Hades and Persephone: The Abduction

Just a little something I found. I'll be putting this up in small parts.

Narcissus Flower

           The laughter of the nymphs reached my ears as I lay in the tall grass enjoying Apollo’s light. Kalypso sat beside me, her golden hair spread out around her as she weaved flower stems together in a wreath. The aroma of roses, crocuses, and violets mixed with irises and hyacinths surrounded me and I smiled sleepily, content in my grassy bed. I looked up, blinking as someone blocked my light and found Artemis, standing with her hands on her hips. Her toga accentuated her athletic curves and her black hair flowed behind her in the breeze.

            “Persephone, there is a boar further in the forest that I wish to hunt. The others follow me. Do you wish to join us?”

            I shook my head and stretched my arms out. “I think I shall rest here for a while. Apollo’s rays are so warm that I can barely keep open my eyes. Kalypso may wish to accompany you.”

            The nymph nodded, smiling and laid her flowery crown on my breast. She stood, dusting her dress off and joined hands with another of the nymphs.

            Artemis leaned forward, kissing me on the cheek. “Rest well, cousin. We shall return triumphant.”

            She set off in a graceful sprint towards the mountain. The nymphs’ laughter once again filled the meadow as they ran behind her. Soon their voices faded, replaced by the songs of small birds. I drifted into a light slumber, listening to their chirping.

            The sweet scent of a flower woke me as it drifted on the wind. It was unlike anything I have ever smelled before. I sat up peering around the meadow dazedly. Unable to locate the source of the smell I climbed to my feet and the green waves of glass, using my hand to shade my eyes from the sun. A small amount of time had passed and Artemis had not yet returned from her hunt. I was alone in the meadow.

            Intrigued by a flower would have such an intoxicating perfume, I followed the trail of the scent through the high grasses. I passed the roses and violets without a second glance, for I was quite familiar with their aroma. This was something new and I wanted to learn everything I could about it. The scent of the flower led outside the meadow and I paused, uncertain of whether to wait for the others or continue my search. This meadow was protected by my mother, for she feared my being alone. Even here she had me accompanied by Artemis and the nymphs for Artemis was skilled in battle and had a strong dislike for men. I sighed, torn between my curiosity and the inclination to obey my mother. Knowing Artemis, she would be on her hunt for the rest of the day. When she returned there would be no time to investigate my flower.

            With a nervous breath, I stepped out of the protective confines of the meadow. I gained more courage with every step towards the forest as I tasted independence for the first time. I slowed my pace, admiring the way the shafts of sunlight hit the trees. The scent was stronger towards a small clearing and I stepped in eagerly, searching for the source. To the left of the clearing was a group of tiny white flowers. The shafts sprung up several inches with four or five snowy blossoms each. I knelt down taking one of the delicate blooms between my fingers.

            “The Narcissus.” A man’s voice murmured close to my ear.

            I jumped back startled, dropping the flower. My gaze traveled up the gold trimmed ebony toga to the cold pale face of my uncle. His black hair was slicked back and fell to his shoulders. His lips held a stiff smile, as if they were unused to such an action. That smile did not travel to his gray eyes, which traveled with icy calculation.

            I backed away from him in silent uneasiness, searching for an escape route. I  had seen very little of this uncle as my mother discouraged much interaction with my male family members, but he always frightened me with his aloofness.

            “He waved his hand to the collection of flowers. “It is called the narcissus. Beautiful, aren’t they?”

            I turned to run and found him in my path, holding a bouquet of narcissi to me. “Please, stay for a while? I would like to speak with you. Do you really wish to end your exploration so soon when you have only begun to have your first taste of freedom?”

            I paused, biting my lip. While I was very wary of men, I did not want to end my little adventure just yet. Sensing my wavering attitude, he took a step back and motioned to a obsidian and gold chariot, pulled by a large black stallion. “Have you seen the mountain from an aerial view? It is a wonder that you should experience at least once. Shall we take a small tour?”

            I stared at the chariot. What was the harm in one little ride? I nodded my head. My curiosity had overcome my wariness of him. I took the flowers and stepped into the chariot. There was very little room for two people, so when he stepped into the chariot he pressed close to me. His arms came around either side of me as he grabbed the reigns. I shivered as I felt his warm breath of the back of my neck.

            He flicked the reigns with a “Hyah!” and the stallion reared and leaped into the air. The horse’s hooves made no sound as it galloped through the sky. I gave a gasp of amazement as we rose higher and higher. The large mountain covered by a blanket of green trees and the peak was capped with snow. I started down below as we circled the mountain and spotted the meadow. From here it was a bright emerald patch surrounded by the deeper green of the forest and brown of the mountain. I could make out small bursts of color which I guessed were the flowers.

So caught up was I in the wonder of seeing the area from the sky that I was completely taken by surprise when Hades abruptly reigned the horse into a fast decline. I began to struggle in horror as the ground rushed closer and he pulled me against him in a strong grip. He spread the fingers of his other hand apart and the earth split into two.

            “No! Let me go! Please!” I beat my fist against his chest.

            “Silence child! You should feel honored. I have chosen you to be my queen.” His voice was now coldly arrogant and he tightened his grip on me.

            I screamed and covered my face as we passed into the crevice. Darkness surrounded me as the earth swallowed us.

To be continued next week in The Underworld.

Darkness and Light

In the beginning there was Darkness…

Which is true, but there was only darkness from what we can tell. Neither Earth nor water existed. Then the Big Bang occurred everywhere at once in the universe.

