Carl Alves's Blog, page 35
October 12, 2015
The Story Behind the Story: Intercom
I used to have an intercom system in the first house I owned. Mostly, I just used it to communicate with my wife when we were on different floors. One night, my wife and I were freaked out when a strange voice broke into the intercom system. I couldn’t tell for sure what the other person was saying, but the man on the other end had one of those voices that you hear in horror movies – you know the rugged voice of the backwoods killer who is about to hack a dozen people into pieces. We later tossed the intercom system, but it inspired me to write this story, which was published online in the now defunct Sinister City.
In my story, Mel, my story’s protagonist, buys a home intercom for a present for his wife. All is normal at first until the intercom starts to speak to Mel. Initially, it freaks him out, but it has a mesmerizing quality to it, and he eventually falls into an almost hypnotic state when speaking with the intercom. At first, it gives him good strategy to advance his career, but eventually its advice becomes far more sinister leading up to the intercom trying to convince Mel that he must kill his wife. It was a fun little story for me to write. You can read it at http://www.carlalves.com/blog-post/th...
In my story, Mel, my story’s protagonist, buys a home intercom for a present for his wife. All is normal at first until the intercom starts to speak to Mel. Initially, it freaks him out, but it has a mesmerizing quality to it, and he eventually falls into an almost hypnotic state when speaking with the intercom. At first, it gives him good strategy to advance his career, but eventually its advice becomes far more sinister leading up to the intercom trying to convince Mel that he must kill his wife. It was a fun little story for me to write. You can read it at http://www.carlalves.com/blog-post/th...
October 5, 2015
Intercom by Carl Alves
This is my short story Intercom, which originally appeared in the now defunct Sinister City.
Intercom
By Carl Alves
Mel Tesauro came to an abrupt stop when he saw it. There it was on the shelf of the electronics store, beckoning him to pick it up. Tania would love this, he thought. Perhaps he could give it to her as an extra birthday gift. He had already spent more money than he had planned on the pearl necklace that he bought her, but what the hell, a home intercom system would be cool. He brought it to the counter, convinced this was a terrific purchase.
Mel sat at his desk in his den at home, brooding over the report. Earlier that afternoon at work, his boss Sam Woodson, told him to review the report written by one of his colleagues. He couldn’t believe it. It was all his work. His colleague, Larry Davis, had stolen it from him. He slammed his fist on his desk. He contemplated saying something to Woodson about it, but knew it would be futile. It would be Mel’s word against Davis’ word. Woodson didn’t like him much anway, so he would probably believe Davis.
Mel sighed in frustration. The chime of the intercom startled him.
“Hey Mel, can you bring me up the laundry basket?” Tania asked.
He put the report down and grinned. “Sure thing, honey.” He knew Tania would like the pearl necklace, but he was surprised how much she enjoyed the intercom system.”
Before he exited, he turned around when he heard a hiss coming from the box. Then he heard his name. He clicked the speaker button on the intercom. “Tania?” There was no response. He shook his head and went to get the laundry basket. He frowned. That wasn’t Tania’s voice. It was a man’s voice. He was sure of it.
Mel checked underneath his bed for his checkbook when he heard a crackling hiss from across the room. His head jerked up. He looked around the room, but could not tell where the sound came from.
Mel continued looking for his checkbook, and then heard a voice. He frantically looked around the room. He opened up the door to the closet, but there was nothing inside except for clothes. “Tania,” he called out, even though he knew he was alone in the house.
He shook his head and walked down the stairs, his hands shaking. That was unlike him to get so freaked out. He forced his hands to remain steady.
Back in his bedroom, he found the elusive checkbook. And then he heard the voice again calling his name. “Who’s there?” Mel called out tentatively. “Whoever this is, stop playing around.”
“Come here, Mel,” the voice said in a level yet commanding tone.
He moved towards the voice, mystified. “Who is this?” His voice was barely above a whisper. If a phantom or some other apparition appeared, he would have a heart attack.
“Come closer, Mel.”
He inched toward the sound of the voice, and then jumped back when he heard the ringing of the intercom. Instead of answering, he ran downstairs where the second intercom was located. There was nobody there. The downstairs box rang. Involuntarily, he touched the talk button. “He-hello.”
“It is about time that you answered, Mel,” said the hollow voice on the other end.
“Who are you?”
“I am your new friend, Mel. You didn’t buy a gift for your wife when you bought me. You found your salvation.”
“Wh-what are you talking about? Is this a joke?”
A rumbling laughter came from the box. “This is no joke. You went to five jewelry stores before you bought the necklace. You were going back to your car with no intention of buying another gift, already having spent more on the necklace than you wanted to. But you were drawn to the store. You were drawn to me. Because I chose you. Do you remember?”
Mel nodded. “I remember.”
“I sought you out and you found me.”
He looked at the receiver with stunned disbelief and shook his head. He wondered if he was losing his sanity.
“You are not crazy, Mel. You truly are talking to me.”
“But how?”
“That is not important.”
“Well, what do you want?”
“I want to help you, Mel. I am going to make you better.”
“Um, okay.”
“Remember this. From now on, I am the most important factor in your life. Not your wife, not your parents, not your boss. That is all for now. We will talk again later.”
Breathing heavy, Mel backed out of the room. This was impossible. He considered the possibility that he picked up some miscellaneous person who was on the same frequency as his intercom. But that couldn’t be the case, because the person on the other end knew who he was, called out to him in fact. But how? Spooked, Mel ran out of the house and waited on the porch until Tania arrived.
Nearly a week passed by since Mel’s conversation with the intercom. He did not tell Tania about it. She would think he was crazy. But it was all that he could think about. He barely ate and slept. Tania repeatedly asked if there was something wrong. But he insisted he was fine.
Mel stood staring at the intercom system as he frequently did these days.
“Is their something wrong with it?” Tania asked.
Mel shook his head. “Wrong? There’s nothing wrong with it. Why would you say that?”
“Take it easy, Mel. Why do you keep staring at it.”
Mel’s eyes narrowed as his anger rose. “There’s nothing wrong with it, so leave me alone.”
Tania stepped back as if she had been slapped. “Mel, what’s wrong with you. I was just asking a simple question.”
He stepped toward her, his fists balled. “You should leave. Now!”
Tears streamed down Tania’s face as Mel continued to glare at her. She left the room, and Mel buried his face in his hands. Why did he do that? He never lost his temper with Tania. She was the emotional one. He was the level headed one. Lost in thought, he continued to stare at the intercom receiver on the wall.
After nearly a week passed and he had not heard from it again, Mel started to wonder if he imagined the whole thing. But it seemed so real.
Mel jumped back when he heard the intercom’s mesmerizing voice. “It really did happen. You did not imagine it, Mel. I have not spoken to you since then because I wanted you to think about our initial contact. I am pleased that you have.”
“Of course I have. I can’t think about anything else.”
“Good. We have much to speak about, Mel. I want you to do better. Face it. You’re an underachiever. When you were in high school you could have gotten better grades, and then been accepted into a better college. And if you did better in college, you could have gotten into a good graduate school. And then maybe you could have landed a better job. If you were more aggressive, then you would not still be at your entry-level job. And let’s face it, Mel, you could have done better than Tania.”
“Tania?”
“Yes. She is a rather mediocre wife.”
Mel tilted his face. “There’s nothing wrong with her.”
“There is,” the intercom said. “And over time you will realize this. Think about it until we next speak.”
Over the next few days, they spoke briefly. Somehow, it knew everything about him. Mel made sure he was alone in the house. He could only imagine what Tania would think if she saw him speaking to a box. But more than that, he wanted it all to himself. He did not want to share this wondrous find with his wife.
One morning before work, the intercom said, “It is about time that you start moving up the corporate ladder.”
Mel sighed. “They always overlook me for promotions.”
“You have to create your own opportunities. Mr. Woodson, has a growing heroin addiction. On Wednesday afternoon he meets his supplier on an alleyway behind Parkington Avenue, usually between five and six in the evening. Go there today and bring a camera. Take photos of the drug deal and submit them to Mr. Virgil.” Fred Virgil was the senior accounting director at Mel’s company. “You should be in a good position to take Woodson’s job.”
Mel nodded. “All right. I’ll do it.”
That afternoon, he followed Woodson as he drove to Parkington Avenue, exited his car and waited. When the dealer arrived, Mel snapped off a few shots. He smiled. He was not sure how, but the intercom knew everything. It was his ticket out of mediocrity.
The following day, he submitted the pictures to Fred Virgil anonymously. The day after he submitted the photos, two security guards escorted Woodson out of the office building.
He had been terminated.
But the promotion that Mel had been expecting had not come. Instead it went to his co-worker, Larry Davis.
Later that day while speaking to the intercom, Mel showed his frustration. “I thought that I would get Woodson’s job.”
“The problem is that you were not aggressive in pushing for the job,” the voice said. “Must I spell everything out for you.”
Mel folded his arms. “What should I do now?”
“Go to Beckwood Pharmacy and see Jeremy, the pharmacist. Bring large quantities of cash. Ask him for the Friday Night Special. Take the contents of the packet he gives you and insert it into Davis’ morning coffee. He will become ill. This time pitch yourself for the position.”
Mel did as instructed. The day after he inserted the powder into the coffee, Davis did not come into work. When it became apparent to Mel’s employers that Davis was not going to return to work, Mel lobied for the job and got it.
Mel smiled widely when he spoke to the intercom after receiving his new promotion. “I owe you so much for what you have done for me.”
“I am here to help you, Mel. You must trust me unconditionally. Do you understand?”
“Oh I understand. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
“Do you know Deborah, from your office?”
“Oh yeah, she’s nice.”
“Invite her for dinner and drinks. She will accept the offer, since you are ascending the corporate ladder.”
“But what about Tania?”
“As I told you, Tania is a mediocre wife. You can do better. Deborah comes from a prominent family that has considerable wealth. You will need that for the grand designs I have for you.”
“What grand designs?” Mel asked.
“I will let you know in due time. For now ask her to go out with you?”
“You haven’t steered me wrong, yet, so I’ll do it.”
In the ensuing days and weeks, Mel spoke to the intercom system more frequently. It became a crutch. He could not make any decisions without consulting it. He no longer cared if Tania was around when he spoke to it.
The first time she saw him he speak to it, she said, “Mel?” Her voice cracked. “Mel.” Her voice had a desperate, pleading quality. She put her hand on his shoulder, and gently shook him. When he did not respond, she shook his shoulder more vigorously.
