Alledria Hurt's Blog, page 23
October 8, 2015
[Television] Sleepy Hollow Returns!
For those who benefit from my TWITTER feed, you know I'm an unabashed Sleepyhead. I've been waiting for the newest season of Sleepy Hollow to come on for what feels like ages. And to start the first episode by seemingly axing a major character (Headless), I'm a little floored. I enjoy that the magnificence of magic is available and that we start with our first monster being non-Western, but I feel like Ichabod Crane with the need to catch up. Abbie's an FBI agent. Ichabod is out searching for his family. Jenny is trying to be gainfully employed. What the hell happened? Of course, a lot can happen in 9 months and no one likes to be stagnant.
Then there's the new big bad, or is she? We don't know yet what is going on Pandora. All we've seen of her so far is that she can unleash demons from her box. However, that doesn't necessarily make her evil. It makes her a problem, but not necessarily evil. I'm willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. She might have a very good reason for whatever it is she's doing.
The addition of Betsy Ross as a member of Washington's spy ring is interesting. Another strong female character is always welcome. Her flirtation with Ichabod is kinda cute. I'm waiting to see how she's going to factor in over the course of the season. You know this is too good not to get some mileage out of.
I am a week behind, and will probably be at least a couple days behind for the rest of the season. The point is I'm going to be watching, carefully, and more than likely listening to the SleepyCast on a regular basis.
Then there's the new big bad, or is she? We don't know yet what is going on Pandora. All we've seen of her so far is that she can unleash demons from her box. However, that doesn't necessarily make her evil. It makes her a problem, but not necessarily evil. I'm willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. She might have a very good reason for whatever it is she's doing.
The addition of Betsy Ross as a member of Washington's spy ring is interesting. Another strong female character is always welcome. Her flirtation with Ichabod is kinda cute. I'm waiting to see how she's going to factor in over the course of the season. You know this is too good not to get some mileage out of.
I am a week behind, and will probably be at least a couple days behind for the rest of the season. The point is I'm going to be watching, carefully, and more than likely listening to the SleepyCast on a regular basis.
October 6, 2015
[October Sky] Part IV
EARLIER PARTS: ONE | TWO | THREE
Every moment Emmaline waited for the guard to come back she spent on pins and needles. Would he come back with a rock or wouldn’t he? The question tore at her because her entire plan hinged upon it. She strained her ears to hear any movement and imagined she heard mice moving in the walls. More likely rats, but either way not a pleasant thought. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard footsteps returning. She slipped away from the door to her cell and waited. A man’s face appeared in the tiny window and his eyes searched for her. She made herself visible.
“You called for heat,” he said.
“Yes, if you would be so kind.” She even added a little curtsy on to the end. Heavy rattling outside the door preceded it opening. She carefully stayed close to the center of the room just out of reach of the light. The guard put a small pot on the floor and nudged it in with his foot. Inside the pot were several small crystals, barely bigger than beads, but they gave off a delicious warmth Emma craved. She dropped down next to it and hugged it as close as she dared, luxuriating in heat that struck to her bones. While she enjoyed her heat, the door shut and the keys rattled it locked again. No matter, she thought. You’ll open the door again when I’m ready. She lugged the pot across the room to a far corner away from the charmot and the door. There, she set about her plan. Feeling around on the floor, she tried to find a loose stone. She only needed a small one, just enough to act as a scrape and a mortar. The piece that came up under her fingers was too large for what she really wanted, but she would make do. First she gathered some of the Morpheus’s beard from the wall by dragging the rock across it, pausing to listen every few seconds in case someone should start paying attention to what she did. No need to give the game away too quickly. Or get herself hanged all the quicker. With the moss collected, she covered her hands with the edge of her nightshirt and went to get the charmot. She grabbed enough of the loose powder to give someone a deep sneeze and scurried across the room with it. Dumping it into a hollow made out of a piece of cloth she found, she put the moss on top of it and began to beat the two together. It left behind a flammable paste. At least she hoped it would be flammable seeing how she hadn’t had time to properly dry the moss before adding it to the recipe. Too late to worry about that now. She needed to get a move on before someone remembered they were down there and decided to see about them. One guard would be hard enough, more than one might be impossible.
Knotting up the cloth, she inserted one of the small crystals into the knot. It would burn through quick enough, so she needed to hurry. The rest she dropped in the rest of the cloth and hay left on the floor. The hay, despite the general damp, caught like a champ and started to smoke. “Fire!” Emma ran to the door with her package in hand and yelled. Then she slipped into the corner behind the door. The guard, seeing the flames, hurried to undo the lock. Emma huddled in her hiding spot as the flames licked the walls and ceiling.
“Damnable fool woman,” the guard said as he swung the door open. Seeing he couldn’t do much about the fire without some sort of water, he turned back. Emma thrust the now smoking packet into his face. He took a step back and reached for his sword with a cry, but the smell took effect. He stumbled backward and then crumbled to his knees. Emma dropped the pack next to his head and stomped it out. The smoke remained as a haze hanging just above the floor. Urgently, she checked the guard for keys. Nothing. They hung from the lock. Emma grabbed them and went to Cedric’s cell. Her companion looked at her and then strained to see past her to see what was going on.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Emma said.
“I agree.”
She fumbled with the keys trying to find the right one. The first three didn’t fit and the smoke boiled out of the room into the hall. The scent of the smoke changed as it caught the Morpheus’s beard still attached to the wall. Before too long, it would reach the charmot and the mixture would affect the whole castle. They needed to be gone before that. One of the keys fit and she yanked Cedric’s cell door open. His eyes had fallen to lidded and he breathed slowly.
“Don’t breath too much of this in,” she said, covering her own mouth and nose with one sleeve. “It’ll put you to sleep.”
Cedric followed her lead. Then the pair hurried down the corridor away from the fire. Just as they reached the staircase upward, they heard shouts above them. They ducked into an alcove at the bottom of the stairs just in time for two other guardsmen to come rushing down. They coughed and hacked in the smoke and Emma led Cedric up the stairs. At the top, she looked first one way then another, her eyes burning from the smoke. With a cough, she motioned Cedric to pick a direction. He took the east hallway at a clip. Emma ran after him. The air smelled sweeter the further they got from the fire, but they wouldn’t enjoy freedom long if they didn’t get out of the castle. Cedric must have known that because the next thing she knew, they were in a courtyard. Several people milled about. Without stopping to consult, Cedric struck out for the gate. Emma did her best not to wince too often at the sore treatment of her feet.
“Just like summer at Papa’s,” she said to herself after stepping on a small stone. She took full deep breathes of the clear air and kept Cedric’s shirt in sight. The pair merged with the others who were leaving the castle and soon they were lost in a small crowd. Fortuitous since riders from the castle rode by not long after. Emma ducked her head and did the best she could not to look out of place.
The group they were with passed time by singing songs Emma knew none of the words to, but she found it comforting just the same since they hadn’t turned them into the riders. She could imagine what would happen now that she had set the castle on fire. Punishment would be swift. All the more reason to avoid it. She and Cedric stayed within sight distance, but didn’t travel together. It suited Emma fine. She had problems enough without worrying over whether or not he was okay. A little heartless maybe, but she was working on his problem: curing the King. She could almost feel the ingredient list under her fingertips, except she couldn’t call them out. The relative of wonderroot was probably Urcen, which oddly enough resembled a potato before it was cut up and boiled in the recipes. Lamia’s hair, which made it purple. Reminded of it, perhaps one of the ingredients was Charmot. That still left the liquid used. If only she had access to Mr. Amon, he would certainly know what it was without having to look. Caught up in her own troubles, she hardly noticed when the group began to disband. However, when she realized she was without any kind of human shelter from discovery, she looked around.
They were in a village. A circle of houses looked in on what could be called a market square. The others in the group had dispersed in various houses. The lower half of each house was made of stone, but the thatch looked like the straw Emma had set alight. Cedric stood in the center of the road looking at the houses as well.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Hammerford, the closest village to the castle,” Cedric said. “I’ve traded here a time or two.”
“Do you know where we might find a weed called Lamia’s hair?”
“No.”
He ushered her out of the road as a cart attempted to pass. Waving to the driver, he said,
“Maybe someone here in town knows where to find it.”
The market square stood empty. The depressions of its stalls were thick and deep. Cedric rushed her through to the other side. Up the road, another rider appeared. Ducking behind a building, they crouched to get out of sight.
“How are we going to ask them if we have to keep hiding?”
“Once we’re inside a house, we should be fine,” Cedric said, his mouth quirking into a smile. “I’m certain we’ll be just fine.”
His optimism did nothing for her. The rider passed them a few minutes later. Emma stretched as best she could when she stood.
“Come on,” Cedric said. They went to the first house off the square. It looked no more ornate or out of place than any of the others. As good a place as any to start. Knocking on the door, Cedric leaned in. The door opened a crack.
“May we come in, we are poor travelers seeking aid.” The door shut with a definitive snap.
“We’ll try somewhere else,” Cedric whispered. Three houses closed their doors to them before one stood open. A jovial man, thin and long limbed, stood in the doorway.
“Come in, come in. Succor you may have.”
“Thank you, kind sir,” Cedric said as he bowed to Emma to precede him. Standing inside the hut, it appeared a wonder how the tall man fit inside. His head seemed to be rubbing the thatch. “As I said, we are in need of aid.”
“And how may I aid you?”
“Do you have any clothing you might be able to part with?” Emma asked. “I have so little.”
