Nicholas Denmon's Blog, page 14
June 14, 2011
For Nothing Available In Paperback!
QUICK UPDATE (and then please continue the blog party in the post below):For Nothing is now available in paperback! You can pick up the novel at this link: For Nothing Paperback
So if you were one of those souls waiting for the paperback because you have not bought in to the E-Reader craziness... the wait is over!
See what readers are saying about For Nothing and see why the first ten reviews all came in at 5 Stars!
June 12, 2011
PARTY 'TIL YOUR HEELS (Errr...I mean...Boots) FLY OFF: MEGA AUTHOR BLOG HOP TOUR (JUNE 13-20)
TOUR RULES:
1) HAVE FUN!!!
2) INVITE ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS!!! SPREAD THE WORD!!!
3) THIS TOUR STARTS: Monday, June 13, at Midnight (Arizona Time)
THIS TOUR ENDS: Monday, June 20, at Midnight (Arizona Time)
Winners will be drawn and posted June 21st! ***
4) MEET AND MINGLE WITH ALL THE AUTHORS! EXPERIENCE A NEW PARTY DESTINATION AT EVERY STOP! PARTICIPATE IN EVERY BLOG CONTEST AND BE ENTERED FOR CHANCES TO WIN MULTIPLE PRIZES! EVERY BLOG VISITED IS ANOTHER OPPORTUNITY TO WIN!!
5) PARTICIPATION AT ALL BLOGS IS RECOMMENDED, BUT NOT REQUIRED. REMEMBER, THE MORE BLOGS YOU HOP, THE BETTER YOUR CHANCES OF WINNING PRIZES. EVERY AUTHOR IS WAITING TO MEET AND INTERACT WITH YOU, SO PLEASE BE SURE TO SHOW EVERY AUTHOR SOME LOVE!
6) DID I MENTION TO HAVE FUN? WHOO! HOO!! HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOOOO!
***Authors have full discretion to choose an alternate winner in the event any winner fails to claim their prize(s) within 72 hours of their name being posted or after notification of win, whichever comes first. Anyone who participates in this blog hop tour is subject to these rules***
You think you're a wiseguy?So welcome to my very first blog tour / blog party. Setting up for this tour has been a really fun experience. Each of the wonderful bloggers on this tour are putting together some great themes for their blogs. Mine, as you can probably tell, is a mafia initiation. So grab a candle, grab a gun, a glass of your favorite Italian red and let's get this party started!
What is a party without door prizes you ask?
Well I will be giving away 5 ebooks of my debut novel entitled For Nothing. AND as a GRAND-PRIZE one free SIGNED print copy! Take a look at it here:
Synopsis:
Undercover cop Alex Vaughn goes deeper than ever into the organized crime family of Buffalo, NY. Motivated by justice and revenge, he seeks out the assassin that laid his friend Jack low.
Professional killer Rafael Rontego traverses the deadly politics of Buffalo's mafia underbelly. In a city whose winter can be just as deadly as those wielding power, Rontego tries to stay ahead of the game.
Their two worlds collide in this epic thriller that takes the reader on a search for self, justice, and truth.
How do you win?
It's easy! All you have to do is "Follow" this blog and leave a comment saying, "I swear by oath and blood!" Then you are initiated. Follow that up with a "Like" on my fan page and re-post the same quote and you will be entered into the raffle. Once you do those two small things, you are in! I will randomly select five people to receive a free ebook from those that enter the raffle! If you post the oath on my Facebook, follow me on Twitter (with a mention about me and For Nothing), Follow and post the oath on my blog, and post the oath on my Goodreads, you will be entered for the GRAND PRIZE signed COPY.
So what are you waiting for?
1) Follow the blog
2) Swear the oath on my comment section below!
3) Like my facebook fan page: The link is HERE
4) Post your oath there too!
5) Follow my Goodreads and post the oath HERE
6) Follow and mention my twitter: @NICHOLASDENMON
Then you will officially be members of the For Nothing Fan Club as well as entered in my raffle to win a free ebook!
The Initiation Sonne knelt before the old gangster. His heart raced as the man eyed him from behind his weather beaten visage. His face was old, but his eyes had the look of power. The look of a power older than even him. Sonne clenched his fist to squeeze the tremble from his fingers.
The man spoke, and his voice boomed over the half dozen men assembled. They wore black hoods but Sonne recognized several of them by the eyes gazing out from beneath the coverings. He looked on one set as old man Aldo continued. "We must ask again, Sonne, do you wish to enter into this thing of ours?"
Sonne swallowed hard but as he locked onto the eyes of his father, he knew there was only one answer.
"I do."
Aldo lifted his hands and Sonne couldn't help but be reminded of the old priests in his neighborhood church. "Repeat after me, Sonne Pieri." The old man continued in Italian, "Io, Sonne, voglio entrare in questa organizzazione per proteggere la mia famiglia e per proteggere I miei amici"
Sonne repeated the words, going over the translation in his head, "I, Sonne, want to enter into this organization to protect my family and to protect all my friends."
Aldo nodded his head in approval, but still Sonne looked for the tell-tale twinkle from his father's eyes before he sighed in relief. It was almost done.
Aldo came forward and asked, "Which finger do you use to pull the trigger?"
Sonne held up the finger on his right hand.
Aldo took a small knife and pressed the steel into the flesh of his finger drawing a small bubble of dark liquid. Sonne didn't flinch and saw the twinkle again in his father's eyes, as he came forward and knelt next to him.
His father was his compare for the final part of the initiation.
Sonne felt his heart slow as his father settled in next to him. Sonne cupped his hands before him as Aldo held up a card with the Ciancetta patron saint, their saint from the old country, from back in Sicily. Aldo muttered something Sonne couldn't hear, and crumpled the card in Sonne's hand. He then took a match, struck it, and began to light the corners of the card creating a small ball of fire in his hands.
Sonne heard his words come out of his mouth of their own volition. Commanded by the winds of fate. ""As burns this saint, so will burn my soul. I enter alive and I will have to get out dead."
His father spoke next to him, "Come in alive, go out dead." With that, Aldo and Sonne's father pressed Sonne's hands together, extinguishing the flame. Aldo grabbed Sonne's hands and lifted him to his feet. The old man kissed him once on each cheek, smiled and said, "Welcome. Welcome to this thing of ours."
MAKE SURE TO GO TO THE NEXT BLOG PARTY BEING HOSTED BY Sandra Nachlinger - BBQ PICNIC!!!! - http://iousex.blogspot.com/ I hear she has a GREAT PARTY planned!!!
June 8, 2011
My Proof copy of America's #1 Crime Thriller came in...
My book before it is placed in its rightful spot...
As the print release for For Nothing gets ever closer, I was excited when I came home from work and saw a curious package on my doorstep. I scooped it up, ran inside and opened the very first copy of my novel in print. Hooray! So I have it, I like it, what's next and why is it taking so long to get the book in print?
Straight answer? I found a way to make the novel cheaper. Almost half the price and it still maintains the quality I demand. So unfortunately, it took a little longer than expected, but if I can save everyone ten bucks on the purchase, I thought it necessary.
