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September 17, 2015
The Dinner Secret
“More wine anyone?” I asked; ever the generous host.
“It’s a delectable vintage,” exclaimed the pompous ass sitting to my right. “It must have cost an absolute fortune,” purred his wife.
I shrugged off the compliments. “I managed to get hold of a case from the vineyard whilst touring through Northern Brittany.”
Accepting a refill, he sniffed the bouquet, “A subtle infusion of blackberries and elderflower, with a delicate hint of ginger,” he declared.
I nodded, encouraging his flattery. “You have a discerning palate, Reginald.”
The bottle had come from the recycling bank, the box of Chilean wine from Lidl.
“It’s a delectable vintage,” exclaimed the pompous ass sitting to my right. “It must have cost an absolute fortune,” purred his wife.
I shrugged off the compliments. “I managed to get hold of a case from the vineyard whilst touring through Northern Brittany.”
Accepting a refill, he sniffed the bouquet, “A subtle infusion of blackberries and elderflower, with a delicate hint of ginger,” he declared.
I nodded, encouraging his flattery. “You have a discerning palate, Reginald.”
The bottle had come from the recycling bank, the box of Chilean wine from Lidl.
September 15, 2015
Banished
Banished
This story was inspired by a wonderful piece of art by a very talented artist. Check out her work:
http://debnise.deviantart.com/ and look for the piece titled Banished.
Opening my eyes, I search across the barren landscape for signs of life. The raucous cawing of crows alert me to a flock of ravens circling overhead. A sense of foreboding envelops me at the sight of so many of these birds of ill omen.
They circle, and one by one, descend, landing on the dead branches of a solitary twisted and gnarled tree nearby. The bark of the tree looks as dry as the oldest man on earth, and it is as deeply gouged with whorls and scarring. For the briefest moment, I imagined that I can see skulls grinning at me within the patterns on the skin of the old tree. I shudder, hoping that my eyes have been playing tricks on me.
“Hello,” I called out. “Is there anyone there?”
As usual, there is no response. This is not the first time that my dreams have lured me into this holocaustic landscape. The place has become sadly haunting in its familiarity.
Why do I find myself drawn to this place? Where am I? Is it real or a product of my macabre imagination?
In the distance, I spot a shadow, moving toward me. I strain to see what or who it is, but it is dressed in a cowled cloak, which obscures its features.
On my previous visits, I had always been alone. Perhaps this time I’ll learn something new. Will I finally find closure from this recurrent nightmare?
I wave, but the figure does not respond. For what seems like an eternity, I wait for them to approach, and yet the figure gets no closer.
Frustrated, I try to move, but my feet refuse to budge. They are as deeply rooted in the earth as the dead tree. Only the ravens appeared to be free, and yet, they are content to perch on the bones of the branches and watch my struggle.
“You don’t belong here…”
The words are a whisper on the breeze, so faint that I hear them repeated before I realise that they are being said. Turning, I find the shadowy speaker standing at the base of the dead tree. The cowled figure has crossed the distance in the blink of an eye.
“Who are you?” I ask.
Raising her hands from within the depths of her robe, she removes the hood of her cloak so I could see her features better. It is a young girl; a girl with the eyes of an old woman.
Pulling the robe back further, she removed it, letting the shadow of a cloak pool around her feet. Shedding her garment reminds me of a snake discarding its skin.
“You don’t belong here,” she insists. “You must leave!”
I see the concern on her face, so I try to reassure her, “It’s alright. This is only a dream. I’ll wake up soon.”
Her face is marred by bitterness. Lifting her hands to her face, she digs her long fingernails into her skin and peels the flesh away, piece by flayed piece.
I watched transfixed as her features fall away, revealing an older version of the child beneath. In the blink of an eye, the girl become a teenager.
The ravens swoop down and squabbled over the discarded flesh, gobbling it up with noisy relish.
“Leave!” she pleads.
