: When you read them – you don’t know if it took me hours or even days for that comeback – it’s a seamless conversation to you!

So when my horoscope said “Your imagination may resolve a fight, but you may forget to tell the other party.” It so totally was talking about me to a T. Because I can’t even begin to count how many fights I resolved and had; in the safety of my mind; that saved me tons of turmoil from friends, family and bullies throughout my life.

Maybe more of us should talk to ourselves.

It kind of goes along with that old phrase: “Think before you speak.”

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Doing business without advertising is like winking at someone in the dark….

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Doing business without advertising is like winking at a girl in the dark.
You know what you are doing, but nobody else does.
Steuart H. Britt

[image error]I find that hilariously true… and yet, can not do anything about it.  When you don’t have the economic means to advertise your product(s) to their fullest, how DO you get their presence known? I have great books but besides emails, or going to small trade shows     and talking to people directly, or going to libraries and doing meet and greets or readings, how do I get those books known by the millions that live more than 50-100 miles away from me?  How do I get my books in front of those who live in the next state over, or the farthest state away or another country all together?[image error]

Same with my website and graphic design business. I do the social media thing (or have done it more in the past – to no avail) I’ve scoured the internet looking for websites that need help or new companies that need to get started, but that is overly time consuming and rarely works.

I have found word of mouth advertising is the best form of advertising but again, that doesn’t spread to all of the corners of the globe and even that takes a significant amount f time. I may have the happiest clients in the world, but if they don’t know anyone else who needs a website designed, who would they tell?

[image error]So while I am winking at the entire world
during the middle of the night…
I do hope…
and pray…
that the sunrise is coming soon –
so maybe more people can see
that sweet wink of mine!

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StoryCub Video is Complete! Watch it Now!

We’ve been Blessed again!

StoryCub is an Early Childhood Development Project that produces and distributes mobile-friendly, streaming video versions of children’s picture books.  Built for today’s digital families; preschool and kindergarten educators also rely on StoryCub for the discovery of great books.

StoryCub thought Hamilton Troll meets Pink Light Sprite was Awesome!
So they produced a video version of our book so kids can view it
on Smartphones, Tablets and other digital devices.

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More about StoryCub:  Loved by children, trusted by parents, and applauded by educators, StoryCub produces and distributes video versions of children’s picture books.  The program has been recognized by the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (scbwi) for it’s innovative approach of connecting authors and publishers with educators and families who live in today’s mobile, on-demand environment.  With a global reach, StoryCub is currently being viewed in over 200 countries.

Watch the video now: www.HamiltonTroll.com/storycub.htmlTHANK YOU STORYCUB FOR BELIEVING IN HAMILTON TROLL!

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The case of the missing sock

Last night my husband asked if I was missing a sock – as he had found one on the floor.  That brought a very interesting question to my mind:  Is everybody missing a sock?

[image error] Even when you find a sock, you are missing a sock.

Follow me here:  A found sock does not mean it has been found, it means you are missing one more.  If you haven’t found a sock but have a spare, you are missing a sock, and if you do not have any unmatched pairs, there is every likelihood you are missing TWO socks![image error]

Think about that.  Unless every pair of socks you own is different how would you know if you were missing a pair unless you count them? Unless you are some OCD person like my husband (used to be) with a detailed specific place for each article of clothing, you’ve most likely lost a sock at one point in time or another.

Then there’s that age-old question;
“Where did that missing sock go?”

There are all sorts of theories.  From the mundane, ‘lost in transit’ to the outlandish, ‘black hole in the dryer’ but the fact of the matter is, EVERYONE LOSES A SOCK!

I’ve found other people’s socks on the side of the road, in thrift shops, even in doggy toys (many of those socks were my own) but not everyone has a dog (poor people), but I digress.

[image error]Were the found socks rejects from the alien spaceship beaming them up at night to run probing tests on them and discovering they had two of the same so they had to reject one?  And will the other ever be found?  What if we started a sock lost and found, would there always be unmatched pairs or would there ever, one day, be a second that will show up?[image error]

Of course kids these days have figured out how to get around that problem… they wear unmatched socks as fashion, but us older ‘kids’ in more professional circles can’t get away with that solution.  An older guy wearing one navy blue sock and one brown sock may be able to get away with it because of how closely they come to color… and then he is given a little leeway because of eye sight, but not all of us get that excuse to fall back on.

So how many of us have a sock drawer full of spares awaiting the day that the match shows up?  How many of us check those spares whenever another single arrive? And how many of us knew something was missing before a spare is found and how would we know it was found if we didn’t know it was missing in the first place?

Oh that dreaded single sock, why do you haunt us?

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People think I’m disciplined. It’s not discipline. It’s devotion.

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People think I’m disciplined. It’s not discipline.
It’s devotion. There is a great difference.
Luciano Pavarotti

I’m not disciplined. I don’t write an hour every day like “they” say you are supposed to. I work. I have a day job and I have a lot to do with just marketing what I have muchless find the time to write something new.

I am disciplined in staying focused on my work until it’s done.

I was taught at an early age work before play.  That makes it very difficult when I consider writing my play time.  However, I also consider it work. Not they oh-man-I-don’t-want-to-get-out-of-bed –and-deal-with-the-day kind of work – I love what I do. I am lucky.

The difference is I am devoted. Devoted toward my clients because they pay my bills. Devoted towards doing a good job because word of mouth advertising is all I can afford (oh, future blog topic) …Where was I?…

I am devoted towards becoming an author.