Speaking of my novel....
I was interviewed this week by Patti Roberts. The link is here.
Also, I received another excellent review on For Nothing and it was the tenth consecutive 5 star review. That review can be found here.
And finally, on book news, I added my novel to an ebook platform called XinXii.com and on this site, my novel is the most viewed for the second day in a row. If you want to take a look and keep that streak going to three days, please click on this link.
The more clicks, the more exposure, so don't be shy!
One final note...more blog/book related than just book related. I will be hosting a blog party. The blog party is really a contest of sorts and it is called (get this) PARTY 'TIL YOUR HEELS FLY OFF: MEGA AUTHOR BLOG HOP TOUR - Now, I have been assured that even though mostly lady authors are doing this...(it consists of a contest where I give away free ebooks, decorate my blog consistent with a theme, and influencing a good old time as far as reading and winning goodies) I am allowed to put a boot or something other than heels in the title...
My blog party theme is a Mafia induction ceremony. So be ready for that. I will also be giving away free ebooks, and perhaps a signed regular copy of my book to the people who win the blog contest. The rules will be announced later this week but it will be something easy like entering into my raffle by posting a key phrase on my fan page, blog, etc. The more places you post, the more raffle entries you get, you dig?
And that is it for today my friends!
June 6, 2011
Ever Tried To Kill Your Brother?
Happy Birthday to Chris who is now old as of June 2nd. Happy Birthday to Rob who will be older as of June 12.
I write this article knowing I have limited funds for birthday gifts, and two brothers who have birthdays within ten days of each other. This article should help me hash out who deserves the better gift, and frankly, more of my love.
My brothers and I have a very complicated history. By complicated I mean we love each other, but neither has this love prevented us from trying to murder each other on many occasions. Generally, it has been a good thing that our failings as individuals carries over to our ability to plot and execute murder.
Why is this a good thing?
First, it is a good thing because none of us are currently in jail.
Second, I hate moving furniture and it would be exponentially harder with just me, or down one of my three brothers. It would make for an odd number and inevitably one of us would just be sitting around.
Third, over the years I have found my brothers to be very humorous people and I wouldn't trade those laughs for less than a million bucks in cold hard U.S. cash. Or Canadian currency otherwise known as maple syrup.
But before all of these great reasons to not murder one another, in the ignorance of our youth, we decided at various occasions that one of us must go.
Here are some quick examples:
1) As far as I know this was our first attempt. Chris and I are the eldest. Chris is older than me but I don't think he honed his fratricide skills yet as I grew into a stellar toddler. By the time he had, it was too late to try and "off" me and he made me an accomplice. You see, quite unexpectedly, to us - probably not to her, my mother shot a third child from her womb.
There were three bedrooms in our house. Our parents shared one. I had one. Chris had one. Some quick math told us that this new addition had to be subtracted.
Enter phase one of our plotting.
My mother owned a collapsible stroller. I remember it vividly. Even though I was about three years old, I remember it. Adrenaline coursing through your veins as you plot the demise of a sibling has a way of solidifying your memory even at a very young age.
We took the stroller with its yellow and white flower pattern (it was the 80's folks) and we placed our brother Rob on the stroller. He was one. Maybe a hair older.
Chris, at five, was like our household McGyver. He knew we had stairs, a baby, and a stroller.
So when our mom was asleep or otherwise distracted, we loaded up that bundle of joy known as Rob into that flimsy stroller, lined him up on the stairs and gave a nonchalant shove.
Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!
We heard a yell. My mom came running around the corner.
Everything happened so fast.
MacGyver, the Swiss Army Knife of 1990's T.V
Chris, murderous Wunderkind
Chris ran left. My mom ran down the stairs while simultaneously grabbing my arm. As I blew down the stairs attached to my streaking mother like a flag on a pole in a harsh wind, I couldn't take my eyes off of the bottom of the stairs.
I was...dumbfounded.
The stroller had gone down an entire flight of stairs, into the basement, and landed upright on all four wheels.
Wile E. Coyote couldn't have a more disastrous ending.
And life went on.
And the murder plots and destruction continued.
2) This could have resulted in at least the loss of an eye so I am including it. My mom came in the room just in time to see Chris cutting the eyelashes from my eye because my grandmother made a comment about how long and wonderful they were. I went the next six weeks growing them back on one eye.
Yep. One eye with lash. The other eye without.
3) A few years later I took a Lego to the head from a slingshot pointed by Chris as I opened my bedroom door. The bastard had lain in wait. It was a heck of a shot and took me directly between the eyes. I remember the sound more than the shot and the throb just above the bridge of my nose. As the light came back into focus, Chris stood there in the corner of the bedroom. He looked shocked that he shot so straight and so true. Even more shocked that the perfect aim hadn't resulted in my death.
4) Several weeks later, I served up a dish of ice cold revenge as I took a dive off the top bunk onto Chris' head doing my best Sargent Slaughter foot stomp circa W.W.F. in the 1990's.
Come to think of it, most of these murderous endeavors were undertaken by Chris and myself.
Hmmm. Maybe Rob was just better at it and never got caught.
As I sit here thinking which brother deserves a better birthday gift from me, I have to tell you I am leaning more towards Rob now. I don't know if I owe it to him for years of attempted fratricide or if I owe it to him for not hatching evil plots on his older brother.
My only memories of his big fights were with Alex, the child born after him.
Perhaps true fratricide rolls downhill.
Either way, Chris looks less likely to get the good present this year.
I write this article knowing I have limited funds for birthday gifts, and two brothers who have birthdays within ten days of each other. This article should help me hash out who deserves the better gift, and frankly, more of my love.
My brothers and I have a very complicated history. By complicated I mean we love each other, but neither has this love prevented us from trying to murder each other on many occasions. Generally, it has been a good thing that our failings as individuals carries over to our ability to plot and execute murder.
Why is this a good thing?
First, it is a good thing because none of us are currently in jail.
Second, I hate moving furniture and it would be exponentially harder with just me, or down one of my three brothers. It would make for an odd number and inevitably one of us would just be sitting around.
Third, over the years I have found my brothers to be very humorous people and I wouldn't trade those laughs for less than a million bucks in cold hard U.S. cash. Or Canadian currency otherwise known as maple syrup.
But before all of these great reasons to not murder one another, in the ignorance of our youth, we decided at various occasions that one of us must go.
Here are some quick examples:
1) As far as I know this was our first attempt. Chris and I are the eldest. Chris is older than me but I don't think he honed his fratricide skills yet as I grew into a stellar toddler. By the time he had, it was too late to try and "off" me and he made me an accomplice. You see, quite unexpectedly, to us - probably not to her, my mother shot a third child from her womb.
There were three bedrooms in our house. Our parents shared one. I had one. Chris had one. Some quick math told us that this new addition had to be subtracted.
Enter phase one of our plotting.
My mother owned a collapsible stroller. I remember it vividly. Even though I was about three years old, I remember it. Adrenaline coursing through your veins as you plot the demise of a sibling has a way of solidifying your memory even at a very young age.
