Daniel > Recent Status Updates

“Your sweetheart has just summoned his own ghost army and not gonna lie, it’s kinda hot.”

“Go get your own supernaturally gifted sweetheart,” Danny says.

“I’m trying, but unfortunately he’s been kidnapped by his psychopathic cousin who wants to raise a demon at the moment.”

Danny’s brows rise. “You ever wonder how our lives ended up like this?”

“Frequently.”

“I didn’t know your dad the way you did. But I loved the man who liked to play Scrabble and thought ZXGGRRKYPLEEMA was a word, who wanted to cuddle during storms while we read to him, who was delighted by Christmas crackers but ignored the little gifts inside. I loved the man who spent six months sleeping on a floor in a blanket fort so his grieving child could feel safe. I loved him because he gave me you.”

“Don’t shut me out. If you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to, but please don’t shut me out.”
“I’m so sorry.” Another tear slides down his face and he sniffs. “I need you, probably way more than you need me. I know I’m not an easy person to love.”
“I need you exactly the same way you need me and everything about you is easy to love. You’re perfect the way you are, even when you haven’t showered for a week.”

I cry. For the first time in years, I really cry. For my fucked-up job, for my family who can’t accept me or only with conditions attached. I cry for Martin, the sweet man who liked to cuddle in blanket forts and listen to stories. I cry for Tris, the pain I can’t spare him from. I cry for Martin’s words to me years before he even met me. It struck me somewhere deep inside that I didn’t even know was wounded.

To the man who holds my son’s heart in his hands. I hope they are safe hands. Maybe I will have already met you, maybe I will remember you, maybe not. But I know that you’re a good man because my son chose you. Just know this. I love you because you love my son. Take care of each other and if there is such a place as Heaven, know that Tristan’s mum and I will be watching over both of you. Love, Dad xxx
OH.
MY.

Well, that was ...
uh ...
difficult! 😭

“I wonder who trapped it down there.”
“I’m less concerned with how it got down there and more worried about whether it’s getting out. A demon, really?”
“What do you know about demons?”
“Oh no, not me. I’m the ghost whisperer. Please direct all occult-based questions to my colleague.”
I point to Harrison, whose lips are pursed thoughtfully as he stares at the circle… or demon trap thingy… or whatever.

My first experience with "computer-generated" narration (Audible) ... and I'm already a fan! Go AI!!! I've had a number of books ruined by obnoxious, cringe-worthy "real" narrators. Had no idea what to expect ... but, if this is any indication, I'm a huge fan! 👍😁👍

“God, these staircases always give me claustrophobia. Were the Victorians all ridiculously skinny, or did they just enjoy being hugged by the walls?”
“You’re talking about the same people who thought electrocution was a sound remedy for curing male-pattern baldness.”
“That’s true. I mean, they did put heroin and cocaine in their cough syrup. I suppose it’s a wonder the houses weren’t all built upside down.”

“We’ve found a weird cupboard.”
“Define weird on a scale of one to ten.”
“What?”
“Our lives are permanently weird so I’ve decided we need a scale, one being mildly oh that’s a little odd, to ten and holy shit, are those tentacles?”
“This is around a huh, why the fuck would someone do that? Say two and a half on the Everett scale of weirdness.”
“I like that. I’ve always wanted to have something named after me.”

“This gin has been spiked with magic,” Harrison says. “That explains why it affected Dusty even though she wasn’t drinking. After being trapped in the same body last year, there’s a bond between you.”
“What?” Dusty replies. “Like E.T. and Elliott? He gets drunk and I go around setting frogs free?”
I’m pretty sure my brain is buffering. It’s going to show an error 404 message. “We should get rid of this, then.”

The women pounded away the rest of the pony wall, drywall dust gathering in the air like a San Francisco summer day. Coughing, Mariska laid her hammer on the kitchen table. “We should have bought masks. We’re going to have to spend all our gold on mess-of-helium lawyers.”

“Mess of what?”

“Mess-of-helium. Like on the commercials.”

“Mesothelioma?”

“Whatever.”