Mel turned around and glared at her. “Leave me the hell alone.” His eyes showed hatred. It was something she thought the gentle man she had married would never do.
Tania backed away, slowly at first, before running.
Downstairs, Tania sobbed softly. Over the last few months she saw her relationship with Mel splintering. He had never yelled at her during their whole marriage.
The way he treated her lately had been hurtful. She cried frequently and withdrew from the rest of the world including her friends and co-workers at the hospital where she worked as a nurse. Tania prayed that this was a phase he was going through. But after what had just happened, she could no longer sit back and hope that he would change.
After Tania had shed all her tears, she went to the basement and called her brother Mike.
He answered the phone, “Hello.”
Fresh tears flowed. “Hello, Mike.”
“Tania? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mel,” she said. She told him about what had been happening, agonizing through every moment. If she could reach out to anyone, it was Mike. A teen mentor at a local community center, he was used to listening.
When she was finished, Mike sighed. “That just doesn’t sound like Mel. He’s always been a good, caring person.”
“That makes this so much harder to take. What’s happening to him? He’s breaking apart. When I saw him talking to the intercom today, I knew something was wrong with him. And the look he gave me, if I didn’t leave I don’t know what he would have done.”
Tania waited patiently for her brother to talk. “Listen Tania, I know this is tough for you, but there are two ways to go here. Either leave him, get a divorce and go on with your life; or try to help him. He needs a psychiatrist. I would try to talk to him, but this is way beyond my understanding. But I know some capable psychiatrists that can help.”
Tania looked at the door at the top of the stairs. For a second she thought Mel was there. “I can’t leave Mel. I love him. Or at least I loved the Mel I used to know. I just… can’t imagine my life without him.”
“I’m worried, Tania. It sounds like he might turn violent.”
Tania shook her head. “Not Mel. Maybe I could help him. Do you think I could?”
“I don’t know, Tania. I’ll stop by the house and talk to him, so I can see for myself.”
“Can you please?”
“Of course. But look, you have to promise me that if he gets violent or you think you might be in danger, you’ll get the hell out of there. You always have a place to stay and someone to talk to at my house. And if Mel comes after you, I’ll take care of him.”
Tania nodded. “I will.”
Tania avoided Mel the rest of the night. She slept on the couch that evening. The following day, she told him he should see a psychiatrist.
“Why would I want to see a psychiatrist?” Mel had a sinister grin on his face. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m doing great at work, better than I ever had. I have never been better in my life. You’re just jealous. He warned me that you would bring me down. Said you’re nothing but a mediocre wife. At first I didn’t think so, but now I believe him. Oh yes I do.”
“Who are you talking about, Mel?”
“That’s none of your business. You’re just trying to bring me down.”
“I’m not trying to bring you down,” Tania said. “I just want to help you. I want you to get better.”
“Oh yeah. That’s funny.”
***
Tania hung her jacket on the hook next to the front door. She sat down and hung her head back. Today had been another horrible day at work. She couldn’t concentrate. All she could think about was Mel. He had to be losing his mind, having these one-sided conversations with the intercom.
She trudged upstairs, and frowned when she heard Mel’s voice. He was talking to it again. She had to confront him about it. She opened the door to their bedroom. “Mel, who are you talking to? There’s no one on the other end.”
His face contorted. “What are you talking about? I know that you’re jealous of me, but you don’t have to lie.”
“Lie?” Tania grinded her teeth. “I hear you talk, but I don’t hear anybody else. We’re alone in the house, so that means that there’s nobody on the other end.”
“You’re so stupid. Talk to Tania. Tell her something,” he said into the receiver.
Tania waited a few moments. She shook her head. “I don’t hear anything.”
Mel’s voice rose. “If you’re going to pretend that you don’t hear him speak, then leave. I’m sick of you.”
“Why do you talk to me like that, Mel? Don’t you know how much that hurts?”
“Why don’t you call somebody who cares?”
She went downstairs, called her brother Mike, and asked him to come over. When he arrived, Mel eyed him suspiciously.
“Mel, I wanted to sit down and talk to you,” Mike said.
Mel shook his head. “No. I have to leave. Now.” He bolted out of the house.
Mike sat at the kitchen table while Tania brewed coffee. She put her palm to her forehead and sighed. “I don’t even know what to do anymore. You saw how he was.”
“I know,” Mike said. “He’s a different person. It’s possible for mental disorders to manifest themselves suddenly later in life. I think that may be happening here. But once again, that isn’t my field of expertise. He needs to see someone who can help.”
“He won’t do it,” Tania said. “I told him he should see a psychiatrist and he thought that I was the crazy one. I think it has something to do with that damn intercom. He talks to it and insists that there is someone on the other end, when obviously there isn’t.”
Mike shrugged. “This intercom might be the focal point of his neurosis.”
“I tried to confront him, and he said that I was lying when I could not hear any voices coming from it. What if I get rid of it?”
“I don’t know. He might have an extreme reaction. He should be the one to realize he no longer needs to talk to the damn thing. We need him to see someone who specializes in mental disorders.”
“What if I have him committed?”
Mike shook his head. “That would be difficult. He’s functioning well at work, right?” Tania nodded. “The only place he’s dysfunctional is at home and it would be your word against his. They would never commit him.”
“Then what do I do?” Tania threw up her hands.
“There isn’t much to do if he’s not willing to help himself. Maybe you should leave him. There’s something that doesn’t seem right about him. I don’t like it.”
“I can’t give up on him, Mike. I just can’t.”
“It’s your decision. But be careful.”
Tania thought for a while. “Maybe the best thing would be for me to get rid of that stupid intercom.”
***
Following the intercom’s suggestion, Mel sabotaged a colleague’s project and was in line for another promotion.
He had been seeing Deborah a few times a week. At first he told Tania that he was working late, but he no longer tried to cover up. Deborah wanted him to leave his wife, but there was part of him that still had a small, emotional attachment to her.
But that part continued to erode. One day the intercom said to him, “You must dispose of your lackluster wife.”
Mel frowned. “You want me to divorce her.”
“No, Mel. You must get rid of her.”
“You mean…”
“Yes, you must kill her.”
“But why?” asked Mel, his voice pleading.
“She is dangerous. She is a threat to everything we want to accomplish. It is not enough to tell her that you want a divorce. No, I am afraid that there is only one way out of this. She must die.”
Mel somberly nodded his head.
Each day Tania saw her husband regress. He was not the man she married. She looked at her wedding album and spilled tears onto it. Every day he became more callous.
Tania went to the garage and took a hammer out of the tool chest. There was nothing that would stop her from doing what she needed to do. She went into the basement and looked at the electronic device. She no longer saw it as a simple intercom. It was an object of evil. One that she would have to destroy in order to save her husband.
Before she had her opportunity, she heard footsteps. She looked up the stairs, and saw Mel. His eyes were cold and impassive. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked in a level tone. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” This time he screamed.
“I have to get rid of this thing, Mel. It’s tearing you apart.”
For a moment his anger faded. His shoulders stooped and he relaxed. And then he heard the voice from the receiver.
“Do you see what she means to do, Mel? She is trying to destroy us. She does not want you to become better. Kill her, Mel. Kill her now and end it.”
A cold glint entered his eyes. “It’s right. I have to kill you.”
“No,” Tania cried. “Please, Mel. I love you.”
“Don’t believe her, Mel,” the intercom said. “She will bring you down. Kill her.”
Mel nodded. His hands raised, he charged after her and grabbed her soft throat. Tania cried out. She swung the hammer, smashing the fleshy part of his thigh. Mel let go and fell to the floor.
“You stupid bitch!”
For a brief moment she considered attacking him with the hammer, but couldn’t bring herself to doing it. Instead, she ran up the stairs and into the kitchen. She grabbed the phone with her trembling fingers and dialed Mike’s number. He answered the phone. “Mike, Mel’s trying to kill me. Please help me. Oh God, please.”
“Get out of the house. I’m coming right over.”
Mel emerged from the basement, his eyes smoldering. She dropped the receiver and backed away. “I’m back. That hurt bad. You know I don’t like that.”
She stepped back. She looked into his eyes and saw that whatever sanity he had was now gone. “Please, Mel. Don’t do this.”
“You’re not getting off that easy.” Mel lunged at her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and Tania scrambled to break free. She raked his eyes. Mel shrieked and let go. She lost the hammer during the struggle and went to retrieve it. Before she could, he punched her on the side of the face, knocking her to the floor.
Tania looked up bleary eyed. Tears streamed down her face. She scrambled to the kitchen table, grabbed a chair and used it to block Mel. Every time he charged at her, she thrust the chair at him.
“Come on, honey. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be. I need to kill you to get on with my life.”
Tania slowly got to her feet and held onto the chair. When Mel charged, she swung the chair and grazed him on the shoulder. His momentum carried him forward and they both crashed into the kitchen table.
“Shit,” she muttered. She had to find a way out of the house. He wasn’t going to hurt her, he would kill her. Tania climbed onto the table and Mel climbed after her. She jumped and ran around the side. He lunged at her, and grabbed her foot, causing Tania to trip.
Tania cried when he punched her in the back. She tried to breathe. Then Mel jumped on top of her and punched her several times, cracking her jaw and knocking two of her teeth loose.
Tania looked up and saw the room swirl. She forced herself to crawl away, as Mel let out a maniacal laugh.
He slowly stalked her. Tania’s face was swollen and she was racked with pain. Drawing strength she never knew she had, Tania still crawled away. Just as he reached her she grabbed the hammer and swung at his knees. She heard a crack as his tibia fractured.
For a while neither moved. Tania fought through the pain. She pushed the door open. On one leg, Mel hobbled after her. He held a steak knife that he had taken from the kitchen. She stepped outside. Tania screamed as her brother’s car pulled forward. Mike ran out and pulled her away from Mel. When he turned around, he could not prevent Mel from burying the knife into his stomach.
“No!” Tania yelled.
Mike dropped to his knees. Mel took the knife out of Mike’s stomach and raised it. Fighting tears, Tania picked up a loose stone, and smashed her husband in the head.
Mel was dead to her. Whatever he had been was now gone. She took the knife from his hand, and plunged it into his neck.
A siren roared in the background, as Mel choked on his own blood.
Officer Ludlow, who arrived on the scene shortly after Tania’s brother, sat in the office of homicide detective Joe Heckert. Heckert was on the phone with an electrician who had analyzed the intercom system. Ludlow and Heckert had tried it out after listening to Tania’s story the evening that she killed Mel. It did not work.