We took the stroller with its yellow and white flower pattern (it was the 80's folks) and we placed our brother Rob on the stroller. He was one. Maybe a hair older.
Chris, at five, was like our household McGyver. He knew we had stairs, a baby, and a stroller.
So when our mom was asleep or otherwise distracted, we loaded up that bundle of joy known as Rob into that flimsy stroller, lined him up on the stairs and gave a nonchalant shove.
Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!
We heard a yell. My mom came running around the corner.
Everything happened so fast.
MacGyver, the Swiss Army Knife of 1990's T.V
Chris, murderous Wunderkind
Chris ran left. My mom ran down the stairs while simultaneously grabbing my arm. As I blew down the stairs attached to my streaking mother like a flag on a pole in a harsh wind, I couldn't take my eyes off of the bottom of the stairs.I was...dumbfounded.
The stroller had gone down an entire flight of stairs, into the basement, and landed upright on all four wheels.
Wile E. Coyote couldn't have a more disastrous ending.
And life went on.
And the murder plots and destruction continued.
2) This could have resulted in at least the loss of an eye so I am including it. My mom came in the room just in time to see Chris cutting the eyelashes from my eye because my grandmother made a comment about how long and wonderful they were. I went the next six weeks growing them back on one eye.
Yep. One eye with lash. The other eye without.
3) A few years later I took a Lego to the head from a slingshot pointed by Chris as I opened my bedroom door. The bastard had lain in wait. It was a heck of a shot and took me directly between the eyes. I remember the sound more than the shot and the throb just above the bridge of my nose. As the light came back into focus, Chris stood there in the corner of the bedroom. He looked shocked that he shot so straight and so true. Even more shocked that the perfect aim hadn't resulted in my death.
4) Several weeks later, I served up a dish of ice cold revenge as I took a dive off the top bunk onto Chris' head doing my best Sargent Slaughter foot stomp circa W.W.F. in the 1990's.
Come to think of it, most of these murderous endeavors were undertaken by Chris and myself.
Hmmm. Maybe Rob was just better at it and never got caught.
As I sit here thinking which brother deserves a better birthday gift from me, I have to tell you I am leaning more towards Rob now. I don't know if I owe it to him for years of attempted fratricide or if I owe it to him for not hatching evil plots on his older brother.
My only memories of his big fights were with Alex, the child born after him.
Perhaps true fratricide rolls downhill.
Either way, Chris looks less likely to get the good present this year.
June 1, 2011
Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (Not mine, my buddy's so it's funny)
In life there are instances of unannounced and unanticipated moments of hilarity. I have a buddy at work, and for the moment let us call him Jordon, who recently had a two and half week attempt at a relationship that derived from a blind date.
On this blind date he was introduced to a girl that we will call Jessica. At first, everything was great. Jordon found out that they both wanted to name their future dog Bo-jangles. They even had the same name for a future kid that isn't something normal like "John". It 's Kai. As in Cobra Kai (think Karate Kid). Not to be confused with the Cobra commander.
Any one of these could be Jordon's future kid
Most likely NOT Jordon's future kid
Jordon told me at lunch that he thought it was "destiny" when he found out she had the matching couch and chair for his love-seat.
But passion such as this has a way of flaming out. The hotter flame, the quicker the burn...or something like that.
Jordon started to notice how crazy Jessica was. In fact he became crazily obsessed about it. He noticed how she over dressed for everything. "She would wear make-up and high heels just to get the mail, so I told her I don't need you to dress up for everything".
So the next day she wore sweatpants and a garbage bag if my memory serves me right.
"She started to listen to my music and watch my shows," a very bitter Jordon informed over lunch.
At first, I tried to let Jordon know it was a good thing that she took an interest in his likes. "Trust me, you'll have things to talk about after the passion dies down."
But Jordon had enough, and he took Jessica to lunch to call it quits.
Where she told him in no uncertain terms, "no". He was not allowed to break up with her. He told her, yes it was in fact happening, and that is when the crazy train came to town.
In the span of a month (almost twice as long as they actually 'dated'...they saw each other under 10 times) she did the following which I deem funny enough to immortalize in my blog:
1) After they 'broke up' Jordon received an email from her every hour on the hour. He didn't respond because he was getting a bit creeped out at this point.
Bad mistake....
2) He is invisible on Facebook. I tried to find him and can't. Then again, I am not an ex-investigative journalist like Jessica. She found him on Facebook and sent him a message there...and on Twitter...and on LinkedIn...and via text...and left multiple messages on his phone. The last message was, "Fine. I am deleting your number". And several days of peace went by....
3) Jordon got a call from his Dad. His Dad lives in another part of the country. Jessica used her, apparently considerable, skills and tracked down Jordon's Dad and called him. You see, she deleted his number and could not remember it. Jordon is not listed so Jessica called his Dad and said she was a friend from New York. Being thus disarmed, Jordon's Dad gave Jessica his number and the texts, phone messages, and email resumed.
But it is better to catch a fly with honey...
If they were a couple this would be sweet. But at this point it even creeps me out...
4) She knew that Jordon had a certain fondness for cupcakes that are made in Nashville. She bought them and had them delivered to Jordon at work...
5) Jessica took his boss out to dinner...to ask about him. It was so blatant and obvious that the boss told us all the next day and is now refusing to dine with Jessica anymore.
And last but not least...
6) She called and left a message of herself singing a song on Jordon's answering machine. Jordon made the off the cuff remark during one of there three dinners that he never heard her sing (she professed to be excellent, and was now proved to be a liar).
For the most part these, individually, aren't that bad. But taken as a whole and given the short nature of their relationship, it is downright nuts. Jordon and I went to lunch today and as we were walking out Jordon picked up his pace abnormally. It was almost a sprint. When I asked him what was wrong he replied, "Just keep walking, that was Jessica".
He saw her in line. She lives forty miles away. What are the chances of that?
Perhaps it was destiny after all.
On this blind date he was introduced to a girl that we will call Jessica. At first, everything was great. Jordon found out that they both wanted to name their future dog Bo-jangles. They even had the same name for a future kid that isn't something normal like "John". It 's Kai. As in Cobra Kai (think Karate Kid). Not to be confused with the Cobra commander.
Any one of these could be Jordon's future kid
Most likely NOT Jordon's future kidJordon told me at lunch that he thought it was "destiny" when he found out she had the matching couch and chair for his love-seat.
But passion such as this has a way of flaming out. The hotter flame, the quicker the burn...or something like that.
Jordon started to notice how crazy Jessica was. In fact he became crazily obsessed about it. He noticed how she over dressed for everything. "She would wear make-up and high heels just to get the mail, so I told her I don't need you to dress up for everything".
So the next day she wore sweatpants and a garbage bag if my memory serves me right.
"She started to listen to my music and watch my shows," a very bitter Jordon informed over lunch.
At first, I tried to let Jordon know it was a good thing that she took an interest in his likes. "Trust me, you'll have things to talk about after the passion dies down."
But Jordon had enough, and he took Jessica to lunch to call it quits.
Where she told him in no uncertain terms, "no". He was not allowed to break up with her. He told her, yes it was in fact happening, and that is when the crazy train came to town.