Let there be Light!

And there was. The first elements created were hydrogen, helium, and traces of lithium, all light elements. Stars began to form after a few million years. As the stars burned up their hydrogen fuel, their cores became heavier elements. The most massive stars ended in iron cores that exploded. Interstellar dust made up of these elements became the medium for new stars and everything else in the universe. So…

We are all Stardust.

We still don’t understand about 95% of our Universe. This consists of dark energy and dark matter. Dark matter makes about 27% and its gravity helps hold everything together. It’s called dark matter because it’s not made of anything we know. Light doesn’t interact with dark matter. Dark energy makes up about 68% and is the force that is pushing against gravity. It’s increasing the expansion of our Universe.

So the universe is continuing to expand faster and faster. This has the possibility of expanding so far that our universe could rip apart. However, we’re still safe. Most likely after many, many millennia (seriously, it’s so far beyond that. I think it’s at least Sextillion years, which is 1036) the stars will all burn out. This will begin the Degenerate Era, where only brown dwarfs (objects too small to be stars), white dwarfs (dead cores of smaller stars), and black holes will exist. Even they will die out.

And we will end in Darkness.

It all has a nice symmetry. Though, the ideas it’s giving me for the Van Helsing series is a little frightening. Yes, eventually this will have meaning. The stars play an important role.

Do you like stories about angels, demons, and the supernatural? Pick up a copy of "A Prescription for Delirium" available on Amazon.

Rebecca Hamilton's 5 Favorite Paranormal Things

Hi all, it’s Rebecca Hamilton here! Noree Cosper was so kind as to allow me visit her blog today and talk about some of my favorite paranormal things! I’ve loved all thing paranormal since I was a kid—so young, in fact, I can’t really pin point exactly when it was my interest first began. If you’re reading this blog post, my bet is you are also a fan of the paranormal. So let’s just in to talk about my favorite paranormal things.

  

 1)      Paranormal Books!

Of course I love both reading and writing paranormal books. For me, paranormal lends itself to a kind of magic that gets under your skin. A magic you can believe in, one that brews right beneath the surface. It might instill wonder or fear, but the point is, it instills something. It takes any atmosphere there and amplifies it. And I absolutely adore when a book can do this! So, with no further ado, I give you my favorite paranormal book of all time…

THE VIRGIN OF SMALL PLAINS by Nancy Pickard

Here’s what’s neat about this choice. It’s NOT a fantasy novel! It’s actually more of a mystery. It’s not about witches or vampires (thought I love those things too) but more about a subtle presence, so subtle it might be coincidence, but it’s too much of a coincidence not to mean something more. 

2)      Paranormal Movies!

I’m not sure which I loved first—paranormal books or paranormal movies. I always loved books, but I guess it was my love for creepy paranormal-based movies that got me seeking out fiction of the same kind. There’s so many amazing paranormal movies out there, that it really is hard to choose just one. So what I’m going to do is name one that most people haven’t heard of and that is one of the most original offerings to the genre I can think of:

JUG FACE

So, here’s what’s really neat about Jug Face: It’s actually an indie film! And I think the quality of the screenwriting and acting really lends credence to the indie film community. I watched this movie not even knowing it was an indie film until I spoke to the producer on twitter! I was shocked—not that an indie film could be this good, but rather that a bigger film company hadn’t picked it up before it got to that point! I can’t believe it’s not a cult success by now! Seriously, though, check it out. The CGI isn’t anything to brag about, but hey, they were on a budget. This is a really unique, inspired paranormal film, and you’ll be wondering as you watch if this backwoods community is just crazy or if there really is something other-worldly going on here.

  

3)      Paranormal Games!

To some, these are paranormal games. To others, they are paranormal tools. From tarot cards to Ouija boards, there’s all kinds of ways people can tap into a paranormal or supernatural presence. Or, ya know, maybe you don’t believe in that stuff but think it’s all in good fun when you’re trashed at some party. To each their own, but I, for one, have always found Ouija boards particularly exciting. And, as a writer, you can use totally use tarot cards or Ouija boards to write books. Not that I’ve ever done that…

What ever happened to Ouija boards, anyway? When was the last time you saw a commercial for one. I wonder if they have been banned from the air, much like Halloween has been banned from many schools.  In any event, if the only Ouija board you know of was created in the ‘90s, then you still have a lot to learn about Ouija boards!  We can find mention of it in history as early as 1100 AD. And no, it’s not the one Hasbro made. Ouija boards don’t all look the same. Some people even make their own!

OUIJA BOARDS take the cake on this one for me. Here’s one I think is pretty neat:

4)      Paranormal Researchers and Magazines (does that count as 2?).

Say what you will, believe what you want, but paranormal researches and investigators are, at the very least, awesome people to hang out with! I grew up in New Jersey, and we have this ‘zine there called Weird NJ. Now, I’m not saying that ‘zine is a pristine example of paranormal research at its finest, but it sure was a fun resource to give us ideas of places to go when we were teens.

So, if for no other reason than Nostalgia, my favorite paranormal ‘zine is WEIRD NJ.

In Weird N.J. we travel to places that are seen for what they are; weird, odd or unique, all told by New Jerseyans to Mark Sceurman and Mark Moran, publishers of Weird N.J., while traveling the backroads of the Garden State in search of local unwritten history and modern folklore.

When we travel the state of New Jersey, we are looking for tales told only inside the perimeters of a town. These stories and places tell a story that cannot be found in any history books and are not often perceived as “history,”…until we arrive.