The man, older than them both, looked at her appraisingly.
“Indeed you have little. I have a pair of breeches and a few shirts you might try. They’ll hang long on you, but it’ll be more than you have.” He went to the far side of the hut and rummaged through what looked like a rag pile. He came up with a pair of breeches and two shirts which looked as though they may have shrunk at one time. They certainly no longer fit him. Emma took the clothes and put the breeches on first before fitting the shirt over what she had on. Layering made it warmer and warmth she needed.
“If that’s all I can do for you, I consider it a great service,” the man said.
Cedric said, “Perhaps one more thing. Do you know where to find the weed, Lamia’s hair?”
“Lamia’s hair?” he asked. “I’ve never heard of such a thing and I’ve seen more turns of time than you have.”
“It’s a weed flower with long purple petals. It grows in wet places.”
“Sounds like something the cows would eat and call mighty fine.”
“Yes, but it’s important.”
“Perhaps you should see old Matilda up on the lake. She knows where to find all the things that are growing and important, if you catch my meaning.”
“Up on the lake?” Emma asked.
“Yes, there’s a lake along the river some miles away. Matilda lives there. Prefers her peace and quiet she does, but she’ll help if there’s trouble.”
“What is your name, sir?” Cedric asked.
“You can call me Father William, all my children do.”
“Well, Father William, thank you very much for your aid.”
“Good souls deserve it and I like to think all souls are good.”
“May it be so.”
Emma cinched the shirt tight around her waist.
“I’m ready to go if you are.” Then she started walking. With color in her cheeks, she asked, “Do you perhaps have any shoes I could wear?”
“I doubt anything that would fit my feet would do for such as yours, miss.”
“Well, thank you anyway.”
“Yes, thank you and we’ll remember you to Matilda when we see her.”
“Tell her I still thank her for curing the cough of my eldest daughter. She’s married now and a mother of her own. In fact, my daughter’s daughter is expecting now.”
“Of course,” Cedric said. Emma nodded with a smile. They left Father William’s house and struck out along a side road. They came to the river soon after.
“If we stay near the river, we can’t miss the lake,” Emma said. Cedric agreed. They followed the river into the forest.
Interested? Leave a comment!
Every moment Emmaline waited for the guard to come back she spent on pins and needles. Would he come back with a rock or wouldn’t he? The question tore at her because her entire plan hinged upon it. She strained her ears to hear any movement and imagined she heard mice moving in the walls. More likely rats, but either way not a pleasant thought. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard footsteps returning. She slipped away from the door to her cell and waited. A man’s face appeared in the tiny window and his eyes searched for her. She made herself visible.
“You called for heat,” he said.
“Yes, if you would be so kind.” She even added a little curtsy on to the end. Heavy rattling outside the door preceded it opening. She carefully stayed close to the center of the room just out of reach of the light. The guard put a small pot on the floor and nudged it in with his foot. Inside the pot were several small crystals, barely bigger than beads, but they gave off a delicious warmth Emma craved. She dropped down next to it and hugged it as close as she dared, luxuriating in heat that struck to her bones. While she enjoyed her heat, the door shut and the keys rattled it locked again. No matter, she thought. You’ll open the door again when I’m ready. She lugged the pot across the room to a far corner away from the charmot and the door. There, she set about her plan. Feeling around on the floor, she tried to find a loose stone. She only needed a small one, just enough to act as a scrape and a mortar. The piece that came up under her fingers was too large for what she really wanted, but she would make do. First she gathered some of the Morpheus’s beard from the wall by dragging the rock across it, pausing to listen every few seconds in case someone should start paying attention to what she did. No need to give the game away too quickly. Or get herself hanged all the quicker. With the moss collected, she covered her hands with the edge of her nightshirt and went to get the charmot. She grabbed enough of the loose powder to give someone a deep sneeze and scurried across the room with it. Dumping it into a hollow made out of a piece of cloth she found, she put the moss on top of it and began to beat the two together. It left behind a flammable paste. At least she hoped it would be flammable seeing how she hadn’t had time to properly dry the moss before adding it to the recipe. Too late to worry about that now. She needed to get a move on before someone remembered they were down there and decided to see about them. One guard would be hard enough, more than one might be impossible.
Knotting up the cloth, she inserted one of the small crystals into the knot. It would burn through quick enough, so she needed to hurry. The rest she dropped in the rest of the cloth and hay left on the floor. The hay, despite the general damp, caught like a champ and started to smoke. “Fire!” Emma ran to the door with her package in hand and yelled. Then she slipped into the corner behind the door. The guard, seeing the flames, hurried to undo the lock. Emma huddled in her hiding spot as the flames licked the walls and ceiling.
“Damnable fool woman,” the guard said as he swung the door open. Seeing he couldn’t do much about the fire without some sort of water, he turned back. Emma thrust the now smoking packet into his face. He took a step back and reached for his sword with a cry, but the smell took effect. He stumbled backward and then crumbled to his knees. Emma dropped the pack next to his head and stomped it out. The smoke remained as a haze hanging just above the floor. Urgently, she checked the guard for keys. Nothing. They hung from the lock. Emma grabbed them and went to Cedric’s cell. Her companion looked at her and then strained to see past her to see what was going on.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Emma said.
“I agree.”
She fumbled with the keys trying to find the right one. The first three didn’t fit and the smoke boiled out of the room into the hall. The scent of the smoke changed as it caught the Morpheus’s beard still attached to the wall. Before too long, it would reach the charmot and the mixture would affect the whole castle. They needed to be gone before that. One of the keys fit and she yanked Cedric’s cell door open. His eyes had fallen to lidded and he breathed slowly.
“Don’t breath too much of this in,” she said, covering her own mouth and nose with one sleeve. “It’ll put you to sleep.”
Cedric followed her lead. Then the pair hurried down the corridor away from the fire. Just as they reached the staircase upward, they heard shouts above them. They ducked into an alcove at the bottom of the stairs just in time for two other guardsmen to come rushing down. They coughed and hacked in the smoke and Emma led Cedric up the stairs. At the top, she looked first one way then another, her eyes burning from the smoke. With a cough, she motioned Cedric to pick a direction. He took the east hallway at a clip. Emma ran after him. The air smelled sweeter the further they got from the fire, but they wouldn’t enjoy freedom long if they didn’t get out of the castle. Cedric must have known that because the next thing she knew, they were in a courtyard. Several people milled about. Without stopping to consult, Cedric struck out for the gate. Emma did her best not to wince too often at the sore treatment of her feet.
“Just like summer at Papa’s,” she said to herself after stepping on a small stone. She took full deep breathes of the clear air and kept Cedric’s shirt in sight. The pair merged with the others who were leaving the castle and soon they were lost in a small crowd. Fortuitous since riders from the castle rode by not long after. Emma ducked her head and did the best she could not to look out of place.
The group they were with passed time by singing songs Emma knew none of the words to, but she found it comforting just the same since they hadn’t turned them into the riders. She could imagine what would happen now that she had set the castle on fire. Punishment would be swift. All the more reason to avoid it. She and Cedric stayed within sight distance, but didn’t travel together. It suited Emma fine. She had problems enough without worrying over whether or not he was okay. A little heartless maybe, but she was working on his problem: curing the King. She could almost feel the ingredient list under her fingertips, except she couldn’t call them out. The relative of wonderroot was probably Urcen, which oddly enough resembled a potato before it was cut up and boiled in the recipes. Lamia’s hair, which made it purple. Reminded of it, perhaps one of the ingredients was Charmot. That still left the liquid used. If only she had access to Mr. Amon, he would certainly know what it was without having to look. Caught up in her own troubles, she hardly noticed when the group began to disband. However, when she realized she was without any kind of human shelter from discovery, she looked around.
They were in a village. A circle of houses looked in on what could be called a market square. The others in the group had dispersed in various houses. The lower half of each house was made of stone, but the thatch looked like the straw Emma had set alight. Cedric stood in the center of the road looking at the houses as well.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Hammerford, the closest village to the castle,” Cedric said. “I’ve traded here a time or two.”
“Do you know where we might find a weed called Lamia’s hair?”
“No.”
He ushered her out of the road as a cart attempted to pass. Waving to the driver, he said,
“Maybe someone here in town knows where to find it.”
The market square stood empty. The depressions of its stalls were thick and deep. Cedric rushed her through to the other side. Up the road, another rider appeared. Ducking behind a building, they crouched to get out of sight.
“How are we going to ask them if we have to keep hiding?”
“Once we’re inside a house, we should be fine,” Cedric said, his mouth quirking into a smile. “I’m certain we’ll be just fine.”
His optimism did nothing for her. The rider passed them a few minutes later. Emma stretched as best she could when she stood.
“Come on,” Cedric said. They went to the first house off the square. It looked no more ornate or out of place than any of the others. As good a place as any to start. Knocking on the door, Cedric leaned in. The door opened a crack.
“May we come in, we are poor travelers seeking aid.” The door shut with a definitive snap.
“We’ll try somewhere else,” Cedric whispered. Three houses closed their doors to them before one stood open. A jovial man, thin and long limbed, stood in the doorway.
“Come in, come in. Succor you may have.”
“Thank you, kind sir,” Cedric said as he bowed to Emma to precede him. Standing inside the hut, it appeared a wonder how the tall man fit inside. His head seemed to be rubbing the thatch. “As I said, we are in need of aid.”
“And how may I aid you?”
