Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 21, 2020

WEP Grave Mistake - Cleopatra's Curse


Photo by @rw.studios on Unsplash

Cleopatra’s Curse

Have you ever seen a beautiful young woman with a man that can only be described as ‘toadyish’? He’s at least twenty years older than her, potbelly, short, and mostly balding. She’s a towering model type: perfect body, perfect skin, just exquisite. You wonder, why, how, what?

Well, I’ll tell you. It’s all about the money. What else?

I married a very wealthy man—me, a girl raised in a trailer park who made a living as a waitress and dancer. People even referred to me as white trash, and yet, I made it to the top. And I mean the very top. Gold everywhere. Anything and everything I‘ve ever wanted and more, even acceptance. Now people want to know me, want to be invited to my parties. Hell, they clamor just to be in my presence or merely the same room.

My husband, as I said, is filthy rich, and yes, he bought me. But he also put a diamond ring on my hand and promised me that the world would bow at my feet. He kept his promise, and I’ve kept mine.

I take his abuse. It’s my only job. Make the man happy in the sack, anytime, anywhere, and anyway, he desires it. It was our agreement. I live in the lap of luxury and have people at my every command. Nothing I want is off-limits. I am fulfilled! I am rich, and his temper tantrums don’t last long, neither do the bruises.

You say why? I say, why not? Most of my life was hell: going to bed hungry, various uncles taking advantage at all ages. I was considered a whore before the age of thirteen. The few men I did learn to trust proved to be liars, but now I have a signed contract. Yep, got it on paper, all of it. And if he breaks any of the rules, he pays me a ten-million-dollar settlement.

It took a while, but I soon realized that most men are pigs. All they think about is getting the child, girl, or woman into their bed. And most will take advantage given just half a chance. And some will do it without any invitation or a so sorry immediately on their lips. Liars, users, rutting animals, the whole species!

So why shouldn’t I sell my soul for the best things in life? I couldn’t have gotten them any other way. This has worked for me for the last twenty years. But I will admit that I’m getting bored, and his violence comes much more often and without the usual financial reward. He’s been slipping but only to the point where he hasn’t broken the contract. I think it’s time to say sayonara!

We’re planning a Halloween cruise, so maybe the bastard will fall overboard and drown, leaving me a rich widow? All it will take is a little planning…

*****

Okay, so I figured the bastard wrong, the cheater. He’s not only broken our contract, but he’s also done me in. I can’t collect that cool ten million I was guaranteed because they don’t have lawyers on the bottom at the ocean, my new abode.

Hubby told the world that I fell overboard. Nice. But on Halloween night, the same night I planned his demise, he was a step ahead. I supposedly slipped on a wet deck during a masquerade party and went overboard in my beautiful designer Cleopatra costume, never to resurface again.

Dozens of men jumped into the ocean to find me but failed because, at that time, I was unconscious in the closet of our bedroom. When everyone finally retired, and the police reports were filed, my sweet, generous husband simply dumped me overboard with my feet solidly encased in cement. Yes, I was conscious, but my screams were muted by the gag in my mouth.

I cursed the bastard with each bubble that left my lungs as I tried my best to hold my breath. I did well until the cement my feet were encased in hit the sandy bottom, then in an instant, the air was replaced with seawater.

 

Exactly One Year Later

*****

Detective White carefully made his way into the Tower penthouse. The place was covered in water, sand, seaweed, dead fish, and seashells. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn the site was located on the bottom at the ocean.

“Well, Derek, what can you tell me?” Detective White asked the coroner as he stared down at the two bodies lying side by side in the king-size bed.

“They drowned. No doubt about it. But the why and how, your guess is as good as mine.”

“You sure it’s ocean water, doc? I mean, we’re in a high rise. The doorman said no deliveries were made today or this week. And he saw these two an hour ago, alive and well.”

“Positive. Their lungs are filled with seawater.” He pushed down on the man’s chest, and deep green water seeped out. “I’ve tested it. It’s seawater. Look at the fish, sand, and seaweed. Whoever crafted this murder wanted to make a statement.”

“Yeah, but did they leave any clues?”

“Just the remnants of lipstick on his face. It’s clearly not the same color this young lady is wearing. Maybe that unique color will tell you the dame that wanted this man dead.”