  

5)      Paranormal Places.

Number 4  can only logically lead us to my number 5: Paranormal Places.  When I was growing, my friends and I used to all meet up at the parking lot of Dunkin Donuts (the owner worked late and would give us free donuts) then we’d head off of to do some investigating of our own. Which, in our case, was really just goofing off, probably trespassing on abandoned property, and either not realizing or not caring that we shouldn’t be there. But boy, it gave us a thrill! (Not the trespassing—but the bizarre and atmospheric locations we visited.) Was there something there, lending its energy to the space, or did we bring the energy there ourselves?  Whatever your take may be, paranormal researchers and investigators know quite a bit more about the energies surrounding us than most of know!

Plus, they get to visit cool places . . . Here’s one I’ve never visited but would be a dream vacation stop for me:

VILLISCA AX MURDER HOUSE

On June 10, 1912, the old white frame house at 508 E. 2nd Street became a grisly crime scene. The heinous murder of Josiah B. Moore, his wife, their 4 children and 2 young girls who were overnight guests rocked the small town of Villisca, IA, and the murderer was never identified. Over the years, residents of the home reported visions of a man with an ax, children crying and unexplained paranormal activity. In 1994, the home was restored to its original condition with no indoor plumbing or electricity. These touches add to the chilling ambience during a lamplight tour from April through November or an overnight experience available by reservation for groups.

Thanks so much for letting me shares some of my favorite paranormal things with you! I’d love to hear what YOUR favorite paranormal things are in the comments section below J Also, if you’re interested in more paranormal fun this month, I’m celebrating the German release of my paranormal fantasy bestseller THE FOREVER GIRL all month! Stop by MY BLOG for games, guest posts, writing workshops, giveaways, and more.

Coven and Coffin Blog Hop: Last Call for Tanner Lee

Happy Halloween! Today we have another chilling tale. This one is from M.R. Graham.

Last Call for Tanner Lee

Tanner left the hospital feeling strangely empty. He had expected agony. From the moment he had heard the Code Blue declared over the intercom and been forced out of Leah’s room (Room 318; he would never forget that number, or the feel of the sheets beneath his hands), he had known his life was coming to an end. They did not give up, and he gave them credit for that, but there is only so much time and effort a doctor can put into saving someone who is determined to die, and twelve hours later, Tanner and the bag of Leah’s effects sat in the back of a cab, on their way home. He would have to plan a funeral. Of course she had no life insurance; she had only been eighteen, a grinning college freshman home for her first Christmas break. He sat at home that night and called her cell phone, letting it ring out at the foot of her bed for the sake of hearing her voice in the recording. Hey, it’s Leah. I can’t come to the phone right now, probably because I’m having more fun than you, but if you’ll leave your name and number, I might get back to you when I get around to it! He thought about hanging up before it could beep, but he left a message anyway. Maybe somewhere, Leah was listening. “Hey, baby. I love you.” He walked to the other room and looked at the lighted screen of her phone. One missed call. The battery was nearly dead, and he did not plug it in. The house was very empty that night. He propped Leah’s photograph on the bedside table, beside the picture of her mother. He texted her in the morning. “Love you, baby. I miss you.” Her phone buzzed in the other room, but by the time he got there, the screen had gone dark. He still did not plug it in. There was no point. Sooner or later, he would have to cancel her service, but for the moment, that recorded voice meant too much to him. He called again, and because the phone was as dead as his daughter, it went straight to voicemail. Hey, it’s Leah. I can’t come to the phone right now, probably because I’m having more fun than you, but if you’ll leave your name and number, I might get back to you when I get around to it. “I love you,” he said, then his hand clenched. “What the hell were you thinking, Leah?! You’re eighteen, what the hell were you doing, getting hammered like that?” He hurriedly erased the message and re-recorded, just in case, somewhere, Leah was listening. “I love you, baby. I love you. I miss you already.” By noon, the food was already arriving. Tanner did not understand what exactly it was about heartbreak that made friends and neighbors feel the need to feed him, but they brought salad and casserole and lasagna and cake. They brought enough food to feed a small army, more than one man could eat in a month. He piled it into the refrigerator, hating everything, and thought bitterly that he would have to start sending out thank-you notes, sooner or later. They should have left him alone. He texted Leah. “Wish you were here to share all this crap with me. Love you.” Christmas came and went, but the food in the refrigerator barely dwindled. Tanner did not feel like eating. He did not feel like doing much at all. Work hurt, and home hurt, and sleep hurt, and church was the worst, because they left up the white flowers he had bought, mingled with poinsettias, absorbing his grief into their celebration. He called Leah. Hey, it’s Leah. I can’t come to the phone right now, probably because I’m having more fun than you, but if you’ll leave your name and number, I might get back to you when I get around to it! “Just thought I’d tell you I got you a new laptop for Christmas. It’s a good one, really fast. Wish I could have watched you open it. I love you, baby. I miss you.” He stuck his phone back in his pocket and headed for the parking lot across the street from the church. His phone buzzed. One message received. He stopped in the crosswalk, staring at the screen. A horn blared, and Tanner looked up. He smiled at the eighteen wheeler and the smell of burning rubber, clutching his phone tight. “Love you, too, Dad. See you soon.”  