“Do you have any clothing you might be able to part with?” Emma asked. “I have so little.”
The man, older than them both, looked at her appraisingly.
“Indeed you have little. I have a pair of breeches and a few shirts you might try. They’ll hang long on you, but it’ll be more than you have.” He went to the far side of the hut and rummaged through what looked like a rag pile. He came up with a pair of breeches and two shirts which looked as though they may have shrunk at one time. They certainly no longer fit him. Emma took the clothes and put the breeches on first before fitting the shirt over what she had on. Layering made it warmer and warmth she needed.
“If that’s all I can do for you, I consider it a great service,” the man said.
Cedric said, “Perhaps one more thing. Do you know where to find the weed, Lamia’s hair?”
“Lamia’s hair?” he asked. “I’ve never heard of such a thing and I’ve seen more turns of time than you have.”
“It’s a weed flower with long purple petals. It grows in wet places.”
“Sounds like something the cows would eat and call mighty fine.”
“Yes, but it’s important.”
“Perhaps you should see old Matilda up on the lake. She knows where to find all the things that are growing and important, if you catch my meaning.”
“Up on the lake?” Emma asked.
“Yes, there’s a lake along the river some miles away. Matilda lives there. Prefers her peace and quiet she does, but she’ll help if there’s trouble.”
“What is your name, sir?” Cedric asked.
“You can call me Father William, all my children do.”
“Well, Father William, thank you very much for your aid.”
“Good souls deserve it and I like to think all souls are good.”
“May it be so.”
Emma cinched the shirt tight around her waist.
“I’m ready to go if you are.” Then she started walking. With color in her cheeks, she asked, “Do you perhaps have any shoes I could wear?”
“I doubt anything that would fit my feet would do for such as yours, miss.”
“Well, thank you anyway.”
“Yes, thank you and we’ll remember you to Matilda when we see her.”
“Tell her I still thank her for curing the cough of my eldest daughter. She’s married now and a mother of her own. In fact, my daughter’s daughter is expecting now.”
“Of course,” Cedric said. Emma nodded with a smile. They left Father William’s house and struck out along a side road. They came to the river soon after.
“If we stay near the river, we can’t miss the lake,” Emma said. Cedric agreed. They followed the river into the forest.
Interested? Leave a comment!
October 3, 2015
[Bella and the Black Book] Chapter Five
Trouble comes in threes. Always threes. And I had only been through round one.
Mr. McGuffy had probably made it back to his apartment to call the police and hopefully to get that shotgun put away. I was busy looking for the things I needed to skeddadle. Jimmy always made sure we had enough to get away if necessary. I kept up the habit after he went away. If I needed to disappear, like now, I could do it. I found the spare car keys hidden in the false bottom of a side table along with three thousand dollars in one hundred dollar bills.
The smell of blood and excrement warred with the scent of vanilla and lavender I used in the apartment. I desperately wanted to smell one but not the other. Tears rolled down my face, I wasn't sobbing, at least not yet, but yes there were tears. They blurred my vision and I forced myself to stop and consider exactly why I was crying. After all, the man had pointed a gun at my head. Him losing his all over the parking lot might not have been fair, but he certainly couldn't do it again.
I hitched a deep breath, unrolled the money to fit it in my purse and grabbed the keys. Time to make a break for it. The edges of the notebook were bloody and brain flecks were in my hair. I tried not to think about that as I made my way through the sunny day outside of my apartment, after locking up this time, and down the street to the car, a ten year old beater that wouldn't get a second glance if someone paid enough attention to give it a first. I prefer these kinds of cars. Flashy just gets you in trouble.
Sitting in the driver's seat, I composed myself. First rule of running away, blend in. If everyone is running, run. If everyone is walking, walk quickly. I ran a hand down my face which undoubtedly smeared the blood, but did little to make me more presentable.
I should have actually washed up. I wanted to run a scalding hot shower and get rid of the stink of fear under my armpits, but I didn't have time for that. I needed to be gone yesterday. Blue lights appeared in the rearview moving fast. I slid down in the seat a little and let them wash over me. As much as I hated leaving the old man to handle things on his own, I had every inkling he was more than up to the task. He had just blown someone's head off in my defense after all.
Looking at the notebook there in the seat next to me, I wondered what secrets it really did hold. Guess I would find out.
Tick tock, tick tock. Time to leave.
Mr. McGuffy had probably made it back to his apartment to call the police and hopefully to get that shotgun put away. I was busy looking for the things I needed to skeddadle. Jimmy always made sure we had enough to get away if necessary. I kept up the habit after he went away. If I needed to disappear, like now, I could do it. I found the spare car keys hidden in the false bottom of a side table along with three thousand dollars in one hundred dollar bills.
The smell of blood and excrement warred with the scent of vanilla and lavender I used in the apartment. I desperately wanted to smell one but not the other. Tears rolled down my face, I wasn't sobbing, at least not yet, but yes there were tears. They blurred my vision and I forced myself to stop and consider exactly why I was crying. After all, the man had pointed a gun at my head. Him losing his all over the parking lot might not have been fair, but he certainly couldn't do it again.
I hitched a deep breath, unrolled the money to fit it in my purse and grabbed the keys. Time to make a break for it. The edges of the notebook were bloody and brain flecks were in my hair. I tried not to think about that as I made my way through the sunny day outside of my apartment, after locking up this time, and down the street to the car, a ten year old beater that wouldn't get a second glance if someone paid enough attention to give it a first. I prefer these kinds of cars. Flashy just gets you in trouble.
Sitting in the driver's seat, I composed myself. First rule of running away, blend in. If everyone is running, run. If everyone is walking, walk quickly. I ran a hand down my face which undoubtedly smeared the blood, but did little to make me more presentable.
I should have actually washed up. I wanted to run a scalding hot shower and get rid of the stink of fear under my armpits, but I didn't have time for that. I needed to be gone yesterday. Blue lights appeared in the rearview moving fast. I slid down in the seat a little and let them wash over me. As much as I hated leaving the old man to handle things on his own, I had every inkling he was more than up to the task. He had just blown someone's head off in my defense after all.
Looking at the notebook there in the seat next to me, I wondered what secrets it really did hold. Guess I would find out.
Tick tock, tick tock. Time to leave.
[BOOK REVIEW] Rabbit in Red by Joe Chianakas
What to say? I love the horror nerdiness dripping from every corner of this book. I am a Stephen King geek, so seeing so many references to one of the Masters of Horror made me so happy. As a student of horror, I thoroughly enjoyed getting to see how others interacted with my favorite genre. The main characters come across to me as people I would have as friends. The people on forums where you can debate the latest horror movie monster or trope and decide what really ranks as the best of the best. I especially liked quiet Rose, who reminds me a lot of me. Few words, a little shy, but underneath it all fiery as a sunset. Quick plot rundown: Teenagers are given a chance to participate in a contest run by an eccentric billionare movie producer at a very hush hush studio. While they are there, going through various challenges, other, not so normal, things begin to happen. They are then caught in a race against time to figure everything out in hopes that life doesn't imitate horror art.
My favorite scene: Each character getting to be Hannibal Lecter. Though he is not a King creation, Hannibal is perhaps my favorite all-time horror movie character. And not just because he has interesting dietary habits. I love the veneer of civility he hides behind. He seems very much the cultured gentleman, but underneath he's man eating man.
My least favorite part: JB's cyberstalking. I'm just gonna leave that there.
Would I read this again? Yes. I can only imagine with so much crammed inside, I missed something somewhere that I will catch on subsequent rereads. Not to mention it making me want to get out classics of the genre like "The People Under the Stairs" and "Fright Night". Where can you get it? AMAZON.
September 29, 2015
[October Sky] Part III
PART ONE | PART TWO
Emma found herself awake in the dark of morning waiting for something to happen. No sounds issued from the other room where Cedric lay. What to make of him? He appeared only a little older than herself. He claimed to be doing the best he could for his king, the king of the well of souls. Emma wrapped her arms around her covered knees and stared hard at the line of light under the door. Maybe he would reconsider what she had said and send her home. Mr. Amon would be a much better choice to do some sort of alchemy to save a king. Though that thought brought her round to the stranger who had come into the shop the day before. He had agitated Mr. Amon certainly, but why?
Shifting and shuffling came to her ears and the door opened a crack.
“Emmaline,” Cedric whispered to her.
“Yes.”
“If you are awake, we should go to the king now before the castle wakes.” He entered the room on quiet feet and stood with the light at his back. Emma tried in vain to read his shadowed face. Throwing off the cover, she put her feet on the chilly floor.
“Do you have shoes I can wear and perhaps something more substantial than this nightshirt?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Great. She would meet a king barefoot in her nightshirt. What a first impression that would make. Emma focused her thoughts as she had been taught by her master and stepped forward. If this was how it was to happen, then so be it. She followed Cedric out of the room. They descended the staircase in silence and when they reached the castle proper, Cedric began to sneak. Emma kept her footsteps light and stayed close. They moved through the corridors avoiding others. When the sound of someone coming came to them, Cedric would stop and hide in the shadows. Emma did the same. Then once the sound left, they continued on. Before long they came to an ornate door with skulls in profile. A man, perhaps a guard, stood beside it. Cedric crossed the floor to him.
“What’s your business?” the guard asked.
“A petitioner to see the king.”
“You know well that the king sees no one. Chancellor Lawrence will hear your case.”
“This can only be heard by the king himself. Let me in to see him.”