I sense that I have seen her before, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t remember where, or when. Yet the haunting sense of familiarity persists.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
Again, she clawed at her flesh, ripping it from her bones and casting it asunder.
I looked at the naked woman who appears, mouth agape. Too late, I realised who this vision is before me.
“Melissa! Is that you?”
The woman before me has a striking resemblance to my long dead wife.
She looks closer at me, surprise showing clearly on her face. “You! It can’t be!”
Now I am sure. Her face is younger, but her voice is the same as it was all those years ago.
My wife looks at me with a deep anger in her eyes.
“You shouldn’t have come here, you idiot?” she hissed.
“I’ve missed you,” I murmur, ignoring the harshness of her tone. Changing the subject, I ask, “Where are we?”
“This place has many names, Michael … Some call it Purgatory; others call it the Plains of the Lost Souls.”
“It can’t be!” I protest.
Melissa looks me in the eye, “You let me die,” she accused. “You murdered me!”
“No, I didn’t!” I stammer “Don’t you remember? You tried to commit suicide. You slit your wrists…”
“It was a cry for help!” she retorts. “I was depressed. You abandoned me after Cassie’s birth, and things just got too much to handle. I was lost … you let me die. Murderer!”
“You were in a coma. The doctors … they said there was no hope of you every recovering …”
“There is always hope! I just needed more time.”
“I waited! A month went by and still you didn’t wake …”
She looked away, and her tone softened. “It’s hard … when you first come here. It takes time to learn the ropes … to understand how things work. Time passes in the blink of an eye, but I was ready to return … and then … you pulled the bloody plug on me, you bastard! I loved you, and yet you let me die!”
“That’s not fair. I didn’t know!”
“You didn’t care,” she snapped, turning back to challenge me, “Not when I was there … Not when I needed you. You were too busy working to care about your wife, or your new baby!”
“Of course I cared. I’ve missed you.”
“You did! Really? … You had a funny way of showing it.”
Her face softened slightly as she mulled over the revelation. For what seemed like an eternity she had thought herself alone and lost, but now things had changed.
“Are we dead?” I asked, stating the obvious. “This isn’t a dream, is it? There’s no way back.”
A strange look flickered across Melissa’s face. “How is Cassie?” she asked, changing the subject. “I miss her so much. I’d do anything to see her again…”
“She’s all grown up now. You wouldn’t recognise her. She left home a few months ago … went off to college. The house has been like a tomb without her.”
“So you killed yourself too?” she asked. “Because you got lonely.”
I looking away to hide my shame as the realisation hit me. Had I really killed myself? Haunted by the constant recurring nightmare, I’d struggled with my grip on reality recently, but had I really gone that far?
“How?” she demanded.
“What?”
“How did you do it?” she asked, a sudden urgency in her voice.
“I … I took some pills, probably too many of them.”
“Then there may still be time.”
Moving close, she placed a hand on my chest. “Yes!” she said; a renewed joy creeping into her voice. “I can still feel a faint warmth coming off you.”
“What are you talking about? Time for what?”
“Time to escape, of course.”
“You mean, there’s a way out of here?”
A strange look crossed her face, and she smiled. “Oh, yes. I’ve learned a few things while I’ve been imprisoned in this cursed place. Here, let me show you.”
With sharp talons she tore frantically at my breast, ripping away the flesh. I screamed and fought back, but she was surprisingly strong. Finally, she plunged her hand deep within my chest and ripped a bright light from within me.
A coldness enveloped me, freezing me in place.
****
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP … BEEP, BEEP, BEEP
I took a ragged breath and then another, desperately sucking the air in from the plastic mask that covered my face.
“He’s alive!” someone exclaimed.
Opening my eyes, I looked at the emergency services man who was kneeling over me. “It’s alright, Michael,” he assured. “We have you now. Stay with us!”
I tried to rise but couldn’t. They had me strapped down on a gurney.
