Saturday, October 31, 2015


Brought to you by Patricia Lynne  
A Halloween Treat of Free Books!

Hosting the 

My Contribution to 
Share A Scare 

is a short excerpt from
my WIP
WARNING - graphic violence 

The Snowman


October 31

Stone tilted the autopsy table and locked it in place. Everything was in order.
His latest victim struggled against her restraints. "You don't have to do this," she cried. He loved how her voice wavered in her throat. Such a pretty throat.
"But I do,” Stone said. “I need your blood. I'm creating new colors for my latest masterpiece."
"I'll give you my blood." Her voice showed her growing panic.
"I know, sweetheart, I know." Stone smoothed the hair back from her face. "So lovely of you to offer," His phone alarmed. "Sorry, time's running short. So I'll just take what I want." He stuffed a hand towel into her gaping mouth and made his first cut. Then a second. Then a third and fourth. He was mesmerized by the colored tracks flowing down her arms and legs. He watched the tears streaming from her eyes and laughed. A pity tears were colorless.
Stone checked his watch. He hated being on a deadline. He raised his scalpel; saw its reflection in the pupil of her terror filled eyes. Her fear fed his ego. With no regret, he slit her throat in one smooth action. The blood spurted. "Damn it, that's what I get for rushing."
Despite the mess, his gaze never wavered. Her lifeblood gushed, her body slackened, and the light left her eyes as the crimson fluid flowed into the bucket under the table. Death took her in His arms.
The moment was captured in staccato clicks as Stone's trusty Nikon went through its paces.
Stone added a cup of formaldehyde to the viscous mixture and stirred it vigorously. He dipped his brush into its freshness and began painting. Swirls, splattered droplets, and elongated drips soon filled the twelve by fourteen canvas. Joy rose up from his deepest being and a sense of satisfaction overwhelmed him. This creation would be his best. He was sure that with the addition of formaldehyde, the color wouldn't turn brown. The crimson he loved would be the star of his masterpiece, the hue that would leave art lovers and critics breathless.
The morning was cold and Stone knew it would only get colder. He hated winter, dreaded the darkness, the extra thick clothing, the icy streets and biting winds. Stone loathed Alaska. He yearned for West Virginia, but his mother wouldn't hear of moving. She put her prestigious job, her friends, and the home she adored before her only son. She wasn't leaving, and without her support neither was he.
He grunted when he threw the body over his shoulder. "Damn, the dead weigh a ton," he moaned. Placing it on the bed of the truck, he slammed the tailgate. The sound pleased him, echoing as it did in the stillness.
The tide was out and the sound of waves - distant. He'd made sure the park was empty, and after cruising the streets for half an hour, he was certain the area was cop free. His police radio scanner told him all he needed to know—they were busy working a hit and run near Merrill Field. He grabbed his flashlight, but he knew the way to the dumpsite. He'd reconnoitered a week ago.
He placed her corpse carefully under the pine tree, covering her lower half with a garbage bag. He tucked it neatly under her legs so it wouldn't blow away, but showed just enough of her cute crena to entice. He placed her arms alongside her head, as though she were relaxing on the sand for the perfect tan. Her manicured fingers were placed just so and her head, he turned to the left then brushed her newly bleached hair neatly over her back. She looked like a sleeping doll. He took several pictures for his scrapbook. He didn't want to leave her. He popped a piece of spearmint gum while he admired his handiwork. Damn, I'm good.
He kneeled to caress her pure white skin, but a light on the road above the park startled him. Gathering his materials, he picked up a branch and with his makeshift broom, he cleared the area of any footprints. He left the way he'd entered.
When he arrived home at 7:00 AM, his mother was getting ready to leave for work.
"Hey Mom, told you I'd make it back before you left." Dropping his duffel bag and carefully wrapped canvas, he kissed her on the forehead.
"Two minutes more and you wouldn't have. You know I value punctuality." She cringed when he removed his jacket. "Where have you been? At a slaughterhouse?"
"Oh, sorry. Joey and I cleaned the moose he shot. I would have changed, but didn't take an extra shirt."
"Well, get that off and into the washer now! Cold rinse should get it out. Let it soak. Those jeans too. I might not be able to see blood but if it's on that shirt, it's on those jeans."
She kept chatting away while Stone stripped in the laundry room off the kitchen. Unashamed of being naked in front of his mother, he walked her to the door, dropping a big kiss on her cheek.
“Have a good day, Mommy,” he cooed.
She returned the kiss, smiling the rare smile she kept for him alone. “You’re a good boy, Stowy. You’ll always be Mommy’s good boy.”