In the span of a month (almost twice as long as they actually 'dated'...they saw each other under 10 times) she did the following which I deem funny enough to immortalize in my blog:
1) After they 'broke up' Jordon received an email from her every hour on the hour. He didn't respond because he was getting a bit creeped out at this point.
Bad mistake....
2) He is invisible on Facebook. I tried to find him and can't. Then again, I am not an ex-investigative journalist like Jessica. She found him on Facebook and sent him a message there...and on Twitter...and on LinkedIn...and via text...and left multiple messages on his phone. The last message was, "Fine. I am deleting your number". And several days of peace went by....
3) Jordon got a call from his Dad. His Dad lives in another part of the country. Jessica used her, apparently considerable, skills and tracked down Jordon's Dad and called him. You see, she deleted his number and could not remember it. Jordon is not listed so Jessica called his Dad and said she was a friend from New York. Being thus disarmed, Jordon's Dad gave Jessica his number and the texts, phone messages, and email resumed.
But it is better to catch a fly with honey...
If they were a couple this would be sweet. But at this point it even creeps me out...
4) She knew that Jordon had a certain fondness for cupcakes that are made in Nashville. She bought them and had them delivered to Jordon at work...
5) Jessica took his boss out to dinner...to ask about him. It was so blatant and obvious that the boss told us all the next day and is now refusing to dine with Jessica anymore.
And last but not least...
6) She called and left a message of herself singing a song on Jordon's answering machine. Jordon made the off the cuff remark during one of there three dinners that he never heard her sing (she professed to be excellent, and was now proved to be a liar).
For the most part these, individually, aren't that bad. But taken as a whole and given the short nature of their relationship, it is downright nuts. Jordon and I went to lunch today and as we were walking out Jordon picked up his pace abnormally. It was almost a sprint. When I asked him what was wrong he replied, "Just keep walking, that was Jessica".
He saw her in line. She lives forty miles away. What are the chances of that?
Perhaps it was destiny after all.
May 28, 2011
Busy weekend!
Besides promoting and finalizing the print version of For Nothing (now available in all your E formats for only $.99) I have familial duties and Memorial Day weekend ahead. Should be a fun and distracting three days.
Once the print version of For Nothing comes out I will be tremendously relieved. It has been quite the hassle. It seems the Print on Demand industry is slightly overpriced but that is what you get for not printing in bulk.
Also, author Allie Burke is releasing the second novel in her series. Emerald Destiny releases Monday. Keep an eye out for that.
Okay, gotta run. The mall awaits and I need new shoes.
Once the print version of For Nothing comes out I will be tremendously relieved. It has been quite the hassle. It seems the Print on Demand industry is slightly overpriced but that is what you get for not printing in bulk.
Also, author Allie Burke is releasing the second novel in her series. Emerald Destiny releases Monday. Keep an eye out for that.
Okay, gotta run. The mall awaits and I need new shoes.
May 26, 2011
Do you believe in Ghosts - The Things That Follow Part VII
The Things That Follow: Part VII
After we opened a gate inadvertently, or pissed off some ornery spirits in a forgotten cemetery, they followed us home.
Say what you want, but kids and animals see things we adults can not or will not. Ever see a baby staring past you? Or a cat staring at the wall for long minutes, and then looking back at you like you're an idiot? Or a dog barking at what you dismiss as the wind?
Deep down you know your cat isn't nuts. You know your child isn't vacant. You know it's not the wind. But the truth, what ever it might be, is less preferable to the bliss of our ignorance. So we make excuses, we forget, we move on, we live.
But not the children.
My cousin Lacy wasn't with us when we discovered the cemetery. She didn't know of our suspicion of 'The Things That Follow', in fact those suspicions were just coming into being when she decided to spend the night.
Still under four feet tall and a bright-eyed eight year old, spending the night at her aunt Dini's house was a big event. No mom, just her cousins, bad movies, too much candy and staying up far too late; it was a right of passage.
We went to bed that night, my brother Rob in my room with me and Lacy in his room, alone. The lights went out, and the steady hum of the ceiling fan rhythmically lulled me to sleep.
I awoke. I'm not sure why, but the fan is off and Rob is breathing deep in the embrace of sleep. I hear a slight noise from down the hall. I lay there for a moment, knowing what I know about the house. The noises, the lights, the things. I lay there for a long moment. The moment gets longer. I can't tell if I merely cannot move or if I will not.
I hear her quiet sobs.
I want to get out of bed but I can't move. My eyes won't open all the way. My heart rapidly beats in my chest. I try to will myself up. I can hear my heart in my ears now. My limbs are lead. Nothing is responding.
Still the sobs continue.
I think I hear the floor board creak.
The fan is off.
Rob is breathing.
I can't move.
The sobbing continues.
The floor boards creak again. Faster now. I can hear them coming down the hall towards my bedroom. Rob won't wake up and when I try to call to him, my voice comes out in an inaudible moan. Too quiet to hear, to nonsensical to matter.
Something is coming.
The door swings open. I can't see past the dark abyss beyond. The door knocks gently against the wall. I can't see anything but I hear it. Scraping along the wall.
The fan turns on.
I can't breath past the heartbeat filling my lungs.
The light comes on.
Standing in the door way is my brother Chris.
I still can't move.
He shakes me awake and it's like snapping a spell.
I shake my limbs. I look at Rob who is finally rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Lacy's going home." Chris said it and his face said he didn't approve.
I look at the clock, it's 1am.
"It's one in the morning."
"I know, Aunt Debbie is picking her up. She says the house scares her." Chris looks at me and we share a moment. All that comes out though is, "Wuss."
Lacy went home that night. Her big moment was ruined by who knows what. I'll never forget her apologetic look as her mother picked her up in the middle of the night. She said from under her mother's arm, "I'm sorry. I just, something, there was something."
But she was the lucky one. I walked up the rickety stairs with Rob in tow. He didn't go back to his room that night. I lay down, wondering if I would ever be able to sleep, and if I did, would I be able to wake up once I did.
After we opened a gate inadvertently, or pissed off some ornery spirits in a forgotten cemetery, they followed us home.
Say what you want, but kids and animals see things we adults can not or will not. Ever see a baby staring past you? Or a cat staring at the wall for long minutes, and then looking back at you like you're an idiot? Or a dog barking at what you dismiss as the wind?
Deep down you know your cat isn't nuts. You know your child isn't vacant. You know it's not the wind. But the truth, what ever it might be, is less preferable to the bliss of our ignorance. So we make excuses, we forget, we move on, we live.
But not the children.
My cousin Lacy wasn't with us when we discovered the cemetery. She didn't know of our suspicion of 'The Things That Follow', in fact those suspicions were just coming into being when she decided to spend the night.
Still under four feet tall and a bright-eyed eight year old, spending the night at her aunt Dini's house was a big event. No mom, just her cousins, bad movies, too much candy and staying up far too late; it was a right of passage.
We went to bed that night, my brother Rob in my room with me and Lacy in his room, alone. The lights went out, and the steady hum of the ceiling fan rhythmically lulled me to sleep.