Mike had dialed 911 on route to the house. Ludlow arrived at the house shortly after him. Mike was still in the hospital. He was upgraded from critical to stable condition. Mel was dead when he arrived.
Detective Heckert hung up the phone. “Mel Tesauro must have been completely crazy. The electrician said that there was a missing wire in the intercom receivers. They couldn’t have ever worked.”
Ludlow scratched the back of his neck. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Tania Tesauro said that they had used the device for a month or so before Mel started going wacko.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Heckert.
Ludlow shook his head as he left the office. The electrician had to be wrong. Inside the house, he had heard it call out his name. He had to get the intercom system from the electrician. It had almost become a compulsion for him during the last couple days
Intercom
By Carl Alves
Mel Tesauro came to an abrupt stop when he saw it. There it was on the shelf of the electronics store, beckoning him to pick it up. Tania would love this, he thought. Perhaps he could give it to her as an extra birthday gift. He had already spent more money than he had planned on the pearl necklace that he bought her, but what the hell, a home intercom system would be cool. He brought it to the counter, convinced this was a terrific purchase.
Mel sat at his desk in his den at home, brooding over the report. Earlier that afternoon at work, his boss Sam Woodson, told him to review the report written by one of his colleagues. He couldn’t believe it. It was all his work. His colleague, Larry Davis, had stolen it from him. He slammed his fist on his desk. He contemplated saying something to Woodson about it, but knew it would be futile. It would be Mel’s word against Davis’ word. Woodson didn’t like him much anway, so he would probably believe Davis.
Mel sighed in frustration. The chime of the intercom startled him.
“Hey Mel, can you bring me up the laundry basket?” Tania asked.
He put the report down and grinned. “Sure thing, honey.” He knew Tania would like the pearl necklace, but he was surprised how much she enjoyed the intercom system.”
Before he exited, he turned around when he heard a hiss coming from the box. Then he heard his name. He clicked the speaker button on the intercom. “Tania?” There was no response. He shook his head and went to get the laundry basket. He frowned. That wasn’t Tania’s voice. It was a man’s voice. He was sure of it.
Mel checked underneath his bed for his checkbook when he heard a crackling hiss from across the room. His head jerked up. He looked around the room, but could not tell where the sound came from.
Mel continued looking for his checkbook, and then heard a voice. He frantically looked around the room. He opened up the door to the closet, but there was nothing inside except for clothes. “Tania,” he called out, even though he knew he was alone in the house.
He shook his head and walked down the stairs, his hands shaking. That was unlike him to get so freaked out. He forced his hands to remain steady.
Back in his bedroom, he found the elusive checkbook. And then he heard the voice again calling his name. “Who’s there?” Mel called out tentatively. “Whoever this is, stop playing around.”
“Come here, Mel,” the voice said in a level yet commanding tone.
He moved towards the voice, mystified. “Who is this?” His voice was barely above a whisper. If a phantom or some other apparition appeared, he would have a heart attack.
“Come closer, Mel.”
He inched toward the sound of the voice, and then jumped back when he heard the ringing of the intercom. Instead of answering, he ran downstairs where the second intercom was located. There was nobody there. The downstairs box rang. Involuntarily, he touched the talk button. “He-hello.”
“It is about time that you answered, Mel,” said the hollow voice on the other end.
“Who are you?”
“I am your new friend, Mel. You didn’t buy a gift for your wife when you bought me. You found your salvation.”
“Wh-what are you talking about? Is this a joke?”
A rumbling laughter came from the box. “This is no joke. You went to five jewelry stores before you bought the necklace. You were going back to your car with no intention of buying another gift, already having spent more on the necklace than you wanted to. But you were drawn to the store. You were drawn to me. Because I chose you. Do you remember?”
Mel nodded. “I remember.”
“I sought you out and you found me.”
He looked at the receiver with stunned disbelief and shook his head. He wondered if he was losing his sanity.
“You are not crazy, Mel. You truly are talking to me.”
“But how?”
“That is not important.”
“Well, what do you want?”
“I want to help you, Mel. I am going to make you better.”
“Um, okay.”
“Remember this. From now on, I am the most important factor in your life. Not your wife, not your parents, not your boss. That is all for now. We will talk again later.”
Breathing heavy, Mel backed out of the room. This was impossible. He considered the possibility that he picked up some miscellaneous person who was on the same frequency as his intercom. But that couldn’t be the case, because the person on the other end knew who he was, called out to him in fact. But how? Spooked, Mel ran out of the house and waited on the porch until Tania arrived.
Nearly a week passed by since Mel’s conversation with the intercom. He did not tell Tania about it. She would think he was crazy. But it was all that he could think about. He barely ate and slept. Tania repeatedly asked if there was something wrong. But he insisted he was fine.
Mel stood staring at the intercom system as he frequently did these days.
“Is their something wrong with it?” Tania asked.
Mel shook his head. “Wrong? There’s nothing wrong with it. Why would you say that?”
“Take it easy, Mel. Why do you keep staring at it.”
Mel’s eyes narrowed as his anger rose. “There’s nothing wrong with it, so leave me alone.”
Tania stepped back as if she had been slapped. “Mel, what’s wrong with you. I was just asking a simple question.”
He stepped toward her, his fists balled. “You should leave. Now!”
Tears streamed down Tania’s face as Mel continued to glare at her. She left the room, and Mel buried his face in his hands. Why did he do that? He never lost his temper with Tania. She was the emotional one. He was the level headed one. Lost in thought, he continued to stare at the intercom receiver on the wall.
After nearly a week passed and he had not heard from it again, Mel started to wonder if he imagined the whole thing. But it seemed so real.
Mel jumped back when he heard the intercom’s mesmerizing voice. “It really did happen. You did not imagine it, Mel. I have not spoken to you since then because I wanted you to think about our initial contact. I am pleased that you have.”
“Of course I have. I can’t think about anything else.”
“Good. We have much to speak about, Mel. I want you to do better. Face it. You’re an underachiever. When you were in high school you could have gotten better grades, and then been accepted into a better college. And if you did better in college, you could have gotten into a good graduate school. And then maybe you could have landed a better job. If you were more aggressive, then you would not still be at your entry-level job. And let’s face it, Mel, you could have done better than Tania.”
“Tania?”
“Yes. She is a rather mediocre wife.”
Mel tilted his face. “There’s nothing wrong with her.”
“There is,” the intercom said. “And over time you will realize this. Think about it until we next speak.”
Over the next few days, they spoke briefly. Somehow, it knew everything about him. Mel made sure he was alone in the house. He could only imagine what Tania would think if she saw him speaking to a box. But more than that, he wanted it all to himself. He did not want to share this wondrous find with his wife.
One morning before work, the intercom said, “It is about time that you start moving up the corporate ladder.”
Mel sighed. “They always overlook me for promotions.”
“You have to create your own opportunities. Mr. Woodson, has a growing heroin addiction. On Wednesday afternoon he meets his supplier on an alleyway behind Parkington Avenue, usually between five and six in the evening. Go there today and bring a camera. Take photos of the drug deal and submit them to Mr. Virgil.” Fred Virgil was the senior accounting director at Mel’s company. “You should be in a good position to take Woodson’s job.”
Mel nodded. “All right. I’ll do it.”
That afternoon, he followed Woodson as he drove to Parkington Avenue, exited his car and waited. When the dealer arrived, Mel snapped off a few shots. He smiled. He was not sure how, but the intercom knew everything. It was his ticket out of mediocrity.
The following day, he submitted the pictures to Fred Virgil anonymously. The day after he submitted the photos, two security guards escorted Woodson out of the office building.
He had been terminated.
But the promotion that Mel had been expecting had not come. Instead it went to his co-worker, Larry Davis.
Later that day while speaking to the intercom, Mel showed his frustration. “I thought that I would get Woodson’s job.”
“The problem is that you were not aggressive in pushing for the job,” the voice said. “Must I spell everything out for you.”
Mel folded his arms. “What should I do now?”
“Go to Beckwood Pharmacy and see Jeremy, the pharmacist. Bring large quantities of cash. Ask him for the Friday Night Special. Take the contents of the packet he gives you and insert it into Davis’ morning coffee. He will become ill. This time pitch yourself for the position.”
Mel did as instructed. The day after he inserted the powder into the coffee, Davis did not come into work. When it became apparent to Mel’s employers that Davis was not going to return to work, Mel lobied for the job and got it.
Mel smiled widely when he spoke to the intercom after receiving his new promotion. “I owe you so much for what you have done for me.”
“I am here to help you, Mel. You must trust me unconditionally. Do you understand?”
“Oh I understand. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
“Do you know Deborah, from your office?”
“Oh yeah, she’s nice.”
“Invite her for dinner and drinks. She will accept the offer, since you are ascending the corporate ladder.”
“But what about Tania?”
“As I told you, Tania is a mediocre wife. You can do better. Deborah comes from a prominent family that has considerable wealth. You will need that for the grand designs I have for you.”
“What grand designs?” Mel asked.
“I will let you know in due time. For now ask her to go out with you?”
“You haven’t steered me wrong, yet, so I’ll do it.”
In the ensuing days and weeks, Mel spoke to the intercom system more frequently. It became a crutch. He could not make any decisions without consulting it. He no longer cared if Tania was around when he spoke to it.
The first time she saw him he speak to it, she said, “Mel?” Her voice cracked. “Mel.” Her voice had a desperate, pleading quality. She put her hand on his shoulder, and gently shook him. When he did not respond, she shook his shoulder more vigorously.
Mel turned around and glared at her. “Leave me the hell alone.” His eyes showed hatred. It was something she thought the gentle man she had married would never do.
Tania backed away, slowly at first, before running.
Downstairs, Tania sobbed softly. Over the last few months she saw her relationship with Mel splintering. He had never yelled at her during their whole marriage.
The way he treated her lately had been hurtful. She cried frequently and withdrew from the rest of the world including her friends and co-workers at the hospital where she worked as a nurse. Tania prayed that this was a phase he was going through. But after what had just happened, she could no longer sit back and hope that he would change.
After Tania had shed all her tears, she went to the basement and called her brother Mike.
He answered the phone, “Hello.”
Fresh tears flowed. “Hello, Mike.”
“Tania? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mel,” she said. She told him about what had been happening, agonizing through every moment. If she could reach out to anyone, it was Mike. A teen mentor at a local community center, he was used to listening.