The Books of Lost Knowledge

Truly, there are more things in heaven and earth… For instance, a dark and subtle world of magic, hidden just below the surface of reality. Lost Knowledge is a series of novels – two complete, many in progress – that centers on the reality of the things mankind has chosen to forget. There is beauty in the mist between the sea and the land, and dark things exist in the dim chasms of memory. Learn more at the Lost Knowledge website, or buy now here.

About MR Graham

MR Graham is a native Texan who traces strong cultural roots back to Scotland, Poland, and England. A mild-mannered Latin teacher during the day, Graham transforms at night into a raging Holmesian loremaster and rabid novelist. Though passionate about all scholarship and academia, Graham’s training and true love lies with anthropology, particularly the archaeological branch.

Connect with MR

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Tomorrow we end this little soiree with a story from yours truly. I'm sure it will raise the hair of he back of your neck.  Be sure to visit the other blogs for some more festivities.

Peter Dawes: Stormy Night Flash Fiction
Jessica Fortunado: Halloween Treats and Recipes
Kayleigh Grian: Characters in Costume
M. R. Graham: Tributes to Those We’ve Lost
Kalya Curry: Murder Mystery Party

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Coven and Coffin Blog Hop: A Ghost's Story

We come to the fourth day of the party. Is your heart pounding yet?

A Ghost's Story

by Jessica Fortunato

I remembered picking him up from the airport.  Seeing him at the gate, so proud of himself he’d made it all the way to Europe and back.  I remembered he looked confident, and much older than the kid I’d dropped off months before.

Are we destined to turn out like the generations before us? Is it foretold in some place dark and unnatural that we repeat the mistakes we’ve bore witness to?  Are the Fates the weavers of our demise?  I don’t know.  Yet in the inky, moonless night, I believe so strongly it makes me sick, that we have only ourselves to blame for our sadness and misfortune.  Perhaps life is cruel and it is a bit of both.  Still, it seems like an endless struggle, a tugging between a foolish tradition of drifting and a plaintive desire to remain intact.  I’ve seen the ashes and smelled the bitter smoke of those burned bridges.  My fingertips have blistered as I came to realize it was I who lit the match. 

What would I dare say if they were listening?  If they spoke the same ominous and brutal language, I now whisper.  Lives can be separate but still entwined.  You needn’t choose one or the other.  It is not in our natures to pursue the hidden, but we should do it nonetheless.  I would ask if we don’t bother to save one another, then why bother at all?    Stop crouching behind the rotting decay of disease, anger, seductively busy schedules.  Speak even when you have forgotten your name or your purpose.  Cling to the belief that if not for the people in our portraits we would not be who we are. 

Whether because of them or in spite of them, they are our beginning.

This is the easy part.

I saw the wreckage, and I remembered the deer.  How had I thought for a moment that preserving a deer was better than this?

In that inky, moonless night, there will be demons.  Their claws will dig into your flesh, their teeth tearing for your throat.  They will be strong, their eyes will know no pity or remorse and they will know your heartbeat from a thousand others.  Hiding will do no good. As you stumble, realize that running will only make your bones ache, the evil has already caught up with you.

Because it is you.

The bloody lining will be suffocating and intoxicating at the same time.  The taste in your mouth as sweet as it is metallic.  But you mustn’t succumb. 

Finally, I found him.  Strapped to a backboard, awake and alert and for a moment he looked right through me.

There are still those who remember who you were.  Before you ran, before you knew the names of the creatures that stalk you.  You are within their memory.  In their knowledge, you will find your salvation.

That, little brother, is the hard part.

I saw the kind officers drape the white sheet over my body like angel wings.

Bleeding and full of anguish their light will guide you to the dawn, to your home.

But first, little brother, you must ask.

Jessica Fortunato writes a rare combination of Paranormal/ Supernatural/ Religious Literary Fiction.  She lives in Pennsylvania with her family, a clumsy black cat, and year round Halloween decorations.  Rarely seen in direct sunlight, reports of Jessica’s vampirism remain unsubstantiated.

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The Sin Collector

"The Sin Collector" follows the life of Liliana, a born Sin Collector. She has spent over 100 years absorbing people's sins so they may rest in peace come death. However when she meets another Collector, one who insists everything she has been taught is a lie, Liliana must make her way from Sunny L.A. all the way to the streets of Madrid. Searching for answers to a question we all share. Why are we here? The friends and enemies she makes along the way only seem to blur the line between right and wrong. Can Liliana fight the Castus, an organization bent on killing off every Sin-Eater? Should she trust her head or her heart when the two most important men in her life are fighting alongside her?

Then there is the worst question of all, who will be left when the dust settles?

The Sin Collector: Thomas

This story is meant to be read following Book One in The Sin Collector Series.

Thomas has taken vows. As an immortal, he is impervious to harm on the battlefield. As a Collector, he alone can take away the sins of the fallen and allow them to move peacefully into the next life.

But valor never comes without sacrifice.

Far away from combat is his home, and her name is Lucy. Lucy is a human and frail from the explosion that nearly took her life, but Thomas’s duty pulls him from her before she can recover. His letters are his only connection to her, and to her caretaker, Thomas’s best friend Emmilina.

Thomas has gone to War for his God and for honor but there is an even more personal mission that drives him.

He will find other Collectors, and tell them the secrets he has learned.

Sacrifice: The Sin Collector 2

As an immortal Sin Collector, Liliana lead a transient life of solitude for over one-hundred years.

Now with a growing family, she has found herself liking normalcy and the façade of being human. However, when old friends begin to turn up dead, it is clear Collectors are not safe. The battle that Liliana thought she’d won, has only just begun.