“Let’s get him into I.C.U., A.S.A.P!” another voice demanded, and with crisp efficiency we set off.
I drifted in and out of consciousness as they drove me to the hospital. Thankfully, I remembered little as they pumped the toxins out of my stomach, but they had no need to worry. I wasn’t going anywhere. I desperately wanted to live. I wanted to see my daughter again. I’d missed her so much.
The doctors came and went, treating me with kid gloves. I was, after all, a suicide risk, despite my assurances that it had all been an accident, and that I was fine now.
They insisted that I take it easy for a while, at least until I get back on my feet again. I was the perfect patient, complying with their every whim. It suited me fine. I needed time to get used to being referred to as Michael, and to this strange masculine body that I’d stolen.
The world had also changed so much during the time I’d been imprisoned.
This story was inspired by a wonderful piece of art by a very talented artist. Check out her work:
http://debnise.deviantart.com/ and look for the piece titled Banished.
Opening my eyes, I search across the barren landscape for signs of life. The raucous cawing of crows alert me to a flock of ravens circling overhead. A sense of foreboding envelops me at the sight of so many of these birds of ill omen.
They circle, and one by one, descend, landing on the dead branches of a solitary twisted and gnarled tree nearby. The bark of the tree looks as dry as the oldest man on earth, and it is as deeply gouged with whorls and scarring. For the briefest moment, I imagined that I can see skulls grinning at me within the patterns on the skin of the old tree. I shudder, hoping that my eyes have been playing tricks on me.
“Hello,” I called out. “Is there anyone there?”
As usual, there is no response. This is not the first time that my dreams have lured me into this holocaustic landscape. The place has become sadly haunting in its familiarity.
Why do I find myself drawn to this place? Where am I? Is it real or a product of my macabre imagination?
In the distance, I spot a shadow, moving toward me. I strain to see what or who it is, but it is dressed in a cowled cloak, which obscures its features.
On my previous visits, I had always been alone. Perhaps this time I’ll learn something new. Will I finally find closure from this recurrent nightmare?
I wave, but the figure does not respond. For what seems like an eternity, I wait for them to approach, and yet the figure gets no closer.
Frustrated, I try to move, but my feet refuse to budge. They are as deeply rooted in the earth as the dead tree. Only the ravens appeared to be free, and yet, they are content to perch on the bones of the branches and watch my struggle.
“You don’t belong here…”
The words are a whisper on the breeze, so faint that I hear them repeated before I realise that they are being said. Turning, I find the shadowy speaker standing at the base of the dead tree. The cowled figure has crossed the distance in the blink of an eye.
“Who are you?” I ask.
Raising her hands from within the depths of her robe, she removes the hood of her cloak so I could see her features better. It is a young girl; a girl with the eyes of an old woman.
Pulling the robe back further, she removed it, letting the shadow of a cloak pool around her feet. Shedding her garment reminds me of a snake discarding its skin.
“You don’t belong here,” she insists. “You must leave!”
I see the concern on her face, so I try to reassure her, “It’s alright. This is only a dream. I’ll wake up soon.”
Her face is marred by bitterness. Lifting her hands to her face, she digs her long fingernails into her skin and peels the flesh away, piece by flayed piece.
I watched transfixed as her features fall away, revealing an older version of the child beneath. In the blink of an eye, the girl become a teenager.
The ravens swoop down and squabbled over the discarded flesh, gobbling it up with noisy relish.
“Leave!” she pleads.
I sense that I have seen her before, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t remember where, or when. Yet the haunting sense of familiarity persists.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
Again, she clawed at her flesh, ripping it from her bones and casting it asunder.
I looked at the naked woman who appears, mouth agape. Too late, I realised who this vision is before me.
“Melissa! Is that you?”
The woman before me has a striking resemblance to my long dead wife.
She looks closer at me, surprise showing clearly on her face. “You! It can’t be!”