Detective White laughed as he moved to the chaise across the room. A sick sound that had the coroner looking at him oddly. “The only woman I can think of who’d want him dead drowned a year ago. His wife, remember, she went overboard during a Halloween party on his yacht last year. She was wearing a Cleopatra costume.” He held up the wet costume he found lying on the chaise. “I think she came back for a change of clothes and revenge…”

995 Words

Yolanda Renée © 2020

*****

***


Monday, October 12, 2020

Halloween Fog

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

A Halloween Fog

I’ve seen all the ‘fog’ movies and watched gleefully as the victims paid for their audacity. Slashers, horrendous creatures, and hideous bugs have all hidden their evil in the murkiness of a foggy night. But that’s movie-making, the scarier, the better. In reality, a walk into the thick mist is super energizing.

It allows me to disappear, lurk, stalk, and yes, kill with delicious precision. I bet you thought I was going to talk about how I enjoy being swallowed by nature. How I become part of it and relish the experience. Well, that’s all true, but for me, it’s all about the victim.

After all, I know their fear. It’s the best part. My victim’s terror is what feeds me. I can smell it on them as they cautiously move past me, unaware and yet very aware that I’m there. As the smell of panic becomes more potent, I wonder why they come out? Is it a dare? Are they looking for a confrontation? It can’t be to prove their bravery. They exhibit none! Because no one accidentally wanders into the woods in the dark of night. Well, no one but me.

My favorite victim is the lone young woman. Although I do adore the young couples looking for a place to be alone. But tonight, I’ve hit the jackpot. A young woman is walking nonchalantly down the path. She’s not cautious or fearful, which takes a bit of the fun out the night. The bitch is on her phone and barely paying attention to the direction she’s taken. Still, she’s the perfect victim. Lost, stupid, and unaware. I can’t just let her pass. She’s mine. All mine!

I move ahead of her and get ready to pounce—my best blade at hand.

I jump in front of her, grab her with both arms, and say, “Excuse me. I didn’t see you there. The fog tonight is so thick.” Then I give her my best laugh and wait for her to realize her fate.

She rolls her eyes. “I know,” she says. It was specifically prepared for the night. My people know the perfect thickness for a Halloween cover. It’s the best way to catch predators. Like you.”

Her smile shows perfect white teeth, a lot of jagged, and terrifyingly sharp teeth. I try to shake off my shock at her response. “What?” I mumble, caught totally off guard by her words and that mouththose teeth.

But she only smiles. “What number am I? The tenth, isn’t it?”

“You…you know me?’

“We keep track. Thought the police would take you off the street, but the cops haven’t, so we have to.”

“You? Who are you?” My knife slips from my overly moist hand.

“Your worst enemy, my dear.” Her laugh stuns, and her teeth continue to grow. Before my eyes, her body morphs into the most hideous creature I’ve ever seen.

This monster was a mixture of dark colors, red, black, purple, and flowing with green blood coursing through transparent veins. She had arms everywhere, long, powerful legs and now stood at least ten feet tallher mouth. Oh god, that mouth and those sharp, hideous teeth that dripped with putrid saliva caused my stomach to lurch in revolt. She wrapped her arms around me, and, in a flash, we were in the middle of the forest.

Within minutes I was stripped of all clothes. My hands were tied behind my back with twine, and with a grubby potato stuffed into my mouth, her even uglier friends gingerly lowered me into a large pot of cold water. She dropped in cups full of salt, pepper, cayenne, and several bay leaves.

“Dinner will be ready in about two hours,” she announced as she lighted a fire under the pot I was in. “We want this one to simmer awhile. I like my soup thick,” she told the crowd around her as two other monsters added several large pots of navy beans.

The crowd shouted their appreciation. I watched, dumbfounded, as the monsters settled down on the grass to continue their games and conversations. I noticed that the fog had separated. It circled the area and provided a dome of protection. What I once relished as protection had betrayed me. A higher evil had assumed power.

Fear the fog! Don’t venture down an unknown or even known path on a profoundly thick night, and especially on Halloween.

Listen to what I tell you. I know, I should have heeded my own words. Remember when I said that no one accidentally wanders into the fog on a dark and lonely night, especially on Halloween! What I thought was a beautiful, young girl proves my word.