I awoke. I'm not sure why, but the fan is off and Rob is breathing deep in the embrace of sleep. I hear a slight noise from down the hall. I lay there for a moment, knowing what I know about the house. The noises, the lights, the things. I lay there for a long moment. The moment gets longer. I can't tell if I merely cannot move or if I will not.
I hear her quiet sobs.
I want to get out of bed but I can't move. My eyes won't open all the way. My heart rapidly beats in my chest. I try to will myself up. I can hear my heart in my ears now. My limbs are lead. Nothing is responding.
Still the sobs continue.
I think I hear the floor board creak.
The fan is off.
Rob is breathing.
I can't move.
The sobbing continues.
The floor boards creak again. Faster now. I can hear them coming down the hall towards my bedroom. Rob won't wake up and when I try to call to him, my voice comes out in an inaudible moan. Too quiet to hear, to nonsensical to matter.
Something is coming.
The door swings open. I can't see past the dark abyss beyond. The door knocks gently against the wall. I can't see anything but I hear it. Scraping along the wall.
The fan turns on.
I can't breath past the heartbeat filling my lungs.
The light comes on.
Standing in the door way is my brother Chris.
I still can't move.
He shakes me awake and it's like snapping a spell.
I shake my limbs. I look at Rob who is finally rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Lacy's going home." Chris said it and his face said he didn't approve.
I look at the clock, it's 1am.
"It's one in the morning."
"I know, Aunt Debbie is picking her up. She says the house scares her." Chris looks at me and we share a moment. All that comes out though is, "Wuss."
Lacy went home that night. Her big moment was ruined by who knows what. I'll never forget her apologetic look as her mother picked her up in the middle of the night. She said from under her mother's arm, "I'm sorry. I just, something, there was something."
But she was the lucky one. I walked up the rickety stairs with Rob in tow. He didn't go back to his room that night. I lay down, wondering if I would ever be able to sleep, and if I did, would I be able to wake up once I did.
May 23, 2011
Do You Believe in Ghosts- The Things That Follow: Part VI
Before we get into the story several fast updates.
I would like to thank all of my new blog followers. I think something like 25 joined this week and I really appreciate it. Also, For Nothing is available in all your e-reader formats. A website for my book will be coming up soon. But for now you can go to these links to buy it for your Nook, Kindle, or whatever.
Amazon / Kindle
Barnes and Noble/ Nook
Smashwords -if you don't have an e-reader, or if you do and want to buy from the site that gives me the most royalties...
Also, my fan page is up and going, you can click "Like" on the right side of this page in the Facebook window.
Okay, enough with that crap.
On to ghost stories:
The Things That Follow: Part VI
My brothers and I brought something home with us after an ill-advised trip to a hidden cemetery in the middle of nowhere on a cliff that over looked a rumbling creek. The tombstones were worn and broken, and apparently, something did not like our excursions there.
My mom had the house blessed after it was apparent things were awry on the home front. A carpet layered with a thousand yellow jackets and the sounds of a man pacing in your child's bedroom will do that to you if you know you had just vacuumed said carpet and you were staring at the room and could not see anyone making the walking noises.
She thought she vanquished the spirit, but maybe she just sent him to the loft above the garage, because that was where my brothers and I found a trunk full of satanic poetry. When we decided to burn the notebooks containing the poetry, it was as if the priest never came.
At first, it was just odd occurrences. Things that you really could just chalk up to something else. We began to find dead animals around the house. Not around the house, at the doorways. A dead field mouse was at the back door. A dead bird by the front door.
"She's a good hunter, Junior is." My mom said it with the authority that only a mom can muster up.
"But she only has three legs," I said.
"That makes it even more amazing. We'll put a bell on her so that way she can't sneak up on anymore birds and mice."
My mother has infinite amounts of wisdom. Despite the cat's meows of protest, the bell went on her collar.
But the killings continued.
Now it was two mice, a chipmunk, a raccoon by the garbage, and another bird in the front lawn. There is no way my three-legged bell saddled cat was killing raccoons.
I know what you're thinking.
So what it could be anything.
By itself, I would agree with you. But along with everything that happened before and after, I find it curious.
Then there is this strange gem, and I have no clue if I mark it down as one part The Things That Follow or one part Something the Fuck Else. In either case it's worth noting.
One evening five us, seven if you count the two dogs, were watching television. My three brothers, Dennis, and my mom. Two dogs. Equals seven.
I think we watching Up All Night with Rhonda on USA. This was a really bad channel that showed such classics as "Attack of the Meat Eating Slugs".
She was on television doing her normal shtick, "Thanks for watching UP all night with RHONDA, here on USA" or something of that nature.
That's when it happened.
I thought it was just a light out of the corner of my eye. You know how sometimes you think you see a light flash, you turn your head and its nothing? Well this time it wasn't nothing. At the same moment all five humans turned their head to the left.
Dennis, who worked in a Chevy factory and is a man's man exclaims, "What the hell is that?"
The dogs both stand up and look in the hallway.
"That's just the orb dear." My mom says this as if nothing strange was going on. "They visit sometimes. I am surprised you haven't seen them before."
We all see this one. This one right now. Translucent, two feet in circumference, hovering. It floats down the hallway and goes out the back door. I look over and Dennis is holding a tennis racquet. Five mouths are hanging on the floor. Two tails are curiously low and it takes the dogs several moments to even work up the courage to issue a low growl.
Thanks, man's best friend.
It is with this in mind that I eventually go to my bedroom. My bedroom is down the hall, nearly twenty paces from my little brother's bedroom where the ghost was pacing and sat down on his bed. My bedroom has two windows, one is at the head of the bed and another is to my left when I lay down. I work myself up as I lay there and my ears tell me lies about the man shuffling his feet in the bedroom down the hall.
I doze.
I awake.
Oddly, I feel very light. I get up off of the bed, but I am light. So light. Weightless. I turn and look at the bed.
I must have pushed up to hard when I got up.
I am now floating above the bed.
But wait, I can't be awake. I see myself sleeping in the bed. It is definitely me, but it looks, different, somehow. Less alive. It doesn't bother me. I don't know fear.
I look away from my sleeping body and glance out the window to my hovering right, my sleeping left. I see these wisps. White, gentle, rolling wisps, streak across the sky and curve around the house. I follow them with my eyes, or whatever my vision is made of, and can see them streak past the window at my sleeping head.
Hundreds of them swiftly and silently slide past.
I will myself forward, towards the window. It opens.
I float next to the window, over my sleeping head, and look out.
They look so beautiful. I want to join them. And why not, I can fly too. I can hover for sure, and I bet it's not much different.
I prepare to leap. I prepare to join these traveling waifs of white vapor.
Just as I am about to will myself forward, into the dark starless night, one of the wisps streaks past the window, but much closer than the others.
It slows.
I can make out, at the very front, human-like features. A face. But just as I start to place the face, it morphs and like smoke, it is something different, then human-like once again. The wisp looks at me.
Now is not your time. Go back to sleep. It doesn't move a mouth, but its message enters my brain. Telepathic? I suppose.