When she was finished, Mike sighed. “That just doesn’t sound like Mel. He’s always been a good, caring person.”
“That makes this so much harder to take. What’s happening to him? He’s breaking apart. When I saw him talking to the intercom today, I knew something was wrong with him. And the look he gave me, if I didn’t leave I don’t know what he would have done.”
Tania waited patiently for her brother to talk. “Listen Tania, I know this is tough for you, but there are two ways to go here. Either leave him, get a divorce and go on with your life; or try to help him. He needs a psychiatrist. I would try to talk to him, but this is way beyond my understanding. But I know some capable psychiatrists that can help.”
Tania looked at the door at the top of the stairs. For a second she thought Mel was there. “I can’t leave Mel. I love him. Or at least I loved the Mel I used to know. I just… can’t imagine my life without him.”
“I’m worried, Tania. It sounds like he might turn violent.”
Tania shook her head. “Not Mel. Maybe I could help him. Do you think I could?”
“I don’t know, Tania. I’ll stop by the house and talk to him, so I can see for myself.”
“Can you please?”
“Of course. But look, you have to promise me that if he gets violent or you think you might be in danger, you’ll get the hell out of there. You always have a place to stay and someone to talk to at my house. And if Mel comes after you, I’ll take care of him.”
Tania nodded. “I will.”
Tania avoided Mel the rest of the night. She slept on the couch that evening. The following day, she told him he should see a psychiatrist.
“Why would I want to see a psychiatrist?” Mel had a sinister grin on his face. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m doing great at work, better than I ever had. I have never been better in my life. You’re just jealous. He warned me that you would bring me down. Said you’re nothing but a mediocre wife. At first I didn’t think so, but now I believe him. Oh yes I do.”
“Who are you talking about, Mel?”
“That’s none of your business. You’re just trying to bring me down.”
“I’m not trying to bring you down,” Tania said. “I just want to help you. I want you to get better.”
“Oh yeah. That’s funny.”
***
Tania hung her jacket on the hook next to the front door. She sat down and hung her head back. Today had been another horrible day at work. She couldn’t concentrate. All she could think about was Mel. He had to be losing his mind, having these one-sided conversations with the intercom.
She trudged upstairs, and frowned when she heard Mel’s voice. He was talking to it again. She had to confront him about it. She opened the door to their bedroom. “Mel, who are you talking to? There’s no one on the other end.”
His face contorted. “What are you talking about? I know that you’re jealous of me, but you don’t have to lie.”
“Lie?” Tania grinded her teeth. “I hear you talk, but I don’t hear anybody else. We’re alone in the house, so that means that there’s nobody on the other end.”
“You’re so stupid. Talk to Tania. Tell her something,” he said into the receiver.
Tania waited a few moments. She shook her head. “I don’t hear anything.”
Mel’s voice rose. “If you’re going to pretend that you don’t hear him speak, then leave. I’m sick of you.”
“Why do you talk to me like that, Mel? Don’t you know how much that hurts?”
“Why don’t you call somebody who cares?”
She went downstairs, called her brother Mike, and asked him to come over. When he arrived, Mel eyed him suspiciously.
“Mel, I wanted to sit down and talk to you,” Mike said.
Mel shook his head. “No. I have to leave. Now.” He bolted out of the house.
Mike sat at the kitchen table while Tania brewed coffee. She put her palm to her forehead and sighed. “I don’t even know what to do anymore. You saw how he was.”
“I know,” Mike said. “He’s a different person. It’s possible for mental disorders to manifest themselves suddenly later in life. I think that may be happening here. But once again, that isn’t my field of expertise. He needs to see someone who can help.”
“He won’t do it,” Tania said. “I told him he should see a psychiatrist and he thought that I was the crazy one. I think it has something to do with that damn intercom. He talks to it and insists that there is someone on the other end, when obviously there isn’t.”
Mike shrugged. “This intercom might be the focal point of his neurosis.”
“I tried to confront him, and he said that I was lying when I could not hear any voices coming from it. What if I get rid of it?”
“I don’t know. He might have an extreme reaction. He should be the one to realize he no longer needs to talk to the damn thing. We need him to see someone who specializes in mental disorders.”
“What if I have him committed?”
Mike shook his head. “That would be difficult. He’s functioning well at work, right?” Tania nodded. “The only place he’s dysfunctional is at home and it would be your word against his. They would never commit him.”
“Then what do I do?” Tania threw up her hands.
“There isn’t much to do if he’s not willing to help himself. Maybe you should leave him. There’s something that doesn’t seem right about him. I don’t like it.”
“I can’t give up on him, Mike. I just can’t.”
“It’s your decision. But be careful.”
Tania thought for a while. “Maybe the best thing would be for me to get rid of that stupid intercom.”
***
Following the intercom’s suggestion, Mel sabotaged a colleague’s project and was in line for another promotion.
He had been seeing Deborah a few times a week. At first he told Tania that he was working late, but he no longer tried to cover up. Deborah wanted him to leave his wife, but there was part of him that still had a small, emotional attachment to her.
But that part continued to erode. One day the intercom said to him, “You must dispose of your lackluster wife.”
Mel frowned. “You want me to divorce her.”
“No, Mel. You must get rid of her.”
“You mean…”
“Yes, you must kill her.”
“But why?” asked Mel, his voice pleading.
“She is dangerous. She is a threat to everything we want to accomplish. It is not enough to tell her that you want a divorce. No, I am afraid that there is only one way out of this. She must die.”
Mel somberly nodded his head.
Each day Tania saw her husband regress. He was not the man she married. She looked at her wedding album and spilled tears onto it. Every day he became more callous.
Tania went to the garage and took a hammer out of the tool chest. There was nothing that would stop her from doing what she needed to do. She went into the basement and looked at the electronic device. She no longer saw it as a simple intercom. It was an object of evil. One that she would have to destroy in order to save her husband.
Before she had her opportunity, she heard footsteps. She looked up the stairs, and saw Mel. His eyes were cold and impassive. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked in a level tone. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” This time he screamed.
“I have to get rid of this thing, Mel. It’s tearing you apart.”
For a moment his anger faded. His shoulders stooped and he relaxed. And then he heard the voice from the receiver.
“Do you see what she means to do, Mel? She is trying to destroy us. She does not want you to become better. Kill her, Mel. Kill her now and end it.”
A cold glint entered his eyes. “It’s right. I have to kill you.”
“No,” Tania cried. “Please, Mel. I love you.”
“Don’t believe her, Mel,” the intercom said. “She will bring you down. Kill her.”
Mel nodded. His hands raised, he charged after her and grabbed her soft throat. Tania cried out. She swung the hammer, smashing the fleshy part of his thigh. Mel let go and fell to the floor.
“You stupid bitch!”
For a brief moment she considered attacking him with the hammer, but couldn’t bring herself to doing it. Instead, she ran up the stairs and into the kitchen. She grabbed the phone with her trembling fingers and dialed Mike’s number. He answered the phone. “Mike, Mel’s trying to kill me. Please help me. Oh God, please.”
“Get out of the house. I’m coming right over.”
Mel emerged from the basement, his eyes smoldering. She dropped the receiver and backed away. “I’m back. That hurt bad. You know I don’t like that.”
She stepped back. She looked into his eyes and saw that whatever sanity he had was now gone. “Please, Mel. Don’t do this.”
“You’re not getting off that easy.” Mel lunged at her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and Tania scrambled to break free. She raked his eyes. Mel shrieked and let go. She lost the hammer during the struggle and went to retrieve it. Before she could, he punched her on the side of the face, knocking her to the floor.
Tania looked up bleary eyed. Tears streamed down her face. She scrambled to the kitchen table, grabbed a chair and used it to block Mel. Every time he charged at her, she thrust the chair at him.
“Come on, honey. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be. I need to kill you to get on with my life.”
Tania slowly got to her feet and held onto the chair. When Mel charged, she swung the chair and grazed him on the shoulder. His momentum carried him forward and they both crashed into the kitchen table.
“Shit,” she muttered. She had to find a way out of the house. He wasn’t going to hurt her, he would kill her. Tania climbed onto the table and Mel climbed after her. She jumped and ran around the side. He lunged at her, and grabbed her foot, causing Tania to trip.
Tania cried when he punched her in the back. She tried to breathe. Then Mel jumped on top of her and punched her several times, cracking her jaw and knocking two of her teeth loose.
Tania looked up and saw the room swirl. She forced herself to crawl away, as Mel let out a maniacal laugh.
He slowly stalked her. Tania’s face was swollen and she was racked with pain. Drawing strength she never knew she had, Tania still crawled away. Just as he reached her she grabbed the hammer and swung at his knees. She heard a crack as his tibia fractured.
For a while neither moved. Tania fought through the pain. She pushed the door open. On one leg, Mel hobbled after her. He held a steak knife that he had taken from the kitchen. She stepped outside. Tania screamed as her brother’s car pulled forward. Mike ran out and pulled her away from Mel. When he turned around, he could not prevent Mel from burying the knife into his stomach.
“No!” Tania yelled.
Mike dropped to his knees. Mel took the knife out of Mike’s stomach and raised it. Fighting tears, Tania picked up a loose stone, and smashed her husband in the head.
Mel was dead to her. Whatever he had been was now gone. She took the knife from his hand, and plunged it into his neck.
A siren roared in the background, as Mel choked on his own blood.
Officer Ludlow, who arrived on the scene shortly after Tania’s brother, sat in the office of homicide detective Joe Heckert. Heckert was on the phone with an electrician who had analyzed the intercom system. Ludlow and Heckert had tried it out after listening to Tania’s story the evening that she killed Mel. It did not work.
Mike had dialed 911 on route to the house. Ludlow arrived at the house shortly after him. Mike was still in the hospital. He was upgraded from critical to stable condition. Mel was dead when he arrived.
Detective Heckert hung up the phone. “Mel Tesauro must have been completely crazy. The electrician said that there was a missing wire in the intercom receivers. They couldn’t have ever worked.”
Ludlow scratched the back of his neck. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Tania Tesauro said that they had used the device for a month or so before Mel started going wacko.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Heckert.