“You have to go through Chancellor…”
“The Chancellor will let no one see him. Let me through.”
Emma waited at the edge of the hallway, keeping herself small to avoid the gaze of the guard. The two men argued for another moment before the guard said,
“If I let you in, you must say nothing to anyone. It’s my head if I don’t do my duty.”
“I will say nothing. You have my word.”
Cedric gestured for Emma to join him. They proceeded through the door together. The light thud of the door shutting behind them made Emma jump. Her nerves, calm as they may have been, wound tight. They crossed a sitting chamber and entered into a sanctuary. Supple tapestries hung against the walls and depicted great scenes of what Emma guessed was the past. A strong bed sat against one wall and curtains were drawn about it. As they drew closer, Emma could see a figure in the bed through the light curtains.
Nearby a window allowed the first shreds of daylight in. They illuminated the man lying there. Cedric knelt down next to the bed and said,
“My lord. I have come with aid.”
A raspy, whisper came from the man.
“Cedric.”
“Yes, my lord. I have brought an alchemist to cure you.” He waved Emma forward.
All too aware of how she looked, Emma reluctantly came close enough to see the eyes of the laying man. He had gone pale under what had once been a tan. Strong features said he had been attractive once. Now he lay wasting away. Emma patted his hand then asked,
“What are his symptoms?”
“He’s so weak he can hardly stand. The last time he appeared in court, he had to be assisted on and off the throne. He is flushed, but there is no fever. He shivers and shakes at the slightest breeze. He refuses food, but will sip water if its given to him.” Cedric did not look at her as he spoke. He bowed his head to the man in the bed.
Emma considered what it could be. In the few years she had worked for Mr. Amon, she had only heard of one case like this one and the person had died of it. That either meant the medicine didn’t work or it was given too late to be able to effect a cure. What had Mr. Amon used in that instance? Emma racked her brain. She could see the purple tincture in its clear glass vial. No more than three thumb fulls. It had a relative of wonderroot in it, meant to give it a strong kick. The purple color came from a thread-like herb called Lamia’s hair. Emma pinched her nose and closed her eyes. Most alchemy mixed few ingredients prepared just so. There had to be a third. Was it Demon water? Uh.
A loud clap came from the sitting room. Emma stiffened. Cedric shot to his feet. Three men stamped into the room.
“Arrest him,” the leading man said. He wore a thick, heavy gold chain with a skull emblazoned on a disk. The two others wore the skull across their chest and bore weapons.
“You cannot arrest me, Chancellor. I have done no crime,” Cedric said.
“Your attempt to kill our already weakened king will not succeed. Take him into custody.” Then his eyes fell on Emma. “And your accomplice will suffer with you. Get her as well.”
Neither of them resisted as the guards came to tie leather straps around their arms. The Chancellor watched with stony eyes. Cedric set his jaw and refused to say another word.
The few light globes illuminated the lower levels of the castle. The nearest one to Emma’s cell only threw in a glimmer. She curled up in the corner farthest from the door and tried not to shiver. Having nothing but her nightshirt for covering left her feeling cold and exposed. After a few minutes of sitting there, she went to the door. No one stood directly outside, but if she shifted her gaze a bit, someone waited a few doors over. Cedric looked out from the cell opposite hers.
“Cedric,” she said.
“Emmaline.”
“What did you mean when you said only the king could reopen the well?”
The guard standing a few doors over came toward them but seeing that they weren’t trying to escape seemed content to let them have their conversation. It kept Emma’s mind off how cold she was.
“The well is a sacred place. It is opened and closed at the whim of the king. The Chancellor convinced him to close it, meaning it only to be for a day or so, but then the King fell ill and it was never reopened. Every day it remains closed, our kingdom stagnates.”
Emma considered his words. Her eyes slipped to the stone floor, then she brought them back to Cedric’s face.
“Why do you call it the well of souls?”
“Because from the well come the souls of the living to inhabit this, the realm of the dead.”
The realm of the dead, Emma mouthed the phrase again. She stood in the realm of the dead, but death had yet to take her, had it? Or did passing through the mirror kill her? Her mouth went dry and she paced. Cedric’s answers were so clear and concise she saw no reason to argue with them. If they were wrong, then he fully believed in them anyway.
Petunia Evers came to mind. How she had writhed on the floor and sought to drag Emma down. The fear from that moment came into the present and she shivered harder. Was that because of the well?
“Cedric!”
He had disappeared from his cell door and Emma hopped from foot to foot waiting for him to come back to it.
“The well affects the dead, right? Would a person not stay dead if the well were to remain closed?”
“I understand what you’re asking, but I don’t know the answer.”
The guard grunted as if to remind them of his presence. Emma watched him for a moment then sought Cedric’s eyes again.
“I think it’s true,” she said. Perhaps the reason the spell had come to her was Mrs. Evers. She had seen what happened. She knew what could happen. Her imagination saw hordes of those who could not die trying desperately to find their way out of their lives. What would happen to those who stood in the way? She shuddered to think. The well had to be reopened.
Moving away from her door, she closed her eyes. They needed an escape, but how? She felt her way along the wall to the corner, then toward the next corner. There were cloth on the floor along with some straw, a bed maybe. Something grew on the far wall from the door. Her fingers found it and she sniffed it. The spicy but watery scent tickled her thoughts. From there, she moved to the third corner. Here chalky powder covered the lower level of the wall. Finally, she made her way to the center and stood there in the dark. Taking slow, deep breaths, she centered her thoughts. Mr. Amon insisted she do that whenever she attempted something difficult. Escaping from prison certainly counted as difficult. Identify what she had at hand. Morpheus’s beard smelled spicy but watery in its powdered form after it dried. It burned with a sophoric effect. Knockout gas? That would take care of the guard, but the door would still be locked. She needed the door unlocked before she could do anything about the guard. The hazy edges of a plan formed in her mind. It could work, but she needed fire or at least one of those warming crystals. Going back to the chalk, she dipped a finger in it and rubbed her fingers together. Touching her tongue to her fingers, she tasted it. Nothing came immediately to mind. Alchemy could use even the most basic things to do the incredible.
“What are you?” Her tongue tingled and her fingers developed a creepy crawling sensation. She wiped her hands hurriedly and spit several times. “Charmot.” Added to a brew, it would amplify the effects. On it’s own, it plucked the nerves and made the skin crawl.
So she had Morpheus’s beard and Charmot. It would make one hell of a knockout gas, but it needed to be mixed and heated. The cloth could be used to put a fuse on it, if she could get a heat source. Going back to the door, she hung one hand out the small window.
“Hello,” she called. With some clanking, the guard moved down toward her. “I’m terribly cold. Could I perhaps get a heat rock?”
“A heat rock?” he asked. Cedric appeared at his door to watch the exchange.
“Yes, one of those fabulous rocks that create heat. I haven’t much on and no shoes and I’m freezing. You wouldn’t want me to die before the Chancellor has his chance to execute me, would you?” The words came out glib, but Emma felt a trace of fear at the idea of being executed. Best to insure that didn’t happen.
The guard came close enough to look inside her cell. Emma moved back from the door so he could see her more clearly. He knocked his head from one side to the other, then shrugged before going away. Rushing back to the door, Emma watched him as long as she was able. He moved out of sight and Emma stayed at the door.
She met Cedric’s eyes and smiled. He didn’t smile back.
Leave a comment if you would.
[Author Spotlight] Joe Chianakas
Gore without fear is like sex without love; you’ll squirm, but it’s better when your heart’s in it.
Distinguished Press is proud to launch Rabbit in Red, the first book in a horror mystery series by Joe Chianakas!
Synopsis:
Bill Wise has blood in his past, so he turns to horror films to wipe it clean. Jaime Stein has felt the betrayal of death, so she too takes refuge in the on-screen deaths of others. Now Bill, Jaime, and seventeen other horror-loving teens have gathered at Rabbit in Red Studios, the brainchild of eccentric horror producer Jay “JB” Bell, for the terror-filled, blood-drenched contest of their lives.
JB has presented this competition as a race between the best of the best that will reward the winners with cash, internships, and a career making the movies they love. But things aren’t always as they seem at Rabbit in Red, and soon life starts to imitate art. Will Bill and Jaime be strong enough to confront real horror to save their friends, or will they all fall victim to JB’s twisted plans?
Excerpt:
This was the moment! He seized a knife that was on the kitchen floor and stabbed the hand—his own hand!—pinning it to the floor. He hesitated a moment, looking at this image in front of him. It was the strangest thing Bill could have imagined. There he was, on the floor of JB’s game chamber, but all around him he only saw the infamous cabin in the woods from The Evil Dead. And he had stabbed his own hand, but thankfully he felt no more than a sharp pinch. The knife was virtual, but the glove was real, and whatever technology JB programmed in it, the glove reacted in perfect real time to everything happening on screen.
He knew what he had to do next, and he was both excited and terrified at the idea. This was the epic moment with Ash in The Evil Dead. He had to cut off the possessed hand. That was the only way to get rid of the evil, to not become fully possessed. With his right hand pinned to the floor gushing out blood, Bill reached for the chainsaw that Ash had used earlier in the movie, which of course happened to be right next to him. Remembering this iconic scene from those younger memories when he and his friends cheered, Bill picked up the chainsaw with his left hand, bit on the cord and yanked it back with as much force as he could to start the gas-powered hacking device and brought it down on his right arm. The screeching noises, the loud mechanics of the saw, the crunching of bone, and the splattering of blood coalesced in a cacophony of noises, an orchestra of pain.