But I want to fly with you, I protest.
One day, but not today.
I feel the weight of the truth in the statement. Cowed, I slink back to myself and lay down on top of my body. I float downward, downward, downward.
My eyes open. The sun is in my room and it's hot.
What a dream!
I can't wait to tell my brothers and my mom. I smell bacon drifting up the stairs as I run down them three at a time.
"I had the craziest dream," I yell.
My mom comes over and gives me a piece of bacon and I crunch it in my teeth feeling the grease wet my tongue a moment before I taste it. As I chew it, my mom brushes my hair away from my eyes.
"My baby. Good morning. I had a crazy dream too."
I grab another piece of bacon. I love it. I can't help it. Mouth full, my mom continues.
Her eyes meet mine and all I can see are the deep pools of green set there and my chewing reflection bouncing off the knowing orbs.
"I had a dream that you were about to jump from your window, and I told you, to go back to sleep. Now's not your time baby. Now's not your time."
[The Things That Follow Part VII: Thursday]
I would like to thank all of my new blog followers. I think something like 25 joined this week and I really appreciate it. Also, For Nothing is available in all your e-reader formats. A website for my book will be coming up soon. But for now you can go to these links to buy it for your Nook, Kindle, or whatever.
Amazon / Kindle
Barnes and Noble/ Nook
Smashwords -if you don't have an e-reader, or if you do and want to buy from the site that gives me the most royalties...
Also, my fan page is up and going, you can click "Like" on the right side of this page in the Facebook window.
Okay, enough with that crap.
On to ghost stories:
The Things That Follow: Part VI
My brothers and I brought something home with us after an ill-advised trip to a hidden cemetery in the middle of nowhere on a cliff that over looked a rumbling creek. The tombstones were worn and broken, and apparently, something did not like our excursions there.
My mom had the house blessed after it was apparent things were awry on the home front. A carpet layered with a thousand yellow jackets and the sounds of a man pacing in your child's bedroom will do that to you if you know you had just vacuumed said carpet and you were staring at the room and could not see anyone making the walking noises.
She thought she vanquished the spirit, but maybe she just sent him to the loft above the garage, because that was where my brothers and I found a trunk full of satanic poetry. When we decided to burn the notebooks containing the poetry, it was as if the priest never came.
At first, it was just odd occurrences. Things that you really could just chalk up to something else. We began to find dead animals around the house. Not around the house, at the doorways. A dead field mouse was at the back door. A dead bird by the front door.
"She's a good hunter, Junior is." My mom said it with the authority that only a mom can muster up.
"But she only has three legs," I said.
"That makes it even more amazing. We'll put a bell on her so that way she can't sneak up on anymore birds and mice."
My mother has infinite amounts of wisdom. Despite the cat's meows of protest, the bell went on her collar.
But the killings continued.
Now it was two mice, a chipmunk, a raccoon by the garbage, and another bird in the front lawn. There is no way my three-legged bell saddled cat was killing raccoons.
I know what you're thinking.
So what it could be anything.
By itself, I would agree with you. But along with everything that happened before and after, I find it curious.
Then there is this strange gem, and I have no clue if I mark it down as one part The Things That Follow or one part Something the Fuck Else. In either case it's worth noting.
One evening five us, seven if you count the two dogs, were watching television. My three brothers, Dennis, and my mom. Two dogs. Equals seven.
I think we watching Up All Night with Rhonda on USA. This was a really bad channel that showed such classics as "Attack of the Meat Eating Slugs".
She was on television doing her normal shtick, "Thanks for watching UP all night with RHONDA, here on USA" or something of that nature.
That's when it happened.
I thought it was just a light out of the corner of my eye. You know how sometimes you think you see a light flash, you turn your head and its nothing? Well this time it wasn't nothing. At the same moment all five humans turned their head to the left.
Dennis, who worked in a Chevy factory and is a man's man exclaims, "What the hell is that?"
The dogs both stand up and look in the hallway.
"That's just the orb dear." My mom says this as if nothing strange was going on. "They visit sometimes. I am surprised you haven't seen them before."
We all see this one. This one right now. Translucent, two feet in circumference, hovering. It floats down the hallway and goes out the back door. I look over and Dennis is holding a tennis racquet. Five mouths are hanging on the floor. Two tails are curiously low and it takes the dogs several moments to even work up the courage to issue a low growl.
Thanks, man's best friend.
It is with this in mind that I eventually go to my bedroom. My bedroom is down the hall, nearly twenty paces from my little brother's bedroom where the ghost was pacing and sat down on his bed. My bedroom has two windows, one is at the head of the bed and another is to my left when I lay down. I work myself up as I lay there and my ears tell me lies about the man shuffling his feet in the bedroom down the hall.
I doze.
I awake.
Oddly, I feel very light. I get up off of the bed, but I am light. So light. Weightless. I turn and look at the bed.
I must have pushed up to hard when I got up.
I am now floating above the bed.
But wait, I can't be awake. I see myself sleeping in the bed. It is definitely me, but it looks, different, somehow. Less alive. It doesn't bother me. I don't know fear.
I look away from my sleeping body and glance out the window to my hovering right, my sleeping left. I see these wisps. White, gentle, rolling wisps, streak across the sky and curve around the house. I follow them with my eyes, or whatever my vision is made of, and can see them streak past the window at my sleeping head.
Hundreds of them swiftly and silently slide past.
I will myself forward, towards the window. It opens.
I float next to the window, over my sleeping head, and look out.
They look so beautiful. I want to join them. And why not, I can fly too. I can hover for sure, and I bet it's not much different.
I prepare to leap. I prepare to join these traveling waifs of white vapor.
Just as I am about to will myself forward, into the dark starless night, one of the wisps streaks past the window, but much closer than the others.
It slows.
I can make out, at the very front, human-like features. A face. But just as I start to place the face, it morphs and like smoke, it is something different, then human-like once again. The wisp looks at me.
Now is not your time. Go back to sleep. It doesn't move a mouth, but its message enters my brain. Telepathic? I suppose.
But I want to fly with you, I protest.
One day, but not today.
I feel the weight of the truth in the statement. Cowed, I slink back to myself and lay down on top of my body. I float downward, downward, downward.
My eyes open. The sun is in my room and it's hot.
What a dream!
I can't wait to tell my brothers and my mom. I smell bacon drifting up the stairs as I run down them three at a time.
"I had the craziest dream," I yell.
My mom comes over and gives me a piece of bacon and I crunch it in my teeth feeling the grease wet my tongue a moment before I taste it. As I chew it, my mom brushes my hair away from my eyes.
"My baby. Good morning. I had a crazy dream too."
I grab another piece of bacon. I love it. I can't help it. Mouth full, my mom continues.
Her eyes meet mine and all I can see are the deep pools of green set there and my chewing reflection bouncing off the knowing orbs.
"I had a dream that you were about to jump from your window, and I told you, to go back to sleep. Now's not your time baby. Now's not your time."
[The Things That Follow Part VII: Thursday]
May 20, 2011
America's #1 Crime Novel?...by Nicholas Denmon ?