Ludlow shook his head as he left the office. The electrician had to be wrong. Inside the house, he had heard it call out his name. He had to get the intercom system from the electrician. It had almost become a compulsion for him during the last couple days
October 2, 2015
A Necessary End by Sarah Pinborough and F. Paul Wilson
The apocalypse is on in A Necessary End. These days zombies, aliens, or a major environmental event tend to be what brings about the end of things, but in this novel, it is something more realistic, a plague that results from flies, which is a bit of an old-school concept considering the history of our planet and the diseases brought about by flies. The novel is set in the UK where Nigel is a reporter trying to uncover the start of the plague. Abby is his wife, who is among the many religious folk who seem to give up on finding a cure and have just accepted this as the will of God. People are dropping like flies (pun intended) while some crazed survivors are making things worse by purposely trying to spread the plague.
This is a tightly plotted novel, with a great deal of suspense. There are some good horror elements involved in the novel. The characters are good and bad. I think Nigel was a well-developed character, but I found Abby to be really annoying. Her fatalism and hard-headed beliefs wore on me as the novel progressed. The novel gets into heavy religious and philosophical debates. Although, I think they fit the story, they dragged on for too long and I found myself wanting to skip those parts. The writing is really strong in this novel. The pace was good, and it was in general quite entertaining. Overall, this is an enjoyable novel that I recommend. You can get a copy at http://www.amazon.com/Necessary-End-F....
This is a tightly plotted novel, with a great deal of suspense. There are some good horror elements involved in the novel. The characters are good and bad. I think Nigel was a well-developed character, but I found Abby to be really annoying. Her fatalism and hard-headed beliefs wore on me as the novel progressed. The novel gets into heavy religious and philosophical debates. Although, I think they fit the story, they dragged on for too long and I found myself wanting to skip those parts. The writing is really strong in this novel. The pace was good, and it was in general quite entertaining. Overall, this is an enjoyable novel that I recommend. You can get a copy at http://www.amazon.com/Necessary-End-F....
September 22, 2015
10 Questions with Eric Beebe
1. How has your business background helped you in creating and running Post Mortem Press?
I think it has added sense of reasonable expectations. I see a lot of people get into this process and shoot for the moon. I think lofty goals are great, but you have to have to be grounded in reality. Publishing can be an expensive proposition with a level of risk like any other business. Add to that the countless number of people out to take advantage of you and success becomes even more elusive. It also allows me to take a broader view of the process, seeing the bigger picture. That doesn’t mean I haven’t missed some things, I have.
2. How has the digital revolution and the emergence of ebooks affected you as a publisher?
I see eBooks as a way to broaden the audience. Sure, there are some cases where paper book buyers have moved to digital, but people are creatures of habit. Once a book person, always a book person. eBooks allow readers to explore new authors with minimal risk. A first run movie costs at least $10 for a single ticket, while an eBook from an emerging author runs $5 or $6 at the most – usually under $4. It’s an easy economic decision and it benefits all readers. The more access to readers the better.
3. What kind of niche does Post Mortem Press fill that is not filled by mainstream publishing?
Like most small press, our niche is to promote emerging authors. The folks that you may not have heard of. The competition to get into a NY publisher is fierce and presses like ours act as a stepping stone. When an author adds a known small press to their CV, they are adding credibility.
4. If you could work with any writer, who would you choose?
That’s a tough one. I love the authors I work with and continue to do so because of that love. The business man in me would love to work with Stephen King or Neil Gaiman. I am big fan of Nick Hornby and John Connolly as well. In the small press world, I am looking for the authors who tell stories that entertain me. It’s that simple.
5. What made you want to get into the publishing business?
An untreated mental illness. Seriously, I am not sure. I have always been an avid reader and a frustrated writer. I have published things since I was five and used carbon paper to make a neighborhood newspaper. I made them in the garage and sold them door-to-door for a nickel. I used the money to buy ice cream. I am a believer in the whole find a job doing what you love concept. I found it.
6. What advice do you have for beginning writers?
Keep writing and reading. Set a schedule and do your absolute best to follow it. Even if you only write 15 minutes a day, make sure you do so. Like any skill or talent, practice is imperative to success. Also, don’t let rejection get you down. I know that’s a common statement and I know it is harder to do than it is to say. Don’t forget to read. I hear writers say “I don’t have time to read” all the time. Make the time.
7. What do you see for the future of horror publishing?
Onward and upward. I don’t see any doom and gloom (beyond the stories) ahead. As long as there are storytellers, there will be stories.
8. What are the most effective ways your authors have used to promote their work?
Our most effective authors do an excellent job of selling themselves first and their book later. Regardless of the method, if you can sell yourself to potential readers you are ahead of the game. A likeable person can sell almost any book, even an awful one, but an awful person will have serious challenges selling even the best written most entertaining book ever written.
9. Is there any subject that is off limits for you as a publisher?
As a publisher I am not a fan of violence for violence’s sake. I know that sounds odd coming from a horror/mystery/thriller publisher, but it’s true. The violence needs a purpose. I also shy away from needlessly graphic sex. Sex is part of life, hell it’s critical to life. Sex is a good thing. But most people don’t write it well and I don’t care to read the details – especially poorly written details.
10. If you could invite five people to a dinner party (alive or dead, real or fictional) who would you invite?
In no particular order …
Nikola Tesla
Shirley Jackson
Stephen King
Gordon Gano
David Bowie
I think it has added sense of reasonable expectations. I see a lot of people get into this process and shoot for the moon. I think lofty goals are great, but you have to have to be grounded in reality. Publishing can be an expensive proposition with a level of risk like any other business. Add to that the countless number of people out to take advantage of you and success becomes even more elusive. It also allows me to take a broader view of the process, seeing the bigger picture. That doesn’t mean I haven’t missed some things, I have.
2. How has the digital revolution and the emergence of ebooks affected you as a publisher?
I see eBooks as a way to broaden the audience. Sure, there are some cases where paper book buyers have moved to digital, but people are creatures of habit. Once a book person, always a book person. eBooks allow readers to explore new authors with minimal risk. A first run movie costs at least $10 for a single ticket, while an eBook from an emerging author runs $5 or $6 at the most – usually under $4. It’s an easy economic decision and it benefits all readers. The more access to readers the better.
3. What kind of niche does Post Mortem Press fill that is not filled by mainstream publishing?
Like most small press, our niche is to promote emerging authors. The folks that you may not have heard of. The competition to get into a NY publisher is fierce and presses like ours act as a stepping stone. When an author adds a known small press to their CV, they are adding credibility.
4. If you could work with any writer, who would you choose?
That’s a tough one. I love the authors I work with and continue to do so because of that love. The business man in me would love to work with Stephen King or Neil Gaiman. I am big fan of Nick Hornby and John Connolly as well. In the small press world, I am looking for the authors who tell stories that entertain me. It’s that simple.
5. What made you want to get into the publishing business?
An untreated mental illness. Seriously, I am not sure. I have always been an avid reader and a frustrated writer. I have published things since I was five and used carbon paper to make a neighborhood newspaper. I made them in the garage and sold them door-to-door for a nickel. I used the money to buy ice cream. I am a believer in the whole find a job doing what you love concept. I found it.
6. What advice do you have for beginning writers?
Keep writing and reading. Set a schedule and do your absolute best to follow it. Even if you only write 15 minutes a day, make sure you do so. Like any skill or talent, practice is imperative to success. Also, don’t let rejection get you down. I know that’s a common statement and I know it is harder to do than it is to say. Don’t forget to read. I hear writers say “I don’t have time to read” all the time. Make the time.
7. What do you see for the future of horror publishing?
Onward and upward. I don’t see any doom and gloom (beyond the stories) ahead. As long as there are storytellers, there will be stories.
8. What are the most effective ways your authors have used to promote their work?
Our most effective authors do an excellent job of selling themselves first and their book later. Regardless of the method, if you can sell yourself to potential readers you are ahead of the game. A likeable person can sell almost any book, even an awful one, but an awful person will have serious challenges selling even the best written most entertaining book ever written.
9. Is there any subject that is off limits for you as a publisher?
As a publisher I am not a fan of violence for violence’s sake. I know that sounds odd coming from a horror/mystery/thriller publisher, but it’s true. The violence needs a purpose. I also shy away from needlessly graphic sex. Sex is part of life, hell it’s critical to life. Sex is a good thing. But most people don’t write it well and I don’t care to read the details – especially poorly written details.
10. If you could invite five people to a dinner party (alive or dead, real or fictional) who would you invite?
In no particular order …
Nikola Tesla
Shirley Jackson
Stephen King
Gordon Gano
David Bowie
September 20, 2015
No Nonsense No Gimmick Guide to Marketing Your Book by Eric Beebe
As an author, I have read a variety of books on book marketing and publishing. Eric Beebe’s No Nonsense No Gimmick Guide to Marketing Your Book definitely stands out at the top of the list. I found that his book was easy to read and relate to. Most writers don’t have a marketing background, and I thought this book plays well to that audience. The book is divided up into a variety of sections, and Beebe breaks down the aspects of what a writer needs to know quite well. It’s well organized and logical in its progression. The writing is clean and professional.
One thing that I enjoyed is that it really plays well to the current landscape of publishing, especially how it affects self-published and Indie authors. If you fall into that category, then this is a book that you will want to read. I like how things were explained and I felt that there were some elements of it that I could incorporate into my own marketing plan. Even if you’re not business or marketing savvy, there are things that you can take away from this book. For writers out there of all stripes, you should check out this book. I am glad that I did. You can purchase your copy on Amazon.
One thing that I enjoyed is that it really plays well to the current landscape of publishing, especially how it affects self-published and Indie authors. If you fall into that category, then this is a book that you will want to read. I like how things were explained and I felt that there were some elements of it that I could incorporate into my own marketing plan. Even if you’re not business or marketing savvy, there are things that you can take away from this book. For writers out there of all stripes, you should check out this book. I am glad that I did. You can purchase your copy on Amazon.
September 15, 2015
10 Questions with Patrick Freivald
1. How many more novels do you plan on writing in the Matt Rowley series, and where do you see the series going?
There will be five. The first two were published through JournalStone, and the last three will be through Cohesion Press, a specialty press from Australia that specializes in military science fiction and kick-ass action.
I know exactly where it’s going, as I’ve plotted the whole thing out, but I have no intention of releasing spoilers here!
2. Who has been your biggest influence as a writer?
Jonathan Maberry. He’s prolific, he’s one of the nicest and most supportive people you’ll ever meet, everyone I know speaks well of him, he’s humble even when he’s opinionated, his books are fun, and he’s incredibly savvy on the business side of writing.
3. What was it like being nominated for a Bram Stoker award for best novel, and had you won, what would you have done to celebrate?