She must save herself, her family, and her friends from the Castus, a fanatical group sworn to eradicate her kind.

As Liliana travels the globe making allies, and discovering secrets, she soon learns that the threat to her safety is closer than she ever thought possible.

Will she be able to fight her fate, or will she succumb to an ancient Castus prophecy?

Steam

Charlotte Amelia Caprice may seem like an ordinary girl. She has a job she hates, a boss she despises, and zero romantic prospects. Her friends call her Charlie, when she can keep one for more than a few weeks. Though Charlie may seem ordinary, she is anything but. Charlie doesn’t have a heart. Instead, she has a steam driven machine in her chest, always making her feel less than human. Gears and pistons have been using her own body heat to pump her blood for over a decade. There is one small problem. Her heart is beginning to break. When Charlie meets a brilliant man, one who could save her life, she must choose between being heartless and being alive. A simple choice for some, but for Charlie living on steam isn’t easy.

Return tomorrow for a new story. Be sure to visit the other blogs for some more festivities.

Peter Dawes: Stormy Night Flash Fiction
Jessica Fortunado: Halloween Treats and Recipes
Kayleigh Grian: Characters in Costume
M. R. Graham: Tributes to Those We’ve Lost
Kalya Curry: Murder Mystery Party

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Coven and Coffin Blog Hop: From One Shore to the Next

Gather round and hold your lovers tight for this next haunting tale.

From One Shore to the Next

By Peter Dawes

Lady Liberty stood guard over us just as I had been warned she would, her distant gaze peering out across the harbor as though she could connect with some other soul standing across the ocean. The thought caused me a moment’s pause, distracting me from a rousing conversation happening near me centered on the technological marvel which was the boat we stood upon. Just like that, I had been captured by a wistful notion and sent back to the shore from where I had departed.

She had forced me to leave her. Love could find no way of sugarcoating this truth no matter how hard I tried to be gracious to my darling Anneleise. While she had attempted every practical reason under the sun to convince me it was for the best, I bought them just as readily as I did the thought she actually wanted me to go. Our affair had been complicated at best, convoluted at worst, and while I was a man of questionable morals from the start, even I struggled to define us.

Especially when our first tender moments together fell under rank deception.

My darling Anneleise. I could not fight the frown her memory summoned. She had been exquisite, her beauty something which defied mere aesthetics. Whatever gods had crafted Annie took care to imbue her with the graciousness of a noble, the patience of a saint, and the wisdom of a sage. As one could expect, this meant she fell into a relationship with a man who could see none of these attributes. After she failed to become pregnant three years into their marriage, she had been relegated to servitude. Nothing more.

When she thought herself alone, though, her true self shone through. She sang whilst cleaning the modest house she shared with her brother-in-law. Lithe feet twirled across the wood floors and the first time I caught her mid-spin, I wondered if she might have been a pixie. Even the brute she had wed could not kill such a carefree spirit, one which simply settled into demure when he returned from work. He’d grunt out a greeting and from there, would sit in his chair, waiting for dinner. Annie would return to the kitchen and hum the rest of the melody he had interrupted in softer, dulcet tones. For the most part, they carried out their separate existences with little incident. Until the night he made her cry.

I stood by as an unwitting bystander, my words trapped in my throat when Annie caught her foot on the rug and spilled his dinner. They both stared at the mess for several seconds, Annie too horrified to move and her husband seeing more than wasted food spattered across the floor. I winced when he breathed a heavy sigh and as he stood, feared he might raise a hand to strike her. What followed encompassed such a harsh upbraiding, however, that I believed Annie might have preferred being beaten. Through her tears, she dropped to her knees and wiped at the stained fabric.

It happened so quickly, I could not bring myself to stopping it. He had been on his way out the door when suddenly he paused, taking a deep breath and turning to look at her. She failed to notice it at first. Through sobs and sniffles she continued collecting food back onto a plate.

Annie startled when he finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Schatzi.” The tough, booming voice sounded calmer, and much more composed than it had several minutes ago. He shut the door, tossing his coat aside and walked to close the distance between them. Her eyes widened when he crouched beside her. “We’ll clean this up together. No more tears.” The corners of his mouth curled in an apologetic grin.

Nodding once, she remaining quiet whilst his hands reached for the plate. Hers shook as she handed it over, but she did, and seemed not apt to question the miracle. Perhaps that was the moment I should have said something, but I remained mute and allowed the rest of the evening to play out, even when her husband returned to his normal senses and failed to bring up what he had just done. We might have fooled Annie, but the woman bore more intellect than her simple demeanor suggested.

Over the next few weeks, the boorish man experienced rare moments of humanity, which shone through just as another upbraiding seemed eminent. One second, he would have his pipe lowered from his mouth, the insults dancing on his tongue, and the next, he would issue a compliment instead, and resume smoking. The ice thawed in such gradual stages, I thought she might remain ignorant of the changes. He kissed her again after having not touched her in months. He made her smile ear-to-ear, where only he had managed to conjure soft, determined grins onto her lips. One evening, their kisses had turned heated and his strong arms carried her into the privacy of their bedroom.

In the dark, in the still of the night, she finally called his bluff.

“Who are you?” she asked, her fingers tracing down the hand which had settled onto her stomach.

The inquiry spurred him to laugh. “Schatzi, what kind of foolish question is that?” he asked, stopping her gentle strokes by moving his hand.