Now I am sure. Her face is younger, but her voice is the same as it was all those years ago.
My wife looks at me with a deep anger in her eyes.
“You shouldn’t have come here, you idiot?” she hissed.
“I’ve missed you,” I murmur, ignoring the harshness of her tone. Changing the subject, I ask, “Where are we?”
“This place has many names, Michael … Some call it Purgatory; others call it the Plains of the Lost Souls.”
“It can’t be!” I protest.
Melissa looks me in the eye, “You let me die,” she accused. “You murdered me!”
“No, I didn’t!” I stammer “Don’t you remember? You tried to commit suicide. You slit your wrists…”
“It was a cry for help!” she retorts. “I was depressed. You abandoned me after Cassie’s birth, and things just got too much to handle. I was lost … you let me die. Murderer!”
“You were in a coma. The doctors … they said there was no hope of you every recovering …”
“There is always hope! I just needed more time.”
“I waited! A month went by and still you didn’t wake …”
She looked away, and her tone softened. “It’s hard … when you first come here. It takes time to learn the ropes … to understand how things work. Time passes in the blink of an eye, but I was ready to return … and then … you pulled the bloody plug on me, you bastard! I loved you, and yet you let me die!”
“That’s not fair. I didn’t know!”
“You didn’t care,” she snapped, turning back to challenge me, “Not when I was there … Not when I needed you. You were too busy working to care about your wife, or your new baby!”
“Of course I cared. I’ve missed you.”
“You did! Really? … You had a funny way of showing it.”
Her face softened slightly as she mulled over the revelation. For what seemed like an eternity she had thought herself alone and lost, but now things had changed.
“Are we dead?” I asked, stating the obvious. “This isn’t a dream, is it? There’s no way back.”
A strange look flickered across Melissa’s face. “How is Cassie?” she asked, changing the subject. “I miss her so much. I’d do anything to see her again…”
“She’s all grown up now. You wouldn’t recognise her. She left home a few months ago … went off to college. The house has been like a tomb without her.”
“So you killed yourself too?” she asked. “Because you got lonely.”
I looking away to hide my shame as the realisation hit me. Had I really killed myself? Haunted by the constant recurring nightmare, I’d struggled with my grip on reality recently, but had I really gone that far?
“How?” she demanded.
“What?”
“How did you do it?” she asked, a sudden urgency in her voice.
“I … I took some pills, probably too many of them.”
“Then there may still be time.”
Moving close, she placed a hand on my chest. “Yes!” she said; a renewed joy creeping into her voice. “I can still feel a faint warmth coming off you.”
“What are you talking about? Time for what?”
“Time to escape, of course.”
“You mean, there’s a way out of here?”
A strange look crossed her face, and she smiled. “Oh, yes. I’ve learned a few things while I’ve been imprisoned in this cursed place. Here, let me show you.”
With sharp talons she tore frantically at my breast, ripping away the flesh. I screamed and fought back, but she was surprisingly strong. Finally, she plunged her hand deep within my chest and ripped a bright light from within me.
A coldness enveloped me, freezing me in place.
****
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP … BEEP, BEEP, BEEP
I took a ragged breath and then another, desperately sucking the air in from the plastic mask that covered my face.
“He’s alive!” someone exclaimed.
Opening my eyes, I looked at the emergency services man who was kneeling over me. “It’s alright, Michael,” he assured. “We have you now. Stay with us!”
I tried to rise but couldn’t. They had me strapped down on a gurney.
“Let’s get him into I.C.U., A.S.A.P!” another voice demanded, and with crisp efficiency we set off.
I drifted in and out of consciousness as they drove me to the hospital. Thankfully, I remembered little as they pumped the toxins out of my stomach, but they had no need to worry. I wasn’t going anywhere. I desperately wanted to live. I wanted to see my daughter again. I’d missed her so much.