It’s pretty neat, though not as big a deal as many might think. I once gave a keynote speech at an awards banquet, and the topic I chose was, “Why Awards Don’t Matter.” I mean, the Bram Stoker Awards® are a great celebration of the genre, but beyond that they’re basically a pat on the back.
Had I won, I likely would have celebrated much the same as I did having lost (three times now!)—by carousing with friends at the after-party.
4. Who is your favorite writer?
I don’t have one. My tastes range from highbrow to lowbrow, with a heavy emphasis on speculative fiction, but might include anyone from Dave Barry to Cormac McCarthy to Dan Abnett to N.K. Jemisin. I tend to read books once and then give them away.
5. How did you first get into beekeeping?
My mechanic was selling honey out of the front of his shop. I asked him about it, and he volunteered to show me the works. He did, and I bought four hives. The rest is history—delicious, delicious history!
6. What current writing projects are you working on?
I have a horror novel about a man being sexually stalked by a demon (or maybe he’s just schizophrenic) out to agents now, am finishing final edits on the first in a mid-grade supernatural series about a boy who is one of the very few who isn’t good at magic, and am writing the next Matt Rowley book.
7. Have your students ever read your fiction, and if so what has been their reaction?
Many have, and reactions range from laughter to anger to horror to bemused puzzlement, just as I would hope! Some of the parental reactions are pretty hilarious, especially with respect to the more violent or graphic things I write.
8. What type of scenes do you most enjoy writing?
I like it all.
9. You’re not afraid of expressing your political views on social media. Do you ever feel that may turn off potential readers?
I hold back quite a bit, actually, and there are certain topics I won’t go anywhere near on a forum so conducive to random strangers butting in. (And no, I’m not about to tell you what they are.)
I’m from a family that enjoys talking about those taboo subjects—politics, religion, philosophy—and when I’m on Facebook I’m not trying to be some other person that people might like, I’m just being me. If people like me, awesome. If they don’t, that’s okay; with 7.2 billion other people (give or take) out there, there’s plenty of like and dislike to go around. With friends all over the political spectrum on almost every issue, I’m just not worried about whatever few people who might tweak out at something I say online.
As a pro-gay, pro-gun, pro-legalization, pro-life, anti-death-penalty, anti-corporate-cronyist who sees the strong common ground between the Occupy and Tea Party movements but subscribes to neither, who favors limited government but is the chair of his public union’s Grievance Committee, I figure that there’s something there to piss off just about anyone inclined to get pissed off at such things. If that means they’re not going to buy my books, well, okay. I have limited patience for people who think we must all agree in order to get along or think that views we find disagreeable should be silenced, and if I’m particularly outspoken about anything it would be that the perpetually offended need to get over themselves.
10. If a Hollywood producer was making a movie based on your Matt Rowley series and you could choose an actor to play your lead character, who would you choose?
I think Chris Evans would make a great Matt Rowley, a much darker everyman-turned-superhuman than his portrayal of Captain America. For Sakura Isuji, Doona Bae would be absolutely perfect—I’d happily change Sakura’s name and nationality to get an actress of such incredible talent to play her!
There will be five. The first two were published through JournalStone, and the last three will be through Cohesion Press, a specialty press from Australia that specializes in military science fiction and kick-ass action.
I know exactly where it’s going, as I’ve plotted the whole thing out, but I have no intention of releasing spoilers here!
2. Who has been your biggest influence as a writer?
Jonathan Maberry. He’s prolific, he’s one of the nicest and most supportive people you’ll ever meet, everyone I know speaks well of him, he’s humble even when he’s opinionated, his books are fun, and he’s incredibly savvy on the business side of writing.
3. What was it like being nominated for a Bram Stoker award for best novel, and had you won, what would you have done to celebrate?
It’s pretty neat, though not as big a deal as many might think. I once gave a keynote speech at an awards banquet, and the topic I chose was, “Why Awards Don’t Matter.” I mean, the Bram Stoker Awards® are a great celebration of the genre, but beyond that they’re basically a pat on the back.
Had I won, I likely would have celebrated much the same as I did having lost (three times now!)—by carousing with friends at the after-party.
4. Who is your favorite writer?
I don’t have one. My tastes range from highbrow to lowbrow, with a heavy emphasis on speculative fiction, but might include anyone from Dave Barry to Cormac McCarthy to Dan Abnett to N.K. Jemisin. I tend to read books once and then give them away.
5. How did you first get into beekeeping?
My mechanic was selling honey out of the front of his shop. I asked him about it, and he volunteered to show me the works. He did, and I bought four hives. The rest is history—delicious, delicious history!
6. What current writing projects are you working on?
I have a horror novel about a man being sexually stalked by a demon (or maybe he’s just schizophrenic) out to agents now, am finishing final edits on the first in a mid-grade supernatural series about a boy who is one of the very few who isn’t good at magic, and am writing the next Matt Rowley book.
7. Have your students ever read your fiction, and if so what has been their reaction?
Many have, and reactions range from laughter to anger to horror to bemused puzzlement, just as I would hope! Some of the parental reactions are pretty hilarious, especially with respect to the more violent or graphic things I write.
8. What type of scenes do you most enjoy writing?
I like it all.
9. You’re not afraid of expressing your political views on social media. Do you ever feel that may turn off potential readers?
I hold back quite a bit, actually, and there are certain topics I won’t go anywhere near on a forum so conducive to random strangers butting in. (And no, I’m not about to tell you what they are.)
I’m from a family that enjoys talking about those taboo subjects—politics, religion, philosophy—and when I’m on Facebook I’m not trying to be some other person that people might like, I’m just being me. If people like me, awesome. If they don’t, that’s okay; with 7.2 billion other people (give or take) out there, there’s plenty of like and dislike to go around. With friends all over the political spectrum on almost every issue, I’m just not worried about whatever few people who might tweak out at something I say online.
As a pro-gay, pro-gun, pro-legalization, pro-life, anti-death-penalty, anti-corporate-cronyist who sees the strong common ground between the Occupy and Tea Party movements but subscribes to neither, who favors limited government but is the chair of his public union’s Grievance Committee, I figure that there’s something there to piss off just about anyone inclined to get pissed off at such things. If that means they’re not going to buy my books, well, okay. I have limited patience for people who think we must all agree in order to get along or think that views we find disagreeable should be silenced, and if I’m particularly outspoken about anything it would be that the perpetually offended need to get over themselves.
10. If a Hollywood producer was making a movie based on your Matt Rowley series and you could choose an actor to play your lead character, who would you choose?
I think Chris Evans would make a great Matt Rowley, a much darker everyman-turned-superhuman than his portrayal of Captain America. For Sakura Isuji, Doona Bae would be absolutely perfect—I’d happily change Sakura’s name and nationality to get an actress of such incredible talent to play her!
September 13, 2015
Jade Sky by Patrick Freivald
This is the first novel I’ve read from Patrick Freivald, and what strikes me most is the fast-action pace, and the dialogue and narration that hits you like a freight train, all good qualities in a novel. Freivald has created an interesting world in this novel. His main character leads a team of augmented agents, himself being augmented. This makes them superhuman in many ways. The augmentations do different things for the different characters. Some have incredible strength; most have amazing recuperative abilities; some have pre-cognitive abilities. Their main mission is to put down other augmented people who have lost their minds, mostly from abuse of the drug, jade.
The novel starts off as more of an action, sci-fi novel than anything else. Despite the superhuman characteristics of the characters, everything is explained through natural means. That is until there was a supernatural element introduced to it. For me, the book got better with the introduction of this supernatural element. It added a nice layer of texture to the story, and made for more intrigue rather than people just being augmented by jade and these treatments. There are some spiritual and religious elements to the story as well. From a technical perspective, the writing is sound and all of the story telling elements were well done. The action builds to a crescendo, and the ride was enjoyable. I’m not quite sure how to classify this novel as horror or fantasy or dark fiction, but whatever classification, it simply works.
The novel starts off as more of an action, sci-fi novel than anything else. Despite the superhuman characteristics of the characters, everything is explained through natural means. That is until there was a supernatural element introduced to it. For me, the book got better with the introduction of this supernatural element. It added a nice layer of texture to the story, and made for more intrigue rather than people just being augmented by jade and these treatments. There are some spiritual and religious elements to the story as well. From a technical perspective, the writing is sound and all of the story telling elements were well done. The action builds to a crescendo, and the ride was enjoyable. I’m not quite sure how to classify this novel as horror or fantasy or dark fiction, but whatever classification, it simply works.
September 10, 2015
The Story Behind the Story: Let Us Prey
Let Us Prey was the first short story that I ever had published in the now defunct Nevermore magazine. What makes it all the more memorable was that it was published on the same day that my oldest son Max was born. I didn’t get to see it in print (in digital form) until a few days later after I was home with my son.
I based this story off of an urban legend, something I like to do with my short fiction. The urban legend that it was based on is someone hiding in the back of your car who follows you to your destination and then murders the person either along the way or at the destination. A pretty gruesome subject matter, but I like gruesome in my fiction. I tried to put some twists along the way so that everything is not as it appears to be based on the main character’s(victim’s) point of view. Check the story out on my blog at http://www.carlalves.com/blog-post/le... and let me know what you think.
I based this story off of an urban legend, something I like to do with my short fiction. The urban legend that it was based on is someone hiding in the back of your car who follows you to your destination and then murders the person either along the way or at the destination. A pretty gruesome subject matter, but I like gruesome in my fiction. I tried to put some twists along the way so that everything is not as it appears to be based on the main character’s(victim’s) point of view. Check the story out on my blog at http://www.carlalves.com/blog-post/le... and let me know what you think.
August 20, 2015
Let Us Prey by Carl Alves
There he is again. It seemed like whenever Cindy Matlow left work, the midnight jogger was always around. She did not know the man’s name, and only referred to him as the midnight jogger out of convenience. She was sure he had selected her as his prey.
She could not pinpoint why she felt so unsafe around the man. It’s not like he had threatened her. Maybe it was the way he looked. Hard lines sunk into his dark face, like he had been through some tough times. Maybe he had done jail time. His cheeks were sunken. His eyes looked hollow. When it was dark, they appeared to be empty sockets. His hair was in a constant state of disarray. His lips were thin and chapped. And when he ran, his tongue stuck out, not more than an inch, but it was always out.