Yes, I know it’s all too funny. Especially as these are the words of a serial killer. But if folks like me don’t get youmaybe these hungry creatures will!

835 Words

 Yolanda Renée (C) 2020

*****

Join us for the WEP October Challenge

Grave Mistake






Monday, October 5, 2020

A Haunting Challenge

Photo by Daniel Jensen on Unsplash

A Haunting Challenge

It's Halloween, the one night I roam the Earth. It was my decision to leave this world. I was sure it would solve all my problems. I was wrong. Regardless, one fateful Halloween night, I walked into the ocean. Now I rise at 12:01 a.m. and return at 11:59 p.m. every year on that same day, Halloween.

I pray for the day my soul will finally be released, the day my problems will indeed be solved, but that can only happen after I pay penance for my error.

You see, suicide is wrong. It goes against all the laws of man and God. I knew this but didn't fully believe it. So yes, I committed the ultimate sin.

Given two options, hellfire for eternity or heaven, I chose forgiveness even though I knew a penance was due.

The devil would gladly accept my soul, he's told me so, but I want to prove that I'm worthy of God's grace, and the only way I can achieve that is to keep one hundred other people from doing the deed I accomplished. Since I died on Halloween night, it's the only night I can return to Earth to save like-minded souls.

Not an easy task as I am the way death has left me. Getting folks to accept a bloated corpse, dripping with seaweed, sand, and saltwater is not an easy task even on Halloween. My skin is gray-green, and I have open wounds caused by hungry sea creatures. With hanging flesh, dripping hair, and blackened eyes along with hesitant movements as I try to remember how to walk on land vs. floating in the dark void of the sea, I frighten more than impress.

My only salvation is that most of the world is also in costume. I get numerous compliments, mostly from drunken partiers, but finding a suicidal person willing to listen to my message is nearly impossible. I've been haunting Halloween night for over seventy-five years, and I've only saved thirty people. Not surprisingly, at first, I drove just as many to madness or death. Until I learned a method to the madness that worked.

Of late, I've heard through the rumor mill that I may get amnesty if I continue to do my best and complete a hundred years of service to the cause, but I've also heard rumors of an even longer punishment.

The task is challenging, but I haunt on as I have a goal to achieve because the sea's moist, icy darkness is much more palatable than Hell's arid burning brightness!

Please, my dear sad and lost souls, consider your quest. Your penance may be much more challenging and way longer than mine.

463 words

Yolanda Renee © 2020

****

Don't forget to check out the newest challenge

from the WEP

Write...Edit...Publish.

Grave Mistake




Friday, March 18, 2016

THE HAUNTED

My Book Blog Tour began this week
I'm guesting with Denise Covey

____


But here I have

Melanie Schulz, author of The Haunted

from the IWSG Anthology



Thank you, Yolanda. for having me here today; 

it’s always fun to discuss all things bookish.


My pleasure, let's get started.


1. As a writer of alternative fiction the IWSG anthology was a perfect fit, did you find the challenge easy? 

Yes and no. Writing with prompts, even as minimal as they were for this anthology, has always been a challenge for me; that’s why I don’t enter more contests. The stories I write always begin somewhere inside of me; I can’t write any other way. But, as it turns out, I already had the stirrings of this story when the anthology was announced, so in the end, I was able to write it, or rather it wrote itself.  

2. Where did the idea for Haunted come from? 

I really can’t answer that without giving away the ending. Let’s just say I wanted a particular group of people to have a voice. You’ll know what I mean once you read the story.

3. What is it about an altered universe that you appreciate?

 It gives us a chance to see the world that would’ve or could’ve been. The tagline I gave this story is: Sometimes the best things in life are the things you never got to have, and that’s what this altered universe let me do; it let me give back that best thing.  

4. Please tell us about the UBook or Newstead project. 

The Newstead Project was my first novel and the first novel in the Newstead Saga Series. Five years of my life went into developing this story. There’s some serious love there. And it’s that love of all things Newstead that led me to invent Ubooks, a patent pending new way to enjoy reading. I listen to music when I write; it takes me to that deeper level I need to be at in order to get into the character’s heads. I wanted that same experience for my readers. And now they can have it. Ubooks, in essence, are books on video, set at reading speed, augmented with scene enhancing music. And best of all? They’re free and able to be viewed on all your devices. Check out my YouTube Channel  to see the latest releases. 