He watched as she drove away, then grabbed his backpack and unique canvas. He hurried to the basement, his domain. In a secret room off his bedroom, he found the perfect spot on the wall for his latest masterpiece. Taking a container from his backpack, he covered his entire body with her blood. Stone pleasured himself twice, to the image of her final moment, before falling asleep wrapped in bear fur.
~~~ ~~~
2015 ©Yolanda Renée

My contribution to the 
Trick or Treat
Book Blog Hop

is my latest release

FREE on Amazon 

All commenters will be entered into a drawing to receive a FREE eBook copy of 


and an eBook copy of


The winner will be announced at midnight on October 31st!

And the winner is

Debbie D.


Friday, October 30, 2015


of the

Thank you, to all the wonderful writers who participated in my Halloween Interview and Flash Fiction Challenge. I enjoyed reading all the interview answers, and gaining insight into each author's horror background and Halloween secrets.

But my favorite part was the flash fiction challenge that required them to use the same 100 word begining to write their stories. They then took the character of Jerry and gave us a Halloween tale of horrific dimensions, and Jerry found himself in hot water quite a few times. Thank you, for your excellent flashes!

Thom Futrell, author of Empty Graves made Jerry an Arch Bishop, did that save him from the evil of the night?

Christine Rains, the author Of Blood & Sorrow had Jerry's mother, a truly evil witch needing a soul to release the fiends of Halloween. Would Jerry escape her clutches?

Julia Press Simmons, author of The Bloody Mary Coven made Jerry an avenging angel, and he fought evil with a smile, and I think a cigarette in his mouth, but did he succeed?

Shannon Lawrence the author of The Blue Mist insisted Jerry was the "one soul to lead them all." What did she mean by that?

Cathrina Constantine author of Don't Forget to Breathe had Jerry ready to take his revenge on the witches, but did he succeed?

DeAnna Knippling, author of Alice's Adventures in Underland had a treasure hunting Jerry descending into the darkest of basements. Did he find his treasure?

Tara Tyler, author of Simulation had Jerry planning vengeance on the witches using all the rules, but did following the rules work in his favor?

Nancy Lynn Jarvis, author of The Widow's Walk League had Jerry providing the children for the witches pies, and fulfilling her deepest desire for mincemeat pie.

Ann M. Noser author of Dead GirlRunning had Jerry trying to turn his witch of a sister straight, but was she willing?

A special thank you to Walter P. Honsinger who sent a ghostly tale, The Tomb, based on a true story. The Tomb is set in New Orleans and a graveyard where the characters spent the night during a Voodoo ritual.

~~~ ~~~

Today I'm also excited to introduce editor, Wendy Ely. The judge for my Halloween flash fiction contest. I knew I couldn't choose a winner, I loved them all, but Wendy volunteered and I was delighted. I met Wendy on Facebook and she's done a beautiful job on several of my writing projects.  Thanks, Wendy!

Wendy started her writing and editing career in January of 2008. Since the start of her career, her passion for the craft has only grown stronger. Not only does she have the drive to perfect her own books she wants to help other busy authors as well. She has several years of freelance editing experience, and recently attended advanced grammar classes in college. Wendy has extensively studied the craft of writing, and is a USA Today bestselling author.

Wendy feels she succeeds when her client succeeds. And claims that editing should be as creative and as enjoyable as possible. Her goal is to provide fast, friendly, and efficient service while working with her clients. 

I can attest to her speed!

She also knows that no author is the same, so she'll tailor an editing plan specifically to you. Wendy uses her passion for the craft along with her education to give all her clients the best editing experience that she can.

I highly recommend Wendy's services!