Bill cut off the hand.
“Because you were home,” Bill whispered. “No other reason than that they were home.” His body twitched for a moment, his saddest, darkest memory stinging him like a wasp that appeared out of nowhere. Shake it off. No time for that now.
Their screens flashed CORRECT and the bloody rabbit danced.
Buy links:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B015TOA1B4
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/580373
About the author:
Joe Chianakas is a professor of communication at Illinois Central College in East Peoria, IL. He’s a super fan of horror and literature. Rabbit in Red is his first published novel. He likes writing in all sorts of genres from horror to traditional coming-of-age. In addition to teaching and writing, he enjoys fitness, martial arts, and traveling. You can find Joe online at www.joechianakas.com or www.facebook.com/chianakas/ or www.twitter.com/joechianakas.
Look to hear more about Rabbit in Red after I finish reading the review copy the publisher was nice enough to send me!
Distinguished Press is proud to launch Rabbit in Red, the first book in a horror mystery series by Joe Chianakas!
Synopsis:Bill Wise has blood in his past, so he turns to horror films to wipe it clean. Jaime Stein has felt the betrayal of death, so she too takes refuge in the on-screen deaths of others. Now Bill, Jaime, and seventeen other horror-loving teens have gathered at Rabbit in Red Studios, the brainchild of eccentric horror producer Jay “JB” Bell, for the terror-filled, blood-drenched contest of their lives.
JB has presented this competition as a race between the best of the best that will reward the winners with cash, internships, and a career making the movies they love. But things aren’t always as they seem at Rabbit in Red, and soon life starts to imitate art. Will Bill and Jaime be strong enough to confront real horror to save their friends, or will they all fall victim to JB’s twisted plans?
Excerpt:
This was the moment! He seized a knife that was on the kitchen floor and stabbed the hand—his own hand!—pinning it to the floor. He hesitated a moment, looking at this image in front of him. It was the strangest thing Bill could have imagined. There he was, on the floor of JB’s game chamber, but all around him he only saw the infamous cabin in the woods from The Evil Dead. And he had stabbed his own hand, but thankfully he felt no more than a sharp pinch. The knife was virtual, but the glove was real, and whatever technology JB programmed in it, the glove reacted in perfect real time to everything happening on screen.
He knew what he had to do next, and he was both excited and terrified at the idea. This was the epic moment with Ash in The Evil Dead. He had to cut off the possessed hand. That was the only way to get rid of the evil, to not become fully possessed. With his right hand pinned to the floor gushing out blood, Bill reached for the chainsaw that Ash had used earlier in the movie, which of course happened to be right next to him. Remembering this iconic scene from those younger memories when he and his friends cheered, Bill picked up the chainsaw with his left hand, bit on the cord and yanked it back with as much force as he could to start the gas-powered hacking device and brought it down on his right arm. The screeching noises, the loud mechanics of the saw, the crunching of bone, and the splattering of blood coalesced in a cacophony of noises, an orchestra of pain.
Bill cut off the hand.
“Because you were home,” Bill whispered. “No other reason than that they were home.” His body twitched for a moment, his saddest, darkest memory stinging him like a wasp that appeared out of nowhere. Shake it off. No time for that now.
Their screens flashed CORRECT and the bloody rabbit danced.
Buy links:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B015TOA1B4
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/580373
About the author:
Joe Chianakas is a professor of communication at Illinois Central College in East Peoria, IL. He’s a super fan of horror and literature. Rabbit in Red is his first published novel. He likes writing in all sorts of genres from horror to traditional coming-of-age. In addition to teaching and writing, he enjoys fitness, martial arts, and traveling. You can find Joe online at www.joechianakas.com or www.facebook.com/chianakas/ or www.twitter.com/joechianakas.Look to hear more about Rabbit in Red after I finish reading the review copy the publisher was nice enough to send me!
September 22, 2015
[October Sky] Part II
Here's PART ONE in case you haven't read it yet. The house of Mrs. Snow sat on a cul-de-sac on the northern edge of town where the portion of the town wall still stood. The house backed up against the wall as if it were being threatened by the street and looked startled with several large windows. Emmaline knocked on the door with a vaguely numb fist and waited. A man, dressed in the black and white of a servant, opened the door.
“Yes, Miss?”
“I’m looking for Mrs. Snow.”
“You’ll find her at the house of Petunia Evers. Go back up the street, take a right on Greenwich lane and follow it down to Marsha. The house is 26 Marsha Court.” Then he promptly shut the door in her face. Emma blew into her fists and tried not to curse. She should have brought her gloves from home, but had forgotten them in her hurry to be out of the house. Maman would probably scold her for being forgetful, if she knew. Emma shook her head and turned to head back up the street.
26 Marsha Court stood on the corner across from a very similar neighbor. In fact, looking at them, they were twins of one another except one was done in blues, the other in greens. Emma knocked on the door of the blue house. A clatter came from behind the door. It opened to a woman wearing one shoe with a mass of hair corralled in a messy braid. She and Emma caught eyes and Emma bowed.
“I’m here to see Mrs. Snow. I’m with Mr. Amon’s alchemist shop.”
“Oh, yes,” the young woman said. “We’re expecting you. I’m Lucielle.” Lucielle promptly wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed. “It’s awfully cold out here. Let’s get you in the house.”
Bundled inside, Emma began to sweat under the heavy heat. The whole house felt like a sauna. She loosened the buttons on her coat and wore it hanging at her sides. Lucielle went to the staircase in the middle of the house.
“Come on, Mrs. Snow and my mother are upstairs.”
Emma followed her up.
Lucielle went to a door, knocked on it, and then opened it. Stepping just inside the door, she said,
“There’s someone to see you, cousin Snow.”
Emma stopped in the doorway. The three women resembled one another, but only in features. One lay in bed and she wore the frumpiest nightshirt Emma thought she had ever seen. Her face was bright red and she sweated in the heat. Beside her, sitting in a chair, sat a woman Emma thought of as the soul of poise. Every curl in her hair laid down perfectly against her white forehead. She possessed the same mass of hair, but it hung thick down her back. She wore black and silver and a corset.
“Thank you, Lucielle,” Snow said. “Mr. Amon has sent the recipe we asked for?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mixed himself yesterday and then held to increase its efficacy,” Emma said.
“Good. Lucielle, bring me my bag from downstairs so that I can pay this nice young lady.”
Lucielle hesitated, shot her cousin a look, then left the room. From the placement of a chair, apparently Lucielle spent a great deal of time in the room as well sitting on the far side of her mother from her cousin. Emma shifted from foot to foot then held the package out to Mrs. Snow.
“Please take it.”
Four packets wrapped inside of white paper full of a tarry brown substance meant to be mixed with tea or strong drink.
“I will, dear, just as soon as I can pay you for them. That paper will keep me out if I don’t.”
Oh right, that. Emma had forgotten about the charm on the shop’s paper to keep people from using the concoctions without paying for them. Lucielle came back with a bag that matched Mrs. Snow’s dress and plopped it down in her lap. Then she retreated to the far side of the bed and put her hand over the hand of the woman in the bed. Mrs. Snow came out with her payment, a few bills, but as she reached out to pay her a violent shudder ran through Mrs. Evers, the woman in the bed. Both Lucielle and Snow jumped to their feet to stop her from hurting herself as she convulsed.
“What’s happening?”
“I think she’s dying.”
As quickly as the throes started, they ceased, dropping both women to their knees beside the bed. Emma watched as the two got up, one foot at a time. Mrs. Snow shook out her dress and went to press her hand to the woman’s forehead, but Lucielle beat her to it.
“Her fever’s broken,” Lucielle said. “But her heart?” She leaned in to listen to her mother’s heart. Rising her head, she shook it once before beginning to cry. Emma blinked away tears as well, crying more because Lucielle cried. Mrs. Snow remained dry eyed though she now looked at Emma with harder eyes.
“If only you had come sooner,” Snow said.
“What do you mean?”
“The medicine was for her. Mr. Amon will not be getting paid for this.”
The vehemence took Emma aback, but she couldn’t quite blame her. Her relative had just died.
A shudder ran through the body and Lucielle sat back hard. Mrs. Evers hands groped at the air and a strangled cry tried to come from her throat. Emma and Mrs. Snow watched in wonder as the woman tried to sit up, upsetting the coverlet on the bed. Lucielle reacted first, throwing her body across the other woman’s to keep her down.
“What’s happening?” Emma asked.
“I don’t know.”
Lucielle screamed as Mrs. Evers threw her off with stiff movements. Mrs. Snow then attempted to restrain her, to no avail. Emma watched as the woman lurched forward and attempted to get off the bed but her legs wouldn’t quite work so she fell to the floor. On the floor, she crawled, dirtying her nightshirt. The closer she came, the more Emma edged back toward the door. Then her hand touched Emma’s ankle and grabbed with a vise grip.
“Let go!”
Emma batted at that hand and tried to pull her leg away at the same time leading to her ending up on the floor. Mrs. Snow grabbed Mrs. Evers by the shoulders and tried to bodily haul her away, succeeding in partially lifting the woman off the floor. Lucielle joined in with her cousin and they dragged the crawling woman to her feet where she tottered before lunging at them both. Mrs. Snow reached backward seeking something and came up with her bag which she used to hit Mrs. Evers. She tottered to the floor again, stiff legged and clumsy. Emma meanwhile had scooted herself out into the hallway where she watched with wide eyes.