Not necessarily well-known, but published, established… I want my stories to be available for reading; and yes, of course, I want them read. Do I need millions to read them? It would be nice, but no, not necessary. If I get a thousand happy readers, that’s a thousand more than I had when I first started. If I get a hundred rave reviews, that’s a hundred more than before. And if I make it big, whatever that means, then I’m going to be happy. Will I not be happy until then? No. I’m already ecstatic that I am doing so well, that my stories are getting out there.  That people like them.

[image error]I feel my stories are fun, strengthening, nurturing, exciting, adventurous, educational and inspirational. Just like my blog posts with which I hope you all like.

I am devoted to always putting topics out here that inspire, teach and maybe even answer questions or even help questions get asked.

I may not be Pavarotti (Lord knows my voice couldn’t hold a candle to his) but I am trying. And that is what matters.

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Planting a Garden – A Memorial

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The other day I was told by an acquaintance of mine that her husband had died.  It came as quite a shock since I didn’t even know there were any health problems to be praying for.  Anyways she told me this story and I wanted to share it with you as it may encourage someone out there to plant a garden – you’ll see why…[image error]

These friends own their own business, and if anyone knows how your life revolves around a booming business you can understand the following without a seconds thought.  My friends had been married 51 years, 4 months and 2 days.  I found it quite astounding, not only the length but the mathematical detail behind that number that she gave me.  She must have had time to do the math, but when she said it, it meant so much to know “she had been counting.”

When they were younger, she kept a garden.  It was always a joy to work on and then watch bloom, the flowers, the fruit, the enjoyment, it gave so much and yet it took work.  A lot of work.  Work that aging business owners with little time could put forth.

But one day, he asked her, “Why don’t you do something with the garden?”  She scoffed. She was busy. She was tired. She was aggravated by that comment expecting her to work more… she told him “If you want a garden, do it yourself.”  In hindsight those words hurt.

Then came the doctors visits, then his passing.  It was all rather quick, especially since they had 51 years together and hardly anytime to prepare.  The family came in, they held services and when they returned back to the house, the house that seemed so empty, she found herself looking out the window at her once proud garden.

She was staring at it when her daughter asked what she wanted to do.  Expecting her mother to say, eat something or take a nap, she was caught off-guard when she instead announced, “I want to go to the garden center!”

The entire family went to the garden center, they bought flower bulbs, seeds, tools, whatever they needed and they came back, and as a family, they began cultivating a garden, in memory of their father, in memory of her husband.  They placed rocks with his name and had a ‘family moment’ together.  It is something that will bloom next season and bring life back to her home.

Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. John 12:24

I used that passage in my latest book “Dandy Lion, A Legend of Love & Loss” and it was written to help those understand that it is only when you sow the seeds of love and understanding, that your life grows with the riches of others.

When I thought about planting a garden, I thought of the work, the heat, the labor, the watering, the weed picking.  I didn’t think about the fruits of my labor. I didn’t think about the enjoyment it gives others.  I thought about the time it takes, the wait that must endure.

And now… I think about the seed that will flourish.Life is short.
Nurture it like a garden,
because when it is gone… you have to start over.

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Stick to it – like a postage stamp

If you’ve written a story, publish it. Once it’s published, market it. Once you start marketing, never stop!  Stick to it like crazy glue. Attach your dream to that item and hold fast. Bond with it. Make it part of your heart, your soul… you are joined together like Siamese twins.  Talk about it. Dream about it. Write about it. Sing about it.

Yes, I am taking this analogy a little far but think about it:

“Consider the postage stamp: its usefulness consists of the ability to stick to one thing till it gets there.”
Josh Billings

If the stamp falls off, the letter won’t get there. It may be returned to sender. It may be trashed. It may be lost forever. Of course stamps don’t fall off nearly as much since the creation of self adhesive versus that licking them thing – but the words still ring true.

Stick to it!  Whatever your dream is.

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Ability is nothing without opportunity

Ability is of little account without opportunity.
Napoleon Bonaparte

[image error]Do you know why American Idol, So you think you can Dance and America’s Got Talent are so popular?  The same reason Star Search and Soul Train was so popular in the 80’s. Because people with talent need a place to showcase said talent.  They need the opportunity to get their selves out there in hopes of being found. It’s the same reason aspiring actors and actresses moved to Los Angeles and dancers and singers became waiters in New York, to be where the opportunity is in hopes of following their dreams.

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[image error]Do you know how many people became famous staying where they were and not showing off their skills? Yeah… none. If you’re singing in the shower, the Opera is not going to call. If you’re dancing in your bedroom, the ballet is never going to know and if you are like me, writing stories and saving them to your computer never sending them out or getting them read, then the opportunity of getting published will never happen.

[image error]You may have the great ability to write the next big novel, become the next big thing, but if you don’t do anything about it, why bother?

Today’s technology is ample with opportunity, dripping with possibilities, flooding you with prospective chances (I must be thirsty…) so read about it. Learn about it. Explore it. Figure it out and Do it! Publish your book. Tell your friends, read it at libraries, do a few shows and work to get it out there.

And if your talent is singing, dancing, art, whatever, there are still tons of opportunities out there. Look at all of those TV shows; they are looking for the next great talent – it could be you!

If you have the ability – make your OWN opportunity!
You owe yourself!

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