Annie froze for a second, and then turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised in a dare. “You call me that. Schatzi. He never did. Not even on our wedding night.”

Those eyes – that crystal blue gaze which had managed to penetrate into my soul – would not look away and in that moment, I found my voice again. It might have sounded like her husband’s, bearing his timbre and diction, but the words which emerged were mine. “It’s still a foolish question. Shouldn’t it be what has gotten into you?”

The arched brow relaxed. Annie failed to blink. “No amount of drink or food or comfort would have made Wilhelm this tender, stranger. It never has. And I had accepted that a long time ago.”

“Should you have?”

“What business is that of yours?”

“I suppose I’ve made it my business.” I frowned – using his lips to frown – and nodded when Annie continued holding me hostage with her eyes. “If you think me a stranger, why have you let me into your bed?”

“That isn’t your business, either, especially if you won’t tell me who you are.”

“My name is Christian,” I said, “And I’ve come to protect you.”

The comment had been intended to be heartfelt. It prompted an uproarious amount of laughter from Annie, however, and as she asserted I was the one who needed protecting, I could not help but fall into hysterics with her. A night of visceral honesty followed, as did twenty-one blissful years of lapses on her husband’s part.

But she had sent me away. And I would be lucky if I ever saw her again.

I felt a tug, disrupting my thoughts and bringing me back to Lady Liberty, and what would be my new home. After five hundred years, I had been taken away from the continent on which I had lived and died, where I had experienced both love and loss more times than I dared to recount. The young lady who peered in my general direction smiled warmly as she clutched her purse and motioned to follow a young man dressed in uniform.

“Come, Papa. I don’t want to leave you behind,” she said. In her voice, I heard the delight of a child. In her laugh, I heard the tinkle of wind chimes, reminding me that while the world could still hold beauty, even if her mother had captured more than a fair share of it.

I sighed good-naturedly. “Very well, Marjorie,” I said, my steps lighter than air, my form passing through the obstacles stopping me from following along.

“Promise me you’ll stay with our daughter. I’m growing old, and don’t want you to be stuck with me while I die.”

“I promise,” I had said to Annie. Even if it had meant saying goodbye.

Peter Dawes is the author of The Vampire Flynn Series, published by the micro-press Crimson Melodies. His serial story, “A Maker and His Child” appears on the BloodTideZine website and short “Lost Highway” has been featured in the Nocturnal Embers anthology, also by Crimson Melodies. While primarily a novelist, he has also contributed to the story cycle Red Phone Box, featuring the work of fellow authors Warren Ellis, Dan Wickline, and more. Always working on something new, Peter leaves it up to the reader to decide if it’s by sunlight or candlelight.

You can follow the author on any of these sites…

·         Twitter: http://twitter.com/peterdawes

·         Facebook: http://facebook.com/AuthorPeterDawes

·         Wordpress: http://peterdawes.wordpress.com

The Vampire Flynn Series

Blurb:

As the moon rose over Philadelphia, on January 20, 1983, nobody could have known what was about to happen. Inside a coffee shop, a meeting between a young resident doctor and a redheaded vixen would end with a night of bloodshed. Two people would lay dead inside an apartment near Fairmount Park. A third victim would be claimed when their killer ran into the waiting arms of a vampire.

Rather than being met with eternal condemnation, however, Dr. Peter Dawes would wake several days later as a new creature. No longer possessing a pulse and with sharp teeth itching for purchase on human skin, Peter’s first days as an immortal would blossom into five years of decadent, sadistic killing. Exchanging the scalpel for a dagger and the scrubs for a suit, the man who once sought to heal would come to be known as the deadliest vampire ever to wield a sword. The covens referred to him as the Black Rose Assassin. To his maker, Sabrina, he was known as Flynn.

Her instrument in an ambitious struggle to gain control of the city, Flynn amassed a collection of conquests. All the while, secrets circled around him, speaking of special gifts and a human destiny left behind upon his turning. It would take an immortal named Anthony, a mysterious pendant, and a human sorceress named Monica for Flynn to learn the truth behind his turning. And what resulted would send a shockwave from the City of Brotherly Love outward to the rest of the world.

Join Flynn on his journey from ruthless assassin to immortal seer. In a mission which takes him to Chicago, Seattle, and the darkest corners of the globe, a vampire will reconnect with his humanity and a villain will become a reluctant hero. Along the way, wicked immortals, unlikely allies, and a society of gifted humans called the Supernatural Order will test the mettle of the reformed killer. In the end, a man divided will be forced to reconcile with his darkness, and two beings shall emerge from one.

Tomorrow we return with another story sure to raise some goosebumps. Be sure to visit the other blogs for some more festivities.

Peter Dawes: Stormy Night Flash Fiction
Jessica Fortunado: Halloween Treats and Recipes
Kayleigh Grian: Characters in Costume
M. R. Graham: Tributes to Those We’ve Lost
Kalya Curry: Murder Mystery Party

Don't forget to enter for your chance to win some Treats!

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Coven and Coffin Blog Hop: Melissa's Haunting

I'd like to pass out flashlight to a great up and coming author. She here to give you a little taste of spookiness. 

Melissa's Haunting

As she glanced up at her new school, Melissa swallowed the lump in her throat and forced her breakfast to stay down. She was not looking forward to starting her senior year as the new kid, especially in a small town where everyone had known each other their whole lives. This day was going to totally suck, she just knew it. For a split second she even debated on skipping, but she knew in a place like this, it would get back to her mom quickly. Besides, she'd just be putting off the inevitable. Melissa would have to face the scrutiny of her classmates sooner or later, might as well get it over with. She took a deep breath and headed into the building just as the first warning bell rang.