Then there was the twitch. Yeah, the twitch was what really bothered Cindy. He could not run more than fifteen feet without twitching. It was subtle, not a jerking, spasmodic movement. Twitch, pause, twitch, short pause, twitch, long pause, twitch.
And he was always around. At least two or three times a week, she would see him as she exited work and walked the five blocks to her parking lot. It wasn’t like Cindy always left work at a regular time. She left when the work was done for the day. This was rarely before five and sometimes as late as midnight. Yet invariably he would be there.
Cindy was a computer programmer for Netware, an Internet consulting company. It was rare for Cindy to leave work before dark during the winter. When she had first started working, she didn’t think it would be a problem. Netware’s office building was located in the Old City section of Philadelphia, which wasn’t a crime ridden area.
Plus, she didn’t scare easily. She had taken self-defense classes in high school and college. She had been a competitive swimmer who still swam when she found the time. If attacked, she could defend herself better than most people. She was no damsel in distress. But that did not reassure her when she encountered the midnight jogger.
Cindy assumed he ran all of the time, since she saw him so frequently. She wanted to find out if her co-workers had seen this man. She first asked Greg, one of the programmers from her office. “He’s got dark skin and these creepy eyes. He usually has a blue jogging suit and his hair’s always messed up.”
“Sorry, Cindy,” Greg had said. “That doesn’t sound at all familiar.”
“You sure? He twitches all the time. You can’t miss him.”
Greg had shaken his head. “Sorry.”
Exasperated, Cindy had passed the description along to others in the office, but they had responded in the same manner as Greg.
This had bugged her. What were the chances that all of these encounters were coincidence? If her co-workers saw him all the time, then it would not have bothered her.
Cindy then had questioned the security guards in the building. If the man worked there, then the guards would know him. Before leaving for home one evening, she had stopped by the security desk.
“Marlon, I was wondering if you could help me. I keep seeing this same man outside the building and I was wondering if he worked here.” She gave his description to the security guard.
“I know everybody who works here and he’s not one of them,” the guard had said.
“Shit! I think this guy might be stalking me.”
The guard frowned as Cindy stalked out of the building.
The thought of being stalked by the midnight jogger frightened Cindy. Although she was physically fit, he was undoubtedly stronger. She purchased a can of mace to defend herself against the inevitable attack.
The following evening, she approached the same guard. “The man I talked to you about last night is stalking me. I need you to do something about it.”
“Has he done anything threatening or intimidating?” Marlon asked.
Cindy sighed and shook her head. “No.
“Has he approached you and tried to talk to you?”
Cindy put her hands to her hips and stomped her feet. “No, he has not.”
“Do you have anything to back up your claim that this man is stalking you?”
“He’s always jogging when I leave the building.”
Marlon frowned. “You have to understand my position. If I contact the police, they’re going to want more than that. Why don’t you get one of your co-workers to walk with you to your car?”
“But I don’t have the same schedule as anybody else.”
“I’m really sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”
Cindy threw her hands up in the air and left the building.
When she spoke to a police officer at the local precinct, he asked her similar questions and came to the same conclusion. There was no reason for them to suspect the jogger was stalking her and that she was in danger.
“You people will only be happy after he kills me!” She stormed out of the precinct.
As the winter grew harsher, her sense of imminent danger grew stronger. When she saw him, she would scamper to the other side of the street, trying to maximize the distance between them. She also planned escape routes if he ever attacked her.
***
Cindy was completely bug-eyed. She had started work that morning at five and just finished at eight thirty in the evening, stopping only to eat and use the bathroom. Her fingers ached from pounding her keyboard for so many hours. She was going to develop carpal tunnel syndrome one of these days. She was sure of it.
She was working against a tight deadline. Her client, a small pharmaceutical firm in Malvern, Pennsylvania, wanted to get their inventory management system running by the end of the week. And it was her job to make this happen. She despised working with all the asshole scientists at the drug company. They all wanted the system to work in a different way and didn’t know anything about computer programming.
Cindy did her best work under pressure. Tomorrow was the deadline and she was on schedule to deliver the final product to the client.
She was exhausted. All she wanted to do was go home, fill her bathtub with warm water, and soak until she fell asleep. She trudged out of the office building, her eyes heavy. The first snowflake of the evening touched her cheek. Although it was soft and gentle, she hoped it would be the last. She had enough snow this winter.
She turned the corner, and there he was, the midnight jogger. What the hell was he doing out here this late at night in the cold? Fear coursed through her body.
Steam came from his mouth. His face looked dark and dangerous.
Cindy wanted to cross the street. But his trajectory was going straight toward her. She clutched her purse. The mace was inside. She prayed that she could get it out in time.
“Hello,” the midnight jogger said, his thickly accented voice came out as little more than a croak. “It cold like hell tonight, huh?”
She detected a glint of malice in his eyes. He meant to hurt her. There was no doubt. On this frosty night, he would seize his opportunity.
As if to confirm her fears, the midnight jogger stopped just as he passed her. She stole a glance at him. He bent down and appeared to be tying his shoes, a devious ploy.
Her breathing became ragged. Adrenaline replaced the exhaustion she had felt. She had to run, but her legs felt like they were made of rubber. Would she be able to defend herself? In theory, she always felt that she could, but now that it was happening, she wasn’t sure. Be strong, she urged herself.
Cindy found it difficult to get her feet moving. She glanced at him, as he stretched. This had to be an extension of his ploy.
She took the opportunity to put distance between her and the midnight jogger. She crossed the street and glanced at him. He was still stretching. She picked up momentum when she reached the end of the block. Her car was still a few blocks away. That was her symbol of safety.
She took a quick look back. He was now coming straight for her. Not only had he turned around, he had also crossed the street.
They were too close. She had to pick up the pace, or he would overtake her before she reached her car. On the verge of hyperventilating, she tried to regulate her breathing.
He continued his chase. She looked around. There was nobody else on the street. It was the perfect opportunity for him to attack her. The hunter had found its prey, but she would not go down without a fight.
The midnight jogger was running too fast. He would still overtake her. Cindy regretted wearing heels today. Normally she wore sneakers on days she didn’t meet with clients. But she had recently purchased these shoes online and wanted to try them out.
Although not in a full out sprint, she ran hard. Every so often she glanced back. He still trailed her. Despite her best efforts, he continued to gain ground. She was close to her car now. She fumbled around her purse and grabbed the keys to her Honda Accord. As soon as she got close to the car, she would use her remote entry to unlock the doors. She would jump in the car, lock the doors and peel out of there. When she got home she would call the police. This time, they would have to listen to her.
She was a block away from her car and the midnight jogger was less than a block behind her and closing in quickly. He would not relent.
Finally she was at her car. Unlike in those cheesy horror movies, she had no problem opening the door.
She turned her head. The midnight jogger had his hands in the air. “Stop,” he yelled in a hoarse voice. “Don’t run. Come back.”
She shook her head. He would not get her. Not tonight or any other night.
“Lady, please!”
Cindy jumped in the car and immediately locked the doors. Breathlessly, she turned on the engine. She was glad that last month she got rid of the clunker that got her through college and bought a new car. She turned the car in a swerving motion, nearly hitting the midnight jogger. She would not have minded if she hit him. He deserved it for terrorizing her. He jumped against a parked car and avoided the collision.
As Cindy pulled away, the midnight jogger was in her rear view mirror. He ran after her car. He was yelling, but she could not hear what he said.
Cindy drove on. Eventually she caught her breath. She could not believe how close she had come to being attacked. During the drive, she visualized what he would have done with her.
She parked her Accord in her driveway and breathed easy. Home at last. She turned off her car and then froze.
She heard movement. Before she turned around, a hand covered her mouth. She tried to scream but the hand muffled it.
In the rear view mirror, she spotted a knife overhead, so she her attacker’s hand.
He let go momentarily, but did not stop the sweeping arc of the knife as it came down on her shoulder.
She felt excruciating pain and saw her own blood hit the windshield. The knife came down again as she screamed.
***
Navid Jantua sat at the police station with his head buried in his hands. He looked up when Officer Guerrero brought him a steaming cup of coffee. He took the coffee in the Styrofoam cup. “Thank you.” Navid’s voice was raw from screaming.
Officer Guerrero sat on the bench next to him and put his hand on Navid’s shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself. You did all you could.”
Navid nodded and sipped the coffee. Despite the police officer’s re-assuring words, he could not help but feel guilt. Maybe if he ran a little faster. Maybe if he had introduced himself even once. Maybe if he did a number of things differently, Cindy Matlow would still be alive.
Navid replayed the events in his head. He had approached Cindy’s car as she closed the door. That was when he saw a figure pop up in the back seat of the car, then lean back down behind the seat. He had tried to warn her, but she drove off.
Navid had found a pay phone and called the police immediately. Within minutes they arrived, and he had driven with them in the squad car to her office building. The security guard had ascertained her identity and employer. Someone at the company she worked for had confirmed her address.
When the police had arrived outside her apartment, they had encountered a trail of blood from her car that led to her corpse.
He never thought of himself as a stalker, he just liked her. But his shyness and lack of self-confidence prevented him from approaching her sooner.
Navid sighed. “Maybe if I look a little different, maybe she stop.”
Officer Guerrero shrugged. “Don’t kill yourself. You did what you could.”
Navid wished he could heed the officer’s advice, but he couldn’t help but think that picking this evening to finally muster enough courage to speak to her led to her death.
She could not pinpoint why she felt so unsafe around the man. It’s not like he had threatened her. Maybe it was the way he looked. Hard lines sunk into his dark face, like he had been through some tough times. Maybe he had done jail time. His cheeks were sunken. His eyes looked hollow. When it was dark, they appeared to be empty sockets. His hair was in a constant state of disarray. His lips were thin and chapped. And when he ran, his tongue stuck out, not more than an inch, but it was always out.
Then there was the twitch. Yeah, the twitch was what really bothered Cindy. He could not run more than fifteen feet without twitching. It was subtle, not a jerking, spasmodic movement. Twitch, pause, twitch, short pause, twitch, long pause, twitch.
And he was always around. At least two or three times a week, she would see him as she exited work and walked the five blocks to her parking lot. It wasn’t like Cindy always left work at a regular time. She left when the work was done for the day. This was rarely before five and sometimes as late as midnight. Yet invariably he would be there.
Cindy was a computer programmer for Netware, an Internet consulting company. It was rare for Cindy to leave work before dark during the winter. When she had first started working, she didn’t think it would be a problem. Netware’s office building was located in the Old City section of Philadelphia, which wasn’t a crime ridden area.