Mrs. Snow hit Mrs. Evers again, bashing the bag down on the woman’s head. Once, then twice. The third time, blood came spurting out. Mrs. Evers skull cracked. Lucielle grabbed Mrs. Snow’s arm and held her back from hitting her a fourth time. The body continued to jerk and try to crawl, but it made no headway. Emma couldn’t unsee the way the woman twitched.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, but I think it’s over.”
Lucielle collapsed over the body of her mother and had a storm of tears complete with thunderous sobs. Mrs. Snow watched. Emma pulled her knees up to her chest and waited for her own shaking to subside.
“I have to make a phone call,” Mrs. Snow said and stepped across Emma to go down the stairs. Picking up the packet forgotten on the floor in her haste, Emma stood up. Lucielle appeared to be going nowhere. Emma wondered if she should comfort the poor woman who shuddered through her tears. Wiping her sweaty brow, Emma started down the stairs only to hear.
“You don’t even care, do you?”
Lucielle’s eyes were weeping agates in Emma’s vision.
“Ma’am?”
“You don’t even care that she died.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“No, you’re not. You just want to be gone. Well go. Be gone. Take off.” She shooed with one hand and wiped her tears with the other. Emma continued down the stairs. “Heartless,” was the last thing she heard Lucielle say as she made it to the lower floor. Mrs. Snow stood in the foyer with the telephone pressed to her ear.
“Yes. I want to report a sighting. What do you mean there are others already reporting things?” she said. Emma slid past her and stopped at the front door. When she turned back, Mrs. Snow waved her away and Emma went back out into the street. The cold slapped her in the face and she quickly buttoned up her jacket. After being so warm returning to the cold was even more miserable. It felt as if her fingers instantly went numb once again. She trudged back to Mr. Amon’s shop with the vision of that woman crawling across the floor toward her and Mrs. Snow savagely bringing the bag down on her head. But the strongest vision was the one of the blood and how it ran in pearls down the woman’s face after Mrs. Snow cracked her skull.
The sky at the edge of the backyard was painfully clear in the cold. Emma looked up at the spread of stars with wonder. No matter how many times she gazed at the sky, she always found herself wondering at what she saw. Beauty incarnate. Maman moved around somewhere behind her, coaching guests on the proper places to look to see certain astral features. They awaited the true star of the evening, a constellation called “The Well”. It would appear in the northern sky for only an hour or so, but while it lay there, it would send forth shooting stars. Or at least, that was what was supposed to happen.
Emma felt uneasy. Her dream of the night before had come back full force as she stood under the stars. She returned to the table and poured herself some more hot chocolate. Midnight would come along soon enough and the well would light up the sky with a beautiful display. The brown liquid steamed in her cobalt mug. Other stargazers talked in pairs and threes about what they saw or would see.
“The Well of Souls,” Emma said to herself after a sip of her hot chocolate. She had never heard the well called that before. It seemed so dramatic. She sipped more of the hot liquid hoping to warm up some. The biting cold of late October seeped into her bones despite her coat though making waiting for midnight a misery.
Turning back to the group, she counted heads. 12 people not including herself milled around in the backyard with cups of hot cocoa or a cookie gripped in their mitts. A couple wore binoculars like she did. A telescope had been set up at the end of the grounds and pointed in the general direction the well would be seen in. Emma checked her phone for the time.
11:55.
Any minute now.
She trained her eyes on the northern heavens and waited. Supposedly, you could see the well with your naked eye when it first appeared in a flash, but she didn’t want to take chances of missing it. Picking up her binoculars she shifted the viewfinder to make the stars bigger and brighter. As she waited, she found herself breathing shallow. It was hardly the first time she had seen it, but it seemed special every year. As if it were true magic.
“It’s time,” someone said. Everyone turned their eyes to the sky.
In a sky full of bright, beautiful stars, nothing unusual showed. Emma held her breath. Any moment now.
Nothing.
Letting out her breath in a slow sigh, Emma tried to catch the eye of her grandmother. The older woman said something in a low voice and the group nearest to her began to move inside. Emma wasn’t with them. She stayed outside, waiting, hoping for the moment that didn’t come. Maman put a hand on her arm once everyone had gone inside.
“Come on.”
“Maman, what happened?”
“I don’t know, dear, but I have a strong feeling this is not good.”
A rhythmic thudding woke Emma from her sleep. The man in the mirror had returned. He beat on the glass from inside the mirror and sought her attention. When she sat up, he said,
“The well. You must help me.”
Emma rolled out of bed and came to the mirror. Placing her hand over his, she said,
“How?”
“Come with me.”
The medallion resting on his chest flickered with a red light then turned white. When it did, Emma’s hand fell through the mirror and landed in his. She snatched her hand back and the surface followed her movement slowly until the silver dripped off her fingers. Emma checked her hand for injuries. There was nothing wrong. Then his hand extended through the mirror.
“Please,” he said. Looking at the hand extended toward her, Emma took a step back.
“What will happen to me?”
“Time is short.”
“Are you certain?”
“The spell sent me here. You must be the one I seek. Help me.”
The medallion’s light began to fade like a sun ray caught in a cloud. With two strides, Emma moved forward and grabbed a hold of the man’s hand. He drew her through a chilly curtain to stand before him. Putting her feet on the floor, Emma was reminded that she wore neither shoes nor socks. She could hear Maman scolding her for letting something so simple pass her by.
“Who are you?” Emma asked.
“I am Cedric and you are the one who will save us all.”
Cedric wrapped his cloak around her as she shivered.
“I’m sorry to drag you from your world,” he said. Emma nodded. “But our need is dire.” Emma waited for him to elaborate, but he stopped, cocking his head to listen. “We must go. Someone may have heard.” He hurried her across the circular room away from the mirror and into a corridor where spheres of soft light glowed the color of cooked butter. Padding along with him, Emma felt her heart begin to thunder. What had she done? Following a stranger into a strange land was madness. Yet she had done it. Now she reaped the consequences. Cedric stopped at a corner and peered around it.
“This way.” His steps were light and hers lighter. They fled together down the hallway. At the base of a tower, they mounted the stairs. Up and up they went until Emma thought they must have been a hundred feet high. Throwing open a door, Cedric bowed her in ahead of him. A carpet greeted her feet as she stepped inside. It had a lush flower pattern. Cedric entered behind her and shut the door. In what could be called a fireplace, crystals sat and emitted light and heat in sienna sparkles. The room was warm enough that Emma could doff the cloak. She threw it over the back of a chair set next to a table. Beyond the table, a window sat shut. The lattice work appeared small and fine. Turning on her toes, Emma took in the man who had brought her. The skull medallion at his throat swung as he stooped to warm his hands near the crystals.
“Where are we and what is going on?”
The room seemed to grow smaller as Cedric stood up. He stood a foot over her height, though now looking at him, he couldn’t be much older. Perhaps college age. Her first impression made him older.
“First, thank you for coming. I have given you no reason to trust me.”
“Then show me why I should trust you now.”
“I will, I promise.” He went to a small cupboard and pulled out a jar and two glasses. “Please, let me offer my hospitality, faint though it is.”
As he went about pouring an amber liquid into the two glasses, Emma took a further look around. Installed well above head height were more of those globes, though these were dark. The walls were covered in more flowers like the carpet. It gave the room the appearance of growing. The sienna crystals in the fireplace were large, hexagonal things. She could see her face reflected in their sides. Beautiful.
“Have a drink.” Cedric offered her a glass then sat down. His own glass sat untouched on the table. Emma held her glass before her but did not drink from it, waiting instead for his explanation of what could be so urgent.
“What is your name?” Cedric asked.
“Emmaline.”
“A beautiful name for a beautiful young woman. You are not at all what I expected. I thought I would met with a wizen miser or a crone when I cast the spell upon the winds, but it brought me back to you not once but twice. Therefore, you must be the one.”
“The one for what?”
“To cure the King.”
Emma had a goose walking over her grave shiver and looked at Cedric with wide eyes.
“Cure the king?”
“Yes, he lies upon his death bed and only he can reopen the well.”
“The well of souls.”
“Yes, you know of it?”
“No.” Emma found her way to her own seat on the far side of the table. “We don’t call it the well of souls. We just call it the well and it’s a constellation that appears during the fall.”
“Here, the well of souls is a place. It is the place where all souls cross over. When it is closed, souls cannot come through and our kingdom suffers.”
“What happened to the king?”
“I do not know. His affliction is strange and the court physician seems taken aback by his illness.”
“What can I possibly know that a physician wouldn’t know?” Emma asked. “I’m just an apprentice alchemist.”
“Alchemy? You have studied alchemy?”
Emma hesitated. “Yes.”
“Praise to the stars. You are the one I seek.” Cedric shot up from his seat. “We must take you to see him.” In his excitement, he nearly danced across the room. Then he stopped, so suddenly he had to catch up with his feet. “But Lawrence will seek to stop us.”
“Who’s Lawrence?”
“His revered chancellor. He controls who sees the King now and keeps those reins tight. I don’t think he wants the king to get better.”
“Is that why you were rushing me through the halls?”
“Yes, because he cannot know you are here. It will take subterfuge to bring you two together.” A look of cunning crossed Cedric’s face that Emma didn’t like. Getting up, she began to pace.
Now Cedric watched her as she moved along in front of the crystals and back again.