                                                  

Melissa made it through her first three classes of the day without any major incidents. Of course all the teachers had to embarrass the crap out of her by making her stand up front and introduce herself, but other than that everyone pretty much left her alone. She was surprised no one reached out to her at all, but at least they weren't teasing and harassing her either. As she headed to the cafeteria for lunch she hoped the rest of the day would go as smoothly as the first half.

There was an empty table on the far side of the lunch room and Melissa hoped it stayed empty until she could get to it. She really didn't want to have to ask the kids at a table if she could sit with them. She had purposefully brought her own lunch that day so that if need be she could go hide somewhere and eat. Back home she wasn't really a loner or anything like that, but she was a bit shy outside her small circle of friends. If someone had invited her to sit with them, she'd gladly accept, she just wasn't comfortable initiating the contact.

As she plopped her brown paper sack on the table, Melissa let out a sigh of relief. The table was hers. After pulling her food out of the bag and unwrapping everything, she opened the book she brought with her in case she ate alone. At least I'll get some reading in, she thought. She took a bite of her sandwich and halfway through the first paragraph someone sat down across from her.

"Hey! You're new here right?"

Melissa dog-eared the book and glance up to find a gorgeous blonde sitting in front of her. She looked like one of those cheerleader types, which immediately raised a red flag in her mind. She took a second to glance around to see if anyone was watching the table, just in case there was a prank about to be played on her. When she was satisfied no one was paying them attention, she replied, "Yeah, today is my first day. I'm Melissa."

"Nice to meet you Melissa. I'm Jenny Lark." The girl offered her a warm smile that seemed sincere.

"So what brought you over here to my lonely table?"

"I didn't recognize you, and since I know just about everyone that attends Cedar High, I figured I'd come say hi. Mind if I join you for lunch?"

"Sure. So, are you a senior?" Melissa asked as she took another bite of her sandwich.

"Yep. I should have graduated last year but some things came up and I ended up having to come back this year."

"Oh, wow, that must suck." Melissa was curious about what those "things" were but didn't want to pry. She figured if Jenny wanted her to know, she'd tell her. She'd hate to push away the one who'd showed any interest in her so far.

"It does, most my friends have left for college already so it's been kinda boring around here. But now that school started back up, hopefully things will pick up. Besides, now I have a new friend!"

The two girls continued to chat while Melissa ate her lunch. Melissa noticed that Jenny didn't eat anything but chalked it up to the stereotypical teenage girl watching her weight. She was lucky though, she could eat anything and not gain an ounce.

Jenny didn't seem to have any of the same classes she did so the girls made plans to meet after school and hang out for a while. The bell signaling the end of lunch rang just after they agreed on the town's park entrance as a meeting spot. Jenny explained to Melissa how to get to her next class and then rushed off to get to her own.

The rest of the day went by the same as the first half for Melissa. No one really spoke to her, other than the teachers. Sure, a few said hi in the hall or offered a smile in passing, but that was about it. She was just grateful she hadn't run into any trouble.

When the final bell rang she found herself excited to meet up with Jenny again. She hoped that maybe Jenny could introduce her to some other kids and eventually she'd have that small group of friends again that she missed back home. She grabbed her stuff from her locker and headed to the meeting spot. The park was empty when she got there so she sat on the bench by the entrance and started reading her book.

About a chapter into the book she realized that Jenny still hadn't shown. She checked her watch and realized over half an hour had passed. She waited another fifteen minutes before giving up, figuring either Jenny had played a cruel joke something had come up and she couldn't make it. On her walk home she decided to check Facebook to see if she could friend Jenny. Maybe they could chat and she'd find out what happened.

Melissa tossed her book bag on her bed and turned on her computer. Once it finished loading she did a search for Jenny on Facebook and was glad to see the girl had a page. What she found on the page though, shocked her. There were condolences and prayer messages left by others several months ago. Man, kids can be cruel. Wonder why they all did that to her, acting as though she had died. That's just mean, Melissa thought. She kept browsing the page but didn't see any recent activity, it looked as though the page had just been abandoned. Frustrated, she gave up for the evening and worked on her homework instead.

The next morning she was surprised to find Jenny out front waiting for her. "I thought I'd walk to school with you," the girl offered.

"What happened to you yesterday? I waited for almost an hour."

"Come with me, there's something I have to show you. It's on the way to school, it won't take but a couple extra minutes," Jenny pleaded.

Melissa gave in and the two started walking toward the school. Halfway there Jenny told her to follow her through a shortcut so she could show her why she never made it the day before. They walked through the trees on a dirt path that led into the town's cemetery.

"Why are we going in the cemetery? We shouldn't be here!" Melissa hissed as she looked around, anxious that Jenny was up to no good.

"Please, just come. You'll understand soon, we're almost there."

Melissa relented and continued to follow Jenny. This better be good, she thought. The path continued to wind through the empty cemetery. She felt goosebumps flash across her skin as a cold breeze blew through the air. Just as she was about to tell Jenny to forget it, the other girl turned off the path down a row of gravestones and stopped in front of one.

"We're here."