Wow, what an amazing idea!

Thank you, Melanie!

Your story The Haunted - is remarkable. 

Thanks for sharing your journey.

What do you think folks, music and reading

 combined - do you listen to music when you write

 or when you read?


***

Tagline:

     Sometimes the best things in life are the things you never had.

Blurb:

For five years Andy has been consumed by nothingness. Her life was fine—normal even—and then suddenly it wasn’t. No one knows why, least of all her. Desperate for answers, she seeks out yet another psychiatrist, not knowing that psychotherapy has nothing to do with it, not when the problem is that you’re being haunted.

Excerpt:

“Your dream bothering you again?” he asked, knowingly.
Andy closed her eyes and held on tighter.
He kissed her again. “It’s okay,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m here.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she breathed, shaking her head. “Nothing does.”
John pulled back to look into his wife’s face. “Are you sure you’re okay—do we need to call your doctor?”
“The only doctor I have is an ob-gyn, and I don’t think she’ll be able to do anything about this.”
John shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe it’s a hormone thing.”
Andy raised her eyebrows. “Do you really want to go there?”
“Hormones are powerful things, Andy. They can make you do all sorts of weird shit.”
“Like dream your husband’s dead?” There is was; she’d said it.
His face softened. “Is that it—is that what happened?”
Andy looked past him to the sky beyond. His hands cupped her face and brought her focus back to him. “I’m not leaving you, ever. Even if I die, I promise to haunt you.”
Andy frowned. “Don’t say that.”
“What? It’s true. You can’t get rid of me; face it.”

Andy shuddered; she didn’t know why.

***


Melanie Schulz is planted in upstate New York with her husband and three kids on a smallish plot of land she likes to believe is a farm. She plays at being a writer, same as she plays at being a farmer, and nurse, and overall enjoyer of this thing called life. One of the things she enjoys most are people who delight in discussing all things listed above. Join in the conversation at:



Website    Blog    Facebook




Monday, March 14, 2016

RAINERS

My Book Blog Tour begins today
I'm guesting with Denise Covey
Alaska: Why It Speaks To Me!

____

But here I have

Sandra Cox, author of Rainers


Parallels: Felix Was Here

to answer a few questions!





1. As a writer of fantasy and paranormal romance the IWSG anthology was a perfect fit, did you find the challenge easy?

The easy piece was the word count.  I usually write fifty-five to sixty thousand words per story, so five to six thousand was great. The fact that I have wanted to do an alternate universe story for a long time was the icing on the cake. 

 2. Where did the idea for Rainers come from?

Besides an alternate universe, I also wanted to do something on the order of zombies without the gross factor. They are just a bit too gruesome for me. One of the effects of the Rainer disease on pubescents is an indigo liquid that streams from the infected child’s mouth and nose. When I originally wrote the story, the liquid was a lavender color…until the hubby commented that the color made it sound more like a disease the Easter bunny would have. At that point I switched to Indigo. Grin.

  3. What is it about an altered universe that you appreciate?

Altered is the key. Your universe is what you make it. In my personal altered or parallel universe, I’m a NY Times bestsellerJ  

 4. Please tell us about your other writing projects.

Love, Lattes and Angel, the third in the Mutant Series, comes out in April.  FYI, until April 3rd, Love, Lattes and Mutants is free and Love, Lattes and Danger is ninety-nine cents. 

Thanks, Yolanda. Great questions.

You're so welcome, Sandra. Rainers is a great story and one I hope you'll continue!

***



Multi-published author Sandra Cox writes YA Fantasy, Romance, and Metaphysical Nonfiction. She lives in sunny North Carolina with her husband, a brood of critters and an occasional foster cat. Although shopping is high on the list, her greatest pleasure is sitting on her screened in porch, listening to the birds, sipping coffee and enjoying a good book. She's a vegetarian and a Muay Thai enthusiast. 

 Facebook     Twitter    Blog    Website






COMING MAY 3, 2016
PRE-ORDER HERE!