Check out her website
or send her an email:

~~~~~ ~~~~~

And now without further delay

the winners of the

2015 Halloween Flash Fiction Contest are:

1st place & the winner of a $10 Amazon Gift Card

Shannon Lawrence

The Blue Mist

Wendy says, "The author used great imagery in her writing. It had a great mixture of humorous dialogue and an interesting twist."


2nd place & the winner of a $7 Amazon Gift Card

Thom Futrell

Empty Graves

Wendy said, "The story flow was well done. It kept me entertained and the ending was a shock."


3rd place & the winner of a $5 Amazon Gift Card

Christine Rains

 Of Blood & Sorrow

Wendy said your piece showed, "Clever writing and was enjoyable!"


For all authors who participated Wendy is kindly
offering a discount on her editing services –
$25 off any manuscript over 100 pages.




Wednesday, October 28, 2015


author of

Thanks, Ann, for agreeing to be part of the fun.

Presenting Ann's

Halloween Interview & Flash Fiction Challenge

1.      You're born on Halloween and have the ghostly evil super powers of one of the following: The Ghost from Poltergeist, The Frankenstein Monster, The Mummy, The most Evil of Witches, The Devil himself, Freddy Kruger, Pumpkin Head, Michael from Halloween, or Jason from Friday the 13th. Alternatively, if you prefer, pick one of your own. Otherwise, tell us which one you would choose and why? No friendly ghosts allowed! You're to wreak havoc in this scenario!

To have the most fun, I'd have to choose Michael Jackson from his Thriller video. It's the only way I'll ever dance like a pro.

 2.      The Zombie Apocalypse is going to occur this Halloween and for 48 hours, the world is thrown into chaos. Live through it and consider yourself lucky, you've been warned. What is your first step, especially as no one else knows or believes you? Do you leave family behind and seek shelter to ride it out, or do you try to save your family? How and why?

I'd save my family, because I'm a mom and there's no way I'd leave them behind. I'd rather die trying. If they didn't believe me, I'd sedate them and haul their doubting a$$es out of town.

 3.      Because of the time of your birth, (see the 1st question) the angels have decided to forgive your sins and are offering to remedy one evil that now exists in the world, but only one! Which would you choose and why?

Suffering. The reasons should be obvious. And by choosing this "one," I'd really be choosing so many evils to remedy.

 4.      Why is Halloween a favorite holiday, or not a favorite, and if it isn't why did you participate in this query? Come on; tell us your biggest most secret Halloween fantasy!

One year, I dressed up as Gene Simmons from Kiss. The costume was epic, which was unusual for me. Typically I had lame costumes, but this one rocked (pun intended). I used black garbage bags, a black sports bra, black netted leggings, silver duct tape (which became painful later, but I'll get to that), a black wig that was so huge I had to hand over the keys to my car because I had no peripheral vision while wearing it, and face paint. Lots and lots of face paint (which also became painful later).

The veterinary school party was held at a bowling alley and it was great fun.

Undressing afterwards was NOT fun. Hear me now and obey me later: NEVER, I do mean NEVER put duct tape on any part of your body you intend to keep. Ouch.

As for the face paint—and I bought the "good stuff" according to the store—what a gooey mess. Instead of washing off the white and black paint, my face remained coated with a grey, thick cream. And I had to work the next day. I scrubbed and scrubbed until my face was grey with red, irritated skin underneath.

So face paint is out for my Halloween fantasy. Instead, I've always wanted to be Phoebe from Friends—not only the long, blond wig, I want to talk like her, sing "Smelly Cat" like her—the whole deal.

Maybe someday, long after when dressing like her would be "cool."

      Now the fun part: Finish the story. I've given you the first 100 words. Provide us with the rest, but please hold the number to 750 words or less unless the restriction is just impossible then no more than 1000 words. The winner will receive a $10 Amazon gift card. The contest will be judged by another lover of the horror genre, the person to be announced later. The winner will be posted no later than a week after Halloween!


Jerry sauntered along Desperation Holler Road that earlier echoed with the excited shouts of ghosts and ghouls as the children scrambled from house to house in colorful and frightening costumes.
Dusk dissolved into the blackest of nights as the little monsters disappeared into the shelter of the brightly lit houses with their chocolate goodies.
Jerry smiled, even suppressed laughter, because he knew there was no refuge, not in Desperation Holler on this most evil of Halloweens.
Concealed by the dark limbs of deformed trees and invasive ivy, the innocuous little cabin looked abandoned, but Jerry knew better. 
The witches abode . . .

His sister would still be there, working her nasty trade.