Plus, she didn’t scare easily. She had taken self-defense classes in high school and college. She had been a competitive swimmer who still swam when she found the time. If attacked, she could defend herself better than most people. She was no damsel in distress. But that did not reassure her when she encountered the midnight jogger.
Cindy assumed he ran all of the time, since she saw him so frequently. She wanted to find out if her co-workers had seen this man. She first asked Greg, one of the programmers from her office. “He’s got dark skin and these creepy eyes. He usually has a blue jogging suit and his hair’s always messed up.”
“Sorry, Cindy,” Greg had said. “That doesn’t sound at all familiar.”
“You sure? He twitches all the time. You can’t miss him.”
Greg had shaken his head. “Sorry.”
Exasperated, Cindy had passed the description along to others in the office, but they had responded in the same manner as Greg.
This had bugged her. What were the chances that all of these encounters were coincidence? If her co-workers saw him all the time, then it would not have bothered her.
Cindy then had questioned the security guards in the building. If the man worked there, then the guards would know him. Before leaving for home one evening, she had stopped by the security desk.
“Marlon, I was wondering if you could help me. I keep seeing this same man outside the building and I was wondering if he worked here.” She gave his description to the security guard.
“I know everybody who works here and he’s not one of them,” the guard had said.
“Shit! I think this guy might be stalking me.”
The guard frowned as Cindy stalked out of the building.
The thought of being stalked by the midnight jogger frightened Cindy. Although she was physically fit, he was undoubtedly stronger. She purchased a can of mace to defend herself against the inevitable attack.
The following evening, she approached the same guard. “The man I talked to you about last night is stalking me. I need you to do something about it.”
“Has he done anything threatening or intimidating?” Marlon asked.
Cindy sighed and shook her head. “No.
“Has he approached you and tried to talk to you?”
Cindy put her hands to her hips and stomped her feet. “No, he has not.”
“Do you have anything to back up your claim that this man is stalking you?”
“He’s always jogging when I leave the building.”
Marlon frowned. “You have to understand my position. If I contact the police, they’re going to want more than that. Why don’t you get one of your co-workers to walk with you to your car?”
“But I don’t have the same schedule as anybody else.”
“I’m really sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”
Cindy threw her hands up in the air and left the building.
When she spoke to a police officer at the local precinct, he asked her similar questions and came to the same conclusion. There was no reason for them to suspect the jogger was stalking her and that she was in danger.
“You people will only be happy after he kills me!” She stormed out of the precinct.
As the winter grew harsher, her sense of imminent danger grew stronger. When she saw him, she would scamper to the other side of the street, trying to maximize the distance between them. She also planned escape routes if he ever attacked her.
***
Cindy was completely bug-eyed. She had started work that morning at five and just finished at eight thirty in the evening, stopping only to eat and use the bathroom. Her fingers ached from pounding her keyboard for so many hours. She was going to develop carpal tunnel syndrome one of these days. She was sure of it.
She was working against a tight deadline. Her client, a small pharmaceutical firm in Malvern, Pennsylvania, wanted to get their inventory management system running by the end of the week. And it was her job to make this happen. She despised working with all the asshole scientists at the drug company. They all wanted the system to work in a different way and didn’t know anything about computer programming.
Cindy did her best work under pressure. Tomorrow was the deadline and she was on schedule to deliver the final product to the client.
She was exhausted. All she wanted to do was go home, fill her bathtub with warm water, and soak until she fell asleep. She trudged out of the office building, her eyes heavy. The first snowflake of the evening touched her cheek. Although it was soft and gentle, she hoped it would be the last. She had enough snow this winter.
She turned the corner, and there he was, the midnight jogger. What the hell was he doing out here this late at night in the cold? Fear coursed through her body.
Steam came from his mouth. His face looked dark and dangerous.
Cindy wanted to cross the street. But his trajectory was going straight toward her. She clutched her purse. The mace was inside. She prayed that she could get it out in time.
“Hello,” the midnight jogger said, his thickly accented voice came out as little more than a croak. “It cold like hell tonight, huh?”
She detected a glint of malice in his eyes. He meant to hurt her. There was no doubt. On this frosty night, he would seize his opportunity.
As if to confirm her fears, the midnight jogger stopped just as he passed her. She stole a glance at him. He bent down and appeared to be tying his shoes, a devious ploy.
Her breathing became ragged. Adrenaline replaced the exhaustion she had felt. She had to run, but her legs felt like they were made of rubber. Would she be able to defend herself? In theory, she always felt that she could, but now that it was happening, she wasn’t sure. Be strong, she urged herself.
Cindy found it difficult to get her feet moving. She glanced at him, as he stretched. This had to be an extension of his ploy.
She took the opportunity to put distance between her and the midnight jogger. She crossed the street and glanced at him. He was still stretching. She picked up momentum when she reached the end of the block. Her car was still a few blocks away. That was her symbol of safety.
She took a quick look back. He was now coming straight for her. Not only had he turned around, he had also crossed the street.
They were too close. She had to pick up the pace, or he would overtake her before she reached her car. On the verge of hyperventilating, she tried to regulate her breathing.
He continued his chase. She looked around. There was nobody else on the street. It was the perfect opportunity for him to attack her. The hunter had found its prey, but she would not go down without a fight.
The midnight jogger was running too fast. He would still overtake her. Cindy regretted wearing heels today. Normally she wore sneakers on days she didn’t meet with clients. But she had recently purchased these shoes online and wanted to try them out.
Although not in a full out sprint, she ran hard. Every so often she glanced back. He still trailed her. Despite her best efforts, he continued to gain ground. She was close to her car now. She fumbled around her purse and grabbed the keys to her Honda Accord. As soon as she got close to the car, she would use her remote entry to unlock the doors. She would jump in the car, lock the doors and peel out of there. When she got home she would call the police. This time, they would have to listen to her.
She was a block away from her car and the midnight jogger was less than a block behind her and closing in quickly. He would not relent.
Finally she was at her car. Unlike in those cheesy horror movies, she had no problem opening the door.
She turned her head. The midnight jogger had his hands in the air. “Stop,” he yelled in a hoarse voice. “Don’t run. Come back.”
She shook her head. He would not get her. Not tonight or any other night.
“Lady, please!”
Cindy jumped in the car and immediately locked the doors. Breathlessly, she turned on the engine. She was glad that last month she got rid of the clunker that got her through college and bought a new car. She turned the car in a swerving motion, nearly hitting the midnight jogger. She would not have minded if she hit him. He deserved it for terrorizing her. He jumped against a parked car and avoided the collision.
As Cindy pulled away, the midnight jogger was in her rear view mirror. He ran after her car. He was yelling, but she could not hear what he said.
Cindy drove on. Eventually she caught her breath. She could not believe how close she had come to being attacked. During the drive, she visualized what he would have done with her.
She parked her Accord in her driveway and breathed easy. Home at last. She turned off her car and then froze.
She heard movement. Before she turned around, a hand covered her mouth. She tried to scream but the hand muffled it.
In the rear view mirror, she spotted a knife overhead, so she her attacker’s hand.
He let go momentarily, but did not stop the sweeping arc of the knife as it came down on her shoulder.
She felt excruciating pain and saw her own blood hit the windshield. The knife came down again as she screamed.
***
Navid Jantua sat at the police station with his head buried in his hands. He looked up when Officer Guerrero brought him a steaming cup of coffee. He took the coffee in the Styrofoam cup. “Thank you.” Navid’s voice was raw from screaming.
Officer Guerrero sat on the bench next to him and put his hand on Navid’s shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself. You did all you could.”
Navid nodded and sipped the coffee. Despite the police officer’s re-assuring words, he could not help but feel guilt. Maybe if he ran a little faster. Maybe if he had introduced himself even once. Maybe if he did a number of things differently, Cindy Matlow would still be alive.
Navid replayed the events in his head. He had approached Cindy’s car as she closed the door. That was when he saw a figure pop up in the back seat of the car, then lean back down behind the seat. He had tried to warn her, but she drove off.
Navid had found a pay phone and called the police immediately. Within minutes they arrived, and he had driven with them in the squad car to her office building. The security guard had ascertained her identity and employer. Someone at the company she worked for had confirmed her address.
When the police had arrived outside her apartment, they had encountered a trail of blood from her car that led to her corpse.
He never thought of himself as a stalker, he just liked her. But his shyness and lack of self-confidence prevented him from approaching her sooner.
Navid sighed. “Maybe if I look a little different, maybe she stop.”
Officer Guerrero shrugged. “Don’t kill yourself. You did what you could.”
Navid wished he could heed the officer’s advice, but he couldn’t help but think that picking this evening to finally muster enough courage to speak to her led to her death.
August 18, 2015
The Story Behind the Story: Pounds Off
My story Pounds Off is the second story I ever had published in the now defunct Scorched Wings magazine. I really enjoy taking a normal situation and making it as extreme as I possibly can in my stories. Pounds Off is an example of this where my protagonist, Wayne, is fed up with being overweight. His wife is losing interest in him, and he feels compelled to make a change in his life, which leads him to joining Pounds Off, sort of like a deranged version of Weight Watchers.
How deranged you ask? Wayne is required to hit weekly weight loss limits. When he doesn’t he has to endure severe punishments such as being held in a jail cell where he is deprived of food and drink, having to go on a tread mill that sends electric jolts into him when he goes below a certain speed, having armed guards monitor his actions, and having his children abducted. Each time Wayne failed to meet his target, I wanted the consequences to be elevated to the point where the reader would feel trepidation as to what would happen to him next. Looking back at the story, there are some flaws from a technical standpoint, and I can see how my writing has progressed, but I still found this story enjoyable to reread and I hope you will as well. Here is the link to the story:
http://www.carlalves.com/blog-post/po...
How deranged you ask? Wayne is required to hit weekly weight loss limits. When he doesn’t he has to endure severe punishments such as being held in a jail cell where he is deprived of food and drink, having to go on a tread mill that sends electric jolts into him when he goes below a certain speed, having armed guards monitor his actions, and having his children abducted. Each time Wayne failed to meet his target, I wanted the consequences to be elevated to the point where the reader would feel trepidation as to what would happen to him next. Looking back at the story, there are some flaws from a technical standpoint, and I can see how my writing has progressed, but I still found this story enjoyable to reread and I hope you will as well. Here is the link to the story:
http://www.carlalves.com/blog-post/po...