Tagline: 

     Save his world or save her own.

Blurb:

Out hiking, Harper Reese tumbles into a parallel universe where a nightmarish virus has infected the sphere’s pubescent children. While there she encounters bad boy Noah Tanner who’s got problems of his own. 

Now, they must work together to track down and destroy the source of the disease before it travels to her world and infects her twelve-year-old sister.

***

Have you ordered your copy?
Do you think it's possible to write zombies minus the gross factor?


Tuesday, October 27, 2015

THE TOMB

MY NEXT VICTIM THIS HALLOWEEN!


Walt went in a whole other direction with his post.
He sent a 2000 word story that I think you'll find quit intriguing.

PRESENTING



THE TOMB
by
WALTER P. HONSINGER

Sadie, Godiva and I had hitchhiked to New Orleans in the late winter of 1975. We’d just attended a concert at The Warehouse and I’d somehow lost Godiva in the crowd. I left with Sadie and we took a bus back toward the motel we were staying at. It was already past midnight.
“I’m worried about Godiva, do you think she’ll make it home okay?” I asked.
“She knows that you’re with me, she took a cab back about an hour ago.”
“Then we’re heading back to the motel too right?”
“We need to make one more stop yet tonight,” Sadie said.
“Can’t we just go home!” I pleaded.
“Please just one quick stop?” she pleaded. “Just assume that you’ll live out your wildest fantasy.”
We got on a city bus and rode it into the worst neighborhood I’d seen since leaving Detroit. The city was filled with decrepit and collapsing frame houses covered in poison ivy. The bus stopped and Sadie said that we had to get out.
“Here?” I said, “We’ll get killed.”
“We’ll be okay as long as we keep moving,” she said. We walked past burned out houses and overgrown lots, me in my gas station outfit, her dressed in her black satin dress. Surprisingly we found the street all but deserted but I knew that eyes were watching us.
The area ahead of us was devoid of street lights and we walked on to find huge granite and marble columns appear before us in the darkness. Sadie grasped my hand and pulled me into the hulks just as I heard voices behind us.
“I’m telling you that I saw a fine foxy bitch and some guy walking,” the voice said.
“Where they at then?” another voice boomed out. I looked back and in the light of the last street light I saw a gang appear on the corner. Sadie pulled me further into the granite slabs. I reached out to feel words carved into them. Graves. Above ground graves. Massive mausoleums and boxes carved out of stone. Sadie had led me to a graveyard in the middle of the worst ghetto in New Orleans at nearly one in the morning. She led me through a maze of the above ground graves further and further back into the cemetery.
“Where we going?” I asked.
“Try and keep quiet,” she whispered back.
I looked back toward the light and saw that the gang had grown, now at least twenty forms were outlined and at least a few were walking into the darkness looking for us.
“They won’t come into the graveyard,” Sadie whispered to me and I think she was right because two guys reemerged from the darkness a few moments later. “Do you have your knife?” she asked.
“A Barlow knife won’t do any good against those clowns,” I said.
“Give it to me.” She led me further into the graveyard and we found ourselves in what seemed like a tiny courtyard. A flat slab of granite lay on the ground surrounded by above ground tombs that hid us from sight. Sadie knelt and produced my knife. She pushed my knife into a crevice in one of the granite slabs and twisted it.
“I got it!” she said. She held up a small sliver of something.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A chard of her tombstone,” she said.
“WHAT?” I said aloud.
“Shut up!” she whispered.
“I heard somethin’,” one of the gang members said. We sat silent and waited for things to calm down. A moment later we heard shouting and I saw that two of the guys were in a fight. I sat down on the slab to try and figure out what we were going to do.
“Unlace me,” she said.
“What?”
“Unlace my dress.”
“Why?”
“Those guys will be out there for the rest of the night which means that we’ll have to stay here.”
“And?”
“I’m not sleeping in my dress, so yes unlace me!” I untied her dress and watched as she rolled it up on the granite slab. “Give me your jeans,” she asked, “I need them for a pillow.”
“I’m not spending the night sleeping on someone’s grave in the middle of New Orleans,” I said.
“Okay just go, explain that to those guys and leave,” she said. I looked over toward the light and tried to see if I had any options.
“You’re sure we’re safe here?”