The doctors came and went, treating me with kid gloves. I was, after all, a suicide risk, despite my assurances that it had all been an accident, and that I was fine now.
They insisted that I take it easy for a while, at least until I get back on my feet again. I was the perfect patient, complying with their every whim. It suited me fine. I needed time to get used to being referred to as Michael, and to this strange masculine body that I’d stolen.
The world had also changed so much during the time I’d been imprisoned.
September 14, 2015
The Were-Creature
Panic spread like wildfire throughout the city. It was the talking point on everyone’s lips. Even the local papers had it splashed across the front pages of their tabloids –Werewolf Stalks London’s Streets.
I read the article and was surprised at some of the shocking revelations. Witnesses had reported seeing the creature in an alley off Whitechapel. One lady even claimed to have been attacked; barely escaping with her life. A city wide man-hunt, or should that be a wolf-hunt, was on-going.
I groaned, remembering the incident.
That’s the last time I’m wearing an animal onesie to a stag do.
I read the article and was surprised at some of the shocking revelations. Witnesses had reported seeing the creature in an alley off Whitechapel. One lady even claimed to have been attacked; barely escaping with her life. A city wide man-hunt, or should that be a wolf-hunt, was on-going.
I groaned, remembering the incident.
That’s the last time I’m wearing an animal onesie to a stag do.
September 9, 2015
The Neurosurgeon
Michael raised his scalpel over the wrinkly white flesh. He took a moment to bask in the adoration of his surgical team before making his first incision.
Ignored the other surgeons, he sliced deeply into the brain cavity, not letting the muttering distract him from his task. With nerves of steel he dissected the brain. There was a life to be saved, and they had chosen the right man for this job. Tonight, he would make history.
“Micky! What’ve I told you about playing with your food?” scolded his mother. “Why can’t you eat your cauliflower cheese like everyone else!”
Ignored the other surgeons, he sliced deeply into the brain cavity, not letting the muttering distract him from his task. With nerves of steel he dissected the brain. There was a life to be saved, and they had chosen the right man for this job. Tonight, he would make history.
“Micky! What’ve I told you about playing with your food?” scolded his mother. “Why can’t you eat your cauliflower cheese like everyone else!”
September 5, 2015
The Steamy Shower
The steam of the shower mists up the bathroom mirror as you reach toward me. I wait, eager for your strong embrace. I was made for this moment. You fulfil me.
Strong hands grasp me, lift me up; rub me against your naked torso.
I become pliable, slick, and moist as I yield to your will. Patiently, almost teasing me, you press me against every inch of your body. By now, I am so wet that I slip from your grasp and fall to the floor.
Lifting me up, you sniff my soapy scent; much sweeter than your shower gel.
Strong hands grasp me, lift me up; rub me against your naked torso.
I become pliable, slick, and moist as I yield to your will. Patiently, almost teasing me, you press me against every inch of your body. By now, I am so wet that I slip from your grasp and fall to the floor.
Lifting me up, you sniff my soapy scent; much sweeter than your shower gel.
September 4, 2015
I bleed
I Bleed
I bleed.
But not with the crass red claret that flows through my veins … no.
My bleeding has a much deeper, richer,
More vibrant pigment.
It possesses all of the colours of the rainbow.
Sometimes, my bleeding goes unseen,
Sometimes it is noticed.
Sometimes it can bring immense joy.
It can be painful,
But it can also be cathartic.
I do not bleed by choice.
I do not self-harm.
I breathe, I live,
I bleed.
My blood splatters.
It spills on the page.
It weeps from my fingertips,
And oozes from my mind.
A black shadow on white vellum.
I bleed.
But not with the crass red claret that flows through my veins … no.
My bleeding has a much deeper, richer,
More vibrant pigment.
It possesses all of the colours of the rainbow.
Sometimes, my bleeding goes unseen,
Sometimes it is noticed.
Sometimes it can bring immense joy.
It can be painful,
But it can also be cathartic.