Melissa rolled her eyes and walked over to the headstone in front of Jenny. When she read the markings she did a double take. It read:

Jenny Lark

Feb 15th, 1995 - Oct 31st 2012

Beloved daughter, friend, sister

Taken too soon

When the shock wore off, Melissa looked around; Jenny was nowhere to be found. She sat down in front of the grave and pulled out her phone to Google Jenny's name. She found an article with Jenny's picture that said the girl had died in a freak accident on Halloween the year before. Melissa had been talking to a ghost.

Sapphire and Sage

When their parents were murdered, twin sisters Sapphire and Sage, were separated to keep them safe. That was 22 years ago. Now, just before their 25th birthday, they are reunited only to learn the true reason for their parent’s murder, magic. They are the current generation in a long line of powerful witches. Their family tree seems cursed, with tragedy and death haunting each generation, traced as far back as the 1700s.

The Night Rage Coven is a group of power hungry demons with the ability to steal magic as long as they can kill the last of a bloodline. When the twins inherit their powers, they become the latest target of the Coven. They must learn to work together and control their new magic before it is too late. Will they survive the hunt or will the bloodline end with them?

Sapphire and Sage is available for early download through LeanPub, a new publishing company that allows readers to purchase the book while it is still being written. Everyone who purchases a copy will get updates with each new chapter posted. As a special treat for those participating in the Coven and Coffin blog hop, use the coupon code: CovenAndCoffin to grab your free copy from Oct. 27^th through Nov 1^st! Get yours now!

About Kayleigh Grian

Kayleigh Grian is currently a part time student working on her Bachelor's Degree in Criminal Justice with a concentration in Computer Forensics and Security. She also works full time as a police dispatcher.

Kayleigh has always enjoyed writing, especially fiction and poetry. She is working on several projects including her first novel and a collection of short stories. Kayleigh enjoys reading as much as she does writing and will often go through a few books a week when she doesn't have a ton of homework to do.

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Don't forget to stop by tomorrow for another ghost story. Also, check out the other awesome websites:

Peter Dawes: Stormy Night Flash Fiction
Jessica Fortunado: Halloween Treats and Recipes
Kayleigh Grian: Characters in Costume
M. R. Graham: Tributes to Those We’ve Lost
Kalya Curry: Murder Mystery Party

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Coven and Coffin Blog Hop: Stolen Kisses

Welcome to the first post of the Coven and Coffin Blog Hop. Gather 'round boys and girls and for a tale to chill your bones.

Stolen Kisses

 by Kayla Curry

I was standing in a crowded street. People everywhere were chanting his name and holding signs that said they loved him. I should have been one of them. I was a fan, but I wasn’t a fanatic. I just stood there quietly with people chanting and jumping all around me. They were waiting for him to come out of the building. I have no idea how I even got swept up in this mess anyway. One minute I was walking down the sidewalk, and the next I was part of a flood of people fighting for the chance to see the movie star.

Suddenly, he emerged with his entourage. Roscoe Reed flashed a charming smile for the cameras, only it wasn’t Roscoe Reed. It was someone else disguised as Roscoe Reed. I could tell, but perhaps the screaming fans and paparazzi around me could not. I turned my attention to the people around me and found him in an instant. His eyes were unmistakable. I felt myself blush and was about to turn away when he made a move towards me. There were still plenty of people in the crowd between us, and still, no one noticed him. A few more steps and he would be right in front of me. As I realized this, I became frozen.

A sort of chemistry passed between us and I was officially under his spell.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said as his right hand ran through his black hair.

It took a moment for it to register that he was talking to me. I snapped out of it and let him lead me away. In an instant we were no longer in the crowded street, but in a secluded VIP room of a club. It was just the two of us.

Then I remembered.

This had to be a dream. Roscoe Reed was dead. He was killed in a car accident months ago. It had been splashed all over the front pages of newspapers and tabloids.

Then I got the worst feeling. He was drawing me in with his charm, but since it was a dream, I knew that if I kissed him something horrible would happen.

An eerie music began in the background. He seemed to control it. He now controlled everything in the dream--including me. I felt my anxiety dmelt away as he came closer and kissed me. I closed my eyes and opened them.

I was back in my room and so was Roscoe Reed. His figure was opaque as he pulled away from the kiss.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I stole all of your kisses. You won't remember anything about anyone you've ever kissed."

I then noticed the person sleeping next to me. I didn't recognize him, but there was a photo of us on the nightstand. I was in a wedding dress and he was in a tux.

"Why?" I said to the ghost that was no longer there. I stared at the photograph for the rest of the night, trying desperately to remember anything about the man I must be married to, but nothing came.

About the author:

Kayla Curry lives in North Platte, Nebraska with her husband and two children. She likes spending time with family and friends when she’s not writing or planning out her conquest of the world. People who know her would say that she is sweet and kind, but her book characters would disagree. Her other hobbies include reading, metal detecting and research of local history. You can visit her website at http://www.kaylacurry.com to keep up on her progress in the Mystic Stones Series and her other works.

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Grab Kayla's 99 cent creepy horror short story Oomph! on Amazon or Smashwords. Or pick up her free short story Ruby, on Amazon or Smashwords. Ruby is the short story companion to her paranormal novel, Obsidian, and can be read before or after the novel.

Be sure to stop by for more ghost stories all week. Also, head over to these great blogs for more Halloween festivities.

Peter Dawes: Stormy Night Flash Fiction
Jessica Fortunado: Halloween Treats and Recipes
Kayleigh Grian: Characters in Costume
M. R. Graham: Tributes to Those We’ve Lost
Kalya Curry: Murder Mystery Party

 Last but not least, enter this awesome Giveaway.

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