“I can’t do this, can you send me back?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I cannot send you back until you have cured the king. Certainly you must understand.”
“No, I can find you someone better. My teacher, Mr. Amon. He’s a true alchemist and can do more than I ever could.”
“But the spell did not bring me to him, it brought me to you.”
“Maybe so that I could bring you to him,” Emma explained.
Cedric shook his head. “You must be the one. The spell cannot be wrong.” He got up and opened a door. Beyond it was a bed. “I offer you my bed for tonight. I will lie before the stones. You need have no worries. This will be an easy thing for you with your knowledge.”
Walking into the room, Emma looked around. Beside the bed was another small pot of stones. She crawled across the comforter and ducked beneath it. Despite her misgivings, the comforter felt warm and inviting after the bare chill on the soles of her feet. She snuggled down and though her nerves were a touch frayed went to sleep in minutes.
Like it? Wanna guess where it's going? Leave a comment.
September 20, 2015
24 Hour Playfest Savannah or What I did with My Weekend
I have the good fortune to live in a very art positive town. You can always find some kind of performance or gallery or something you can involve yourself in. Like today, Sunday September 20th 2015, there are auditions for Hamlet as being done by Savannah Shakes, a theater company that does modern twists on the classic Shakesperean stories. They're fantastic and I look forward to this performance which comes out in December. This past weekend though, I had the great pleasure of being a part of the 24 Hour Playfest which happens twice a year in Savannah. This is an all volunteer production of several newly written plays. In short, the play is written, directed, rehearsed, and shown all within approximately 24 hours. This year, I both wrote and acted. It was quite a heady and tiring experience. I don't know if I will pull double-duty again, but doing it the first time was pretty awesome. My first time being involved, I enjoyed myself immensely.
Writing started at 10 o'clock Friday night. I wrote two plays between 10 and 1 in the morning. Granted, they were shorties, only 10 pages long. Our time limit was between 10 and 15 minutes max, so I felt comfortable turning that in. I titled my play, "Three Witches and a Sacrifice." It took the standard blood sacrifice ritual and turned it on its ear to make something much more amusing than I would normally write. I didn't want to get too deep, dark, and broody. If you would like to read it, I have included the text of the play as a download through my public Dropbox. Download and give it a read through. I only ask if you decide to produce it somewhere that you give me fair warning of your intent to do so and credit appropriately. So that was Friday night. I went home, went to bed, gathered about 2 1/2 hours of sleep, and was up again in time for actors call at 7:30 in the morning.
Being in a room with many talents actors, both young and old, was a little intimidating. I haven't been on stage in several years, so I doubted my ability to pull off a consistent character and a good show. However, I didn't let that stop me from showing up and giving it everything I had. I was the only writer to come back and be in a play, so I was the only one who was dog tired when we started. A couple cups of coffee got me pretty perked up though. After a round of directors meet and greet, casting was done. I was cast in a production written by a friend of mine to play a law clerk against a rather eccentric judge and a couple getting divorced over a coffeemaker. The play was a hoot. With casting nailed down, we began rehearsals at about 8:30 in the morning. Front of house opened at 7:30 pm with the show starting at 8 so we had a good 12 hours, including lunch to hammer a play together. My group included three men and myself, so if it hadn't been for the female director, I would have been on my own. Thankfully, I wasn't and things went well.
By the time tech run through started at 5:30 in the afternoon, I was jittery. I didn't have my lines nailed down. I was still dropping cues. I felt like a mess. On top of being super tired. I had a coke and soldiered on. Our first on-stage run through was messy, but showed promise. We needed some more straight run throughs together so that we could make sure we were picking up our cues. I had one line that no matter what I did it wouldn't stick. Thankfully, it became so obvious that my scene partner just ad libbed around it and kept going so that we didn't get bogged down. Front of house opened on time. Last chance to go to the bathroom and truly prep for what felt a little like the end of the world.
The play run a little over 10 minutes. In our final run through in front of a very good audience, we passed with flying colors. We dropped only two lines in the whole thing (the one I always dropped and one other). The audience laughed in all the right places and seemed visibly affected in others. I would know, I spent most of the play looking out past the lights because I faced forward essentially center stage. We were the next to last play to go on. In fact, the last two plays were the one I was in and the one that I wrote. Though I never got to see my play being performed, I got to hear it from backstage. The girls who played my parts were impressive and the play went off without a hitch. All in all, things went splendidly. After a group photo, I headed home to get some rest. Two days of heavy creative expression can take a toll on you. I went to bed by 10 and slept till noon on Sunday. All together, a good weekend. I look forward to seeing it again.
Writing started at 10 o'clock Friday night. I wrote two plays between 10 and 1 in the morning. Granted, they were shorties, only 10 pages long. Our time limit was between 10 and 15 minutes max, so I felt comfortable turning that in. I titled my play, "Three Witches and a Sacrifice." It took the standard blood sacrifice ritual and turned it on its ear to make something much more amusing than I would normally write. I didn't want to get too deep, dark, and broody. If you would like to read it, I have included the text of the play as a download through my public Dropbox. Download and give it a read through. I only ask if you decide to produce it somewhere that you give me fair warning of your intent to do so and credit appropriately. So that was Friday night. I went home, went to bed, gathered about 2 1/2 hours of sleep, and was up again in time for actors call at 7:30 in the morning.
Being in a room with many talents actors, both young and old, was a little intimidating. I haven't been on stage in several years, so I doubted my ability to pull off a consistent character and a good show. However, I didn't let that stop me from showing up and giving it everything I had. I was the only writer to come back and be in a play, so I was the only one who was dog tired when we started. A couple cups of coffee got me pretty perked up though. After a round of directors meet and greet, casting was done. I was cast in a production written by a friend of mine to play a law clerk against a rather eccentric judge and a couple getting divorced over a coffeemaker. The play was a hoot. With casting nailed down, we began rehearsals at about 8:30 in the morning. Front of house opened at 7:30 pm with the show starting at 8 so we had a good 12 hours, including lunch to hammer a play together. My group included three men and myself, so if it hadn't been for the female director, I would have been on my own. Thankfully, I wasn't and things went well.
By the time tech run through started at 5:30 in the afternoon, I was jittery. I didn't have my lines nailed down. I was still dropping cues. I felt like a mess. On top of being super tired. I had a coke and soldiered on. Our first on-stage run through was messy, but showed promise. We needed some more straight run throughs together so that we could make sure we were picking up our cues. I had one line that no matter what I did it wouldn't stick. Thankfully, it became so obvious that my scene partner just ad libbed around it and kept going so that we didn't get bogged down. Front of house opened on time. Last chance to go to the bathroom and truly prep for what felt a little like the end of the world. The play run a little over 10 minutes. In our final run through in front of a very good audience, we passed with flying colors. We dropped only two lines in the whole thing (the one I always dropped and one other). The audience laughed in all the right places and seemed visibly affected in others. I would know, I spent most of the play looking out past the lights because I faced forward essentially center stage. We were the next to last play to go on. In fact, the last two plays were the one I was in and the one that I wrote. Though I never got to see my play being performed, I got to hear it from backstage. The girls who played my parts were impressive and the play went off without a hitch. All in all, things went splendidly. After a group photo, I headed home to get some rest. Two days of heavy creative expression can take a toll on you. I went to bed by 10 and slept till noon on Sunday. All together, a good weekend. I look forward to seeing it again.
September 15, 2015
[October Sky] The Beginning...
Here's the first look at "October Sky," the story of young alchemist Emmaline Simmons and recovering the well of souls.
“The well,” a voice called. “The well.”
Emmaline Simmons sat up in her bed and hunted for the source of the sound. At first, in the grog of sleep, her vision blurred and nothing came to her. A moment later, as she blinked her eyes clear, a man materialized in the mirror. He beat on the mirror as on a pane of glass and screamed though what she heard came out as a muffled whisper.
“The well.”
“What well?” She sprang from bed and rushed to the mirror. The strangeness of the situation lost in the vestiges of a dream.
“The well of souls.” The man in the mirror started to fade. His edges became clouded and indistinct. It drew closer and closer to his center until nothing remained of him but a glowing medallion. Emma searched the eyes of that little skull for answers but none came. It disappeared as well soon after. Kneeling in starlight before her mirror, Emma’s heart beat fast. Something had happened, but what?
Morning peeped in the window and Emma awoke to stretch. The night before curled unclear in her memory, but she scooted out of bed and went to the mirror just the same. It sat in the corner reflecting the patterns of the room back at her. Kneeling before the mirror, she pressed her hand to the object. Her palm faced her. Her eyes sought some answer in the view, but there wasn’t one to be had.
“Emmaline?” Her grandmother poked her head in. “Aren’t you up?” Seeing Emma still in her pajamas, she pushed the door open and stood in the doorway. “Don’t you have somewhere you’re supposed to be?”
With a squeak, Emma threw herself toward the closet. Mr. Amon’s shop. She was supposed to open. Oh god, she was late. Grabbing a sweater and tossing it on the bed, she planned her outfit on the fly. Long pants, an undershirt, then in the drawers for underwear, all in muted fall colors. The October sky had dawned brisk, blue, and chilly. Her grandmother watched her for a few moments then said,
“I’ll be downstairs putting on some oatmeal for you. Hurry down.”
“Thank you,” Emma said as she dragged her nightshirt over her head. It landed in a flop inside the closet door. Emma dressed in record time and stopped only to drag on her boots. Her eyes went to the mirror once again.