“Absolutely!”  I slid out of my jeans and handed them to her. She lay down on the slab and I lay next to her. The moon broke out of the clouds almost as soon as I lay down. It’s light shown on the tombstones like tiny twinkling diamonds. The moon also shown strangely on Sadie, giving her skin a phosphorescent glow. 
“Should I ask whose grave I’m lying on?”
“It’s Maria Labonne’s, she was an infamous Priestess here.”
 “Perfect not only do we desecrate a grave but it’s some Voodoo chick. You said that if I came with you tonight that I could live out my wildest fantasy.”
“Yes, I did.”
“This ain’t it.”
“Maybe it will be.”
 I awoke shortly after dawn and stared out at the sight before me. Ancient crumbling crypts and stained above ground tombs lay all around.  Sadie and I lay on a flat gray marble slab. I’d felt unusually tense and didn’t want to stay the night before, but we’d had a wild night.
I’d awoken after having a dream right out of a Tarzan movie. In my dream drums pounded out in a beat and African women danced and sang in some ancient ritual. I was awake now, but the drumbeat still pounded in my brain.
Well, it was morning and I felt bad. She’d done everything she could and I’d been callous toward her. I’d been worried that we’d be attacked, or that we’d get eaten alive by bugs or that we’d freeze on the cold marble tomb. But now it was morning and everything had gone perfectly and I wasn’t ready to leave yet. I slid over to my side and pulled Sadie close to me again. She moaned slightly and turned her head enough so that I could see I was wrong on one count, she had a splotch of blood on her forehead where she’d obviously swat a mosquito. Maybe she’d have had more problems but her dress had protected her. Her dress? Yes, she now wore her black dress which made no sense since I would have had to retie it in back as it laces like a corset and she can’t do it herself. I tried to think of earlier in the night because making love in her black dress is a total taboo and I was sure she hadn’t worn it. She turned her head fully toward me, kissed me and slowly opened her eyes.
“AHHHH!!!” she said pulling back.
“IIIIIII!” I said doing the same. She stared at me like I was a Vampire or something. I sat blinking my eyes trying to decide if I was seeing correctly. Someone had dipped their thumb in blood and written a cross on her forehead. My heart pounded so loudly that it hurt my ears. The drums that I’d dreamt about began pounding in my brain again. She wiped one finger across her forehead and saw the blood on her finger.
“Ethan don’t panic,” she said, but she was too late. Between the dress and the bloody cross, I was gone. I turned the other way and saw new horrors. All the tombs around us were covered small red crosses drawn in crayon, magic marker and nail polish. Some of the crosses were upright, but several were pointed down. The two crosses closest to us were made in large swatches of dripping blood.
I felt burning hot now and realized it was the sun upon me. I glanced up at it and saw it stark against a giant metal cross that sat overtop the graveyard. I closed my eyes for a moment and when I reopened them the sun was perfectly centered on the cross. Its light burned me like a torch. I closed my eyes again and when I opened them, the cross appeared to be molten, dripping metal.
To avoid the sun's burning rays I turned onto my stomach and I looked at the ground. I saw what appeared at first to be a bundle of white and red cotton balls sitting on the ground. The bundle made no sense until I spotted something sitting next to it, a chicken’s head. The mass of red and white was what was left of a chicken that had been alive less than an hour or two ago.
“Don’t get scared,” Sadie said. I turned toward her and watched her creeping toward me on all fours, catlike, her black dress pulled up past her hips. I remembered now that she had worn her dress last night during our previous session.
“What the Hell did you lead me into?”
I’d had enough; I needed to clear out of this city and fast. I pulled my jeans, shirt and boots on and began weaving my way out of the cemetery.
“Ethan calm down…wait!” she’d called. I wasn’t waiting for anything. I could still hear the drums from my dream pounding in my head and it was only outdone by the pounding of my heart.
I made it to the bus stop without coming upon any of the local people. Sadie walked up just as it arrived.
“Will you stop!” she said. I said nothing to her I just climbed aboard and walked to the back of the deserted bus. Sadie sat in the seat across from me.
Yesterday Sadie, Godiva and I had walked the streets of New Orleans and no one seemed to give us any mind. Now as each person stepped onto the bus they looked at us like we were demons or something. Several women made the sign of the cross when they saw us and two African American women raised three fingers into a crow’s foot and pointed them at us chanting something.