It has been a whirl wind of a week. Midnight editing, blogging, twittering, facebooking, formatting, and (when time allowed) writing has kept me from much of a social life. Social life not internet related.
My novel, For Nothing hit the e-market this weekend. The Kindle, the Nook, and all other e-readers should be carrying For Nothing. The e-reader version is priced very cheap at just $0.99 and I figure that is fair for people taking a chance on an unknown product. I have sold close to thirty copies so whoever is buying my novel, thank you.
I hope it's not my Dad buying one every day. My mom doesn't know how to use a computer so I am safe there until the print version comes out.
As the readership increases, I will experiment with raising the price to $2.99. So the point is, jump on the bandwagon now and save a couple bucks. After all it is the best crime novel in the world. The best mafia crime novel in the world ever written...by Nicholas Denmon.
As a side note, I have "America's #1 crime novel" in my twitter heading, fan page, etc; and one gentleman (who also writes crime novels) took issue with it. Here is his quote:
CENCORED May 20 at 12:59pm ReportI think touting your book as "America's #1 crime novel" is way over the top. Saying it doesn't make it so.
Saying it doesn't make it so, unless it is a matter of opinion. I gave my Dad a mug for Father's Day once (or was it my brother? Never mind that now) that said, "#1 Dad". That was #1 in the whole world too, not just America. I didn't get a letter from some Dad across the way disputing my claim. Sure there might be a better Dad out there, unlikely but possible. But it doesn't really matter does it? I think he is, and I am well within my right to call him, #1. So it goes with my novel. I believe it is America's #1 crime novel ever written...by Nicholas Denmon.
I explained to the gentleman that I didn't claim that it was America's #1 bestseller. I also explained that it was clearly a way to market it and have some fun. He backed off and now we are Facebook friends. So it's official.
Suck it.
Moving on....
The print edition is available this weekend. When I have the link I will post it here, on Facebook, and Twitter, and ...well you get the point. Starting Saturday or Sunday, I will be getting back to work on my trilogy and outlining the sequel to For Nothing, America's #1 Crime Novel...by Nicholas Denmon.
My novel, For Nothing hit the e-market this weekend. The Kindle, the Nook, and all other e-readers should be carrying For Nothing. The e-reader version is priced very cheap at just $0.99 and I figure that is fair for people taking a chance on an unknown product. I have sold close to thirty copies so whoever is buying my novel, thank you.
I hope it's not my Dad buying one every day. My mom doesn't know how to use a computer so I am safe there until the print version comes out.
As the readership increases, I will experiment with raising the price to $2.99. So the point is, jump on the bandwagon now and save a couple bucks. After all it is the best crime novel in the world. The best mafia crime novel in the world ever written...by Nicholas Denmon.
As a side note, I have "America's #1 crime novel" in my twitter heading, fan page, etc; and one gentleman (who also writes crime novels) took issue with it. Here is his quote:
CENCORED May 20 at 12:59pm ReportI think touting your book as "America's #1 crime novel" is way over the top. Saying it doesn't make it so.
Saying it doesn't make it so, unless it is a matter of opinion. I gave my Dad a mug for Father's Day once (or was it my brother? Never mind that now) that said, "#1 Dad". That was #1 in the whole world too, not just America. I didn't get a letter from some Dad across the way disputing my claim. Sure there might be a better Dad out there, unlikely but possible. But it doesn't really matter does it? I think he is, and I am well within my right to call him, #1. So it goes with my novel. I believe it is America's #1 crime novel ever written...by Nicholas Denmon.
I explained to the gentleman that I didn't claim that it was America's #1 bestseller. I also explained that it was clearly a way to market it and have some fun. He backed off and now we are Facebook friends. So it's official.
Suck it.
Moving on....
The print edition is available this weekend. When I have the link I will post it here, on Facebook, and Twitter, and ...well you get the point. Starting Saturday or Sunday, I will be getting back to work on my trilogy and outlining the sequel to For Nothing, America's #1 Crime Novel...by Nicholas Denmon.
May 18, 2011
Do You Believe in Ghosts- The Things That Follow: Part V
My mother had enough of ghosts about the same time she heard someone walking around my little brother's bedroom. The spirit kept her up all night with its pacing and when she went to clean the room, he rewarded her with thousands of bees on the carpet floor. Though Dennis, her husband, has tried to explain the Yellow Jackets away by any other means available, my mother was convinced that something weird was going on.
I know now that all of these happenings began after my brothers and me went to a cemetery on the edge of a cliff, in the middle of the woods. She merely understood that whatever happened was not something she wanted in her house out in the middle of Corn-ville, USA.
She did what any good Catholic would do (she is a much better Catholic than I am). She called a priest.
When you call a priest you know what you are going to get. You are going to get someone over the age of sixty. You are going to get a house full of incense, some palm crucifixes, and a "blessing" in the house. If all goes well, you kick out the spirits too.
This guy didn't fit the bill at all. Father John was a man in his mid thirties. He had some holy water, and he was armed with a head full of doubt. Ghosts don't exist, I suppose. Angels, demons, saints, all good. Ghosts though, "Eh." But Father John was dutiful, and he sprinkled some water, went room to room, and said a blessing. My mom made him do my little brother's room twice.
Then Father John gathered up his robes and left.
And IT was pissed.
We didn't know it was pissed. So we went to my mom's house like we did every summer.
Outside of my mother's hundreds-of-years-old house is a detached garage. It is dilapidated and made of wood and cinder block. The bottom part is all cinder block, but the top part is a loft that looks almost like the top half of a barn. In fact a small barn door at the top is accessible by ladder, and this part is made of all wood. Wood that became a pile of rot after decades of harsh winters. We were forbidden to go up and into it.
Naturally, my older brother Chris, fearless leader that he is (along with my instigator cousin Joey) convinces us that on this particular day, this is the adventure of a lifetime.
Snake-oil salesman.
So the four of us make our way into this hot, rotted, loft above the garage. Cobwebs stick to our sweaty faces. Our breathing comes out in rasps as the sense of adventure creeps into our bones. I am the third one up and in. We always seem to do things like this in the order of our births. Chris climbs in, Joey, then me. As I poke my head through the door and Rob climbs up the ladder at my feet, I see that part of the floor has rot away, and I can see into the garage. Chris grabs my hand and pulls me up and says, "Watch out for the hole."
Thanks.
The place hasn't been touched in years. Dust lines the wooden floor, old leaves have blown through a broken window at the base of the roof. But next to the window is an old desk. Next to that desk is a box piled with papers and what from this distance looks like magazines. Someone has lived in this loft.
Forgetting about the bugs and cobweb and dust, we continue forward in single file. Joey and Chris lead us along a beam, just in case any more floor boards are rotting through. "I don't need to get in trouble because you guys hurt yourselves," he whispers.
I don't know why people whisper in these types of moments. We weren't sneaking up on anyone.
Joey pretends to push me through the hole in the floor as we turn to go. I slam my foot on the ground to brace and he gives a tiny laugh. "I wouldn't push you."