I do not bleed by choice.
I do not self-harm.
I breathe, I live,
I bleed.
My blood splatters.
It spills on the page.
It weeps from my fingertips,
And oozes from my mind.
A black shadow on white vellum.
September 1, 2015
Windows For Dummies
David and Melissa Enright detested net curtains, but loved their privacy, so they’d bought smart windows. Now, at the click of a button, every window in their house turned into a mirror. It was ideal for their swingers parties.
To celebrate, they invited all their wife-swapping friends over for a weekend of debauchery. Their guests enjoyed looking at themselves in the mirrors so much that they started a game of Kama Sutra.
The triple glazing had kept them oblivious to the commotion outside, until the police arrived.
Apparently, the builder had ordered the wrong windows. These ones were two-way mirrors.
To celebrate, they invited all their wife-swapping friends over for a weekend of debauchery. Their guests enjoyed looking at themselves in the mirrors so much that they started a game of Kama Sutra.
The triple glazing had kept them oblivious to the commotion outside, until the police arrived.
Apparently, the builder had ordered the wrong windows. These ones were two-way mirrors.
August 31, 2015
The Toffee Apple Stall
The autumn fete was a huge success, especially the toffee apples. Willow, the stallholder, couldn’t keep up with demand. Children were flocking to her stall from miles around.
Some parents expressed concerns.
“Only one per child,” Willow assured. “What harm can they do?”
At sunset, Willow closed up shop and disappeared, literally.
Her sugar-coated time bombs were Willow’s secret recipe, handed down from her great-grandmother; the last witch to be burned by the villagers.
As clocks struck midnight, one by one, the houses in the village sparked into life. Soon the whole village was ablaze, thanks to Willow’s little pyromaniacs.
m.
Some parents expressed concerns.
“Only one per child,” Willow assured. “What harm can they do?”
At sunset, Willow closed up shop and disappeared, literally.
Her sugar-coated time bombs were Willow’s secret recipe, handed down from her great-grandmother; the last witch to be burned by the villagers.
As clocks struck midnight, one by one, the houses in the village sparked into life. Soon the whole village was ablaze, thanks to Willow’s little pyromaniacs.
m.
August 30, 2015
The Black Mass
The cloying, overpowering scent of incense clawed at the back of my throat, making me feel a little queasy. It dominated the other scents in the chamber; the permeating whiff of mould, the tang of candle wax, the acrid scent of sweat, and the musk of sex.
Hidden beneath the heavy cowl of my robe, I drew nearer to the black altar, stepping over the other worshippers at the mass. Did they really come here to worship the devil, or was this an excuse to abandon their inhibitions?
I squinted in the poorly-lit chamber, trying to make out details. My eyes stung from the smoke. For a moment I thought I saw a shadow behind the altar. It was humanoid, but I doubted the shadow was made by a man. Tall antlers crowned the large head; a rack that would make any stag envious. The shadowy form was broad of shoulder, heavily-muscled, and slim of waist. I tried to focus on the shadow form, to capture its face, but as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
I wondered whether the cloying scent contained some drug that was causing me to hallucinate. Could the monotonous chanting of the worshippers have caused the shadowy daemon to appear?
The temperature in the room fell dramatically, which was something of a relief. Dressed in the heavy black robe, I was sweating profusely.
The atmosphere changed, becoming ominously heavy. My head ached and I could feel the touch of a migraine coming on. I wondered if the clouds outside the disused church were building for a storm, or whether the oppression was isolated to this dim cellar. Instinct told me that the night sky remained clear.
The chanting continued, adding to the tension in the room. Whatever was going to happen, it would happen soon. It was time to act.
Hands suddenly gripped my robe, yanking at me.
I looked at the naked bodies writhing about on the floor. A naked young woman, eyes glazed with passion and perhaps something more medicinal, was looking up at me. He hand stroked up my thigh, urging me to join her.