We were almost at our hotel when Sadie pulled me out of the bus. An Old Catholic Church stood before us and I turned to go back to our room.
“We need to go to the church!” she said.
“I need to get the Hell out of this town, the sooner, the better,” I said.
“Fine but you need to go into the church first!” she said.
“What, have sex on the altar and desecrate it like we did to that woman’s tomb?” I said.
I broke from her and ran to our hotel. I must have looked a sight because everyone glared at me when I walked in. Godiva opened the door when I pounded on it.
“Oh thank God it’s you, I was worried, where’s Sadie….what happened to you!” she said repelling backward. She covered her face with her hands.
“Why is everyone looking at me like I’m a zombie or something?” I asked.
“Go and look in the mirror,” she said. I walked into the bathroom and turned toward the mirror before gasping out in horror myself. A bloody cross lay on my face too, but mine extended from my hair down to my Adam’s apple and across, ear to ear.
“What happened to you two?”
“What do you want me to say; we spent a night having sex on some priestess’s grave. A total act of debauchery in a church cemetery. Sadie can explain the rest ‘cause I don’t know. All I do know is that I’m done and heading home,” I said.
I found my pack and slid it over my shoulder. I found a wet washcloth in the sink.
“No Ethan don’t!” she screamed as I used it to wash my face.
“You in on this too?” I asked as I turned the door handle.
After I had made it out onto the street, I asked around to find out where the bus station lay. An old man gave me directions and I had no problem finding it. I was about to walk in when Sadie appeared out of nowhere and grabbed my arm.
“Will you please calm down!” she asked. I said nothing I just sat staring at the ground. Godiva came up and we sat down on a bench.
“Do you want to talk about this?” she asked. I really didn’t want to talk about anything.
“Please say something?” Sadie asked.
“Things like faith and rules and…things mean something to me,” I said.
“And us,” Godiva said. I turned to look at her and felt my heart squeeze in my chest. I just felt empty and hollow and….almost dead.
“And me,” Sadie said. “I didn’t plan anything that happened last night and I’m not really sure what did happen.”
“What happened was, gee let me guess, oh I don’t know if it was a black mass we participated in, a total demonization of a woman’s grave, some kind of voodoo ritual or just some satanic cultish thing. All I know is that I woke up surrounded by hand painted crosses, my forehead smeared with blood, oh and a dead, mutilated chicken at my side. Oh and then you wanted me to go to a church and, what have sex on the altar?”
“Ethan, I understand you were frightened, but that’s not my fault. I wanted you to come into the church so you could wash the blood off with holy water.”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you in our room,” Godiva said. “Only holy water can take away the blood.”
“So what do I do?”
“We rinse the washcloth you used in holy water and we rinse your face off with it too,” Sadie said.
 “I still don’t feel right about the blood, the chicken, and the voodoo.”
“If it matters to you, it wasn’t what you think,” Godiva said. “Whoever anointed you with blood did it to protect you.  It wasn’t Voodoo it was Santeria.”
“Oh, I feel better now. I don’t want to stay here another minute, I want to be gone. I want to climb on board a bus and head home now!”
“We have one more day here and then we all go back together,” Godiva said. “You don’t want to spend one more night with us?”
One more night in New Orleans, what would take bring? Would we sacrifice a virgin or behead goats or something. One more night.
“Yes, I’ll stay,” I said. 
~The End~



Walt is an avid hunter, angler, and gatherer who has journeyed to the remotest regions of the country. He began traveling around the country at the age of fourteen, often hitchhiking to his destinations.
Walt’s travels, encounters, and memories are often the inspiration for his writing. His novels THE BEACHCOMBER and THE CABIN relate to portions of his life.
Walt lives in Lancaster, PA with his wife and two children. He still loves to travel and spends his free time hunting, fishing, and writing.
All books are available at Amazon

*****

Thanks, Walt, loved it!

Happy Halloween!

Well folks, would you have stayed 
or gone home?


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Have you read the WEP-Flash Fiction Challenge Entries
it's not too late!
There are some doozies!