“The well of souls,” she said. What did that mean? Long boots on, she headed down the stairs. Maman, her grandmother, puttered about near the stove pouring hot water into bowls to soak the oats.
“I don’t think I have time to wait for that to cool.”
“That’s all right. I made a thermos of coffee for you. Take it with you and get something warm when its time for lunch,” Maman said, pointing to a red thermos sitting in the middle of the kitchen table. Emma pulled her coat on and buttoned it to her throat before pulling a cap over her head. Then she grabbed the thermos and headed out the door. Stepping out into a fast blowing breeze she shivered momentarily before trudging through the frost toward town. Mr. Amon wouldn’t be in until nine. She still had time to get there before he did.
Holding the thermos in one hand, Emma pulled the ring of keys out of her coat pocket and fitted one in the lock. The tumblers turned and the door popped open with an audible sigh. Emma stepped into the shop and shut the door behind her. 8:30. Plenty of time to get everything set up so that when Mr. Amon got in, everything would be ready. She hurried to the curtain hiding the back of the shop from the public and put the thermos down and set to waking the shop from its nightly slumber. Walking over to the massive chest of drawers behind the counter, she laid a hand on it and tapped her fingers in a quick two step pattern and said,
“Good morning.”
Lazily, a drawer opened on the far side. Another, closer to the top, opened and snapped shut in a quick motion. All over, the drawers yawned and shuddered. The red cabinet with gold fittings rattled slightly as it woke. Afterwards, she moved to each of the shelves and tapped them, bringing them to life. All over the shop, the sound of rattling glass started. The shelves rearranged their bottles themselves putting the more expensive concoctions to the back and rotating the stock by age while Emma watched.
The alchemist’s shop would be open for business in just minutes. Emma, meanwhile, went to make herself a cup of coffee as the waking procedures worked themselves out.
Half an hour later, Mr. Amon, a tall slight man of Middle Eastern origin, bustled in. He stamped his feet there on the front step and took a deep breath of his shop as he stood in the middle of the stock floor. Emma brought him a cup of coffee from his private stash which she had taken the time to brew just as he liked it.
“The shop’s all ready for you.”
“I see,” he said. “Very good. Have you wrapped the portion for Mrs. Snow?”
“Already and packaged just as you ordered.”
The white wrapped packets sat on the counter top waiting for the final invoice to be attached. Mr. Amon insisted on doing that himself in his own crabby, tight handwriting. Emma didn’t argue. His shop. His rules.
“Would you be willing to take it out to her? She’s visiting with her sick aunt and simply cannot take the time away.”
Emma cocked her head. Mr. Amon asking her to leave the shop during business hours just to deliver to a client? He never did that. Oh well, that would mean out in the cold she went.
“Of course, sir.”
“Good. Let’s get the first of the new orders started and then you can take it to her. She’ll need it round about lunch time.”
He shrugged out of his coat and handed it to her before heading toward his mixing cauldron. The new orders for the day were laid out according to complexity, easiest first.
“Emma, I believe this first one you can do yourself,” he said before taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s only a wonderroot transformation spell meant for the parties on Halloween.”
Wonderroot had a short lifespan so it could easily be used for something as short as one night. Emma looked at the name on the order. “Michael Harpoon, do you know him?”
“I should think you would. He’s a high schooler such as yourself.”
Emma colored. His name didn’t ring any bells. Maybe he went to the Prep school outside of town. Going to the appropriate rack, Emma pulled down the wonderroot powder. The recipe called for werewolf hair, which being a potent ingredient, kept in one of the drawers behind the counter. The drawer at first refused to open. The cabinet having a little fun at her expense. Finally, she put her foot down and said,
“ZAMARA.”
The cabinet, abashed at being called by name, opened the drawer with a squeal. Two pinches of werewolf hair to make the transformation potent. “I certainly hope he has checked the moon before using this. Moon madness would be a terrible party favor,” said Mr. Amon. Emma nodded in agreement. A werewolf caught under the full moon spelt disaster for anyone nearby. She combined the ingredients in their proper percentages and took out the mortar and pestle. The wonderroot powder took on a gray glow and threw off tiny sparkles when mixed, but in order for it to fully take on the properties of the werewolf as would be needed for a proper transformation, they needed to be ground together so that the preparation could be taken like tea. Emma began the slow process of blending the ingredients together with slow, even pressure. While it could be done quickly, things would go much better if she took her time and did it slow. The mixture would be finer and thus easier to take.
Mr. Amon sipped his coffee and watched her.
“You are doing a fine job,” he said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“I am glad I took you on as an apprentice.”
Emma smiled. Mr. Amon was not effusive, so being praised was quite good. With a now uniform powder under her mortar, Emma stopped.
“I think it’s done.”
“Then let’s give some of it to Horus and see how it works.”
Horus the mouse sniffed around his cage unsuspecting as always. If he knew what was coming, Emma wondered if he would protest. Taking some of the powder from the pestle, Mr. Amon sprinkled it in the water dish and then fed Horus a little salt to make him thirsty. The mouse went immediately to the water and lapped it down. The gray sparkles floated around him for a moment before his body began to change becoming longer and furrier. His limbs elongated as did his neck. A few moments later, they were looking at the world’s smallest werewolf. Bending down, Emma watched him through the bars as he stalked from one end of the cage to the other.
“How long will he stay this way?”
“With his metabolism, minutes. We haven’t given him enough to affect a long change.” As Emma watched Horus, the door chime went off.
“Good morning,” Mr. Amon said.
The man who entered looked at them both from under his hood. The two men shared a glance and Mr. Amon said,
“Emma, why don’t you go to Mrs. Snow now?”
Emma turned to regard the man and then looked at Mr. Amon. The china of his cup quivered to create a light clacking. She went to get her coat.
“Are you sure you want me to go now?”
He hadn’t moved.
“Yes, right now. She might appreciate getting it a little early.”
The man said nothing. Emma gathered up the package off the counter.
“There’s no invoice.”
“She knows how much it is. Just take it to her,” Mr. Amon said making a shooing gesture. Puzzled, Emma let herself out of the shop into the cold. Her last vision was of Mr. Amon walking up to the man and the two of them standing face to face. Then she was off the steps and going along the street.
September 7, 2015
Onward and Upward! The New Project: October Sky
Well, I finished Dark King Rising. First draft ended up just south of 92,000 words. I'm putting it away for a week or so to get some feedback from others on the story's readability and such. (If you'd like to be considered as a beta reader, drop me a comment at the end of this post and I'll see about getting you an electronic copy. Be the first in the door to read something new and special.) That of course leaves me with the usual problem of: What do I do now? I have a half-dozen novels planned out but NaNoWriMo is in November, which is a month and 2 1/2 weeks away. In short, I don't want to start another novel right now because I'm looking at starting something new the first of November. (Wanna find me on NaNoWriMo? I'm our.lady.of.ashes, don't forget the periods.) As I was lamenting this fact to a friend last night, I was also busily thinking of what can come next. I need something that won't take me that long to write or polish. Something I can turn out by Halloween and be done. As a matter of fact, why don't I write something specifically for Halloween to give to my newsletter readers? I'm sure they would love to get something new and awesome in their inbox. That's why they signed up for the newsletter after all. (And to those who have already signed up, I'll be sending out the first newsletter soon to get feedback on what project you would like to see next.)
Since I want something small I can write and finish, I've decided to cap this new project, October Sky, at 25,000 words. It might end up being shorter than that, but I'm seriously hoping it won't end up being longer. Granted, I just wrote a 92,000 word book in a little over two months, so it's doable for me to finish 25,000 in a month and two weeks. I just have to sit down and work on it everyday like I did the last book. Then I can work on pounding it into shape.
October Sky is the story of Emmaline Simmons and the missing October stars. You see, in the world she lives in the stars power the well of souls, the conduit between the living and dead. However, when a major constellation goes missing, the well cannot be powered and souls start piling up. Emmaline must then journey into the Heavens and find the missing constellation before All Saint's Eve or Halloween night in order to insure that the well opens and the dead can pass through to their eternal rest. I think it's going to be YA, but I'm not entirely sure. It's still in the planning, rough scene sketch phase.
In other news, I'm still looking for feedback on the covers. (You can find them on THIS POST.) I personally like both of them and have gotten various different opinions via my Facebook page and my Twitter, so I'm aggregating all the opinions and considering what would be the next logical step.
Since I want something small I can write and finish, I've decided to cap this new project, October Sky, at 25,000 words. It might end up being shorter than that, but I'm seriously hoping it won't end up being longer. Granted, I just wrote a 92,000 word book in a little over two months, so it's doable for me to finish 25,000 in a month and two weeks. I just have to sit down and work on it everyday like I did the last book. Then I can work on pounding it into shape. October Sky is the story of Emmaline Simmons and the missing October stars. You see, in the world she lives in the stars power the well of souls, the conduit between the living and dead. However, when a major constellation goes missing, the well cannot be powered and souls start piling up. Emmaline must then journey into the Heavens and find the missing constellation before All Saint's Eve or Halloween night in order to insure that the well opens and the dead can pass through to their eternal rest. I think it's going to be YA, but I'm not entirely sure. It's still in the planning, rough scene sketch phase.
In other news, I'm still looking for feedback on the covers. (You can find them on THIS POST.) I personally like both of them and have gotten various different opinions via my Facebook page and my Twitter, so I'm aggregating all the opinions and considering what would be the next logical step.