He had to put an end to it. Right now. She couldn't be allowed to remain part of the family—not after she'd become one with the moon.
Her fall from grace had to be erased. But he wouldn't stop there. All the witches had to go. Every last one of them.
In the darkness, he circled the cabin, muttering to himself. The gas can grew heavy in his hand. Earlier in the day, He'd stuffed old papers and blocks of dried wood in every crack and cranny around the base of the old cabin. He knew those stupid witches wouldn't notice.
A childish giggle escaped his lips as he tipped the gas can, soaking the base of the cabin, his nose filling with vapors.
He took out a match.
"I told you I'd win big at bingo tonight," crowed a little old lady, hobbling out the front door of the cabin.
The match fell from Jerry's hands, unlit. How could this be? The old ladies from church shuffled out, one after the other.
These weren't witches. These were the same ladies who slipped him cookies, patting his head while clucking their tongues over how it was "too bad about the accident."
He stumbled under the shadow of the trees, breathing hard.
But the white haired ladies didn't see to see him. They simply prattled on about their bingo game.
"You always win, Bertha," laughed one. "You must have a lucky rabbit's foot in your purse."
Jerry gasped. He'd given Bertha that rabbit's foot. And then he'd almost burned her alive. Bile flooded into the back of his throat. He leaned over, gagging.
He had to get out of here. He stood, arms flailing as he crashed through the bushes, fallen leaves crunching under his feet as he scrambled away.
The old ladies turned to watch him leave.
One by one, they started to shimmer, their flowered blouses fluttering then replaced by black robes, their short white hair lengthening into flowing curls.
"What are you going to do about the boy?" the tallest asked, pointing at the discarded gas can.
"Yes, something must be done." Another nodded. "He's getting dangerous. He must be stopped. If you can't do it, we will."
Susan hung her head. Ever since the head injury, Jerry had changed. He used to think her tricks were wonderful, but now he hated the fact she was a witch. He hated everything about her. "No, he's my brother. I'll do it."
"Then do it soon, and be done with it," the taller one urged before melting into the night.
The rest disappeared into the darkness, except for Susan and her closest friend, Belinda.
Belinda shuddered. "What are you going to do?"
"Fight fire with fire, I suppose," Susan blinked hard as tears escaped.
She encircled the cabin, hands outstretched.
"Crawl. Devour. Consume.
Creep along these wooden rooms.
Lick the floors. Lick the walls.
Flames assemble and grow tall.
The heat will rise—a light in the dark.
Life begins and ends with a little spark."
Some distance away, Jerry smelled the smoke and turned back in disbelief.
The match. He must've forgotten about the match.
No. This couldn't happen. He rushed back the way he came, branches breaking in his wake.
He reached the cabin, engulfed in flames. He paused for only a moment before rushing inside.
His screams filled the air.
"No pain. No breath. No sensation." Susan waved her arms once more.
The screaming stopped.
Susan moved the gas can with her family's name on it to the edge of the clearing, near a tree.

"It is done," she said, walking away.

Eight years ago, SILVIA WOOD's father died in an industrial accident. After suffering through years of Psychotherapy Services and Mandated Medications for depression and multiple suicide attempts, she longs to work in Botanical Sciences. When the Occupation Exam determines she must work in Mortuary Sciences instead, she wonders if the New Order assigned her to the morgue to push her over the edge.

To appease her disappointed mother, Silvia enters the Race for Citizen Glory, in an attempt to stand out in the crowd of Equals. After she begins training with "golden boy" LIAM HARMAN, she discovers he also lost his father in the same accident that ruined her childhood. Then Silvia meets and falls for Liam's older cousin, whose paranoid intensity makes her question what really happened to her father. As the race nears, Silvia realizes that she's not only running for glory, she's running for her life.

Author Bio:

Growing up an only child, I learned to entertain myself.  During summer vacations, my greatest form of exercise consisted of turning the pages of a book.  Now I’m all grown up, and full of stories half-written in my head.  I have to write them down so I can find out what happens next.

Where to find Ann:
Facebook page:
Goodreads page:


 WEP-Flash Fiction Challenge 

 Halloween Tales for your reading pleasure!
Today we're announcing the winners!

Youthful Frights vs Adult Fears

Tuesday, October 27, 2015



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



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.
“Unlace my dress.”
“Those guys will be out there for the rest of the night which means that we’ll have to stay here.”
“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?


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