Repulsed, I yanked myself free from her grasp and slipped into the shadows at the side of the crypt. Taking a few deep ragged breaths to calm myself, I reached within my robes and tapped on the microphone hidden there. One, two, three taps, then a pause, followed by two more.
It didn’t take long for reinforcements to arrive. They were waiting close by.
Slipping on the gas mask, I closed my eyes and covered my ears. I didn’t have to wait long.
Bang! Bang!
Flash grenades tinkled onto the floor of the crypt, exploding moments later. The room filled with tear gas, further confusing the devil worshippers. And then, the witch-hunters charged in, bludgeoning any resistance with vicious blows.
The black mass was halted, and everyone arrested. Nevertheless, it would be a long night for me.
These days, even witch-hunters are plagued by paperwork.
Hidden beneath the heavy cowl of my robe, I drew nearer to the black altar, stepping over the other worshippers at the mass. Did they really come here to worship the devil, or was this an excuse to abandon their inhibitions?
I squinted in the poorly-lit chamber, trying to make out details. My eyes stung from the smoke. For a moment I thought I saw a shadow behind the altar. It was humanoid, but I doubted the shadow was made by a man. Tall antlers crowned the large head; a rack that would make any stag envious. The shadowy form was broad of shoulder, heavily-muscled, and slim of waist. I tried to focus on the shadow form, to capture its face, but as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
I wondered whether the cloying scent contained some drug that was causing me to hallucinate. Could the monotonous chanting of the worshippers have caused the shadowy daemon to appear?
The temperature in the room fell dramatically, which was something of a relief. Dressed in the heavy black robe, I was sweating profusely.
The atmosphere changed, becoming ominously heavy. My head ached and I could feel the touch of a migraine coming on. I wondered if the clouds outside the disused church were building for a storm, or whether the oppression was isolated to this dim cellar. Instinct told me that the night sky remained clear.
The chanting continued, adding to the tension in the room. Whatever was going to happen, it would happen soon. It was time to act.
Hands suddenly gripped my robe, yanking at me.
I looked at the naked bodies writhing about on the floor. A naked young woman, eyes glazed with passion and perhaps something more medicinal, was looking up at me. He hand stroked up my thigh, urging me to join her.
Repulsed, I yanked myself free from her grasp and slipped into the shadows at the side of the crypt. Taking a few deep ragged breaths to calm myself, I reached within my robes and tapped on the microphone hidden there. One, two, three taps, then a pause, followed by two more.
It didn’t take long for reinforcements to arrive. They were waiting close by.
Slipping on the gas mask, I closed my eyes and covered my ears. I didn’t have to wait long.
Bang! Bang!
Flash grenades tinkled onto the floor of the crypt, exploding moments later. The room filled with tear gas, further confusing the devil worshippers. And then, the witch-hunters charged in, bludgeoning any resistance with vicious blows.
The black mass was halted, and everyone arrested. Nevertheless, it would be a long night for me.
These days, even witch-hunters are plagued by paperwork.
August 26, 2015
The Pop-up Book Signing
I wake up with a warm tingle of excitement. Today will be my first ever book signing event.
What a thrill. I can’t wait to begin!
I have everything prepared. I’ve even made up a fancy sign to let readers know that I’ll be signing books today.
Arriving at the book store, the place is already buzzing with potential customers. I find a suitable spot and quickly set up my table. Within minutes I’m busy connecting to readers and signing their books ... anyone’s books, I don’t mind.
All was going well until two burly security guards arrived.
Spoil sports!
What a thrill. I can’t wait to begin!
I have everything prepared. I’ve even made up a fancy sign to let readers know that I’ll be signing books today.
Arriving at the book store, the place is already buzzing with potential customers. I find a suitable spot and quickly set up my table. Within minutes I’m busy connecting to readers and signing their books ... anyone’s books, I don’t mind.
All was going well until two burly security guards arrived.
Spoil sports!