I punch him in the arm and we continue onward until we reach the desk. Somehow, at this moment, we turn into experienced pilferers. The desk drawers slide out, several hands go into the box where we find hand written journals and the first porno magazine I have ever seen. I pick it up, curious. "Give me that," Chris says. "You're too young."
"I've seen those before," I lie.
"No you haven't," Rob whispers.
Traitor.
But very fast, we lose interest in the magazine. Joey starts to read from the hand written journals out loud.
The words come out and sear into my brain, "My horned father, give me strength to vanquish those who oppose me. Bless me with your eternal heat so that the coolness of death can not touch me."
We stumble on the journals, the rantings and ravings of a Satanic worshiper. At that age I don't know much about religion other than what Catholic school taught me. But I know, that this is creepy.
"Let's go," I say. I look at the faces of those gathered around me. Wrinkling brows and darting eyes greet me.
For once, Chris doesn't oppose my idea. "Yeah we better go. Let's bring this to the fire pit and burn it."
We all agree and Joey and Chris slide the box towards the entrance while Rob and I climb down.
In a mad dash we assemble gasoline, lighters, and the notes from the loft. We pile them in the fire pit, with at least one glance at the magazine, and douse it all in gas. The flames jump high and the scent of burning gas meets my nose with a certain satisfaction.
Just as the flames leap into the sky, we hear a crash and yell from inside the house. We all look at each other, our faces streaked with dirt, soot, and sweat. But cutting through it all is the unmistakable look of fear. We run inside.
There on the floor is Dennis' grandfather clock. Shattered to bits. My mom is starring at it. Her lip trembles.
"What happened," Rob asks.
"Something threw it down." My mother throws the words out flat and succinct.
"Could it just fall?" Chris asks. We all know better.
That clock stood in that room for more than five years. Nothing short of an earthquake should have knocked it down.
As the fire burns outside, the four of us help my mom clean up the mess. We exchange nervous glances the whole time.
I went to bed that night. I was scared because that was the first time I encountered something I believed to be pure evil. Sure the swinging light was freaky. But this, this was evil. I felt it in my bones.
Time would bear witness to the nature of the events as well.
That night, I would have the most curious of dreams. That summer, was when the dead animals began to appear.
[The Things That Follow Part VI: Monday]
I know now that all of these happenings began after my brothers and me went to a cemetery on the edge of a cliff, in the middle of the woods. She merely understood that whatever happened was not something she wanted in her house out in the middle of Corn-ville, USA.
She did what any good Catholic would do (she is a much better Catholic than I am). She called a priest.
When you call a priest you know what you are going to get. You are going to get someone over the age of sixty. You are going to get a house full of incense, some palm crucifixes, and a "blessing" in the house. If all goes well, you kick out the spirits too.
This guy didn't fit the bill at all. Father John was a man in his mid thirties. He had some holy water, and he was armed with a head full of doubt. Ghosts don't exist, I suppose. Angels, demons, saints, all good. Ghosts though, "Eh." But Father John was dutiful, and he sprinkled some water, went room to room, and said a blessing. My mom made him do my little brother's room twice.
Then Father John gathered up his robes and left.
And IT was pissed.
We didn't know it was pissed. So we went to my mom's house like we did every summer.
Outside of my mother's hundreds-of-years-old house is a detached garage. It is dilapidated and made of wood and cinder block. The bottom part is all cinder block, but the top part is a loft that looks almost like the top half of a barn. In fact a small barn door at the top is accessible by ladder, and this part is made of all wood. Wood that became a pile of rot after decades of harsh winters. We were forbidden to go up and into it.
Naturally, my older brother Chris, fearless leader that he is (along with my instigator cousin Joey) convinces us that on this particular day, this is the adventure of a lifetime.
Snake-oil salesman.
So the four of us make our way into this hot, rotted, loft above the garage. Cobwebs stick to our sweaty faces. Our breathing comes out in rasps as the sense of adventure creeps into our bones. I am the third one up and in. We always seem to do things like this in the order of our births. Chris climbs in, Joey, then me. As I poke my head through the door and Rob climbs up the ladder at my feet, I see that part of the floor has rot away, and I can see into the garage. Chris grabs my hand and pulls me up and says, "Watch out for the hole."
Thanks.
The place hasn't been touched in years. Dust lines the wooden floor, old leaves have blown through a broken window at the base of the roof. But next to the window is an old desk. Next to that desk is a box piled with papers and what from this distance looks like magazines. Someone has lived in this loft.
Forgetting about the bugs and cobweb and dust, we continue forward in single file. Joey and Chris lead us along a beam, just in case any more floor boards are rotting through. "I don't need to get in trouble because you guys hurt yourselves," he whispers.
I don't know why people whisper in these types of moments. We weren't sneaking up on anyone.
Joey pretends to push me through the hole in the floor as we turn to go. I slam my foot on the ground to brace and he gives a tiny laugh. "I wouldn't push you."
I punch him in the arm and we continue onward until we reach the desk. Somehow, at this moment, we turn into experienced pilferers. The desk drawers slide out, several hands go into the box where we find hand written journals and the first porno magazine I have ever seen. I pick it up, curious. "Give me that," Chris says. "You're too young."
"I've seen those before," I lie.
"No you haven't," Rob whispers.
Traitor.
But very fast, we lose interest in the magazine. Joey starts to read from the hand written journals out loud.
The words come out and sear into my brain, "My horned father, give me strength to vanquish those who oppose me. Bless me with your eternal heat so that the coolness of death can not touch me."
We stumble on the journals, the rantings and ravings of a Satanic worshiper. At that age I don't know much about religion other than what Catholic school taught me. But I know, that this is creepy.
"Let's go," I say. I look at the faces of those gathered around me. Wrinkling brows and darting eyes greet me.
For once, Chris doesn't oppose my idea. "Yeah we better go. Let's bring this to the fire pit and burn it."
We all agree and Joey and Chris slide the box towards the entrance while Rob and I climb down.
In a mad dash we assemble gasoline, lighters, and the notes from the loft. We pile them in the fire pit, with at least one glance at the magazine, and douse it all in gas. The flames jump high and the scent of burning gas meets my nose with a certain satisfaction.
Just as the flames leap into the sky, we hear a crash and yell from inside the house. We all look at each other, our faces streaked with dirt, soot, and sweat. But cutting through it all is the unmistakable look of fear. We run inside.
There on the floor is Dennis' grandfather clock. Shattered to bits. My mom is starring at it. Her lip trembles.
"What happened," Rob asks.
"Something threw it down." My mother throws the words out flat and succinct.
"Could it just fall?" Chris asks. We all know better.
That clock stood in that room for more than five years. Nothing short of an earthquake should have knocked it down.
As the fire burns outside, the four of us help my mom clean up the mess. We exchange nervous glances the whole time.
I went to bed that night. I was scared because that was the first time I encountered something I believed to be pure evil. Sure the swinging light was freaky. But this, this was evil. I felt it in my bones.
Time would bear witness to the nature of the events as well.
That night, I would have the most curious of dreams. That summer, was when the dead animals began to appear.
[The Things That Follow Part VI: Monday]
